Of spell-workers of Hell to and fro where they wander. So crime-guilts a many the foeman of mankind, The fell alone-farer, fram'd oft and full often, Cruel hard shames and wrongful, and Hart he abode in, The treasure-stain'd hall, in the dark of the night-tide; But never the gift-stool therein might he greet, The treasure before the Creator he trow'd not. Mickle wrack was it soothly for the friend of the Scyldings, 170 Yea heart and mood breaking. Now sat there a many Of the mighty in rune, and won them the rede Of what thing for the strong-soul'd were best of all things Which yet they might frame 'gainst the fear and the horror. And whiles they behight them at the shrines of the heathen To worship the idols; and pray'd they in words, That he, the ghost-slayer, would frame for them helping 'Gainst the folk-threats and evil So far'd they their wont, The hope of the heathen; nor hell they remember'd In mood and in mind. And the Maker they knew not, 180 The Doomer of deeds: nor of God the Lord wist they, Nor the Helm of the Heavens knew aught how to hery, The Wielder of Glory. Woe worth unto that man Who through hatred the baneful his soul shall shove into The fire's embrace; nought of fostering weens he, Nor of changing one whit. But well is he soothly That after the death-day shall seek to the Lord, In the breast of the Father all peace ever craving. IV. NOW COMES BEOWULF ECGTHEOW'S SON TO THE LAND OF THE DANES, AND THE WALL-WARDEN SPEAKETH WITH HIM.