Warrior weaponed, wardered the treasure, Old under earth; no easy possession For any of earth-folk access to get to. Then the battle-brave atheling sat on the naze-edge, While the gold-friend of Geatmen gracious saluted His fireside-companions: woe was his spirit, Death-boding, wav’ring; Weird very near him, Who must seize the old hero, his soul-treasure look for, Dragging aloof his life from his body: Not flesh-hidden long was the folk-leader’s spirit. Beowulf spake, Ecgtheow’s son: “I survived in my youth-days many a conflict, Hours of onset: that all I remember. I was seven-winters old when the jewel-prince took me, High-lord of heroes, at the hands of my father, Hrethel the hero-king had me in keeping, Gave me treasure and feasting, our kinship remembered; Not ever was I any less dear to him Knight in the boroughs, than the bairns of his household, Herebald and Haethcyn and Higelac mine.