The sorrowful-soul'd man: on those unlief he saw: Lo that may he say who sooth would be saying, That the man-lord who dealt you the gift of those dear things, The gear of the war-host wherein there ye stand, Whereas he on the ale-bench full oft was a-giving Unto the hall-sitters war-helm and byrny, The king to his thanes, e'en such as he choicest Anywhere, far or near, ever might find: That he utterly wrongsome those weeds of the war 2870 Had cast away, then when the war overtook him. Surely never the folk-king of his fellows in battle Had need to be boastful; howsoever God gave him, The Victory-wielder, that he himself wreaked him Alone with the edge, when to him need of might was. Unto him of life-warding but little might I Give there in the war-tide; and yet I began Above measure of my might my kinsman to help; Ever worse was the Worm then when I with sword Smote the life-foe, and ever the fire less strongly 2880 Welled out from his wit. Of warders o'er little Throng'd about the king when him the battle befell. Now shall taking of treasures and giving of swords And all joy of your country-home fail from your kindred, All hope wane away; of the land-right moreover May each of the men of that kinsman's burg ever Roam lacking; sithence that the athelings eft-soons From afar shall have heard of your faring in flight, Your gloryless deed. Yea, death shall be better For each of the earls than a life ever ill-fam'd. 2890 XL. WIGLAF SENDETH TIDING TO THE HOST: THE WORDS OF THE MESSENGER.