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.
XXXIII
Then the baleful fiend its fire belched out,
and bright homes burned. The blaze stood high
all landsfolk frighting. No living thing
2315would that loathly one leave as aloft it flew.
Wide was the dragon’s warring seen,
its fiendish fury far and near,
as the grim destroyer those Geatish people
hated and hounded. To hidden lair,
2320to its hoard it hastened at hint of dawn.
Folk of the land it had lapped in flame,
with bale and brand. In its barrow it trusted,
its battling and bulwarks: that boast was vain!
To Beowulf then the bale was told
2325quickly and truly: the king’s own home,
of buildings the best, in brand-waves melted,
that gift-throne of Geats. To the good old man
sad in heart, ’twas heaviest sorrow.
The sage assumed that his sovran God
2330he had angered, breaking ancient law,
and embittered the Lord. His breast within
