THEN fashioned for him the folk of Geats

firm on the earth a funeral-pile,

and hung it with helmets and harness of war

and breastplates bright, as the boon he asked;

and they laid amid it the mighty chieftain,

heroes mourning their master dear.

Then on the hill that hugest of balefires

the warriors wakened. Wood-smoke rose

black over blaze, and blent was the roar

of flame with weeping (the wind was still),

till the fire had broken the frame of bones,

hot at the heart. In heavy mood

their misery moaned they, their master’s death.

Wailing her woe, the widow 123 old,

her hair upbound, for Beowulf’s death

sung in her sorrow, and said full oft

she dreaded the doleful days to come,

deaths enow, and doom of battle,

and shame. — The smoke by the sky was devoured.

The folk of the Weders fashioned there

on the headland a barrow broad and high,

by ocean-farers far descried:

in ten days’ time their toil had raised it,

the battle-brave............