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  What ho! We've heard the glory of Spear-Danes, clansmen-kings,          
  Their deeds of olden story,- how fought the aethelings!                   
  Often Scyld Scefing reft his foemen all,                                  
  Reft the tribes at wassail of bench and mead in hall.                     
  Smote the jarls with terror; gat good recompense                          
  For that he came a foundling, a child with no defense:                    
  He waxed beneath the welkin, grew in honors great,                        
  Till each and every people, of those around who sate                      
  Off beyond the whale-road, to him was underling,                          
  To him must tender toll-fee. That was a goodly King!