Gray-headed Scylfing, but speedily quited The wasting wound-stroke with worse exchange, When the king of the thane-troop thither did turn him: The wise-mooded son of Wonred was powerless To give a return-blow to the age-hoary man, But his head-shielding helmet first hewed he to pieces, That flecked with gore perforce he did totter, Fell to the earth; not fey was he yet then, But up did he spring though an edge-wound had reached him. Then Higelac’s vassal, valiant and dauntless, When his brother lay dead, made his broad-bladed weapon, Giant-sword ancient, defence of the giants, Bound o’er the shield-wall; the folk-prince succumbed then, Shepherd of people, was pierced to the vitals. There were many attendants who bound up his kinsman, Carried him quickly when occasion was granted That the place of the slain they were suffered to manage. This pending, one hero plundered the other, His armor of iron from Ongentheow ravished, His hard-sword hilted and helmet together;