Were they never so shower-hard, scathe the shield-bold, When he 'gainst the angry in anger should get him. Therewith bade the earls' burg that eight of the horses With cheek-plates adorned be led down the floor In under the fences; on one thereof stood A saddle all craft-bedeck'd, seemly with treasure. That same was the war-seat of the high King full surely Whenas that the sword-play that Healfdene's son 1040 Would work; never failed in front of the war The wide-kenn'd one's war-might, whereas fell the slain. So to Beowulf thereon of either of both The Ingwines' high warder gave wielding to have, Both the war-steeds and weapons, and bade him well brook them. Thuswise and so manly the mighty of princes, Hoard-warden of heroes, the battle-race paid With mares and with gems, so as no man shall blame them, E'en he who will say sooth aright as it is. XVII. THEY FEAST IN HART. THE GLEEMAN SINGS OF FINN AND HENGEST. Then the lord of the earl-folk to every and each one 1050 Of them who with Beowulf the sea-ways had worn Then and there on the mead-bench did handsel them treasure, An heir-loom to wit; for him also he bade it That a were-gild be paid, whom Grendel aforetime By wickedness quell'd, as far more of them would he, Save from them God all-witting the weird away wended, And that man's mood withal. But the Maker all wielded Of the kindred of mankind, as yet now he doeth. Therefore through-witting will be the best everywhere And the forethought of mind. Many things must abide 1060 Of lief and of loth, he who here a long while In these days of the strife with the world shall be dealing. There song was and sound all gather'd together Of that Healfdene's warrior and wielder of battle, The wood of glee greeted, the lay wreaked often, Whenas the hall-game the minstrel of Hrothgar All down by the mead-bench tale must be making: By Finn's sons aforetime, when the fear gat them, The hero of Half-Danes, Hnaef of the Scyldings, On the slaughter-field Frisian needs must he fall. 1070 Forsooth never Hildeburh needed to hery The troth of the Eotens; she all unsinning Was lorne of her lief ones in that play of the linden, Her bairns and her brethren, by fate there they fell Spear-wounded. That was the all-woeful of women. Not unduly without cause the daughter of Hoc Mourn'd the Maker's own shaping, sithence came the morn When she under the heavens that tide came to see, Murder-bale of her kinsmen, where most had she erewhile? Of world's bliss. The war-tide took all men away 1080 Of Finn's thanes that were, save only a few; E'en so that he might not on the field of the meeting Hold Hengest a war-tide, or fight any whit, Nor yet snatch away thence by war the woe-leavings From the thane of the King; but terms now they bade him