extreme old age. He had naturally lost much of his former vigor, and was therefore somewhat dismayed when a terrible, fire-breathing dragon took up its abode in the mountains near by, where it gloated over a hoard of glittering gold.
“The ranger of the darksome night,
The Firedrake, came.”
Beowulf (Conybeare’s tr.)
[Sidenote: The Firedrake.] A fugitive slave, having made his way unseen into the monster’s den during one of its temporary absences, bore away a small portion of this gold. On its return the Firedrake discovered the theft, and became so furious that its howling and writhing shook the mountain like an earthquake. When night came on its rage was still unappeased, and it flew all over the land, vomiting venom and flames, setting houses and crops afire, and causing so much damage that the people were almost beside themselves with terror. Seeing that all their attempts to appease the dragon were utterly fruitless, and being afraid to attack it in its lair, they finally implored Beowulf to deliver them as he had delivered the Danes, and to slay this oppressor, which was even worse than the terrible Grendel.
Such an appeal could not be disregarded, and in spite of his advanced years Beowulf donned his armor once more. Accompanied by Wiglaf and eleven of his bravest men, he then went out to seek the monster in its lair. At the entrance of the mountain gorge Beowulf bade his followers pause, and advancing alone to the monster’s den, he boldly challenged it to come forth and begin the fray. A moment later the mountain shook as the monster rushed out breathing fire and flame, and Beowulf felt the first gust of its hot breath, even through his massive shield.
“First from his lair
Shaking firm earth, and vomiting as he strode
A foul and fiery blast, the monster came.”
Beowulf (Conybeare’s tr.).
A desperate struggle followed, in the course of which Beowulf’s sword and strength both failed him. The Firedrake coiled its long, scaly folds about the aged hero, and was about to crush him to death when the faithful Wiglaf, perceiving his master’s imminent danger, sprang forward and attacked the monster so fiercely as to cause a diversion and make it drop Beowulf to concentrate its attention upon him.
Beowulf, recovering, then drew his dagger and soon put an end to the dragon’s life; but even as it breathed its last the hero sank fainting to the ground. Feeling that his end was near, he warmly thanked Wiglaf for his timely aid, rejoiced in the death of the monster, and bade his faithful follower bring out the concealed treasure and lay it at his feet, that he might feast his eyes upon the glittering gold he had won for his people’s use.
“Saw then the bold thane
Treasure jewels many,
Glittering gold
Heavy on the ground,
Wonders in the mound
And the worm’s den,
The old twilight flier’s,
Bowls standing;
Vessels of men of yore,
With the mountings fall’n off.
There was many a helm
Old and rusty,
Armlets many
Cunningly fastened.
He also saw hang heavily
An ensign all golden
High o’er the hoard,
Of hand wonders greatest,
Wrought by spells of song,
From which shot a light
So that he the ground surface
Might perceive,
The wonders overscan.”
Beowulf (Metcalfe’s tr.).
[Sidenote: Death of Beowulf.] The mighty treasure was all brought forth to the light of day, and the followers, seeing that all danger was over, crowded round their dying chief. He addressed them affectionately, and, after recapitulating the main events his career, expressed a desire to be buried in a mighty mound on a projecting headland, which could be seen far out at sea, and would be called by his name.
“’And now,
Short while I tarry here—when I am gone,
Bid them upon yon headland’s summit rear
A lofty mound, by Rona’s seagirt cliff;
So shall my people hold to after times
Their chieftain’s memory, and the mariners
That drive afar to sea, oft as they pass,
Shall point to Beowulf’s tomb.’”
Beowulf(Conybeare’s tr.).
These directions were all piously carried out by a mourning people, who decked his mound with the gold he had won, and erected above it a Bauta, or memorial stone, to show how dearly they had loved their brave king Beowulf, who had died to save them from the fury of the dragon.
CHAPTER II.
GUDRUN.
Maximilian I., Emperor of Germany, rendered a great service to posterity by ordering that copies of many of the ancient national manuscripts should be made. These copies were placed in the imperial library at Vienna, where, after several centuries of almost complete neglect, they were discovered by lovers of early literature, in a very satisfactory state of preservation. These manuscripts then excited the interest of learned men, who not only found therein a record of the past, but gems of literature which are only now beginning to receive the appreciation they deserve.
[Sidenote: Origin of poem of Gudrun.] Among these manuscripts is the poem “Gudrun,” belonging to the twelfth or thirteenth century. It is evidently compiled from two or more much older lays which are now lost, which are alluded to in the Nibelungenlied. The original poem was probably Norse, and not German like the only existing manuscript, for there is an undoubted parallel to the story of the kidnaping of Hilde in the Edda. In the Edda, Hilde, the daughter of Högni, escapes from home with her lover Hedin, and is pursued by her irate father. He overtakes the fugitives on an island, where a bloody conflict takes place, in which many of the bravest warriors die. Every night, however, a sorceress recalls the dead to life to renew the strife, and to exterminate one another afresh.
The poem “Gudrun,” which is probably as old as the Nibelungenlied, and almost rivals it in interest, is one of the most valuable remains of ancient German literature. It consists of thirty-two songs, in which are related the adventures of three generations of the heroic family of the Hegelings. Hence it is often termed the “Hegeling Legend.”
[Sidenote: Kidnaping of Hagen.] The poem opens by telling us that Hagen was the son of Sigeband, King of Ireland, which was evidently a place in Holland, and not the well-known Emerald Isle. During a great feast, when countless guests were assembled around his father’s hospitable board, this prince, who was then but seven years of age, was seized by a griffin and rapidly borne away.
“Young Hagen, loudly crying, was filled with dire dismay;
The bird with mighty pinions soared high with him away.”
Gudrun (Dippold’s tr.).
The cries of the child, and the arrows of Sigeband’s men at arms, were equally ineffectual in checking the griffin, which flew over land and sea, and finally deposited its prey in its nest on the top of a great cliff on a desert island. One of the little griffins, wishing to reserve this delicate morsel for its own delectation, caught the boy up in its talons and flew away to a neighboring tree. The branch upon which it perched was too weak to support a double load, however, and as it broke the frightened griffin dropped Hagen into a thicket. Undismayed by the sharp thorns, Hagen quickly crept out of the griffin’s reach and took refuge in a cave, where he found three little girls who had escaped from the griffins in the same way.
[Sidenote: The three maidens.] One of these children