The stranger began then to vomit forth fire, To burn the great manor; the blaze then glimmered For anguish to earlmen, not anything living Was the hateful air-goer willing to leave there. The war of the worm widely was noticed, The feud of the foeman afar and anear, How the enemy injured the earls of the Geatmen, Harried with hatred: back he hied to the treasure, To the well-hidden cavern ere the coming of daylight. He had circled with fire the folk of those regions, With brand and burning; in the barrow he trusted, In the wall and his war-might: the weening deceived him. Then straight was the horror to Beowulf published, Early forsooth, that his own native homestead, The best of buildings, was burning and melting, Gift-seat of Geatmen. ’Twas a grief to the spirit Of the good-mooded hero, the greatest of sorrows: The wise one weened then that wielding his kingdom ’Gainst the ancient commandments, he had bitterly angered The Lord everlasting: with lorn meditations His bosom welled inward, as was nowise his custom. The fire-spewing dragon fully had wasted