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Updated: May 15, 2025
I HAVE heard that swiftly the son of Weohstan at wish and word of his wounded king, war-sick warrior, woven mail-coat, battle-sark, bore 'neath the barrow's roof. Such wealth of gold, booty from barrow, can burden with pride each human wight: let him hide it who will!
Together we twain on the tides abode five nights full till the flood divided us, churning waves and chillest weather, darkling night, and the northern wind ruthless rushed on us: rough was the surge. Now the wrath of the sea-fish rose apace; yet me 'gainst the monsters my mailed coat, hard and hand-linked, help afforded, battle-sark braided my breast to ward, garnished with gold.
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