with black thoughts welled, as his wont was never.
The folk’s own fastness that fiery dragon
with flame had destroyed, and the stronghold all
2335washed by waves; but the warlike king,
prince of the Weders, plotted vengeance.
Warriors’-bulwark, he bade them work
all of iron—the earl’s commander—
a war-shield wondrous: well he knew
2340that forest-wood against fire were worthless,
linden could aid not.—Atheling brave,
he was fated to finish this fleeting life,[1]
his days on earth, and the dragon with him,
though long it had watched o’er the wealth of the hoard!—
2345Shame he reckoned it, sharer-of-rings,
to follow the flyer-afar with a host,
a broad-flung band; nor the battle feared he,
nor deemed he dreadful the dragon’s warring,
its vigor and valor: ventures desperate
2350he had passed a-plenty, and perils of war,
contest-crash, since, conqueror proud,
Hrothgar’s hall he had wholly purged,
and in grapple had killed the kin of Grendel,
loathsome breed! Not least was that
2355of hand-to-hand fights where Hygelac fell,
when the ruler of Geats in rush of battle,
lord of his folk, in the Frisian land,
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