Then I heard that the hero the hoard-treasure plundered, The giant-work ancient reaved in the cavern, Bare on his bosom the beakers and platters, 25 As himself would fain have it, and took off the standard, The brightest of beacons;[2] the bill had erst injured (Its edge was of iron), the old-ruler's weapon, Him who long had watched as ward of the jewels, Who fire-terror carried hot for the treasure, 30 Rolling in battle, in middlemost darkness, Till murdered he perished. The messenger hastened, Not loth to return, hurried by jewels: Curiosity urged him if, excellent-mooded, Alive he should find the lord of the Weders 35 Mortally wounded, at the place where he left him. 'Mid the jewels he found then the famous old chieftain, His liegelord belovèd, at his life's-end gory: He thereupon 'gan to lave him with water, Till the point of his word piercèd his breast-hoard. 40 Beowulf spake (the gold-gems he noticed), {Beowulf is rejoiced to see the jewels.} The old one in sorrow: "For the jewels I look on Thanks do I utter for all to the Ruler, Wielder of Worship, with words of devotion, The Lord everlasting, that He let me such treasures 45 Gain for my people ere death overtook me. Since I've bartered the agèd life to me granted For treasure of jewels, attend ye henceforward {He desires to be held in memory by his people.} The wants of the war-thanes; I can wait here no longer. The battle-famed bid ye to build them a grave-hill, 50 Bright when I'm burned, at the brim-current's limit; As a memory-mark to the men I have governed, [95] Aloft it shall tower on Whale's-Ness uprising, That earls of the ocean hereafter may call it Beowulf's barrow, those who barks ever-dashing 55 From a distance shall drive o'er the darkness of waters." {The hero's last gift} The bold-mooded troop-lord took from his neck then The ring that was golden, gave to his liegeman, The youthful war-hero, his gold-flashing helmet, His collar and war-mail, bade him well to enjoy them: {and last words.} 60 "Thou art latest left of the line of our kindred, Of Wægmunding people: Weird hath offcarried All of my kinsmen to the Creator's glory, Earls in their vigor: I shall after them fare." 'Twas the aged liegelord's last-spoken word in 65 His musings of spirit, ere he mounted the fire, The battle-waves burning: from his bosom departed His soul to seek the sainted ones' glory.