35 Symle, fylle fægen, þonne fōddor þigeð,
æfter þām gereordum ræste sēceð,
dȳgle stōwe under dūnscrafum;
ðǣr se þēo[d]wiga þrēonihta fæc
swifeð on swe[_o_]fote, slǣpe gebiesga[d].
40 Þonne ellenrōf ūp āstondeð,
þrymme gewelga[d], on þone þriddan dæg,
snēome of slǣpe. Swēghlēoþor cymeð,
wōþa wynsumast, þurh þæs wildres mūð;
æfter pære stefne stenc ūt cymeð
45 of þām wongstede-- wynsumra stēam,
swēttra and swīþra, swæcca gehwylcum,
wyrta blōstmum and wudublēdum,
eallum æþelīcra eorþan frætw[um].

* * * * *

From all disturbing passion. Gracious, kind,
And full of love, he meditates no harm
But to that venomous foe, as I have told,
His ancient enemy.
Once he has rejoiced
His heart with feasting, straight he finds a nook
Hidden among dim caves, his resting-place.
There three nights' space, in deepest slumber wrapped,
The people's champion lies. Then, stout of heart,
The third day he arises fresh from sleep,
Endowed with glory. From the creature's mouth
Issues a melody of sweetest strains;
And close upon the voice a balmy scent