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Perhaps there is more in Beowulf
That is lost to a modern audience
Than the opening cry of Hwaet!
Meade halls and swords
Find an echo in ancestral memories,
And a desire for glory, power, and wealth
Is the steady beat
Our modern song is sung to.
But there is an older tune,
A mix of pagan splendor
And the riot of new found faith
That soars to a gracenote
Unheard by ears used to a harsher melody.
The song of a servant prince
Of a compassionate warrior
As lost to us as our own language.