A wandering fugitive stumbled inside by the sleeping dragon stole from the treasure a studded ale-cup jeweled gold-vessel. The jealous goldguard did not hide his wrath raged at that theft by a sneaking runaway. Soon the Geatfolk 2220 found that his fury fell upon their land.
Not at all willfully did that wandering slave breach that barrow bear the cup away but in desperate need that nameless servant hiding in heath-slopes from hateful whiplashing sorrowful slave-wretch stumbling for his life fell into that gloom. He found quickly that terror waited there walled him in fear— the slumbering serpent lay still in repose unwary of his guest winking jewel-stones 2230 heaped in his coils—one cup was taken an offering for mercy.
Many were the heirlooms in that deep earthhouse old hall-treasures gathered there in grief in gone sorrow-days rings and bracelets bountiful throne-gifts left hopelessly by a last survivor dear gold-memories.
