Page:Gummere (1909) The Oldest English Epic.djvu/160

144 for the grace that I give such gifts to my folk or ever the day of my death be run! Now I’ve bartered here for booty of treasure the last of my life, so look ye well to the needs of my land! No longer I tarry. A barrow bid ye the battle-famed raise for my ashes. ’Twill shine by the shore of the flood, to folk of mine memorial fair on Hronës Headland high uplifted, that ocean-wanderers oft may hail Beowulf’s Barrow, as back from far they drive their keels o’er the darkling wave.” From his neck he unclasped the collar of gold, valorous king, to his vassal gave it with bright-gold helmet, breastplate, and ring, to the youthful thane: bade him use them in joy. “Thou art end and remnant of all our race, the Wægmunding name. For Wyrd hath swept them, all my line, to the land of doom, earls in their glory: I after them go.” This word was the last which the wise old man harbored in heart ere hot death-waves of balefire he chose. From his bosom fled his soul to seek the saints’ reward.