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The child of beauty, self-sufficient now, That issued from your hands to perfect day, Loses the chaplet that adorned its brow, Soon as reality asserts its sway. The column, yielding to proportion's chains, Must with its sisters join in friendly link, The hero in the hero-band must sink, The Muses' harp peals forth its tuneful strains.
Not first time, this, that he the home of Hrothgar sought, yet ne'er in his life-day, late or early, such hardy heroes, such hall-thanes, found! All hastily, then, o'er fair-paved floor the fiend trod on, ireful he strode; there streamed from his eyes fearful flashes, like flame to see. He spied in hall the hero-band, kin and clansmen clustered asleep, hardy liegemen.
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