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Updated: May 26, 2025
And now the sage young son of Weohstan seven chose of the chieftain's thanes, the best he found that band within, and went with these warriors, one of eight, under hostile roof. In hand one bore a lighted torch and led the way. No lots they cast for keeping the hoard when once the warriors saw it in hall, altogether without a guardian, lying there lost.
Then the bairn of Weohstan bade command, hardy chief, to heroes many that owned their homesteads, hither to bring firewood from far o'er the folk they ruled for the famed-one's funeral.
Wiglaf spake, the son of Weohstan, mournful he looked on those men unloved: "Who sooth will speak, can say indeed that the ruler who gave you golden rings and the harness of war in which ye stand for he at ale-bench often-times bestowed on hall-folk helm and breastplate, lord to liegemen, the likeliest gear which near of far he could find to give, threw away and wasted these weeds of battle, on men who failed when the foemen came!
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!
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