my people, who closed their life-days here
After the joy of earth. None have I sword to wield
Or bring me the goblet, the richly wrought vessel.
All the true heroes have elsewhere departed!
Now must the gilded helm lose its adornments,
For those who polished it sleep in the gloomy grave,
Those who made ready erst war-gear of warriors.
Likewise the battle-sark which in the fight endured
Bites of the keen-edged blades midst the loud crash of shields
Rusts, with its wearer dead. Nor may the woven mail
After the chieftain's death wide with a champion rove.
Gone is the joy of harp, gone is the music's mirth.
Now the hawk goodly-winged hovers not through the hall,
Nor the swift-footed mare tramples the castle court:
Baleful death far has sent all living tribes of men."

When this solitary survivor of the ancient race died his hoard
remained alone, unknown, untouched, until at length the fiery dragon,
seeking a shelter among the rocks, found the hidden way to the cave,
and, creeping within, discovered the lofty inner chamber and the
wondrous hoard. For three hundred winters he brooded over it
unchallenged, and then one day a hunted fugitive, fleeing from the
fury of an avenging chieftain, in like manner found the cave, and the
dragon sleeping on his gold. Terrified almost to death, the fugitive
eagerly seized a marvellously wrought chalice and bore it stealthily
away, feeling sure that such an offering would appease his lord's
wrath and atone for his offence. But when the dragon awoke he
discovered that he had been robbed, and his keen scent assured him
that some one of mankind was the thief. As he could not at once see
the robber, he crept around the outside of the barrow snuffing eagerly
to find traces of the spoiler, but it was in vain; then, growing more
wrathful, he flew over the inhabited country, shedding fiery death
from his glowing scales and flaming breath, while no man dared to face
this flying horror of the night.

The news came to Beowulf that his folk were suffering and dying, and
that no warrior dared to risk his life in an effort to deliver the
land from this deadly devastation; and although he was now an aged man
he decided to attack the fire-drake. Beowulf knew that he would not be
able to come to hand-grips with this foe as he had done with Grendel
and his mother: the fiery breath of this dragon was far to