'TWAS now, men say, in his sovran's needthat the earl made known his noble strain,craft and keenness and courage enduring.Heedless of harm, though his hand was burned,hardy-hearted, he helped his kinsman.A little lower the loathsome beasthe smote with sword; his steel drove inbright and burnished; that blaze beganto lose and lessen. At last the kingwielded his wits again, war-knife drew,a biting blade by his breastplate hanging,and the Weders'-helm smote that worm asunder,felled the foe, flung forth its life.So had they killed it, kinsmen both,athelings twain: thus an earl should bein danger's day! -- Of deeds of valorthis conqueror's-hour of the king was last,of his work in the world. The wound began,which that dragon-of-earth had erst inflicted,to swell and smart; and soon he foundin his breast was boiling, baleful and deep,pain of poison. The prince walked on,wise in his thought, to the wall of rock;then sat, and stared at the structure of giants,where arch of stone and steadfast columnupheld forever that hall in earth.Yet here must the hand of the henchman peerlesslave with water his winsome lord,the king and conqueror covered with blood,with struggle spent, and unspan his helmet.Beowulf spake in spite of his hurt,his mortal wound; full well he knewhis portion now was past and goneof earthly bliss, and all had fledof his file of days, and death was near:"I would fain bestow on son of minethis gear of war, were given me nowthat any heir should after me comeof my proper blood. This people I ruledfifty winters. No folk-king was there,none at all, of the neighboring clanswho war would wage me with 'warriors'-friends' {35a}and threat me with horrors. At home I bidedwhat fate might come, and I cared for mine own;feuds I sought not, nor falsely sworeever on oath. For all these things,though fatally wounded, fain am I!From the Ruler-of-Man no wrath shall seize me,when life from my frame must flee away,for killing of kinsmen! Now quickly goand gaze on that hoard 'neath the hoary rock,Wiglaf loved, now the worm lies low,sleeps, heart-sore, of his spoil bereaved.And fare in haste. I would fain beholdthe gorgeous heirlooms, golden store,have joy in the jewels and gems, lay downsoftlier for sight of this splendid hoardmy life and the lordship I long have held."
Beowulf · Anonymous (translated by Francis Barton Gummere)