Was the track of the war-sweat of Swedes and of Geats, The men's slaughter-race, right wide to be seen, How those folks amongst them were waking the feud. Departed that good one, and went with his fellows, Old and exceeding sad, fastness to seek; The earl Ongentheow upward returned; 2950 Of Hygelac's battle-might oft had he heard, The war-craft of the proud one; in withstanding he trow'd not, That he to the sea-folk in fight might debate, Or against the sea-farers defend him his hoard, His bairns and his bride. He bow'd him aback thence, The old under the earth-wall. Then was the chase bidden To the Swede-folk, and Hygelac's sign was upreared, And the plain of the peace forth on o'er-pass'd they, After the Hrethlings onto the hedge throng'd. There then was Ongentheow by the swords' edges, 2960 The blent-hair'd, the hoary one, driven to biding, So that the folk-king fain must he take Sole doom of Eofor. Him in his wrath then Wulf the Wonreding reach'd with his weapon, So that from the stroke sprang the war-sweat in streams Forth from under his hair; yet naught fearsome was he, The aged, the Scylfing, but paid aback rathely With chaffer that worse was that war-crash of slaughter, Sithence the folk-king turned him thither; And nowise might the brisk one that son was of Wonred 2970 Unto the old carle give back the hand-slaying, For that he on Wulf's head the helm erst had sheared, So that all with the blood stained needs must he bow, And fell on the field; but not yet was he fey, But he warp'd himself up, though the wound had touch'd nigh. But thereon the hard Hygelac's thane there, Whenas down lay his brother, let the broad blade, The old sword of eotens, that helm giant-fashion'd Break over the board-wall, and down the king bowed, The herd of the folk unto fair life was smitten. 2980 There were many about there who bound up his kinsman, Upraised him swiftly when room there was made them, That the slaughter-stead there at the stour they might wield, That while when was reaving one warrior the other: From Ongentheow took he the iron-wrought byrny, The hard-hilted sword, with his helm all together: The hoary one's harness to Hygelac bare he; The fret war-gear then took he, and fairly behight him Before the folk due gifts, and even so did it; Gild he gave for that war-race, the lord of the Geats, 2990 The own son of Hrethel, when home was he come, To Eofor and Wulf gave he over-much treasure, To them either he gave an hundred of thousands, Land and lock'd rings. Of the gift none needed to wyte him Of mid earth, since the glory they gained by battle. Then to Eofor he gave his one only daughter, An home-worship soothly, for pledge of his good will. That is the feud and the foeship full soothly, The dead-hate of men, e'en as I have a weening,