Yet spake the word that warrior hoar, the young men's hearts he cheered,
Bad the good comrades forward go, nor ever be afeard.
No longer could he firmly stand on's feet; to heaven looked he—
"Thanks, Lord of hosts, for these world-joys Thou here didst give to me.
Now, merciful Creator, now, I stand in deepest need
That Thou shouldst grant my spirit good, that thus my soul indeed
Fare forth to Thee, travel with peace, O King of Angels, so:
I pray Thee that the hell-spoilers nor work her hurt nor woe."
The heathen varlets smote him down, and those that stood him by,
Ælfnoth and Wulfmaer, by the side of him in death did lie.
Then, alas! came the shameful flight of some whom he had loved and trusted, and graced with noble gifts. One Godric, to whom he had given many a goodly steed, leapt upon the horse in his trappings which his lord had owned, and his two brothers fled with him.
And with them more than had behoved if these had thought upon
The gifts and goods so free bestowed by him, their mighty one.
But there were but few cowards and mean. Of his own hearth-comrades there went forth men, hasting eagerly,
One of two things their heart's desire, to avenge their lord or die.
Young Ælfwine heartened them with noble words, and gave them the example of noble deeds. And Offa, and Leofsunu, and Dunnere, the old man, fought stubbornly. And a hostage from among the Northumbrian folk, a man come of gallant kin, helped them; and Edward the Long, and many another.
Then Bryhtwold spake, that comrade old, he raised the shield on high
He shook the ashwood spear, he taught the men unfearingly:
"The braver must our spirit be, our hearts the stronger far,
The greater must our courage wax, the fewer that we are.
Here lies our prince all pierced and hewn, the good one in the clay;
Aye may he mourn who thinketh now to leave this battle-play.
I am old in life; I will not hence; I think to lay me here,
The rather by my chieftain's side, a man so lief and dear."
And the men grew bold in heart at his words and fought on. Godric full often sent the spear flying among the vikings, and fought till he too was laid low in the battle.
'Twas not that Godric who had turned his back upon the fight,
says the poet—and the end is lost! It will help us in appreciating this poem to remember that the battle of Maldon took place in the reign of that poor weak king Æthelred, known as the "Unready," or the Man of no Counsel. As Freeman the historian says, "No doubt he had to struggle with very hard times, but the times now were no harder than the times which Ælfred had to struggle against, and we know how much he could do."