The Tale of Beowulf/Chapter 43
XLIII. OF THE BURIAL OF BEOWULF.
FOR him then they geared, the folk of the Geats,A pile on the earth all unweaklike that was,With war-helms behung, and with boards of the battle,And bright byrnies, e'en after the boon that he bade. Laid down then amidmost their king mighty-famous3140The warriors lamenting, the lief lord of them.Began on the burg of bale-fires the biggestThe warriors to waken: the wood-reek went upSwart over the smoky glow, sound of the flameBewound with the weeping (the wind-blending stilled),Until it at last the bone-house had brokenHot at the heart. All unglad of mindWith mood-care they mourned their own liege lord's quelling.Likewise a sad lay the wife of aforetimeFor Beowulf the king, with her hair all up-bounden,3150Sang sorrow-careful; said oft and overThat harm-days for herself in hard wise she dreaded,The slaughter-falls many, much fear of the warrior,The shaming and bondage. Heaven swallow'd the reek.Wrought there and fashion'd the folk of the WedersA howe on the lithe, that high was and broad,Unto the wave-farers wide to be seen:Then it they betimber'd in time of ten days, The battle-strong's beacon; the brands' very leavingsThey bewrought with a wall in the worthiest of ways,3160That men of all wisdom might find how to work.Into burg then they did the rings and bright sun-gems,And all such adornments as in the hoard thereThe war-minded men had taken e'en now;The earls' treasures let they the earth to be holding,Gold in the grit, wherein yet it liveth,As useless to men-folk as ever it erst was.Then round the howe rode the deer of the battle,The bairns of the athelings, twelve were they in all.Their care would they mourn, and bemoan them their king,3170The word-lay would they utter and over the man speak:They accounted his earlship and mighty deeds done,And doughtily deem'd them; as due as it isThat each one his friend-lord with words should belaud,And love in his heart, whenas forth shall heAway from the body be fleeting at last. In such wise they grieved, the folk of the Geats,For the fall of their lord, e'en they his hearth-fellows;Quoth they that he was a world-king forsooth,The mildest of all men, unto men kindest,3180To his folk the most gentlest, most yearning of fame.