# The Oldest English Epic/Chapter 1/Beowulf 32

XXXII
That way he went with no will of his own, in danger of life, to the dragon’s hoard, but for pressure of peril, some prince’s thane. He fled in fear the fatal scourge, 2225seeking shelter, a sinful man, and entered in. At the awful sight tottered that guest, and terror seized him; yet the wretched fugitive rallied anon from fright and fear ere he fled away, 2230and took the cup from that treasure-hoard. Of such besides there was store enough, heirlooms old, the earth below, which some earl forgotten, in ancient years, left the last of his lofty race, 2235heedfully there had hidden away, dearest treasure. For death of yore had hurried all hence; and he alone left to live, the last of the clan, weeping his friends, yet wished to bide 2240warding the treasure, his one delight, though brief his respite. The barrow, new-ready, to strand and sea-waves stood anear, hard by the headland, hidden and closed; there laid within it his lordly heirlooms ​2245and heapéd hoard of heavy gold that warden of rings. Few words he spake:— “Now hold thou, earth, since heroes may not, what earls have owned! Lo, erst from thee brave men brought it! But battle-death seized 2250and cruel killing my clansmen all, robbed them of life and a liegeman’s joys. None have I left to lift the sword, or to cleanse the carven cup of price, beaker bright. My brave are gone. 2255And the helmet hard, all haughty with gold, shall part from its plating. Polishers sleep who could brighten and burnish the battle-mask; and those weeds of war that were wont to brave over bicker of shields the bite of steel 2260rust with their bearer. The ringéd mail fares not far with famous chieftain, at side of hero! No harp’s delight, no glee-wood’s gladness! No good hawk now flies through the hall! Nor horses fleet 2265stamp in the burgstead! Battle and death the flower of my race have reft away.” Mournful of mood, thus he moaned his woe, alone, for them all, and unblithe wept by day and by night, till death’s fell wave 2270o’erwhelmed his heart. His hoard-of-bliss ​that old ill-doer open found, who, blazing at twilight the barrows haunteth, naked foe-dragon flying by night folded in fire: the folk of earth 2275dread him sore. ’Tis his doom to seek hoard in the graves, and heathen gold to watch, many- wintered: nor wins he thereby! Powerful this plague-of-the-people thus held the house of the hoard in earth 2280three hundred winters; till One aroused wrath in his breast, to the ruler bearing that costly cup, and the king implored for bond of peace. So the barrow was plundered, borne off was booty. His boon was granted 2285that wretched man; and his ruler saw first time what was fashioned in far-off days. When the dragon awoke, new woe was kindled. O’er the stone he snuffed. The stark-heart found footprint of foe who so far had gone 2290in his hidden craft by the creature’s head.— So may the undoomed easily flee evils and exile, if only he gain the grace of The Wielder!—That warden of gold o’er the ground went seeking, greedy to find 2295the man who wrought him such wrong in sleep. Savage and burning, the barrow he circled all without; nor was any there, none in the waste. . . . Yet war he desired, was eager for battle. The barrow he entered, 2300sought the cup, and discovered soon that some one of mortals had searched his treasure, his lordly gold. The guardian waited ​ill-enduring till evening came; boiling with wrath was the barrow’s keeper, 2305and fain with flame the foe to pay for the dear cup’s loss.—Now day was fled as the worm had wished. By its wall no more was it glad to bide, but burning flew folded in flame: a fearful beginning 2310for sons of the soil; and soon it came, in the doom of their lord, to a dreadful end.
* ↑ Jacob Grimm, alive to the poetry of these old traditions, tells of the grave-chamher of one Swedish king which was close to the sea.
* ↑ Müllenhoff remarked on the resemblance of this elegiac passage to the poems of the Exeter Ms.,—The Ruin, The Wanderer, The Seafarer. But in point of fact it is the favorite “deep note” of English poetry at large, which always takes strength of word and emotion from the thought of death.
* ↑ When the father sees his “Pearl,” in the poem of that name, he is afraid and bides as still “as hawk in hall.”