moreover the son of Folkwalda
Each day of the days the Danes should beworthy; 1090
The war-heap of Hengest with rings should he honour
Even so greatly with treasure of treasures,
Of gold all beplated, as he the kin Frisian
Down in the beer-hall duly should dight.
Troth then they struck there each of the two halves,
A peace-troth full fast. There Finn unto Hengest
Strongly, unstrifeful, with oath-swearing swore,
That he the woe-leaving by the doom of the wise ones
Should hold in ail honour, that never man henceforth
With word or with work the troth should be breaking, 1100
Nor through craft of the guileful should undo it ever,
Though their ring-giver's bane they must follow in rank
All lordless, e'en so need is it to be:
But if any of Frisians by over-bold speaking
The murderful hatred should call unto mind,
Then naught but the edge of the sword should avenge it.
Then done was the oath there, and gold of the golden
Heav'd up from the hoard. Of the bold Here-Scyldings
All yare on the bale was the best battle-warrior;
On the death-howe beholden was easily there 1110
The sark stain'd with war-sweat, the all-golden swine,
The iron-hard boar; there was many an atheling
With wounds all outworn; some on slaughter-field welter'd.
But Hildeburh therewith on Hnaef's bale she bade them
The own son of herself to set fast in the flame,
His bone-vats to burn up and lay on the bale there:
On his shoulder all woeful the woman lamented,
Sang songs of bewailing, as the warrior strode upward,
Wound up to the welkin that most of death-fires,
Before the howe howled; there molten the heads were, 1120
The wound-gates burst open, there blood was out-springing
From foe-bites of the body; the flame swallow'd all,
The greediest of ghosts, of them that war gat him
Of either of folks; shaken off was their life-breath.

XVIII. THE ENDING OF THE TALE OF FINN.

Departed the warriors their wicks to visit
All forlorn of their friends now, Friesland to look on,
Their homes and their high burg. Hengest a while yet
Through the slaughter-dyed winter bode dwelling with Finn
And all without strife: he remember'd his homeland,
Though never he might o'er the mere be a-driving 1130
The high prow be-ringed: with storm the holm welter'd,
Won war 'gainst the winds; winter locked t