The Glory of the Spear-Danes

Hwæt! Wē Gār-Dena in ġeārdagum, þēod-cyninga, þrym ġefrūnon, hū ðā æþelingas ellen fremedon. Oft Sċyld Sċefing sċeaþena þrēatum, monegum mǽgþum, meodo-setla oftēah, egsode eorlas, syððan ǽrest wearð fēasċeaft funden; hē þæs frōfre gebād, wēox under wolcnum, weorðmyndum þāh, oðþæt him ǽġhwylc þāra ymbsittendra ofer hron-rāde hýran scolde, gomban gyldan. Þæt wæs gōd cyning.

Lo! We have heard of the glory of the Spear-Danes in days of yore, the kings of the people, how those noble ones performed deeds of valor. Often Scyld Scefing took away mead-benches from enemy hosts, many a troop; he terrified earls after first he was found destitute; for him comfort awaited, he grew under heavens, throve in honors until every one of the dwellers around the whale-road had to obey him and pay tribute. That was a good king.