Forth he fared at the
fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.
Then they
bore him over to ocean's billow,
loving clansmen, as late he
charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader
beloved who long had ruled...
In
the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound,
atheling's barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on
the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings,
by the mast the
mighty one. Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted with
him.
No
ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of
battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped
hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating
away.
No
less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes' huge treasure, than
those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on
the seas, a suckling child.
High
o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let
billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their
spirits,
mournful their mood. No man is able
to say in sooth,
no son of the halls,
no hero 'neath heaven, -- who harbored that
freight! -The Funeral of Scyld Scefing