“Beowulf replies that he is Hrothgar’s friend, and comes to free him from ‘Grendel, the secret foe on the dark nights.’ He pities Hrothgar, old and good. Yet, as he speaks, the Teutonic sense of the inevitable Wyrd passes by in his mind, and he knows not if Hrothgar can ever escape sorrow. ‘If ever,’ he says, ‘sorrow should cease from him, release ever come, and the welter of care become cooler.’ The coast-guard shows them the path, and promises to watch over their ship. The ground rises from the shore, and they pass on to the hilly ridge, behind which lies Heorot.” “The History of the Early English Literature” takes us into other pleasant places. Here are two or three specimens of the riddles of the old bards, and in riddle and saga we get most vivid pictures of the life and thoughts, the ways and words of the forefathers whom we are too ready to think of as ‘rude,’ but who are here portrayed to us as gentle, mild, and large of soul; men and women whom we, their posterity, may well delight to honour. I. Here is Cynewulf’s Riddle of the Sword. “I’m a wondrous wight for warstrife shapen; By my lord beloved, lovelily adorned: Many coloured is my corslet, and a clasping wire Glitters round the gem of death which my wielder gave to me: He who whiles doth urge me, wide-wanderer that I am, With him to conquest. Then I carry treasure, Cold above the garths, through the glittering day; I of smiths the handiwork! Often do I quell Breathing men with battle edges! Me bedecks a king With his hoard and silver; honours me in hall, Doth withhold no word of praise! Of my ways he boasts ‘Fore the many heroes, where the mead they drink. In restraint he lulls me, then he lets me loose again, Far and wide to rush along; me the weary with wayfarings, Cursed of all weapons.” _Riddle_ xxi. II. The helmet speaks:-- “Wretchedness I bear; Wheresoe’er he carries me, he who clasps the spear! On me, still upstanding, smite the streams (of rain); Hail, the hard grain (helms me), and the hoar-frost covers me; And the (flying) snow (in flakes) falls all over me.” _Riddle_, lxxix. 6-10. III. The horn speaks:--