Of my kinsmen, and unto the doom of the Maker
The earls in their might; now after them shall I.
That was to the aged lord youngest of words
Of his breast-thoughts, ere ever he chose him the bale,
The hot battle-wellings; from his heart now departed
His soul, to seek out the doom of the soothfast.
[ XXXIX. WIGLAF CASTETH SHAME ON THOSE FLEERS.]
But gone was it then with the unaged man
Full hard that there he beheld on the earth
The liefest of friends at the ending of life,