ery enemy. But right valiantly he went on fighting beneath the
shelter of Beowulf's shield now that his own was consumed to ashes by
the flames.

Then again the warlike King called to mind his ancient glories, again
he struck with main strength with his good sword upon the monstrous
head. Hate sped the blow.

But alas! as it descended the famous sword Naegling snapped asunder.
Beowulf's sword had failed him in the conflict, although it was an old
and well-wrought blade. To him it was not granted that weapons should
help him in battle. The hand that swung the sword was too strong. His
might overtaxed every blade however wondrously the smith had welded
it.

And now a third time the fell fire-dragon was roused to wrath. He
rushed upon the King. Hot, and fiercely grim the great beast seized
Beowulf's neck in his horrid teeth. The hero's life-blood gushed
forth, the crimson stream darkly dyed his bright armor.

Then in the great King's need his warrior showed skill and courage.
Heeding not the flames from the awful mouth, Wiglaf struck the dragon
below the neck. His hand was burned with the fire, but his sword dived
deep into the monster's body and from that moment the flames began to
abate.

The horrid teeth relaxed their hold, and Beowulf, quickly recovering
himself, drew his deadly knife. Battle-sharp and keen it was, and with
it the hero gashed the dragon right in the middle.

The foe was conquered. Glowing in death he fell. They twain had
destroyed the winged beast. Such should a warrior be, such a thane in
need.

To the King it was a victorious moment. It was the crown of all his
deeds.

Then began the wound which the fire-dragon had wrought him to burn and
to swell. Beowulf soon found that baleful poison boiled in his heart.
Well knew he that the end was nigh. Lost in deep thought he sat upon
the mound and gazed wondering at the cave. Pillared and arched with
stone-work it was within, wrought by giants and dwarfs of old time.

And to him came Wiglaf his dear warrior and tenderly bathed his wound
with water.

Then spake Beowulf, in spite of his deadly wound he spake, and all his
words were of the ending of his life, for he knew that his days of joy
upon this earth were past.

"Had a son been granted to me, to him I should have left my
war-garments. Fifty years have I ruled this people, and there has been
no king of all the nations round who durst meet me in battle. I have
known joys and sorrows, but no