So in letters of rune on the clasp of the handle Gleaming and golden, ’twas graven exactly, Set forth and said, whom that sword had been made for, Finest of irons, who first it was wrought for, Wreathed at its handle and gleaming with serpents. The wise one then said (silent they all were) Son of old Healfdene: “He may say unrefuted Who performs ’mid the folk-men fairness and truth (The hoary old ruler remembers the past), That better by birth is this bairn of the nobles! Thy fame is extended through faraway countries, Good friend Beowulf, o’er all of the races, Thou holdest all firmly, hero-like strength with Prudence of spirit. I’ll prove myself grateful As before we agreed on; thou granted for long shalt Become a great comfort to kinsmen and comrades, A help unto heroes. Heremod became not Such to the Scyldings, successors of Ecgwela; He grew not to please them, but grievous destruction, And diresome death-woes to Danemen attracted; He slew in anger his table-companions, Trustworthy counsellors, till he turned off lonely From world-joys away, wide-famous ruler: Though high-ruling heaven in hero-strength raised him,