Waldhere

. . . . . . . . . . she eagerly heartened him:
"Lo, the work of Weland shall not weaken or fail
For the man who the mighty Mimming can wield,
The frightful brand. Oft in battle have fallen
Sword-wounded warriors one after the other.
Vanguard of Attila, thy valor must ever
Endure the conflict! The day is now come,
When fate shall award you one or the other:
To lose your life or have lasting glory,
Through all the ages, O Ælfhere's son!
No fault do I find, my faithful lover,
Saying I have seen thee at sword-play weaken,
Yield like a coward to a conqueror's arms,
Flee from the field of fight and escape,
Protect thy body, though bands of the foemen
Were smiting thy burnies with broad-edged swords;
But unfalt'ring still farther the fight thou pursuedst
Over the line of battle; hence, my lord, I am burdened
With fear that too fiercely to the fight thou shalt rush
To the place of encountering thy opponent in conflict,
To wage on him war. Be worthy of thyself
In glorious deeds while thy God protects thee!
Have no fear as to sword for the fine-gemmed weapon
Has been given thee to aid us: on Guthhere with it
Thou shalt pay back the wrong of unrighteously seeking
To stir up the struggle and strife of battle;
He rejected that sword and the jewelled treasure,
The lustrous gems; now, leaving them all,
He shall flee from this field to find his lord,
His ancient land, or lie here forever
" . . . . . . . . a better sword
Except that other, which also I have
Closely encased in its cover of jewels.
I know that Theodoric thought that to Widia
Himself he would send it, and the sword he would join
With large measure of jewels and many other brands,
Worked all with gold. This reward he would send
Because, when a captive, the kinsman of Nithhad,
Weland's son, Widia, from his woes had released him--
Thus in haste he escaped from the hands of the giants."
Waldhere spoke, the warrior brave;
He held in his hand his helper in battle,
He grasped his weapon, shouting words of defiance:
"Indeed, thou hadst faith, O friend of the Burgundians,
That the hand of Hagena had held me in battle,
Defeated me on foot. Fetch now, if thou darest,
From me weary with war my worthy gray corselet!
It lies on my shoulder as 'twas left me by Ælfhere,
Goodly and gorgeous and gold-bedecked,
The most honorable of all for an atheling to hold
When he goes into battle to guard his life,
To fight with his foes: fail me it will never
When a stranger band shall strive to encounter me,
Besiege me with swords, as thou soughtest to do.
He alone will vouchsafe the victory who always
Is eager and ready to aid every right:
He who hopes for the help of the holy Lord,
For the grace of God, shall gain it surely,
If his earlier work has earned the reward.
Well may the brave warriors then their wealth enjoy,
Take pride in their property! That is . . . ."