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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=346003" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Episode 35</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;THEN he goes to his chamber, a grief-song chants<br>alone for his lost. Too large all seems,<br>homestead and house. So the helmet-of-Weders<br>hid in his heart for Herebeald<br>waves of woe. No way could he take<br>to avenge on the slayer slaughter so foul;<br>nor e'en could he harass that hero at all<br>with loathing deed, though he loved him not.<br>And so for the sorrow his soul endured,<br>men's gladness he gave up and God's light chose.<br>Lands and cities he left his sons<br>(as the wealthy do) when he went from earth.<br>There was strife and struggle 'twixt Swede and Geat<br>o'er the width of waters; war arose,<br>hard battle-horror, when Hrethel died,<br>and Ongentheow's offspring grew<br>strife-keen, bold, nor brooked o'er the seas<br>pact of peace, but pushed their hosts<br>to harass in hatred by Hreosnabeorh.<br>Men of my folk for that feud had vengeance,<br>for woful war ('tis widely known),<br>though one of them bought it with blood of his heart,<br>a bargain hard: for Haethcyn proved<br>fatal that fray, for the first-of-Geats.<br>At morn, I heard, was the murderer killed<br>by kinsman for kinsman, with clash of sword,<br>when Ongentheow met Eofor there.<br>Wide split the war-helm: wan he fell,<br>hoary Scylfing; the hand that smote him<br>of feud was mindful, nor flinched from the death-blow.<br>-- &quot;For all that he gave me, my gleaming sword<br>repaid him at war, -- such power I wielded, --<br>for lordly treasure: with land he entrusted me,<br>homestead and house. He had no need<br>from Swedish realm, or from Spear-Dane folk,<br>or from men of the Gifths, to get him help, --<br>some warrior worse for wage to buy!<br>Ever I fought in the front of all,<br>sole to the fore; and so shall I fight<br>while I bide in life and this blade shall last<br>that early and late hath loyal proved<br>since for my doughtiness Daeghrefn fell,<br>slain by my hand, the Hugas' champion.<br>Nor fared he thence to the Frisian king<br>with the booty back, and breast-adornments;<br>but, slain in struggle, that standard-bearer<br>fell, atheling brave. Not with blade was he slain,<br>but his bones were broken by brawny gripe,<br>his heart-waves stilled. -- The sword-edge now,<br>hard blade and my hand, for the hoard shall strive.&quot;<br>Beowulf spake, and a battle-vow made<br>his last of all: &quot;I have lived through many<br>wars in my youth; now once again,<br>old folk-defender, feud will I seek,<br>do doughty deeds, if the dark destroyer<br>forth from his cavern come to fight me!&quot;<br>Then hailed he the helmeted heroes all,<br>for the last time greeting his liegemen dear,<br>comrades of war: &quot;I should carry no weapon,<br>no sword to the serpent, if sure I knew<br>how, with such enemy, else my vows<br>I could gain as I did in Grendel's day.<br>But fire in this fight I must fear me now,<br>and poisonous breath; so I bring with me<br>breastplate and board. From the barrow's keeper<br>no footbreadth flee I. One fight shall end<br>our war by the wall, as Wyrd allots,<br>all mankind's master. My mood is bold<br>but forbears to boast o'er this battling-flyer.<br>-- Now abide by the barrow, ye breastplate-mailed,<br>ye heroes in harness, which of us twain<br>better from battle-rush bear his wounds.<br>Wait ye the finish. The fight is not yours,<br>nor meet for any but me alone<br>to measure might with this monster here<br>and play the hero. Hardily I<br>shall win that wealth, or war shall seize,<br>cruel killing, your king and lord!&quot;<br>Up stood then with shield the sturdy champion,<br>stayed by the strength of his single manhood,<br>and hardy 'neath helmet his harness bore<br>under cleft of the cliffs: no coward's path!<br>Soon spied by the wall that warrior chief,<br>survivor of many a victory-field<br>where foemen fought with furious clashings,<br>an arch of stone; and within, a stream<br>that broke from the barrow. The brooklet's wave<br>was hot with fire. The hoard that way<br>he never could hope unharmed to near,<br>or endure those deeps, for the dragon's flame.<br>Then let from his breast, for he burst with rage,<br>the Weder-Geat prince a word outgo;<br>stormed the stark-heart; stern went ringing<br>and clear his cry 'neath the cliff-rocks gray.<br>The hoard-guard heard a human voice;<br>his rage was enkindled. No respite now<br>for pact of peace! The poison-breath<br>of that foul worm first came forth from the cave,<br>hot reek-of-fight: the rocks resounded.<br>Stout by the stone-way his shield he raised,<br>lord of the Geats, against the loathed-one;<br>while with courage keen that coiled foe<br>came seeking strife. The sturdy king<br>had drawn his sword, not dull of edge,<br>heirloom old; and each of the two<br>felt fear of his foe, though fierce their mood.<br>Stoutly stood with his shield high-raised<br>the warrior king, as the worm now coiled<br>together amain: the mailed-one waited.<br>Now, spire by spire, fast sped and glided<br>that blazing serpent. The shield protected,<br>soul and body a shorter while<br>for the hero-king than his heart desired,<br>could his will have wielded the welcome respite<br>but once in his life! But Wyrd denied it,<br>and victory's honors. -- His arm he lifted<br>lord of the Geats, the grim foe smote<br>with atheling's heirloom. Its edge was turned<br>brown blade, on the bone, and bit more feebly<br>than its noble master had need of then<br>in his baleful stress. -- Then the barrow's keeper<br>waxed full wild for that weighty blow,<br>cast deadly flames; wide drove and far<br>those vicious fires. No victor's glory<br>the Geats' lord boasted; his brand had failed,<br>naked in battle, as never it should,<br>excellent iron! -- 'Twas no easy path<br>that Ecgtheow's honored heir must tread<br>over the plain to the place of the foe;<br>for against his will he must win a home<br>elsewhere far, as must all men, leaving<br>this lapsing life! -- Not long it was<br>ere those champions grimly closed again.<br>The hoard-guard was heartened; high heaved hisbreast<br>once more; and by peril was pressed again,<br>enfolded in flames, the folk-commander!<br>Nor yet about him his band of comrades,<br>sons of athelings, armed stood<br>with warlike front: to the woods they bent them,<br>their lives to save. But the soul of one<br>with care was cumbered. Kinship true<br>can never be marred in a noble mind!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anonymous+Olde+English">Anonymous Olde English</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=346003" data-title="Episode 35 de Anonymous Olde English" data-description="&quot;THEN he goes to his chamber, a grief-song chants
alone for his lost. Too large all seems,
homestead and house. So the helmet-of-Weders
hid in his heart for Herebeald
waves of woe. No way could he take
to avenge on the slayer slaughter so fou..."></div>
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