They sang then and played to please the hero,
Words and music for their warrior prince,
Harp tunes and tales of adventure:
There were high times on the hall benches
And the king’s poet performed his part
With the saga of Finn and his sons, unfolding
The tale of the fierce attack in Friesland
Where Hnaef, king of the Danes, met death.

Hildeburh Had little cause
To credit the Jutes: Son and brother,
She lost them both On the battlefield.
She, bereft And blameless, they
Foredoomed, cut down And spear-gored. She,
The woman in shock, Waylaid by grief,
Hoc’s daughter--How could she not
Lament her fate When morning came
And the light broke On her murdered dears?
And so farewell Delight on earth,
War carried away Finn’s troop of thanes,
All but a few. How then could Finn
Hold the line Or fight on
To the end with Hengest, How save
The rump of his force From that enemy chief?
So a truce was offered As follows: first
Separate quarters To be cleared for the Danes,
Hall and throne To be shared with the Frisians.
Then, second; Every day
At the dole-out of gifts Finn, son of Focwald,
Should honor the Danes, Bestow with an even
Hand to Hengest And Hengest’s men
The wrought-gold rings, Bounty to match
The measure he gave His own Frisians--
To keep morale In the beer-hall high.
Both sides then Sealed their agreement.
With oaths to Hengest Finn swore
Openly, solemnly, That the battle survivors
Would be guaranteed Honor and status.
No infringement By word or deed,
No provocation Would be permitted.
Their own ring-giver After all
Was dead and gone, They were leaderless
In forced allegiance To his murderer.
So if any Frisian Stirred up bad blood
With insinuations Or taunts about this,
The blade of the sword Will arbitrate it.
A funeral pyre Was then prepared,
Effulgent gold Brought out from the hoard.
The pride and prince Of the Shieldings lay
Awaiting the flame. Everywhere
There were blood-plastered Coats of mail.
The pyre was heaped With boar-shaped helmets
Forged in gold, With the gashed corpses
Of well-born Danes--Many had fallen.
Then Hildeburh Ordered her own
Son’s body Be burnt with Hnaef’s,
The flesh on his bones To sputter and blaze
Beside his uncle’s. The woman wailed
And sang keens, The warrior went up.
Carcass flame Swirled and fumed,
They stood round the burial Mound and howled
As heads melted, Crusted gashes
Spattered and ran Bloody matter.
The glutton element Flamed and consumed
The dead of both sides. Their great days were gone.
Warriors scattered To homes and forts
All over Friesland, Fewer now, feeling
Loss of friends. Hengest stayed,
Lived out that whole Resentful, blood-sullen
Winter with Finn, Homesick and helpless.
No ring-whorled prow Could up then
And away on the sea. Wind and water
Raged with storms, Wave and shingle
Were shackled on ice Until another year
Appeared in the yard As it does to this day,
The seasons constant, The wonder of light
Coming over us. Then winter was gone,
Earth’s lap grew lovely, Longing woke
In the cooped-up exile For a voyage home--
But more for vengeance, Some way of bringing
Things to a head: His sword arm hankered
To greet the Jutes. So he did not balk
Once Hunlafing Placed on his lap
Dazle-the -Duel, The best sword of all,
Whose edges Jutes Knew only too well.
Thus blood was spilled, The gallant Finn
Slain in his home After Guthlaf and Oslaf
Back from their voyage Made old accusation:
The brutal ambush, The fate they had suffered,
All blamed on Finn. The wildness in them
Had to brim over. The hall ran red
With blood of enemies. Finn was cut down,
The queen brought away And everything
The Shieldings could find Inside Finn’s walls--
The Frisian king’s Gold collars and gemstones--
Swept off to the ship. Over sea-lanes then
Back to Daneland The warrior troop
Bore that lady home.