The Glory of the Spear-Danes

“Hwæt! Wē Gār-Dena in geār-dagum
þēod-cyninga þrym gefrūnon,
hū þā æðelingas ellen fremedon.
Oft Scyld Scēfing sceaðena þrēatum,
monegum mǣgðum meodo-setla oftēah.
Egsode eorlas, syððan ǣrest wearð
fēasceaft funden: hē þæs frōfre gebād,
wēox under wolcnum, weorð-myndum ðāh,
oð þæt him ǣghwylc þāra ymb-sittendra
ofer hron-rāde hȳran scolde,
gomban gyldan. Þæt wæs gōd cyning!”

Lo! We have heard of the glory of the Spear-Danes in days of yore,
of the might of kings, how those princes performed deeds of valor.
Often Scyld Scefing from enemy hosts
many a mead-hall has taken away.
He terrified earls, when first he found himself
a wretched orphan: he received comfort for that,
grew under heaven, throve in honors,
until each one of those who dwelt around him
over the whale-road had to obey him,
pay him tribute. That was a good king!