The Lord everlasting, that He let me such treasures Gain for my people ere death overtook me. Since I’ve bartered the agèd life to me granted For treasure of jewels, attend ye henceforward The wants of the war-thanes; I can wait here no longer. The battle-famed bid ye to build them a grave-hill, Bright when I’m burned, at the brim-current’s limit; As a memory-mark to the men I have governed, Aloft it shall tower on Whale’s-Ness uprising, That earls of the ocean hereafter may call it Beowulf’s barrow, those who barks ever-dashing From a distance shall drive o’er the darkness of waters.” The bold-mooded troop-lord took from his neck then The ring that was golden, gave to his liegeman, The youthful war-hero, his gold-flashing helmet, His collar and war-mail, bade him well to enjoy them: “Thou art latest left of the line of our kindred, Of Waegmunding people: Weird hath offcarried All of my kinsmen to the Creator’s glory, Earls in their vigor: I shall after them fare.” ’Twas the aged liegelord’s last-spoken word in His musings of spirit, ere he mounted the fire, The battle-waves burning: from his bosom departed