Of my folk; e'en of them who forwent the life: 2250 The hall-joy had they seen. No man to wear sword I own, none to brighten the beaker beplated, The dear drink-vat; the doughty have sought to else-whither. Now shall the hard war-helm bedight with the gold Be bereft of its plating; its polishers sleep, They that the battle-mask erewhile should burnish: Likewise the war-byrny, which abode in the battle O'er break of the war-boards the bite of the irons, Crumbles after the warrior; nor may the ring'd byrny After the war-leader fare wide afield 2260 On behalf of the heroes: nor joy of the harp is, No game of the glee-wood; no goodly hawk now Through the hall swingeth; no more the swift horse Beateth the burg-stead. Now hath bale-quelling A many of life-kin forth away sent. Suchwise sad-moody moaned in sorrow One after all, unblithely bemoaning By day and by night, till the welling of death Touch'd at his heart. The old twilight-scather Found the hoard's joyance standing all open, 2270 E'en he that, burning, seeketh to burgs, The evil drake, naked, that flieth a night-tide, With fire encompass'd; of him the earth-dwellers Are strongly adrad; wont is he to seek to The hoard in the earth, where he the gold heathen Winter-old wardeth; nor a whit him it betters. So then the folk-scather for three hundred winters Held in the earth a one of hoard-houses All-eked of craft, until him there anger'd A man in his mood, who bare to his man-lord 2280 A beaker beplated, and bade him peace-warding Of his lord: then was lightly the hoard searched over, And the ring-hoard off borne; and the boon it was granted To that wretched-wrought man. There then the lord saw That work of men foregone the first time of times. Then awaken'd the Worm, and anew the strife was; Along the stone stank he, the stout-hearted found The foot-track of the foe; he had stept forth o'er-far With dark craft, over-nigh to the head of the drake. So may the man unfey full easily outlive 2290 The woe and the wrack-journey, he whom the Wielder's Own grace is holding. Now sought the hoard-warden Eager over the ground; for the groom he would find Who unto him sleeping had wrought out the sore: Hot and rough-moody oft he turn'd round the howe All on the outward; but never was any man On the waste; but however in war he rejoiced, In battle-work. Whiles he turn'd back to his howe And sought to his treasure-vat; soon he found this, That one of the grooms had proven the gold, 2300 The high treasures; then the hoard-warden abided, But hardly forsooth, until come was the even, And all anger-bollen was then the burg-warden, And full much would the loath one with the fire-flame pay back For his drink-vat the dear. Then day was departed