broken in battle was Beowulf’s sword,
old and gray. ’Twas granted him not
that ever the edge of iron at all
could help him at strife: too strong was his hand,
2685so the tale is told, and he tried too far
with strength of stroke all swords he wielded,
though sturdy their steel: they steaded him nought.
Then for the third time thought on its feud
that folk-destroyer, fire-dread dragon,
2690and rushed on the hero, where room allowed,
battle-grim, burning; its bitter teeth
closed on his neck, and covered him
with waves of blood from his breast that welled.
XXXVII
’Twas now, men say, in his sovran’s need
2695that the earl made known his noble strain,
craft and keenness and courage enduring.
Heedless of harm,[1] though his hand was burned,
hardy-hearted, he helped his kinsman.
- ↑ Literally, “heeded not head,”—either his own (“heedless of head and limbs” translates Gering), or else the dragon’s: “nor feared the flame from the beast’s jaws,”—which is less likely.
- ↑ As in other fights with a dragon, the monster is killed by a blow underneath its body where no scales protect it. Saxo’s Frotho, succeed- ing to a depleted treasury, is told by a “native” about a dragon (serpens) who guards a mount (montis possessor) full of treasure. Its poison is deadly. Frotho must not seek to pierce its scales, but “there is a place
the elder, the Uffo of Saxo Grammaticus. This excess of strength is a favorite trait in certain lines of romance, runs into exaggeration, and lends itself to burlesque. In Hugh Spencer’s Feats in France, a poor popular ballad, the hero cannot tilt with any one French lance, his strength smashing it in his hand; and he is accommodated only when a dozen lances are bound into one.
