The Project Gutenberg EBook of Beowulf, by Anonymous This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Beowulf Author: Anonymous Release Date: July 23, 2008 [EBook #981] Last Updated: January 15, 2013 Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEOWULF *** Produced by Robin Katsuya-Corbet, and David Widger
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in
days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the
mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless,
a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he
throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house
by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven
sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had
lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world’s renown.
Famed was this
Beowulf: {0a} far flew the boast of him,
son of
Scyld, in the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father’s friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him,
aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every
clan.
Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of
God.
Then they bore him over to ocean’s billow,
loving
clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome
Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled....
In the
roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound, atheling’s
barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of
the boat, the breaker-of-rings, {0b}
by the
mast the mighty one. Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted
with him.
No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of
war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o’er the flood with him
floating away.
No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes’
huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent
him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.
High o’er his head
they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood. No
man is able
to say in sooth, no son of the halls,
no hero
’neath heaven, -- who harbored that freight!
I
Now Beowulf bode in the burg of the Scyldings,
leader beloved, and
long he ruled
in fame with all folk, since his father had gone
away from the world, till awoke an heir,
haughty Healfdene, who held
through life,
sage and sturdy, the Scyldings glad.
Then, one
after one, there woke to him,
to the chieftain of clansmen, children
four:
Heorogar, then Hrothgar, then Halga brave;
and I heard
that -- was -- ’s queen,
the Heathoscylfing’s helpmate
dear.
To Hrothgar was given such glory of war,
such honor of
combat, that all his kin
obeyed him gladly till great grew his band
of youthful comrades. It came in his mind
to bid his henchmen a hall
uprear,
a master mead-house, mightier far
than ever was seen by
the sons of earth,
and within it, then, to old and young
he
would all allot that the Lord had sent him,
save only the land and
the lives of his men.
Wide, I heard, was the work commanded,
for
many a tribe this mid-earth round,
to fashion the folkstead. It fell,
as he ordered,
in rapid achievement that ready it stood there,
of halls the noblest: Heorot {1a} he named it
whose message had might
in many a land.
Not reckless of promise, the rings he dealt,
treasure at banquet: there towered the hall,
high, gabled wide, the
hot surge waiting
of furious flame. {1b} Nor far was
that day
when father and son-in-law stood in feud
for warfare
and hatred that woke again. {1c}
With envy and anger an evil spirit
endured the dole in his dark abode,
that he heard each day the din of
revel
high in the hall: there harps rang out,
clear song of the
singer. He sang who knew {1d}
tales of the early time of man,
how the Almighty made the earth,
fairest fields enfolded by water,
set, triumphant, sun and moon
for a light to lighten the
land-dwellers,
and braided bright the breast of earth
with limbs
and leaves, made life for all
of mortal beings that breathe and move.
So lived the clansmen in cheer and revel
a winsome life, till one
began
to fashion evils, that field of hell.
Grendel this monster
grim was called,
march-riever {1e} mighty, in
moorland living,
in fen and fastness; fief of the giants
the
hapless wight a while had kept
since the Creator his exile doomed.
On kin of Cain was the killing avenged
by sovran God for slaughtered
Abel.
Ill fared his feud, {1f} and far was he driven,
for the
slaughter’s sake, from sight of men.
Of Cain awoke all that
woful breed,
Etins {1g} and elves and evil-spirits,
as well
as the giants that warred with God
weary while: but their wage was
paid them!
II
WENT he forth to find at fall of night
that haughty house, and heed
wherever
the Ring-Danes, outrevelled, to rest had gone.
Found
within it the atheling band
asleep after feasting and fearless of
sorrow,
of human hardship. Unhallowed wight,
grim and greedy, he
grasped betimes,
wrathful, reckless, from resting-places,
thirty
of the thanes, and thence he rushed
fain of his fell spoil, faring
homeward,
laden with slaughter, his lair to seek.
Then at the
dawning, as day was breaking,
the might of Grendel to men was known;
then after wassail was wail uplifted,
loud moan in the morn. The
mighty chief,
atheling excellent, unblithe sat,
labored in woe
for the loss of his thanes,
when once had been traced the trail of
the fiend,
spirit accurst: too cruel that sorrow,
too long, too
loathsome. Not late the respite;
with night returning, anew began
ruthless murder; he recked no whit,
firm in his guilt, of the feud
and crime.
They were easy to find who elsewhere sought
in room
remote their rest at night,
bed in the bowers, {2a}
when that bale was shown,
was seen in sooth, with surest token, --
the hall-thane’s {2b} hate. Such held themselves
far and
fast who the fiend outran!
Thus ruled unrighteous and raged his fill
one against all; until empty stood
that lordly building, and long it
bode so.
Twelve years’ tide the trouble he bore,
sovran of
Scyldings, sorrows in plenty,
boundless cares. There came unhidden
tidings true to the tribes of men,
in sorrowful songs, how
ceaselessly Grendel
harassed Hrothgar, what hate he bore him,
what murder and massacre, many a year,
feud unfading, -- refused
consent
to deal with any of Daneland’s earls,
make pact of
peace, or compound for gold:
still less did the wise men ween to get
great fee for the feud from his fiendish hands.
But the evil one
ambushed old and young
death-shadow dark, and dogged them still,
lured, or lurked in the livelong night
of misty moorlands: men may
say not
where the haunts of these Hell-Runes {2c} be.
Such
heaping of horrors the hater of men,
lonely roamer, wrought
unceasing,
harassings heavy. O’er Heorot he lorded,
gold-bright hall, in gloomy nights;
and ne’er could the prince
{2d}
approach his throne,
-- ’twas judgment of God, -- or have joy
in his hall.
Sore was the sorrow to Scyldings’-friend,
heart-rending misery. Many nobles
sat assembled, and searched out
counsel
how it were best for bold-hearted men
against harassing
terror to try their hand.
Whiles they vowed in their heathen fanes
altar-offerings, asked with words {2e}
that the
slayer-of-souls would succor give them
for the pain of their people.
Their practice this,
their heathen hope; ’twas Hell they
thought of
in mood of their mind. Almighty they knew not,
Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord,
nor Heaven’s-Helmet heeded
they ever,
Wielder-of-Wonder. -- Woe for that man
who in harm
and hatred hales his soul
to fiery embraces; -- nor favor nor change
awaits he ever. But well for him
that after death-day may draw to his
Lord,
and friendship find in the Father’s arms!
III
THUS seethed unceasing the son of Healfdene
with the woe of these
days; not wisest men
assuaged his sorrow; too sore the anguish,
loathly and long, that lay on his folk,
most baneful of burdens and
bales of the night.
This heard in his home Hygelac’s thane,
great among Geats, of
Grendel’s doings.
He was the mightiest man of valor
in
that same day of this our life,
stalwart and stately. A stout
wave-walker
he bade make ready. Yon battle-king, said he,
far o’er
the swan-road he fain would seek,
the noble monarch who needed men!
The prince’s journey by prudent folk
was little blamed, though
they loved him dear;
they whetted the hero, and hailed good omens.
And now the bold one from bands of Geats
comrades chose, the keenest
of warriors
e’er he could find; with fourteen men
the
sea-wood {3a} he sought, and, sailor proved,
led
them on to the land’s confines.
Time had now flown; {3b}
afloat was the ship,
boat under bluff. On board they climbed,
warriors ready; waves were churning
sea with sand; the sailors bore
on the breast of the bark their bright array,
their mail and weapons:
the men pushed off,
on its willing way, the well-braced craft.
Then moved o’er the waters by might of the wind
that bark like
a bird with breast of foam,
till in season due, on the second day,
the curved prow such course had run
that sailors now could see the
land,
sea-cliffs shining, steep high hills,
headlands broad.
Their haven was found,
their journey ended. Up then quickly
the
Weders’ {3c} clansmen climbed ashore,
anchored
their sea-wood, with armor clashing
and gear of battle: God they
thanked
or passing in peace o’er the paths of the sea.
Now
saw from the cliff a Scylding clansman,
a warden that watched the
water-side,
how they bore o’er the gangway glittering shields,
war-gear in readiness; wonder seized him
to know what manner of men
they were.
Straight to the strand his steed he rode,
Hrothgar’s
henchman; with hand of might
he shook his spear, and spake in parley.
“Who are ye, then, ye armed men,
mailed folk, that yon mighty
vessel
have urged thus over the ocean ways,
here o’er the
waters? A warden I,
sentinel set o’er the sea-march here,
lest any foe to the folk of Danes
with harrying fleet should harm the
land.
No aliens ever at ease thus bore them,
linden-wielders:
{3d}
yet word-of-leave
clearly ye lack from clansmen here,
my folk’s
agreement. -- A greater ne’er saw I
of warriors in world than
is one of you, --
yon hero in harness! No henchman he
worthied
by weapons, if witness his features,
his peerless presence! I pray
you, though, tell
your folk and home, lest hence ye fare
suspect
to wander your way as spies
in Danish land. Now, dwellers afar,
ocean-travellers, take from me
simple advice: the sooner the better
I hear of the country whence ye came.”
IV
To him the stateliest spake in answer;
the warriors’ leader his
word-hoard unlocked: --
“We are by kin of the clan of Geats,
and Hygelac’s own hearth-fellows we.
To folk afar was my father
known,
noble atheling, Ecgtheow named.
Full of winters, he fared
away
aged from earth; he is honored still
through width of the
world by wise men all.
To thy lord and liege in loyal mood
we
hasten hither, to Healfdene’s son,
people-protector: be pleased
to advise us!
To that mighty-one come we on mickle errand,
to
the lord of the Danes; nor deem I right
that aught be hidden. We hear
-- thou knowest
if sooth it is -- the saying of men,
that amid
the Scyldings a scathing monster,
dark ill-doer, in dusky nights
shows terrific his rage unmatched,
hatred and murder. To Hrothgar I
in greatness of soul would succor bring,
so the Wise-and-Brave {4a}
may worst his foes, --
if ever the end of ills is fated,
of
cruel contest, if cure shall follow,
and the boiling care-waves
cooler grow;
else ever afterward anguish-days
he shall suffer in
sorrow while stands in place
high on its hill that house unpeered!”
Astride his steed, the strand-ward answered,
clansman unquailing:
“The keen-souled thane
must be skilled to sever and sunder duly
words and works, if he well intends.
I gather, this band is
graciously bent
to the Scyldings’ master. March, then, bearing
weapons and weeds the way I show you.
I will bid my men your boat
meanwhile
to guard for fear lest foemen come, --
your new-tarred
ship by shore of ocean
faithfully watching till once again
it
waft o’er the waters those well-loved thanes,
-- winding-neck’d
wood, -- to Weders’ bounds,
heroes such as the hest of fate
shall succor and save from the shock of war.”
They bent them to
march, -- the boat lay still,
fettered by cable and fast at anchor,
broad-bosomed ship. -- Then shone the boars {4b}
over the
cheek-guard; chased with gold,
keen and gleaming, guard it kept
o’er the man of war, as marched along
heroes in haste, till the
hall they saw,
broad of gable and bright with gold:
that was the
fairest, ’mid folk of earth,
of houses ’neath heaven,
where Hrothgar lived,
and the gleam of it lightened o’er lands
afar.
The sturdy shieldsman showed that bright
burg-of-the-boldest; bade them go
straightway thither; his steed then
turned,
hardy hero, and hailed them thus: --
“’Tis
time that I fare from you. Father Almighty
in grace and mercy guard
you well,
safe in your seekings. Seaward I go,
’gainst
hostile warriors hold my watch.”
V
STONE-BRIGHT the street: {5a} it showed the way
to the crowd of
clansmen. Corselets glistened
hand-forged, hard; on their harness
bright
the steel ring sang, as they strode along
in mail of
battle, and marched to the hall.
There, weary of ocean, the wall
along
they set their bucklers, their broad shields, down,
and
bowed them to bench: the breastplates clanged,
war-gear of men; their
weapons stacked,
spears of the seafarers stood together,
gray-tipped ash: that iron band
was worthily weaponed! -- A warrior
proud
asked of the heroes their home and kin.
“Whence,
now, bear ye burnished shields,
harness gray and helmets grim,
spears in multitude? Messenger, I,
Hrothgar’s herald! Heroes so
many
ne’er met I as strangers of mood so strong.
’Tis
plain that for prowess, not plunged into exile,
for high-hearted
valor, Hrothgar ye seek!”
Him the sturdy-in-war bespake with
words,
proud earl of the Weders answer made,
hardy ’neath
helmet: -- “Hygelac’s, we,
fellows at board; I am Beowulf
named.
I am seeking to say to the son of Healfdene
this mission
of mine, to thy master-lord,
the doughty prince, if he deign at all
grace that we greet him, the good one, now.”
Wulfgar spake, the
Wendles’ chieftain,
whose might of mind to many was known,
his courage and counsel: “The king of Danes,
the Scyldings’
friend, I fain will tell,
the Breaker-of-Rings, as the boon thou
askest,
the famed prince, of thy faring hither,
and, swiftly
after, such answer bring
as the doughty monarch may deign to give.”
Hied then in haste to where Hrothgar sat
white-haired and old, his
earls about him,
till the stout thane stood at the shoulder there
of the Danish king: good courtier he!
Wulfgar spake to his winsome
lord: --
“Hither have fared to thee far-come men
o’er
the paths of ocean, people of Geatland;
and the stateliest there by
his sturdy band
is Beowulf named. This boon they seek,
that
they, my master, may with thee
have speech at will: nor spurn their
prayer
to give them hearing, gracious Hrothgar!
In weeds of the
warrior worthy they,
methinks, of our liking; their leader most
surely,
a hero that hither his henchmen has led.”
VI
HROTHGAR answered, helmet of Scyldings: --
“I knew him of yore
in his youthful days;
his aged father was Ecgtheow named,
to
whom, at home, gave Hrethel the Geat
his only daughter. Their
offspring bold
fares hither to seek the steadfast friend.
And
seamen, too, have said me this, --
who carried my gifts to the
Geatish court,
thither for thanks, -- he has thirty men’s
heft of grasp in the gripe of his hand,
the bold-in-battle. Blessed
God
out of his mercy this man hath sent
to Danes of the West, as
I ween indeed,
against horror of Grendel. I hope to give
the
good youth gold for his gallant thought.
Be thou in haste, and bid
them hither,
clan of kinsmen, to come before me;
and add this
word, -- they are welcome guests
to folk of the Danes.”
[To the door of the hall
Wulfgar went] and the word declared: --
“To you this message my master sends,
East-Danes’ king,
that your kin he knows,
hardy heroes, and hails you all
welcome
hither o’er waves of the sea!
Ye may wend your way in
war-attire,
and under helmets Hrothgar greet;
but let here the
battle-shields bide your parley,
and wooden war-shafts wait its end.”
Uprose the mighty one, ringed with his men,
brave band of thanes:
some bode without,
battle-gear guarding, as bade the chief.
Then
hied that troop where the herald led them,
under Heorot’s roof:
[the hero strode,]
hardy ’neath helm, till the hearth he
neared.
Beowulf spake, -- his breastplate gleamed,
war-net woven
by wit of the smith: --
“Thou Hrothgar, hail! Hygelac’s
I,
kinsman and follower. Fame a plenty
have I gained in youth!
These Grendel-deeds
I heard in my home-land heralded clear.
Seafarers say how stands this hall,
of buildings best, for your band
of thanes
empty and idle, when evening sun
in the harbor of
heaven is hidden away.
So my vassals advised me well, --
brave
and wise, the best of men, --
O sovran Hrothgar, to seek thee here,
for my nerve and my might they knew full well.
Themselves had seen me
from slaughter come
blood-flecked from foes, where five I bound,
and that wild brood worsted. I’ the waves I slew
nicors {6a}
by night, in need and peril
avenging the Weders, {6b}
whose woe they sought, --
crushing the grim ones. Grendel now,
monster cruel, be mine to quell
in single battle! So, from thee,
thou sovran of the Shining-Danes,
Scyldings’-bulwark, a boon I
seek, --
and, Friend-of-the-folk, refuse it not,
O Warriors’-shield,
now I’ve wandered far, --
that I alone with my liegemen here,
this hardy band, may Heorot purge!
More I hear, that the monster
dire,
in his wanton mood, of weapons recks not;
hence shall I
scorn -- so Hygelac stay,
king of my kindred, kind to me! --
brand or buckler to bear in the fight,
gold-colored targe: but with
gripe alone
must I front the fiend and fight for life,
foe
against foe. Then faith be his
in the doom of the Lord whom death
shall take.
Fain, I ween, if the fight he win,
in this hall of
gold my Geatish band
will he fearless eat, -- as oft before, --
my noblest thanes. Nor need’st thou then
to hide my head; {6c}
for his shall I be,
dyed in gore, if death must take me;
and my
blood-covered body he’ll bear as prey,
ruthless devour it, the
roamer-lonely,
with my life-blood redden his lair in the fen:
no
further for me need’st food prepare!
To Hygelac send, if Hild
{6d}
should take me,
best of war-weeds, warding my breast,
armor
excellent, heirloom of Hrethel
and work of Wayland. {6e}
Fares Wyrd {6f} as she must.”
VII
HROTHGAR spake, the Scyldings’-helmet: --
“For fight
defensive, Friend my Beowulf,
to succor and save, thou hast sought us
here.
Thy father’s combat {7a} a feud
enkindled
when Heatholaf with hand he slew
among the Wylfings;
his Weder kin
for horror of fighting feared to hold him.
Fleeing, he sought our South-Dane folk,
over surge of ocean the
Honor-Scyldings,
when first I was ruling the folk of Danes,
wielded, youthful, this widespread realm,
this hoard-hold of heroes.
Heorogar was dead,
my elder brother, had breathed his last,
Healfdene’s bairn: he was better than I!
Straightway the feud
with fee {7b} I settled,
to the Wylfings sent, o’er
watery ridges,
treasures olden: oaths he {7c} swore me.
Sore is my soul to say to any
of the race of man what ruth for me
in Heorot Grendel with hate hath wrought,
what sudden harryings.
Hall-folk fail me,
my warriors wane; for Wyrd hath swept them
into Grendel’s grasp. But God is able
this deadly foe from his
deeds to turn!
Boasted full oft, as my beer they drank,
earls o’er
the ale-cup, armed men,
that they would bide in the beer-hall here,
Grendel’s attack with terror of blades.
Then was this
mead-house at morning tide
dyed with gore, when the daylight broke,
all the boards of the benches blood-besprinkled,
gory the hall: I had
heroes the less,
doughty dear-ones that death had reft.
-- But
sit to the banquet, unbind thy words,
hardy hero, as heart shall
prompt thee.”
Gathered together, the Geatish men
in the banquet-hall on bench
assigned,
sturdy-spirited, sat them down,
hardy-hearted. A
henchman attended,
carried the carven cup in hand,
served the
clear mead. Oft minstrels sang
blithe in Heorot. Heroes revelled,
no dearth of warriors, Weder and Dane.
VIII
UNFERTH spake, the son of Ecglaf,
who sat at the feet of the
Scyldings’ lord,
unbound the battle-runes. {8a}
-- Beowulf’s quest,
sturdy seafarer’s, sorely galled him;
ever he envied that other men
should more achieve in middle-earth
of fame under heaven than he himself. --
“Art thou that
Beowulf, Breca’s rival,
who emulous swam on the open sea,
when for pride the pair of you proved the floods,
and wantonly dared
in waters deep
to risk your lives? No living man,
or lief or
loath, from your labor dire
could you dissuade, from swimming the
main.
Ocean-tides with your arms ye covered,
with strenuous
hands the sea-streets measured,
swam o’er the waters. Winter’s
storm
rolled the rough waves. In realm of sea
a sennight strove
ye. In swimming he topped thee,
had more of main! Him at morning-tide
billows bore to the Battling Reamas,
whence he hied to his home so
dear
beloved of his liegemen, to land of Brondings,
fastness
fair, where his folk he ruled,
town and treasure. In triumph o’er
thee
Beanstan’s bairn {8b} his boast
achieved.
So ween I for thee a worse adventure
-- though in
buffet of battle thou brave hast been,
in struggle grim, -- if
Grendel’s approach
thou darst await through the watch of night!”
Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --
“What a deal hast uttered,
dear my Unferth,
drunken with beer, of Breca now,
told of his
triumph! Truth I claim it,
that I had more of might in the sea
than any man else, more ocean-endurance.
We twain had talked, in time
of youth,
and made our boast, -- we were merely boys,
striplings
still, -- to stake our lives
far at sea: and so we performed it.
Naked swords, as we swam along,
we held in hand, with hope to guard
us
against the whales. Not a whit from me
could he float afar o’er
the flood of waves,
haste o’er the billows; nor him I
abandoned.
Together we twain on the tides abode
five nights full
till the flood divided us,
churning waves and chillest weather,
darkling night, and the northern wind
ruthless rushed on us: rough
was the surge.
Now the wrath of the sea-fish rose apace;
yet me
’gainst the monsters my mailed coat,
hard and hand-linked, help
afforded, --
battle-sark braided my breast to ward,
garnished
with gold. There grasped me firm
and haled me to bottom the hated
foe,
with grimmest gripe. ’Twas granted me, though,
to
pierce the monster with point of sword,
with blade of battle: huge
beast of the sea
was whelmed by the hurly through hand of mine.
IX
ME thus often the evil monsters
thronging threatened. With thrust of
my sword,
the darling, I dealt them due return!
Nowise had they
bliss from their booty then
to devour their victim, vengeful
creatures,
seated to banquet at bottom of sea;
but at break of
day, by my brand sore hurt,
on the edge of ocean up they lay,
put to sleep by the sword. And since, by them
on the fathomless
sea-ways sailor-folk
are never molested. -- Light from east,
came bright God’s beacon; the billows sank,
so that I saw the
sea-cliffs high,
windy walls. For Wyrd oft saveth
earl undoomed
if he doughty be!
And so it came that I killed with my sword
nine of the nicors. Of night-fought battles
ne’er heard I a
harder ’neath heaven’s dome,
nor adrift on the deep a
more desolate man!
Yet I came unharmed from that hostile clutch,
though spent with swimming. The sea upbore me,
flood of the tide, on
Finnish land,
the welling waters. No wise of thee
have I heard
men tell such terror of falchions,
bitter battle. Breca ne’er
yet,
not one of you pair, in the play of war
such daring deed
has done at all
with bloody brand, -- I boast not of it! --
though thou wast the bane {9a} of thy brethren dear,
thy closest
kin, whence curse of hell
awaits thee, well as thy wit may serve!
For I say in sooth, thou son of Ecglaf,
never had Grendel these grim
deeds wrought,
monster dire, on thy master dear,
in Heorot such
havoc, if heart of thine
were as battle-bold as thy boast is loud!
But he has found no feud will happen;
from sword-clash dread of your
Danish clan
he vaunts him safe, from the Victor-Scyldings.
He
forces pledges, favors none
of the land of Danes, but lustily
murders,
fights and feasts, nor feud he dreads
from Spear-Dane
men. But speedily now
shall I prove him the prowess and pride of the
Geats,
shall bid him battle. Blithe to mead
go he that listeth,
when light of dawn
this morrow morning o’er men of earth,
ether-robed sun from the south shall beam!”
Joyous then was the
Jewel-giver,
hoar-haired, war-brave; help awaited
the
Bright-Danes’ prince, from Beowulf hearing,
folk’s good
shepherd, such firm resolve.
Then was laughter of liegemen loud
resounding
with winsome words. Came Wealhtheow forth,
queen of
Hrothgar, heedful of courtesy,
gold-decked, greeting the guests in
hall;
and the high-born lady handed the cup
first to the
East-Danes’ heir and warden,
bade him be blithe at the
beer-carouse,
the land’s beloved one. Lustily took he
banquet and beaker, battle-famed king.
Through the hall then went the Helmings’ Lady,
to younger and
older everywhere
carried the cup, till come the moment
when the
ring-graced queen, the royal-hearted,
to Beowulf bore the beaker of
mead.
She greeted the Geats’ lord, God she thanked,
in
wisdom’s words, that her will was granted,
that at last on a
hero her hope could lean
for comfort in terrors. The cup he took,
hardy-in-war, from Wealhtheow’s hand,
and answer uttered the
eager-for-combat.
Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --
“This
was my thought, when my thanes and I
bent to the ocean and entered
our boat,
that I would work the will of your people
fully, or
fighting fall in death,
in fiend’s gripe fast. I am firm to do
an earl’s brave deed, or end the days
of this life of mine in
the mead-hall here.”
Well these words to the woman seemed,
Beowulf’s battle-boast. -- Bright with gold
the stately dame by
her spouse sat down.
Again, as erst, began in hall
warriors’
wassail and words of power,
the proud-band’s revel, till
presently
the son of Healfdene hastened to seek
rest for the
night; he knew there waited
fight for the fiend in that festal hall,
when the sheen of the sun they saw no more,
and dusk of night sank
darkling nigh,
and shadowy shapes came striding on,
wan under
welkin. The warriors rose.
Man to man, he made harangue,
Hrothgar to Beowulf, bade him hail,
let him wield the wine hall: a
word he added: --
“Never to any man erst I trusted,
since
I could heave up hand and shield,
this noble Dane-Hall, till now to
thee.
Have now and hold this house unpeered;
remember thy glory;
thy might declare;
watch for the foe! No wish shall fail thee
if
thou bidest the battle with bold-won life.”
X
THEN Hrothgar went with his hero-train,
defence-of-Scyldings, forth
from hall;
fain would the war-lord Wealhtheow seek,
couch of his
queen. The King-of-Glory
against this Grendel a guard had set,
so heroes heard, a hall-defender,
who warded the monarch and watched
for the monster.
In truth, the Geats’ prince gladly trusted
his mettle, his might, the mercy of God!
Cast off then his corselet
of iron,
helmet from head; to his henchman gave, --
choicest of
weapons, -- the well-chased sword,
bidding him guard the gear of
battle.
Spake then his Vaunt the valiant man,
Beowulf Geat, ere
the bed be sought: --
“Of force in fight no feebler I count me,
in grim war-deeds, than Grendel deems him.
Not with the sword, then,
to sleep of death
his life will I give, though it lie in my power.
No skill is his to strike against me,
my shield to hew though he
hardy be,
bold in battle; we both, this night,
shall spurn the
sword, if he seek me here,
unweaponed, for war. Let wisest God,
sacred Lord, on which side soever
doom decree as he deemeth right.”
Reclined then the chieftain, and cheek-pillows held
the head of the
earl, while all about him
seamen hardy on hall-beds sank.
None
of them thought that thence their steps
to the folk and fastness that
fostered them,
to the land they loved, would lead them back!
Full well they wist that on warriors many
battle-death seized, in the
banquet-hall,
of Danish clan. But comfort and help,
war-weal
weaving, to Weder folk
the Master gave, that, by might of one,
over their enemy all prevailed,
by single strength. In sooth ’tis
told
that highest God o’er human kind
hath wielded ever!
-- Thro’ wan night striding,
came the walker-in-shadow.
Warriors slept
whose hest was to guard the gabled hall, --
all
save one. ’Twas widely known
that against God’s will the
ghostly ravager
him {10a} could not hurl to haunts of darkness;
wakeful, ready, with warrior’s wrath,
bold he bided the battle’s
issue.
XI
THEN from the moorland, by misty crags,
with God’s wrath laden,
Grendel came.
The monster was minded of mankind now
sundry to
seize in the stately house.
Under welkin he walked, till the
wine-palace there,
gold-hall of men, he gladly discerned,
flashing with fretwork. Not first time, this,
that he the home of
Hrothgar sought, --
yet ne’er in his life-day, late or early,
such hardy heroes, such hall-thanes, found!
To the house the warrior
walked apace,
parted from peace; {11a} the portal
opended,
though with forged bolts fast, when his fists had
struck it,
and baleful he burst in his blatant rage,
the house’s
mouth. All hastily, then,
o’er fair-paved floor the fiend trod
on,
ireful he strode; there streamed from his eyes
fearful
flashes, like flame to see.
He spied in hall the hero-band,
kin and clansmen clustered asleep,
hardy liegemen. Then laughed his heart;
for the monster was minded,
ere morn should dawn,
savage, to sever the soul of each,
life
from body, since lusty banquet
waited his will! But Wyrd forbade him
to seize any more of men on earth
after that evening. Eagerly watched
Hygelac’s kinsman his cursed foe,
how he would fare in fell
attack.
Not that the monster was minded to pause!
Straightway he
seized a sleeping warrior
for the first, and tore him fiercely
asunder,
the bone-frame bit, drank blood in streams,
swallowed
him piecemeal: swiftly thus
the lifeless corse was clear devoured,
e’en feet and hands. Then farther he hied;
for the hardy hero
with hand he grasped,
felt for the foe with fiendish claw,
for
the hero reclining, -- who clutched it boldly,
prompt to answer,
propped on his arm.
Soon then saw that shepherd-of-evils
that
never he met in this middle-world,
in the ways of earth, another
wight
with heavier hand-gripe; at heart he feared,
sorrowed in
soul, -- none the sooner escaped!
Fain would he flee, his fastness
seek,
the den of devils: no doings now
such as oft he had done
in days of old!
Then bethought him the hardy Hygelac-thane
of
his boast at evening: up he bounded,
grasped firm his foe, whose
fingers cracked.
The fiend made off, but the earl close followed.
The monster meant -- if he might at all --
to fling himself free, and
far away
fly to the fens, -- knew his fingers’ power
in
the gripe of the grim one. Gruesome march
to Heorot this monster of
harm had made!
Din filled the room; the Danes were bereft,
castle-dwellers and clansmen all,
earls, of their ale. Angry were
both
those savage hall-guards: the house resounded.
Wonder it
was the wine-hall firm
in the strain of their struggle stood, to
earth
the fair house fell not; too fast it was
within and
without by its iron bands
craftily clamped; though there crashed from
sill
many a mead-bench -- men have told me --
gay with gold,
where the grim foes wrestled.
So well had weened the wisest Scyldings
that not ever at all might any man
that bone-decked, brave house
break asunder,
crush by craft, -- unless clasp of fire
in smoke
engulfed it. -- Again uprose
din redoubled. Danes of the North
with fear and frenzy were filled, each one,
who from the wall that
wailing heard,
God’s foe sounding his grisly song,
cry of
the conquered, clamorous pain
from captive of hell. Too closely held
him
he who of men in might was strongest
in that same day of
this our life.
XII
NOT in any wise would the earls’-defence {12a}
suffer
that slaughterous stranger to live,
useless deeming his days and
years
to men on earth. Now many an earl
of Beowulf brandished
blade ancestral,
fain the life of their lord to shield,
their
praised prince, if power were theirs;
never they knew, -- as they
neared the foe,
hardy-hearted heroes of war,
aiming their swords
on every side
the accursed to kill, -- no keenest blade,
no
farest of falchions fashioned on earth,
could harm or hurt that
hideous fiend!
He was safe, by his spells, from sword of battle,
from edge of iron. Yet his end and parting
on that same day of this
our life
woful should be, and his wandering soul
far off flit to
the fiends’ domain.
Soon he found, who in former days,
harmful in heart and hated of God,
on many a man such murder wrought,
that the frame of his body failed him now.
For him the keen-souled
kinsman of Hygelac
held in hand; hateful alive
was each to
other. The outlaw dire
took mortal hurt; a mighty wound
showed
on his shoulder, and sinews cracked,
and the bone-frame burst. To
Beowulf now
the glory was given, and Grendel thence
death-sick
his den in the dark moor sought,
noisome abode: he knew too well
that here was the last of life, an end
of his days on earth. -- To
all the Danes
by that bloody battle the boon had come.
From
ravage had rescued the roving stranger
Hrothgar’s hall; the
hardy and wise one
had purged it anew. His night-work pleased him,
his deed and its honor. To Eastern Danes
had the valiant Geat his
vaunt made good,
all their sorrow and ills assuaged,
their bale
of battle borne so long,
and all the dole they erst endured
pain
a-plenty. -- ’Twas proof of this,
when the hardy-in-fight a
hand laid down,
arm and shoulder, -- all, indeed,
of Grendel’s
gripe, -- ’neath the gabled roof.
XIII
MANY at morning, as men have told me,
warriors gathered the gift-hall
round,
folk-leaders faring from far and near,
o’er
wide-stretched ways, the wonder to view,
trace of the traitor. Not
troublous seemed
the enemy’s end to any man
who saw by the
gait of the graceless foe
how the weary-hearted, away from thence,
baffled in battle and banned, his steps
death-marked dragged to the
devils’ mere.
Bloody the billows were boiling there,
turbid the tide of tumbling waves
horribly seething, with sword-blood
hot,
by that doomed one dyed, who in den of the moor
laid
forlorn his life adown,
his heathen soul, and hell received it.
Home then rode the hoary clansmen
from that merry journey, and many a
youth,
on horses white, the hardy warriors,
back from the mere.
Then Beowulf’s glory
eager they echoed, and all averred
that from sea to sea, or south or north,
there was no other in earth’s
domain,
under vault of heaven, more valiant found,
of warriors
none more worthy to rule!
(On their lord beloved they laid no slight,
gracious Hrothgar: a good king he!)
From time to time, the
tried-in-battle
their gray steeds set to gallop amain,
and ran a
race when the road seemed fair.
From time to time, a thane of the
king,
who had made many vaunts, and was mindful of verses,
stored with sagas and songs of old,
bound word to word in well-knit
rime,
welded his lay; this warrior soon
of Beowulf’s quest
right cleverly sang,
and artfully added an excellent tale,
in
well-ranged words, of the warlike deeds
he had heard in saga of
Sigemund.
Strange the story: he said it all, --
the Waelsing’s
wanderings wide, his struggles,
which never were told to tribes of
men,
the feuds and the frauds, save to Fitela only,
when of
these doings he deigned to speak,
uncle to nephew; as ever the twain
stood side by side in stress of war,
and multitude of the monster
kind
they had felled with their swords. Of Sigemund grew,
when
he passed from life, no little praise;
for the doughty-in-combat a
dragon killed
that herded the hoard: {13a} under hoary
rock
the atheling dared the deed alone
fearful quest, nor was
Fitela there.
Yet so it befell, his falchion pierced
that
wondrous worm, -- on the wall it struck,
best blade; the dragon died
in its blood.
Thus had the dread-one by daring achieved
over the
ring-hoard to rule at will,
himself to pleasure; a sea-boat he
loaded,
and bore on its bosom the beaming gold,
son of Waels;
the worm was consumed.
He had of all heroes the highest renown
among races of men, this refuge-of-warriors,
for deeds of daring that
decked his name
since the hand and heart of Heremod
grew slack
in battle. He, swiftly banished
to mingle with monsters at mercy of
foes,
to death was betrayed; for torrents of sorrow
had lamed
him too long; a load of care
to earls and athelings all he proved.
Oft indeed, in earlier days,
for the warrior’s wayfaring wise
men mourned,
who had hoped of him help from harm and bale,
and
had thought their sovran’s son would thrive,
follow his father,
his folk protect,
the hoard and the stronghold, heroes’ land,
home of Scyldings. -- But here, thanes said,
the kinsman of Hygelac
kinder seemed
to all: the other {13b} was urged to
crime!
And afresh to the race, {13c} the fallow
roads
by swift steeds measured! The morning sun
was climbing
higher. Clansmen hastened
to the high-built hall, those hardy-minded,
the wonder to witness. Warden of treasure,
crowned with glory, the
king himself,
with stately band from the bride-bower strode;
and
with him the queen and her crowd of maidens
measured the path to the
mead-house fair.
XIV
HROTHGAR spake, -- to the hall he went,
stood by the steps, the steep
roof saw,
garnished with gold, and Grendel’s hand: --
“For the sight I see to the Sovran Ruler
be speedy thanks! A
throng of sorrows
I have borne from Grendel; but God still works
wonder on wonder, the Warden-of-Glory.
It was but now that I never
more
for woes that weighed on me waited help
long as I lived,
when, laved in blood,
stood sword-gore-stained this stateliest house,
--
widespread woe for wise men all,
who had no hope to hinder
ever
foes infernal and fiendish sprites
from havoc in hall. This
hero now,
by the Wielder’s might, a work has done
that not
all of us erst could ever do
by wile and wisdom. Lo, well can she say
whoso of women this warrior bore
among sons of men, if still she
liveth,
that the God of the ages was good to her
in the birth of
her bairn. Now, Beowulf, thee,
of heroes best, I shall heartily love
as mine own, my son; preserve thou ever
this kinship new: thou shalt
never lack
wealth of the world that I wield as mine!
Full oft
for less have I largess showered,
my precious hoard, on a punier man,
less stout in struggle. Thyself hast now
fulfilled such deeds, that
thy fame shall endure
through all the ages. As ever he did,
well
may the Wielder reward thee still!”
Beowulf spake, bairn of
Ecgtheow: --
“This work of war most willingly
we have
fought, this fight, and fearlessly dared
force of the foe. Fain, too,
were I
hadst thou but seen himself, what time
the fiend in his
trappings tottered to fall!
Swiftly, I thought, in strongest gripe
on his bed of death to bind him down,
that he in the hent of this
hand of mine
should breathe his last: but he broke away.
Him I
might not -- the Maker willed not --
hinder from flight, and firm
enough hold
the life-destroyer: too sturdy was he,
the ruthless,
in running! For rescue, however,
he left behind him his hand in
pledge,
arm and shoulder; nor aught of help
could the cursed one
thus procure at all.
None the longer liveth he, loathsome fiend,
sunk in his sins, but sorrow holds him
tightly grasped in gripe of
anguish,
in baleful bonds, where bide he must,
evil outlaw, such
awful doom
as the Mighty Maker shall mete him out.”
More silent seemed the son of Ecglaf {14a}
in
boastful speech of his battle-deeds,
since athelings all, through the
earl’s great prowess,
beheld that hand, on the high roof
gazing,
foeman’s fingers, -- the forepart of each
of the
sturdy nails to steel was likest, --
heathen’s “hand-spear,”
hostile warrior’s
claw uncanny. ’Twas clear, they said,
that him no blade of the brave could touch,
how keen soever, or cut
away
that battle-hand bloody from baneful foe.
XV
THERE was hurry and hest in Heorot now
for hands to bedeck it, and
dense was the throng
of men and women the wine-hall to cleanse,
the guest-room to garnish. Gold-gay shone the hangings
that were wove
on the wall, and wonders many
to delight each mortal that looks upon
them.
Though braced within by iron bands,
that building bright
was broken sorely; {15a}
rent were its hinges; the roof
alone
held safe and sound, when, seared with crime,
the fiendish
foe his flight essayed,
of life despairing. -- No light thing that,
the flight for safety, -- essay it who will!
Forced of fate, he shall
find his way
to the refuge ready for race of man,
for
soul-possessors, and sons of earth;
and there his body on bed of
death
shall rest after revel.
Arrived was the hour
when to
hall proceeded Healfdene’s son:
the king himself would sit to
banquet.
Ne’er heard I of host in haughtier throng
more
graciously gathered round giver-of-rings!
Bowed then to bench those
bearers-of-glory,
fain of the feasting. Featly received
many a
mead-cup the mighty-in-spirit,
kinsmen who sat in the sumptuous hall,
Hrothgar and Hrothulf. Heorot now
was filled with friends; the folk
of Scyldings
ne’er yet had tried the traitor’s deed.
To Beowulf gave the bairn of Healfdene
a gold-wove banner, guerdon of
triumph,
broidered battle-flag, breastplate and helmet;
and a
splendid sword was seen of many
borne to the brave one. Beowulf took
cup in hall: {15b} for such costly gifts
he suffered
no shame in that soldier throng.
For I heard of few heroes, in
heartier mood,
with four such gifts, so fashioned with gold,
on
the ale-bench honoring others thus!
O’er the roof of the helmet
high, a ridge,
wound with wires, kept ward o’er the head,
lest the relict-of-files {15c} should fierce invade,
sharp in the
strife, when that shielded hero
should go to grapple against his
foes.
Then the earls’-defence {15d} on the floor
{15e} bade lead
coursers eight, with
carven head-gear,
adown the hall: one horse was decked
with a
saddle all shining and set in jewels;
’twas the battle-seat of
the best of kings,
when to play of swords the son of Healfdene
was fain to fare. Ne’er failed his valor
in the crush of combat
when corpses fell.
To Beowulf over them both then gave
the
refuge-of-Ingwines right and power,
o’er war-steeds and
weapons: wished him joy of them.
Manfully thus the mighty prince,
hoard-guard for heroes, that hard fight repaid
with steeds and
treasures contemned by none
who is willing to say the sooth aright.
XVI
AND the lord of earls, to each that came
with Beowulf over the briny
ways,
an heirloom there at the ale-bench gave,
precious gift;
and the price {16a} bade pay
in gold for him whom
Grendel erst
murdered, -- and fain of them more had killed,
had
not wisest God their Wyrd averted,
and the man’s {16b}
brave mood. The Maker then
ruled human kind, as here and now.
Therefore is insight always best,
and forethought of mind. How much
awaits him
of lief and of loath, who long time here,
through
days of warfare this world endures!
Then song and music mingled sounds
in the presence of Healfdene’s
head-of-armies {16c}
and harping was heard with the
hero-lay
as Hrothgar’s singer the hall-joy woke
along the
mead-seats, making his song
of that sudden raid on the sons of Finn.
{16d}
Healfdene’s hero, Hnaef the
Scylding,
was fated to fall in the Frisian slaughter. {16e}
Hildeburh needed not hold in value
her enemies’ honor! {16f}
Innocent both
were the loved ones she lost at the linden-play,
bairn and brother, they bowed to fate,
stricken by spears; ’twas
a sorrowful woman!
None doubted why the daughter of Hoc
bewailed
her doom when dawning came,
and under the sky she saw them lying,
kinsmen murdered, where most she had kenned
of the sweets of the
world! By war were swept, too,
Finn’s own liegemen, and few
were left;
in the parleying-place {16g} he could ply
no longer
weapon, nor war could he wage on Hengest,
and rescue
his remnant by right of arms
from the prince’s thane. A pact he
offered:
another dwelling the Danes should have,
hall and
high-seat, and half the power
should fall to them in Frisian land;
and at the fee-gifts, Folcwald’s son
day by day the Danes
should honor,
the folk of Hengest favor with rings,
even as
truly, with treasure and jewels,
with fretted gold, as his Frisian
kin
he meant to honor in ale-hall there.
Pact of peace they
plighted further
on both sides firmly. Finn to Hengest
with
oath, upon honor, openly promised
that woful remnant, with wise-men’s
aid,
nobly to govern, so none of the guests
by word or work
should warp the treaty, {16h}
or with malice of mind bemoan
themselves
as forced to follow their fee-giver’s slayer,
lordless men, as their lot ordained.
Should Frisian, moreover, with
foeman’s taunt,
that murderous hatred to mind recall,
then
edge of the sword must seal his doom.
Oaths were given, and ancient gold
heaped from hoard. -- The hardy
Scylding,
battle-thane best, {16i} on his
balefire lay.
All on the pyre were plain to see
the gory sark,
the gilded swine-crest,
boar of hard iron, and athelings many
slain by the sword: at the slaughter they fell.
It was Hildeburh’s
hest, at Hnaef’s own pyre
the bairn of her body on brands to
lay,
his bones to burn, on the balefire placed,
at his uncle’s
side. In sorrowful dirges
bewept them the woman: great wailing
ascended.
Then wound up to welkin the wildest of death-fires,
roared o’er the hillock: {16j} heads all
were melted,
gashes burst, and blood gushed out
from bites {16k}
of the body. Balefire devoured,
greediest spirit, those spared not by
war
out of either folk: their flower was gone.
XVII
THEN hastened those heroes their home to see,
friendless, to find the
Frisian land,
houses and high burg. Hengest still
through the
death-dyed winter dwelt with Finn,
holding pact, yet of home he
minded,
though powerless his ring-decked prow to drive
over the
waters, now waves rolled fierce
lashed by the winds, or winter locked
them
in icy fetters. Then fared another
year to men’s
dwellings, as yet they do,
the sunbright skies, that their season
ever
duly await. Far off winter was driven;
fair lay earth’s
breast; and fain was the rover,
the guest, to depart, though more
gladly he pondered
on wreaking his vengeance than roaming the deep,
and how to hasten the hot encounter
where sons of the Frisians were
sure to be.
So he escaped not the common doom,
when Hun with
“Lafing,” the light-of-battle,
best of blades, his bosom
pierced:
its edge was famed with the Frisian earls.
On
fierce-heart Finn there fell likewise,
on himself at home, the horrid
sword-death;
for Guthlaf and Oslaf of grim attack
had sorrowing
told, from sea-ways landed,
mourning their woes. {17a}
Finn’s wavering spirit
bode not in breast. The burg was
reddened
with blood of foemen, and Finn was slain,
king amid
clansmen; the queen was taken.
To their ship the Scylding warriors
bore
all the chattels the chieftain owned,
whatever they found
in Finn’s domain
of gems and jewels. The gentle wife
o’er
paths of the deep to the Danes they bore,
led to her land.
The
lay was finished,
the gleeman’s song. Then glad rose the revel;
bench-joy brightened. Bearers draw
from their “wonder-vats”
wine. Comes Wealhtheow forth,
under gold-crown goes where the good
pair sit,
uncle and nephew, true each to the other one,
kindred
in amity. Unferth the spokesman
at the Scylding lord’s feet
sat: men had faith in his spirit,
his keenness of courage, though
kinsmen had found him
unsure at the sword-play. The Scylding queen
spoke:
“Quaff of this cup, my king and lord,
breaker of
rings, and blithe be thou,
gold-friend of men; to the Geats here
speak
such words of mildness as man should use.
Be glad with thy
Geats; of those gifts be mindful,
or near or far, which now thou
hast.
Men say to me, as son thou wishest
yon hero to hold. Thy Heorot
purged,
jewel-hall brightest, enjoy while thou canst,
with many
a largess; and leave to thy kin
folk and realm when forth thou goest
to greet thy doom. For gracious I deem
my Hrothulf, {17b}
willing to hold and rule
nobly our youths, if thou yield up first,
prince of Scyldings, thy part in the world.
I ween with good he will
well requite
offspring of ours, when all he minds
that for him
we did in his helpless days
of gift and grace to gain him honor!”
Then she turned to the seat where her sons wereplaced,
Hrethric and
Hrothmund, with heroes’ bairns,
young men together: the Geat,
too, sat there,
Beowulf brave, the brothers between.
XVIII
A CUP she gave him, with kindly greeting
and winsome words. Of
wounden gold,
she offered, to honor him, arm-jewels twain,
corselet and rings, and of collars the noblest
that ever I knew the
earth around.
Ne’er heard I so mighty, ’neath heaven’s
dome,
a hoard-gem of heroes, since Hama bore
to his bright-built
burg the Brisings’ necklace,
jewel and gem casket. -- Jealousy
fled he,
Eormenric’s hate: chose help eternal.
Hygelac
Geat, grandson of Swerting,
on the last of his raids this ring bore
with him,
under his banner the booty defending,
the war-spoil
warding; but Wyrd o’erwhelmed him
what time, in his daring,
dangers he sought,
feud with Frisians. Fairest of gems
he bore
with him over the beaker-of-waves,
sovran strong: under shield he
died.
Fell the corpse of the king into keeping of Franks,
gear
of the breast, and that gorgeous ring;
weaker warriors won the spoil,
after gripe of battle, from Geatland’s lord,
and held the
death-field.
Din rose in hall.
Wealhtheow spake amid warriors,
and said: --
“This jewel enjoy in thy jocund youth,
Beowulf lov’d, these battle-weeds wear,
a royal treasure, and
richly thrive!
Preserve thy strength, and these striplings here
counsel in kindness: requital be mine.
Hast done such deeds, that for
days to come
thou art famed among folk both far and near,
so
wide as washeth the wave of Ocean
his windy walls. Through the ways
of life
prosper, O prince! I pray for thee
rich possessions. To
son of mine
be helpful in deed and uphold his joys!
Here every
earl to the other is true,
mild of mood, to the master loyal!
Thanes are friendly, the throng obedient,
liegemen are revelling:
list and obey!”
Went then to her place. -- That was proudest of
feasts;
flowed wine for the warriors. Wyrd they knew not,
destiny dire, and the doom to be seen
by many an earl when eve should
come,
and Hrothgar homeward hasten away,
royal, to rest. The
room was guarded
by an army of earls, as erst was done.
They
bared the bench-boards; abroad they spread
beds and bolsters. -- One
beer-carouser
in danger of doom lay down in the hall. --
At their heads they set their shields of war,
bucklers bright; on the
bench were there
over each atheling, easy to see,
the high
battle-helmet, the haughty spear,
the corselet of rings. ’Twas
their custom so
ever to be for battle prepared,
at home, or
harrying, which it were,
even as oft as evil threatened
their
sovran king. -- They were clansmen good.
XIX
THEN sank they to sleep. With sorrow one bought
his rest of the
evening, -- as ofttime had happened
when Grendel guarded that golden
hall,
evil wrought, till his end drew nigh,
slaughter for sins.
’Twas seen and told
how an avenger survived the fiend,
as
was learned afar. The livelong time
after that grim fight, Grendel’s
mother,
monster of women, mourned her woe.
She was doomed to
dwell in the dreary waters,
cold sea-courses, since Cain cut down
with edge of the sword his only brother,
his father’s
offspring: outlawed he fled,
marked with murder, from men’s
delights
warded the wilds. -- There woke from him
such fate-sent
ghosts as Grendel, who,
war-wolf horrid, at Heorot found
a
warrior watching and waiting the fray,
with whom the grisly one
grappled amain.
But the man remembered his mighty power,
the
glorious gift that God had sent him,
in his Maker’s mercy put
his trust
for comfort and help: so he conquered the foe,
felled
the fiend, who fled abject,
reft of joy, to the realms of death,
mankind’s foe. And his mother now,
gloomy and grim, would go
that quest
of sorrow, the death of her son to avenge.
To Heorot
came she, where helmeted Danes
slept in the hall. Too soon came back
old ills of the earls, when in she burst,
the mother of Grendel. Less
grim, though, that terror,
e’en as terror of woman in war is
less,
might of maid, than of men in arms
when, hammer-forged,
the falchion hard,
sword gore-stained, through swine of the helm,
crested, with keen blade carves amain.
Then was in hall the hard-edge
drawn,
the swords on the settles, {19a} and shields
a-many
firm held in hand: nor helmet minded
nor harness of mail,
whom that horror seized.
Haste was hers; she would hie afar
and
save her life when the liegemen saw her.
Yet a single atheling up she
seized
fast and firm, as she fled to the moor.
He was for
Hrothgar of heroes the dearest,
of trusty vassals betwixt the seas,
whom she killed on his couch, a clansman famous,
in battle brave. --
Nor was Beowulf there;
another house had been held apart,
after
giving of gold, for the Geat renowned. --
Uproar filled Heorot; the
hand all had viewed,
blood-flecked, she bore with her; bale was
returned,
dole in the dwellings: ’twas dire exchange
where
Dane and Geat were doomed to give
the lives of loved ones. Long-tried
king,
the hoary hero, at heart was sad
when he knew his noble no
more lived,
and dead indeed was his dearest thane.
To his bower
was Beowulf brought in haste,
dauntless victor. As daylight broke,
along with his earls the atheling lord,
with his clansmen, came where
the king abode
waiting to see if the Wielder-of-All
would turn
this tale of trouble and woe.
Strode o’er floor the
famed-in-strife,
with his hand-companions, -- the hall resounded, --
wishing to greet the wise old king,
Ingwines’ lord; he asked if
the night
had passed in peace to the prince’s mind.
XX
HROTHGAR spake, helmet-of-Scyldings: --
“Ask not of pleasure!
Pain is renewed
to Danish folk. Dead is Aeschere,
of Yrmenlaf
the elder brother,
my sage adviser and stay in council,
shoulder-comrade in stress of fight
when warriors clashed and we
warded our heads,
hewed the helm-boars; hero famed
should be
every earl as Aeschere was!
But here in Heorot a hand hath slain him
of wandering death-sprite. I wot not whither, {20a}
proud
of the prey, her path she took,
fain of her fill. The feud she
avenged
that yesternight, unyieldingly,
Grendel in grimmest
grasp thou killedst, --
seeing how long these liegemen mine
he
ruined and ravaged. Reft of life,
in arms he fell. Now another comes,
keen and cruel, her kin to avenge,
faring far in feud of blood:
so that many a thane shall think, who e’er
sorrows in soul for
that sharer of rings,
this is hardest of heart-bales. The hand lies
low
that once was willing each wish to please.
Land-dwellers
here {20b} and liegemen mine,
who house by
those parts, I have heard relate
that such a pair they have sometimes
seen,
march-stalkers mighty the moorland haunting,
wandering
spirits: one of them seemed,
so far as my folk could fairly judge,
of womankind; and one, accursed,
in man’s guise trod the
misery-track
of exile, though huger than human bulk.
Grendel in
days long gone they named him,
folk of the land; his father they knew
not,
nor any brood that was born to him
of treacherous spirits.
Untrod is their home;
by wolf-cliffs haunt they and windy headlands,
fenways fearful, where flows the stream
from mountains gliding to
gloom of the rocks,
underground flood. Not far is it hence
in
measure of miles that the mere expands,
and o’er it the
frost-bound forest hanging,
sturdily rooted, shadows the wave.
By night is a wonder weird to see,
fire on the waters. So wise lived
none
of the sons of men, to search those depths!
Nay, though the
heath-rover, harried by dogs,
the horn-proud hart, this holt should
seek,
long distance driven, his dear life first
on the brink he
yields ere he brave the plunge
to hide his head: ’tis no happy
place!
Thence the welter of waters washes up
wan to welkin when
winds bestir
evil storms, and air grows dusk,
and the heavens
weep. Now is help once more
with thee alone! The land thou knowst
not,
place of fear, where thou findest out
that sin-flecked
being. Seek if thou dare!
I will reward thee, for waging this fight,
with ancient treasure, as erst I did,
with winding gold, if thou
winnest back.”
XXI
BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:
“Sorrow not, sage! It beseems
us better
friends to avenge than fruitlessly mourn them.
Each of
us all must his end abide
in the ways of the world; so win who may
glory ere death! When his days are told,
that is the warrior’s
worthiest doom.
Rise, O realm-warder! Ride we anon,
and mark the
trail of the mother of Grendel.
No harbor shall hide her -- heed my
promise! --
enfolding of field or forested mountain
or floor of
the flood, let her flee where she will!
But thou this day endure in
patience,
as I ween thou wilt, thy woes each one.”
Leaped
up the graybeard: God he thanked,
mighty Lord, for the man’s
brave words.
For Hrothgar soon a horse was saddled
wave-maned
steed. The sovran wise
stately rode on; his shield-armed men
followed in force. The footprints led
along the woodland, widely
seen,
a path o’er the plain, where she passed, and trod
the murky moor; of men-at-arms
she bore the bravest and best one,
dead,
him who with Hrothgar the homestead ruled.
On then went
the atheling-born
o’er stone-cliffs steep and strait defiles,
narrow passes and unknown ways,
headlands sheer, and the haunts of
the Nicors.
Foremost he {21a} fared, a few at his side
of the
wiser men, the ways to scan,
till he found in a flash the forested
hill
hanging over the hoary rock,
a woful wood: the waves below
were dyed in blood. The Danish men
had sorrow of soul, and for
Scyldings all,
for many a hero, ’twas hard to bear,
ill
for earls, when Aeschere’s head
they found by the flood on the
foreland there.
Waves were welling, the warriors saw,
hot with
blood; but the horn sang oft
battle-song bold. The band sat down,
and watched on the water worm-like things,
sea-dragons strange that
sounded the deep,
and nicors that lay on the ledge of the ness --
such as oft essay at hour of morn
on the road-of-sails their ruthless
quest, --
and sea-snakes and monsters. These started away,
swollen and savage that song to hear,
that war-horn’s blast.
The warden of Geats,
with bolt from bow, then balked of life,
of
wave-work, one monster, amid its heart
went the keen war-shaft; in
water it seemed
less doughty in swimming whom death had seized.
Swift on the billows, with boar-spears well
hooked and barbed, it was
hard beset,
done to death and dragged on the headland,
wave-roamer wondrous. Warriors viewed
the grisly guest.
Then
girt him Beowulf
in martial mail, nor mourned for his life.
His
breastplate broad and bright of hues,
woven by hand, should the
waters try;
well could it ward the warrior’s body
that
battle should break on his breast in vain
nor harm his heart by the
hand of a foe.
And the helmet white that his head protected
was
destined to dare the deeps of the flood,
through wave-whirl win:
’twas wound with chains,
decked with gold, as in days of yore
the weapon-smith worked it wondrously,
with swine-forms set it, that
swords nowise,
brandished in battle, could bite that helm.
Nor
was that the meanest of mighty helps
which Hrothgar’s orator
offered at need:
“Hrunting” they named the hilted sword,
of old-time heirlooms easily first;
iron was its edge, all etched
with poison,
with battle-blood hardened, nor blenched it at fight
in hero’s hand who held it ever,
on paths of peril prepared to
go
to folkstead {21b} of foes. Not first time this
it was
destined to do a daring task.
For he bore not in mind, the bairn of
Ecglaf
sturdy and strong, that speech he had made,
drunk with
wine, now this weapon he lent
to a stouter swordsman. Himself,
though, durst not
under welter of waters wager his life
as loyal
liegeman. So lost he his glory,
honor of earls. With the other not
so,
who girded him now for the grim encounter.
XXII
BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --
“Have mind, thou honored
offspring of Healfdene
gold-friend of men, now I go on this quest,
sovran wise, what once was said:
if in thy cause it came that I
should lose my life, thou wouldst loyal bide
to me, though fallen, in
father’s place!
Be guardian, thou, to this group of my thanes,
my warrior-friends, if War should seize me;
and the goodly gifts thou
gavest me,
Hrothgar beloved, to Hygelac send!
Geatland’s
king may ken by the gold,
Hrethel’s son see, when he stares at
the treasure,
that I got me a friend for goodness famed,
and
joyed while I could in my jewel-bestower.
And let Unferth wield this
wondrous sword,
earl far-honored, this heirloom precious,
hard
of edge: with Hrunting I
seek doom of glory, or Death shall take me.”
After these words the Weder-Geat lord
boldly hastened, biding never
answer at all: the ocean floods
closed o’er the hero. Long
while of the day
fled ere he felt the floor of the sea.
Soon found the fiend who the flood-domain
sword-hungry held these
hundred winters,
greedy and grim, that some guest from above,
some man, was raiding her monster-realm.
She grasped out for him with
grisly claws,
and the warrior seized; yet scathed she not
his
body hale; the breastplate hindered,
as she strove to shatter the
sark of war,
the linked harness, with loathsome hand.
Then bore
this brine-wolf, when bottom she touched,
the lord of rings to the
lair she haunted
whiles vainly he strove, though his valor held,
weapon to wield against wondrous monsters
that sore beset him;
sea-beasts many
tried with fierce tusks to tear his mail,
and
swarmed on the stranger. But soon he marked
he was now in some hall,
he knew not which,
where water never could work him harm,
nor
through the roof could reach him ever
fangs of the flood. Firelight
he saw,
beams of a blaze that brightly shone.
Then the warrior
was ware of that wolf-of-the-deep,
mere-wife monstrous. For mighty
stroke
he swung his blade, and the blow withheld not.
Then sang
on her head that seemly blade
its war-song wild. But the warrior
found
the light-of-battle {22a} was loath to
bite,
to harm the heart: its hard edge failed
the noble at need,
yet had known of old
strife hand to hand, and had helmets cloven,
doomed men’s fighting-gear. First time, this,
for the gleaming
blade that its glory fell.
Firm still stood, nor failed in valor,
heedful of high deeds, Hygelac’s kinsman;
flung away fretted
sword, featly jewelled,
the angry earl; on earth it lay
steel-edged and stiff. His strength he trusted,
hand-gripe of might.
So man shall do
whenever in war he weens to earn him
lasting
fame, nor fears for his life!
Seized then by shoulder, shrank not
from combat,
the Geatish war-prince Grendel’s mother.
Flung then the fierce one, filled with wrath,
his deadly foe, that
she fell to ground.
Swift on her part she paid him back
with
grisly grasp, and grappled with him.
Spent with struggle, stumbled
the warrior,
fiercest of fighting-men, fell adown.
On the
hall-guest she hurled herself, hent her short sword,
broad and
brown-edged, {22b} the bairn to avenge,
the sole-born
son. -- On his shoulder lay
braided breast-mail, barring death,
withstanding entrance of edge or blade.
Life would have ended for
Ecgtheow’s son,
under wide earth for that earl of Geats,
had his armor of war not aided him,
battle-net hard, and holy God
wielded the victory, wisest Maker.
The Lord of Heaven allowed his
cause;
and easily rose the earl erect.
XXIII
’MID the battle-gear saw he a blade triumphant,
old-sword of
Eotens, with edge of proof,
warriors’ heirloom, weapon
unmatched,
-- save only ’twas more than other men
to
bandy-of-battle could bear at all --
as the giants had wrought it,
ready and keen.
Seized then its chain-hilt the Scyldings’
chieftain,
bold and battle-grim, brandished the sword,
reckless
of life, and so wrathfully smote
that it gripped her neck and grasped
her hard,
her bone-rings breaking: the blade pierced through
that fated-one’s flesh: to floor she sank.
Bloody the blade: he
was blithe of his deed.
Then blazed forth light. ’Twas bright
within
as when from the sky there shines unclouded
heaven’s
candle. The hall he scanned.
By the wall then went he; his weapon
raised
high by its hilts the Hygelac-thane,
angry and eager.
That edge was not useless
to the warrior now. He wished with speed
Grendel to guerdon for grim raids many,
for the war he waged on
Western-Danes
oftener far than an only time,
when of Hrothgar’s
hearth-companions
he slew in slumber, in sleep devoured,
fifteen
men of the folk of Danes,
and as many others outward bore,
his
horrible prey. Well paid for that
the wrathful prince! For now prone
he saw
Grendel stretched there, spent with war,
spoiled of life,
so scathed had left him
Heorot’s battle. The body sprang far
when after death it endured the blow,
sword-stroke savage, that
severed its head.
Soon, {23a} then, saw the sage companions
who
waited with Hrothgar, watching the flood,
that the tossing waters
turbid grew,
blood-stained the mere. Old men together,
hoary-haired, of the hero spake;
the warrior would not, they weened,
again,
proud of conquest, come to seek
their mighty master. To
many it seemed
the wolf-of-the-waves had won his life.
The ninth
hour came. The noble Scyldings
left the headland; homeward went
the gold-friend of men. {23b} But the guests sat on,
stared at
the surges, sick in heart,
and wished, yet weened not, their winsome
lord
again to see.
Now that sword began,
from blood of the fight, in battle-droppings,
{23c}
war-blade, to wane: ’twas a
wondrous thing
that all of it melted as ice is wont
when frosty
fetters the Father loosens,
unwinds the wave-bonds, wielding all
seasons and times: the true God he!
Nor took from that dwelling the
duke of the Geats
save only the head and that hilt withal
blazoned with jewels: the blade had melted,
burned was the bright
sword, her blood was so hot,
so poisoned the hell-sprite who perished
within there.
Soon he was swimming who safe saw in combat
downfall of demons; up-dove through the flood.
The clashing waters
were cleansed now,
waste of waves, where the wandering fiend
her
life-days left and this lapsing world.
Swam then to strand the
sailors’-refuge,
sturdy-in-spirit, of sea-booty glad,
of
burden brave he bore with him.
Went then to greet him, and God they
thanked,
the thane-band choice of their chieftain blithe,
that
safe and sound they could see him again.
Soon from the hardy one
helmet and armor
deftly they doffed: now drowsed the mere,
water
’neath welkin, with war-blood stained.
Forth they fared by the
footpaths thence,
merry at heart the highways measured,
well-known roads. Courageous men
carried the head from the cliff by
the sea,
an arduous task for all the band,
the firm in fight,
since four were needed
on the shaft-of-slaughter {23d}
strenuously
to bear to the gold-hall Grendel’s head.
So
presently to the palace there
foemen fearless, fourteen Geats,
marching came. Their master-of-clan
mighty amid them the meadow-ways
trod.
Strode then within the sovran thane
fearless in fight, of
fame renowned,
hardy hero, Hrothgar to greet.
And next by the
hair into hall was borne
Grendel’s head, where the henchmen
were drinking,
an awe to clan and queen alike,
a monster of
marvel: the men looked on.
XXIV
BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --
“Lo, now, this sea-booty,
son of Healfdene,
Lord of Scyldings, we’ve lustily brought
thee,
sign of glory; thou seest it here.
Not lightly did I with
my life escape!
In war under water this work I essayed
with
endless effort; and even so
my strength had been lost had the Lord
not shielded me.
Not a whit could I with Hrunting do
in work of
war, though the weapon is good;
yet a sword the Sovran of Men
vouchsafed me
to spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging,
old, gigantic, -- how oft He guides
the friendless wight! -- and I
fought with that brand,
felling in fight, since fate was with me,
the house’s wardens. That war-sword then
all burned, bright
blade, when the blood gushed o’er it,
battle-sweat hot; but the
hilt I brought back
from my foes. So avenged I their fiendish deeds
death-fall of Danes, as was due and right.
And this is my hest, that
in Heorot now
safe thou canst sleep with thy soldier band,
and
every thane of all thy folk
both old and young; no evil fear,
Scyldings’ lord, from that side again,
aught ill for thy earls,
as erst thou must!”
Then the golden hilt, for that gray-haired
leader,
hoary hero, in hand was laid,
giant-wrought, old. So
owned and enjoyed it
after downfall of devils, the Danish lord,
wonder-smiths’ work, since the world was rid
of that
grim-souled fiend, the foe of God,
murder-marked, and his mother as
well.
Now it passed into power of the people’s king,
best
of all that the oceans bound
who have scattered their gold o’er
Scandia’s isle.
Hrothgar spake -- the hilt he viewed,
heirloom old, where was etched the rise
of that far-off fight when
the floods o’erwhelmed,
raging waves, the race of giants
(fearful their fate!), a folk estranged
from God Eternal: whence
guerdon due
in that waste of waters the Wielder paid them.
So on
the guard of shining gold
in runic staves it was rightly said
for whom the serpent-traced sword was wrought,
best of blades, in
bygone days,
and the hilt well wound. -- The wise-one spake,
son
of Healfdene; silent were all: --
“Lo, so may he say who sooth
and right
follows ’mid folk, of far times mindful,
a
land-warden old, {24a} that this earl belongs
to the
better breed! So, borne aloft,
thy fame must fly, O friend my
Beowulf,
far and wide o’er folksteads many. Firmly thou
shalt all maintain,
mighty strength with mood of wisdom. Love of
mine will I assure thee,
as, awhile ago, I promised; thou shalt prove
a stay
in future,
in far-off years, to folk of thine,
to
the heroes a help. Was not Heremod thus
to offspring of Ecgwela,
Honor-Scyldings,
nor grew for their grace, but for grisly slaughter,
for doom of death to the Danishmen.
He slew, wrath-swollen, his shoulder-comrades,
companions at board!
So he passed alone,
chieftain haughty, from human cheer.
Though
him the Maker with might endowed,
delights of power, and uplifted
high
above all men, yet blood-fierce his mind,
his breast-hoard,
grew, no bracelets gave he
to Danes as was due; he endured all
joyless
strain of struggle and stress of woe,
long feud with his
folk. Here find thy lesson!
Of virtue advise thee! This verse I have
said for thee,
wise from lapsed winters. Wondrous seems
how to
sons of men Almighty God
in the strength of His spirit sendeth
wisdom,
estate, high station: He swayeth all things.
Whiles He
letteth right lustily fare
the heart of the hero of high-born race,
--
in seat ancestral assigns him bliss,
his folk’s sure
fortress in fee to hold,
puts in his power great parts of the earth,
empire so ample, that end of it
this wanter-of-wisdom weeneth none.
So he waxes in wealth, nowise can harm him
illness or age; no evil
cares
shadow his spirit; no sword-hate threatens
from ever an
enemy: all the world
wends at his will, no worse he knoweth,
till all within him obstinate pride
waxes and wakes while the warden
slumbers,
the spirit’s sentry; sleep is too fast
which
masters his might, and the murderer nears,
stealthily shooting the
shafts from his bow!
XXV
“UNDER harness his heart then is hit indeed
by sharpest shafts;
and no shelter avails
from foul behest of the hellish fiend. {25a}
Him seems too little what long he possessed.
Greedy and grim, no
golden rings
he gives for his pride; the promised future
forgets
he and spurns, with all God has sent him,
Wonder-Wielder, of wealth
and fame.
Yet in the end it ever comes
that the frame of the
body fragile yields,
fated falls; and there follows another
who
joyously the jewels divides,
the royal riches, nor recks of his
forebear.
Ban, then, such baleful thoughts, Beowulf dearest,
best of men, and the better part choose,
profit eternal; and temper
thy pride,
warrior famous! The flower of thy might
lasts now a
while: but erelong it shall be
that sickness or sword thy strength
shall minish,
or fang of fire, or flooding billow,
or bite of
blade, or brandished spear,
or odious age; or the eyes’ clear
beam
wax dull and darken: Death even thee
in haste shall o’erwhelm,
thou hero of war!
So the Ring-Danes these half-years a hundred I
ruled,
wielded ’neath welkin, and warded them bravely
from
mighty-ones many o’er middle-earth,
from spear and sword, till
it seemed for me
no foe could be found under fold of the sky.
Lo, sudden the shift! To me seated secure
came grief for joy when
Grendel began
to harry my home, the hellish foe;
for those
ruthless raids, unresting I suffered
heart-sorrow heavy. Heaven be
thanked,
Lord Eternal, for life extended
that I on this head all
hewn and bloody,
after long evil, with eyes may gaze!
-- Go to
the bench now! Be glad at banquet,
warrior worthy! A wealth of
treasure
at dawn of day, be dealt between us!”
Glad was
the Geats’ lord, going betimes
to seek his seat, as the Sage
commanded.
Afresh, as before, for the famed-in-battle,
for the
band of the hall, was a banquet dight
nobly anew. The Night-Helm
darkened
dusk o’er the drinkers.
The doughty ones rose:
for the hoary-headed would hasten to rest,
aged Scylding; and eager
the Geat,
shield-fighter sturdy, for sleeping yearned.
Him
wander-weary, warrior-guest
from far, a hall-thane heralded forth,
who by custom courtly cared for all
needs of a thane as in those old
days
warrior-wanderers wont to have.
So slumbered the
stout-heart. Stately the hall
rose gabled and gilt where the guest
slept on
till a raven black the rapture-of-heaven {25b}
blithe-heart boded. Bright came flying
shine after shadow. The
swordsmen hastened,
athelings all were eager homeward
forth to
fare; and far from thence
the great-hearted guest would guide his
keel.
Bade then the hardy-one Hrunting be brought
to the son of
Ecglaf, the sword bade him take,
excellent iron, and uttered his
thanks for it,
quoth that he counted it keen in battle,
“war-friend”
winsome: with words he slandered not
edge of the blade: ’twas a
big-hearted man!
Now eager for parting and armed at point
warriors waited, while went to his host
that Darling of Danes. The
doughty atheling
to high-seat hastened and Hrothgar greeted.
XXVI
BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --
“Lo, we seafarers say our
will,
far-come men, that we fain would seek
Hygelac now. We here
have found
hosts to our heart: thou hast harbored us well.
If
ever on earth I am able to win me
more of thy love, O lord of men,
aught anew, than I now have done,
for work of war I am willing still!
If it come to me ever across the seas
that neighbor foemen annoy and
fright thee, --
as they that hate thee erewhile have used, --
thousands then of thanes I shall bring,
heroes to help thee. Of
Hygelac I know,
ward of his folk, that, though few his years,
the lord of the Geats will give me aid
by word and by work, that well
I may serve thee,
wielding the war-wood to win thy triumph
and
lending thee might when thou lackest men.
If thy Hrethric should come
to court of Geats,
a sovran’s son, he will surely there
find his friends. A far-off land
each man should visit who vaunts him
brave.”
Him then answering, Hrothgar spake: --
“These
words of thine the wisest God
sent to thy soul! No sager counsel
from so young in years e’er yet have I heard.
Thou art strong
of main and in mind art wary,
art wise in words! I ween indeed
if ever it hap that Hrethel’s heir
by spear be seized, by
sword-grim battle,
by illness or iron, thine elder and lord,
people’s leader, -- and life be thine, --
no seemlier man will
the Sea-Geats find
at all to choose for their chief and king,
for hoard-guard of heroes, if hold thou wilt
thy kinsman’s
kingdom! Thy keen mind pleases me
the longer the better, Beowulf
loved!
Thou hast brought it about that both our peoples,
sons of the Geat
and Spear-Dane folk,
shall have mutual peace, and from murderous
strife,
such as once they waged, from war refrain.
Long as I
rule this realm so wide,
let our hoards be common, let heroes with
gold
each other greet o’er the gannet’s-bath,
and
the ringed-prow bear o’er rolling waves
tokens of love. I trow
my landfolk
towards friend and foe are firmly joined,
and honor
they keep in the olden way.”
To him in the hall, then,
Healfdene’s son
gave treasures twelve, and the trust-of-earls
bade him fare with the gifts to his folk beloved,
hale to his home,
and in haste return.
Then kissed the king of kin renowned,
Scyldings’ chieftain, that choicest thane,
and fell on his
neck. Fast flowed the tears
of the hoary-headed. Heavy with winters,
he had chances twain, but he clung to this, {26a} --
that
each should look on the other again,
and hear him in hall. Was this
hero so dear to him.
his breast’s wild billows he banned in
vain;
safe in his soul a secret longing,
locked in his mind, for
that loved man
burned in his blood. Then Beowulf strode,
glad of
his gold-gifts, the grass-plot o’er,
warrior blithe. The
wave-roamer bode
riding at anchor, its owner awaiting.
As they
hastened onward, Hrothgar’s gift
they lauded at length. --
’Twas a lord unpeered,
every way blameless, till age had broken
-- it spareth no mortal -- his splendid might.
XXVII
CAME now to ocean the ever-courageous
hardy henchmen, their harness
bearing,
woven war-sarks. The warden marked,
trusty as ever, the
earl’s return.
From the height of the hill no hostile words
reached the guests as he rode to greet them;
but “Welcome!”
he called to that Weder clan
as the sheen-mailed spoilers to ship
marched on.
Then on the strand, with steeds and treasure
and
armor their roomy and ring-dight ship
was heavily laden: high its
mast
rose over Hrothgar’s hoarded gems.
A sword to the
boat-guard Beowulf gave,
mounted with gold; on the mead-bench since
he was better esteemed, that blade possessing,
heirloom old. -- Their
ocean-keel boarding,
they drove through the deep, and Daneland left.
A sea-cloth was set, a sail with ropes,
firm to the mast; the
flood-timbers moaned; {27a}
nor did wind over billows that
wave-swimmer blow
across from her course. The craft sped on,
foam-necked it floated forth o’er the waves,
keel firm-bound
over briny currents,
till they got them sight of the Geatish cliffs,
home-known headlands. High the boat,
stirred by winds, on the strand
updrove.
Helpful at haven the harbor-guard stood,
who long
already for loved companions
by the water had waited and watched
afar.
He bound to the beach the broad-bosomed ship
with
anchor-bands, lest ocean-billows
that trusty timber should tear away.
Then Beowulf bade them bear the treasure,
gold and jewels; no journey
far
was it thence to go to the giver of rings,
Hygelac
Hrethling: at home he dwelt
by the sea-wall close, himself and clan.
Haughty that house, a hero the king,
high the hall, and Hygd {27b}
right young,
wise and wary, though winters few
in those fortress
walls she had found a home,
Haereth’s daughter. Nor humble her
ways,
nor grudged she gifts to the Geatish men,
of precious
treasure. Not Thryth’s pride showed she,
folk-queen famed, or
that fell deceit.
Was none so daring that durst make bold
(save
her lord alone) of the liegemen dear
that lady full in the face to
look,
but forged fetters he found his lot,
bonds of death! And
brief the respite;
soon as they seized him, his sword-doom was
spoken,
and the burnished blade a baleful murder
proclaimed and
closed. No queenly way
for woman to practise, though peerless she,
that the weaver-of-peace {27c} from warrior dear
by wrath and
lying his life should reave!
But Hemming’s kinsman hindered
this. --
For over their ale men also told
that of these
folk-horrors fewer she wrought,
onslaughts of evil, after she went,
gold-decked bride, to the brave young prince,
atheling haughty, and
Offa’s hall
o’er the fallow flood at her father’s
bidding
safely sought, where since she prospered,
royal,
throned, rich in goods,
fain of the fair life fate had sent her,
and leal in love to the lord of warriors.
He, of all heroes I heard
of ever
from sea to sea, of the sons of earth,
most excellent
seemed. Hence Offa was praised
for his fighting and feeing by far-off
men,
the spear-bold warrior; wisely he ruled
over his empire.
Eomer woke to him,
help of heroes, Hemming’s kinsman,
Grandson of Garmund, grim in war.
XXVIII
HASTENED the hardy one, henchmen with him,
sandy strand of the sea to
tread
and widespread ways. The world’s great candle,
sun
shone from south. They strode along
with sturdy steps to the spot
they knew
where the battle-king young, his burg within,
slayer
of Ongentheow, shared the rings,
shelter-of-heroes. To Hygelac
Beowulf’s coming was quickly told, --
that there in the court
the clansmen’s refuge,
the shield-companion sound and alive,
hale from the hero-play homeward strode.
With haste in the hall, by
highest order,
room for the rovers was readily made.
By his
sovran he sat, come safe from battle,
kinsman by kinsman. His kindly
lord
he first had greeted in gracious form,
with manly words.
The mead dispensing,
came through the high hall Haereth’s
daughter,
winsome to warriors, wine-cup bore
to the hands of the
heroes. Hygelac then
his comrade fairly with question plied
in
the lofty hall, sore longing to know
what manner of sojourn the
Sea-Geats made.
“What came of thy quest, my kinsman Beowulf,
when thy yearnings suddenly swept thee yonder
battle to seek o’er
the briny sea,
combat in Heorot? Hrothgar couldst thou
aid at
all, the honored chief,
in his wide-known woes? With waves of care
my sad heart seethed; I sore mistrusted
my loved one’s venture:
long I begged thee
by no means to seek that slaughtering monster,
but suffer the South-Danes to settle their feud
themselves with
Grendel. Now God be thanked
that safe and sound I can see thee now!”
Beowulf spake, the bairn of Ecgtheow: --
“’Tis known and
unhidden, Hygelac Lord,
to many men, that meeting of ours,
struggle grim between Grendel and me,
which we fought on the field
where full too many
sorrows he wrought for the Scylding-Victors,
evils unending. These all I avenged.
No boast can be from breed of
Grendel,
any on earth, for that uproar at dawn,
from the
longest-lived of the loathsome race
in fleshly fold! -- But first I
went
Hrothgar to greet in the hall of gifts,
where Healfdene’s
kinsman high-renowned,
soon as my purpose was plain to him,
assigned me a seat by his son and heir.
The liegemen were lusty; my
life-days never
such merry men over mead in hall
have I heard
under heaven! The high-born queen,
people’s peace-bringer,
passed through the hall,
cheered the young clansmen, clasps of gold,
ere she sought her seat, to sundry gave.
Oft to the heroes Hrothgar’s
daughter,
to earls in turn, the ale-cup tendered, --
she whom I
heard these hall-companions
Freawaru name, when fretted gold
she
proffered the warriors. Promised is she,
gold-decked maid, to the
glad son of Froda.
Sage this seems to the Scylding’s-friend,
kingdom’s-keeper: he counts it wise
the woman to wed so and
ward off feud,
store of slaughter. But seldom ever
when men are
slain, does the murder-spear sink
but briefest while, though the
bride be fair! {28a}
“Nor haply will like it the
Heathobard lord,
and as little each of his liegemen all,
when a
thane of the Danes, in that doughty throng,
goes with the lady along
their hall,
and on him the old-time heirlooms glisten
hard and
ring-decked, Heathobard’s treasure,
weapons that once they
wielded fair
until they lost at the linden-play {28b}
liegeman leal and their lives as well.
Then, over the ale, on this
heirloom gazing,
some ash-wielder old who has all in mind
that
spear-death of men, {28c} -- he is stern of mood,
heavy at
heart, -- in the hero young
tests the temper and tries the soul
and war-hate wakens, with words like these: --
Canst thou not,
comrade, ken that sword
which to the fray thy father carried
in
his final feud, ’neath the fighting-mask,
dearest of blades,
when the Danish slew him
and wielded the war-place on Withergild’s
fall,
after havoc of heroes, those hardy Scyldings?
Now, the son
of a certain slaughtering Dane,
proud of his treasure, paces this
hall,
joys in the killing, and carries the jewel {28d}
that rightfully ought to be owned by thee!_
Thus he urges and eggs
him all the time
with keenest words, till occasion offers
that
Freawaru’s thane, for his father’s deed,
after bite of
brand in his blood must slumber,
losing his life; but that liegeman
flies
living away, for the land he kens.
And thus be broken on
both their sides
oaths of the earls, when Ingeld’s breast
wells with war-hate, and wife-love now
after the care-billows cooler
grows.
“So {28e} I hold not high the Heathobards’
faith
due to the Danes, or their during love
and pact of peace.
-- But I pass from that,
turning to Grendel, O giver-of-treasure,
and saying in full how the fight resulted,
hand-fray of heroes. When
heaven’s jewel
had fled o’er far fields, that fierce
sprite came,
night-foe savage, to seek us out
where safe and
sound we sentried the hall.
To Hondscio then was that harassing
deadly,
his fall there was fated. He first was slain,
girded
warrior. Grendel on him
turned murderous mouth, on our mighty
kinsman,
and all of the brave man’s body devoured.
Yet
none the earlier, empty-handed,
would the bloody-toothed murderer,
mindful of bale,
outward go from the gold-decked hall:
but me he
attacked in his terror of might,
with greedy hand grasped me. A glove
hung by him {28f}
wide and wondrous, wound with
bands;
and in artful wise it all was wrought,
by devilish craft,
of dragon-skins.
Me therein, an innocent man,
the fiendish foe
was fain to thrust
with many another. He might not so,
when I
all angrily upright stood.
’Twere long to relate how that
land-destroyer
I paid in kind for his cruel deeds;
yet there, my
prince, this people of thine
got fame by my fighting. He fled away,
and a little space his life preserved;
but there staid behind him his
stronger hand
left in Heorot; heartsick thence
on the floor of
the ocean that outcast fell.
Me for this struggle the Scyldings’-friend
paid in plenty with plates of gold,
with many a treasure, when morn
had come
and we all at the banquet-board sat down.
Then was song
and glee. The gray-haired Scylding,
much tested, told of the times of
yore.
Whiles the hero his harp bestirred,
wood-of-delight; now
lays he chanted
of sooth and sadness, or said aright
legends of
wonder, the wide-hearted king;
or for years of his youth he would
yearn at times,
for strength of old struggles, now stricken with age,
hoary hero: his heart surged full
when, wise with winters, he wailed
their flight.
Thus in the hall the whole of that day
at ease we
feasted, till fell o’er earth
another night. Anon full ready
in greed of vengeance, Grendel’s mother
set forth all doleful.
Dead was her son
through war-hate of Weders; now, woman monstrous
with fury fell a foeman she slew,
avenged her offspring. From
Aeschere old,
loyal councillor, life was gone;
nor might they e’en,
when morning broke,
those Danish people, their death-done comrade
burn with brands, on balefire lay
the man they mourned. Under
mountain stream
she had carried the corpse with cruel hands.
For
Hrothgar that was the heaviest sorrow
of all that had laden the lord
of his folk.
The leader then, by thy life, besought me
(sad was
his soul) in the sea-waves’ coil
to play the hero and hazard my
being
for glory of prowess: my guerdon he pledged.
I then in the
waters -- ’tis widely known --
that sea-floor-guardian savage
found.
Hand-to-hand there a while we struggled;
billows welled
blood; in the briny hall
her head I hewed with a hardy blade
from Grendel’s mother, -- and gained my life,
though not
without danger. My doom was not yet.
Then the haven-of-heroes,
Healfdene’s son,
gave me in guerdon great gifts of price.
XXIX
“So held this king to the customs old,
that I wanted for nought
in the wage I gained,
the meed of my might; he made me gifts,
Healfdene’s heir, for my own disposal.
Now to thee, my prince,
I proffer them all,
gladly give them. Thy grace alone
can find
me favor. Few indeed
have I of kinsmen, save, Hygelac, thee!”
Then he bade them bear him the boar-head standard,
the battle-helm
high, and breastplate gray,
the splendid sword; then spake in form:
--
“Me this war-gear the wise old prince,
Hrothgar, gave,
and his hest he added,
that its story be straightway said to thee. --
A while it was held by Heorogar king,
for long time lord of the land
of Scyldings;
yet not to his son the sovran left it,
to daring
Heoroweard, -- dear as he was to him,
his harness of battle. -- Well
hold thou it all!”
And I heard that soon passed o’er the
path of this treasure,
all apple-fallow, four good steeds,
each
like the others, arms and horses
he gave to the king. So should
kinsmen be,
not weave one another the net of wiles,
or with
deep-hid treachery death contrive
for neighbor and comrade. His
nephew was ever
by hardy Hygelac held full dear,
and each kept
watch o’er the other’s weal.
I heard, too, the necklace
to Hygd he presented,
wonder-wrought treasure, which Wealhtheow gave
him
sovran’s daughter: three steeds he added,
slender and
saddle-gay. Since such gift
the gem gleamed bright on the breast of
the queen.
Thus showed his strain the son of Ecgtheow
as a man
remarked for mighty deeds
and acts of honor. At ale he slew not
comrade or kin; nor cruel his mood,
though of sons of earth his
strength was greatest,
a glorious gift that God had sent
the
splendid leader. Long was he spurned,
and worthless by Geatish
warriors held;
him at mead the master-of-clans
failed full oft
to favor at all.
Slack and shiftless the strong men deemed him,
profitless prince; but payment came,
to the warrior honored, for all
his woes. --
Then the bulwark-of-earls {29a} bade bring
within,
hardy chieftain, Hrethel’s heirloom
garnished with
gold: no Geat e’er knew
in shape of a sword a statelier prize.
The brand he laid in Beowulf’s lap;
and of hides assigned him
seven thousand, {29b}
with house and high-seat. They held
in common
land alike by their line of birth,
inheritance, home:
but higher the king
because of his rule o’er the realm itself.
Now further it fell with the flight of years,
with harryings horrid,
that Hygelac perished, {29c}
and Heardred, too, by hewing of
swords
under the shield-wall slaughtered lay,
when him at the
van of his victor-folk
sought hardy heroes, Heatho-Scilfings,
in
arms o’erwhelming Hereric’s nephew.
Then Beowulf came as
king this broad
realm to wield; and he ruled it well
fifty
winters, {29d} a wise old prince,
warding his
land, until One began
in the dark of night, a Dragon, to rage.
In the grave on the hill a hoard it guarded,
in the stone-barrow
steep. A strait path reached it,
unknown to mortals. Some man,
however,
came by chance that cave within
to the heathen hoard.
{29e} In hand he took
a golden goblet,
nor gave he it back,
stole with it away, while the watcher slept,
by thievish wiles: for the warden’s wrath
prince and people
must pay betimes!
XXX
THAT way he went with no will of his own,
in danger of life, to the
dragon’s hoard,
but for pressure of peril, some prince’s
thane.
He fled in fear the fatal scourge,
seeking shelter, a
sinful man,
and entered in. At the awful sight
tottered that
guest, and terror seized him;
yet the wretched fugitive rallied anon
from fright and fear ere he fled away,
and took the cup from that
treasure-hoard.
Of such besides there was store enough,
heirlooms old, the earth below,
which some earl forgotten, in ancient
years,
left the last of his lofty race,
heedfully there had
hidden away,
dearest treasure. For death of yore
had hurried all
hence; and he alone
left to live, the last of the clan,
weeping
his friends, yet wished to bide
warding the treasure, his one
delight,
though brief his respite. The barrow, new-ready,
to
strand and sea-waves stood anear,
hard by the headland, hidden and
closed;
there laid within it his lordly heirlooms
and heaped
hoard of heavy gold
that warden of rings. Few words he spake:
“Now hold thou, earth, since heroes may not,
what earls have
owned! Lo, erst from thee
brave men brought it! But battle-death
seized
and cruel killing my clansmen all,
robbed them of life
and a liegeman’s joys.
None have I left to lift the sword,
or to cleanse the carven cup of price,
beaker bright. My brave are
gone.
And the helmet hard, all haughty with gold,
shall part
from its plating. Polishers sleep
who could brighten and burnish the
battle-mask;
and those weeds of war that were wont to brave
over
bicker of shields the bite of steel
rust with their bearer. The
ringed mail
fares not far with famous chieftain,
at side of
hero! No harp’s delight,
no glee-wood’s gladness! No good
hawk now
flies through the hall! Nor horses fleet
stamp in the
burgstead! Battle and death
the flower of my race have reft away.”
Mournful of mood, thus he moaned his woe,
alone, for them all, and
unblithe wept
by day and by night, till death’s fell wave
o’erwhelmed his heart. His hoard-of-bliss
that old ill-doer
open found,
who, blazing at twilight the barrows haunteth,
naked
foe-dragon flying by night
folded in fire: the folk of earth
dread him sore. ’Tis his doom to seek
hoard in the graves, and
heathen gold
to watch, many-wintered: nor wins he thereby!
Powerful this plague-of-the-people thus
held the house of the hoard
in earth
three hundred winters; till One aroused
wrath in his
breast, to the ruler bearing
that costly cup, and the king implored
for bond of peace. So the barrow was plundered,
borne off was booty.
His boon was granted
that wretched man; and his ruler saw
first
time what was fashioned in far-off days.
When the dragon awoke, new
woe was kindled.
O’er the stone he snuffed. The stark-heart
found
footprint of foe who so far had gone
in his hidden craft
by the creature’s head. --
So may the undoomed easily flee
evils and exile, if only he gain
the grace of The Wielder! -- That
warden of gold
o’er the ground went seeking, greedy to find
the man who wrought him such wrong in sleep.
Savage and burning, the
barrow he circled
all without; nor was any there,
none in the
waste.... Yet war he desired,
was eager for battle. The barrow he
entered,
sought the cup, and discovered soon
that some one of
mortals had searched his treasure,
his lordly gold. The guardian
waited
ill-enduring till evening came;
boiling with wrath was
the barrow’s keeper,
and fain with flame the foe to pay
for the dear cup’s loss. -- Now day was fled
as the worm had
wished. By its wall no more
was it glad to bide, but burning flew
folded in flame: a fearful beginning
for sons of the soil; and soon
it came,
in the doom of their lord, to a dreadful end.
XXXI
THEN the baleful fiend its fire belched out,
and bright homes burned.
The blaze stood high
all landsfolk frighting. No living thing
would that loathly one leave as aloft it flew.
Wide was the dragon’s
warring seen,
its fiendish fury far and near,
as the grim
destroyer those Geatish people
hated and hounded. To hidden lair,
to its hoard it hastened at hint of dawn.
Folk of the land it had
lapped in flame,
with bale and brand. In its barrow it trusted,
its battling and bulwarks: that boast was vain!
To Beowulf then the bale was told
quickly and truly: the king’s
own home,
of buildings the best, in brand-waves melted,
that
gift-throne of Geats. To the good old man
sad in heart, ’twas
heaviest sorrow.
The sage assumed that his sovran God
he had
angered, breaking ancient law,
and embittered the Lord. His breast
within
with black thoughts welled, as his wont was never.
The
folk’s own fastness that fiery dragon
with flame had destroyed,
and the stronghold all
washed by waves; but the warlike king,
prince of the Weders, plotted vengeance.
Warriors’-bulwark, he
bade them work
all of iron -- the earl’s commander --
a
war-shield wondrous: well he knew
that forest-wood against fire were
worthless,
linden could aid not. -- Atheling brave,
he was fated
to finish this fleeting life, {31a}
his
days on earth, and the dragon with him,
though long it had watched o’er
the wealth of the hoard! --
Shame he reckoned it, sharer-of-rings,
to follow the flyer-afar with a host,
a broad-flung band; nor the
battle feared he,
nor deemed he dreadful the dragon’s warring,
its vigor and valor: ventures desperate
he had passed a-plenty, and
perils of war,
contest-crash, since, conqueror proud,
Hrothgar’s
hall he had wholly purged,
and in grapple had killed the kin of
Grendel,
loathsome breed! Not least was that
of hand-to-hand
fights where Hygelac fell,
when the ruler of Geats in rush of battle,
lord of his folk, in the Frisian land,
son of Hrethel, by
sword-draughts died,
by brands down-beaten. Thence Beowulf fled
through strength of himself and his swimming power,
though alone, and
his arms were laden with thirty
coats of mail, when he came to the
sea!
Nor yet might Hetwaras {31b} haughtily
boast
their craft of contest, who carried against him
shields to
the fight: but few escaped
from strife with the hero to seek their
homes!
Then swam over ocean Ecgtheow’s son
lonely and
sorrowful, seeking his land,
where Hygd made him offer of hoard and
realm,
rings and royal-seat, reckoning naught
the strength of
her son to save their kingdom
from hostile hordes, after Hygelac’s
death.
No sooner for this could the stricken ones
in any wise
move that atheling’s mind
over young Heardred’s head as
lord
and ruler of all the realm to be:
yet the hero upheld him
with helpful words,
aided in honor, till, older grown,
he
wielded the Weder-Geats. -- Wandering exiles
sought him o’er
seas, the sons of Ohtere,
who had spurned the sway of the Scylfings’-helmet,
the bravest and best that broke the rings,
in Swedish land, of the
sea-kings’ line,
haughty hero. {31c} Hence
Heardred’s end.
For shelter he gave them, sword-death came,
the blade’s fell blow, to bairn of Hygelac;
but the son of
Ongentheow sought again
house and home when Heardred fell,
leaving Beowulf lord of Geats
and gift-seat’s master. -- A good
king he!
XXXII
THE fall of his lord he was fain to requite
in after days; and to
Eadgils he proved
friend to the friendless, and forces sent
over
the sea to the son of Ohtere,
weapons and warriors: well repaid he
those care-paths cold when the king he slew. {32a}
Thus
safe through struggles the son of Ecgtheow
had passed a plenty,
through perils dire,
with daring deeds, till this day was come
that doomed him now with the dragon to strive.
With comrades eleven
the lord of Geats
swollen in rage went seeking the dragon.
He
had heard whence all the harm arose
and the killing of clansmen; that
cup of price
on the lap of the lord had been laid by the finder.
In the throng was this one thirteenth man,
starter of all the strife
and ill,
care-laden captive; cringing thence
forced and
reluctant, he led them on
till he came in ken of that cavern-hall,
the barrow delved near billowy surges,
flood of ocean. Within ’twas
full
of wire-gold and jewels; a jealous warden,
warrior trusty,
the treasures held,
lurked in his lair. Not light the task
of
entrance for any of earth-born men!
Sat on the headland the hero
king,
spake words of hail to his hearth-companions,
gold-friend
of Geats. All gloomy his soul,
wavering, death-bound. Wyrd full nigh
stood ready to greet the gray-haired man,
to seize his soul-hoard,
sunder apart
life and body. Not long would be
the warrior’s
spirit enwound with flesh.
Beowulf spake, the bairn of Ecgtheow: --
“Through store of struggles I strove in youth,
mighty feuds; I
mind them all.
I was seven years old when the sovran of rings,
friend-of-his-folk, from my father took me,
had me, and held me,
Hrethel the king,
with food and fee, faithful in kinship.
Ne’er,
while I lived there, he loathlier found me,
bairn in the burg, than
his birthright sons,
Herebeald and Haethcyn and Hygelac mine.
For the eldest of these, by unmeet chance,
by kinsman’s deed,
was the death-bed strewn,
when Haethcyn killed him with horny bow,
his own dear liege laid low with an arrow,
missed the mark and his
mate shot down,
one brother the other, with bloody shaft.
A
feeless fight, {32b} and a fearful sin,
horror to
Hrethel; yet, hard as it was,
unavenged must the atheling die!
Too awful it is for an aged man
to bide and bear, that his bairn so
young
rides on the gallows. A rime he makes,
sorrow-song for his
son there hanging
as rapture of ravens; no rescue now
can come
from the old, disabled man!
Still is he minded, as morning breaks,
of the heir gone elsewhere; {32c} another he hopes not
he will bide
to see his burg within
as ward for his wealth, now the one has found
doom of death that the deed incurred.
Forlorn he looks on the lodge
of his son,
wine-hall waste and wind-swept chambers
reft of
revel. The rider sleepeth,
the hero, far-hidden; {32d}
no harp resounds,
in the courts no wassail, as once was heard.
XXXIII
“THEN he goes to his chamber, a grief-song chants
alone for his
lost. Too large all seems,
homestead and house. So the
helmet-of-Weders
hid in his heart for Herebeald
waves of woe. No
way could he take
to avenge on the slayer slaughter so foul;
nor
e’en could he harass that hero at all
with loathing deed,
though he loved him not.
And so for the sorrow his soul endured,
men’s gladness he gave up and God’s light chose.
Lands
and cities he left his sons
(as the wealthy do) when he went from
earth.
There was strife and struggle ’twixt Swede and Geat
o’er the width of waters; war arose,
hard battle-horror, when
Hrethel died,
and Ongentheow’s offspring grew
strife-keen,
bold, nor brooked o’er the seas
pact of peace, but pushed their
hosts
to harass in hatred by Hreosnabeorh.
Men of my folk for
that feud had vengeance,
for woful war (‘tis widely known),
though one of them bought it with blood of his heart,
a bargain hard:
for Haethcyn proved
fatal that fray, for the first-of-Geats.
At
morn, I heard, was the murderer killed
by kinsman for kinsman, {33a}
with clash of sword,
when Ongentheow met Eofor there.
Wide split
the war-helm: wan he fell,
hoary Scylfing; the hand that smote him
of feud was mindful, nor flinched from the death-blow.
-- “For
all that he {33b} gave me, my gleaming sword
repaid
him at war, -- such power I wielded, --
for lordly treasure: with
land he entrusted me,
homestead and house. He had no need
from
Swedish realm, or from Spear-Dane folk,
or from men of the Gifths, to
get him help, --
some warrior worse for wage to buy!
Ever I
fought in the front of all,
sole to the fore; and so shall I fight
while I bide in life and this blade shall last
that early and late
hath loyal proved
since for my doughtiness Daeghrefn fell,
slain
by my hand, the Hugas’ champion.
Nor fared he thence to the
Frisian king
with the booty back, and breast-adornments;
but,
slain in struggle, that standard-bearer
fell, atheling brave. Not
with blade was he slain,
but his bones were broken by brawny gripe,
his heart-waves stilled. -- The sword-edge now,
hard blade and my
hand, for the hoard shall strive.”
Beowulf spake, and a
battle-vow made
his last of all: “I have lived through many
wars in my youth; now once again,
old folk-defender, feud will I
seek,
do doughty deeds, if the dark destroyer
forth from his
cavern come to fight me!”
Then hailed he the helmeted heroes
all,
for the last time greeting his liegemen dear,
comrades of
war: “I should carry no weapon,
no sword to the serpent, if
sure I knew
how, with such enemy, else my vows
I could gain as I
did in Grendel’s day.
But fire in this fight I must fear me
now,
and poisonous breath; so I bring with me
breastplate and
board. {33c} From the barrow’s keeper
no
footbreadth flee I. One fight shall end
our war by the wall, as Wyrd
allots,
all mankind’s master. My mood is bold
but forbears
to boast o’er this battling-flyer.
-- Now abide by the barrow,
ye breastplate-mailed,
ye heroes in harness, which of us twain
better from battle-rush bear his wounds.
Wait ye the finish. The
fight is not yours,
nor meet for any but me alone
to measure
might with this monster here
and play the hero. Hardily I
shall
win that wealth, or war shall seize,
cruel killing, your king and
lord!”
Up stood then with shield the sturdy champion,
stayed by the strength of his single manhood,
and hardy ’neath
helmet his harness bore
under cleft of the cliffs: no coward’s
path!
Soon spied by the wall that warrior chief,
survivor of
many a victory-field
where foemen fought with furious clashings,
an arch of stone; and within, a stream
that broke from the barrow.
The brooklet’s wave
was hot with fire. The hoard that way
he never could hope unharmed to near,
or endure those deeps, {33d}
for the dragon’s flame.
Then let from his breast, for he burst
with rage,
the Weder-Geat prince a word outgo;
stormed the
stark-heart; stern went ringing
and clear his cry ’neath the
cliff-rocks gray.
The hoard-guard heard a human voice;
his rage
was enkindled. No respite now
for pact of peace! The poison-breath
of that foul worm first came forth from the cave,
hot reek-of-fight:
the rocks resounded.
Stout by the stone-way his shield he raised,
lord of the Geats, against the loathed-one;
while with courage keen
that coiled foe
came seeking strife. The sturdy king
had drawn
his sword, not dull of edge,
heirloom old; and each of the two
felt fear of his foe, though fierce their mood.
Stoutly stood with
his shield high-raised
the warrior king, as the worm now coiled
together amain: the mailed-one waited.
Now, spire by spire, fast sped
and glided
that blazing serpent. The shield protected,
soul and
body a shorter while
for the hero-king than his heart desired,
could his will have wielded the welcome respite
but once in his life!
But Wyrd denied it,
and victory’s honors. -- His arm he lifted
lord of the Geats, the grim foe smote
with atheling’s heirloom.
Its edge was turned
brown blade, on the bone, and bit more feebly
than its noble master had need of then
in his baleful stress. -- Then
the barrow’s keeper
waxed full wild for that weighty blow,
cast deadly flames; wide drove and far
those vicious fires. No victor’s
glory
the Geats’ lord boasted; his brand had failed,
naked
in battle, as never it should,
excellent iron! -- ’Twas no easy
path
that Ecgtheow’s honored heir must tread
over the
plain to the place of the foe;
for against his will he must win a
home
elsewhere far, as must all men, leaving
this lapsing life!
-- Not long it was
ere those champions grimly closed again.
The
hoard-guard was heartened; high heaved his breast
once more; and by
peril was pressed again,
enfolded in flames, the folk-commander!
Nor yet about him his band of comrades,
sons of athelings, armed
stood
with warlike front: to the woods they bent them,
their
lives to save. But the soul of one
with care was cumbered. Kinship
true
can never be marred in a noble mind!
XXXIV
WIGLAF his name was, Weohstan’s son,
linden-thane loved, the
lord of Scylfings,
Aelfhere’s kinsman. His king he now saw
with heat under helmet hard oppressed.
He minded the prizes his
prince had given him,
wealthy seat of the Waegmunding line,
and
folk-rights that his father owned
Not long he lingered. The linden
yellow,
his shield, he seized; the old sword he drew: --
as
heirloom of Eanmund earth-dwellers knew it,
who was slain by the
sword-edge, son of Ohtere,
friendless exile, erst in fray
killed
by Weohstan, who won for his kin
brown-bright helmet, breastplate
ringed,
old sword of Eotens, Onela’s gift,
weeds of war of
the warrior-thane,
battle-gear brave: though a brother’s child
had been felled, the feud was unfelt by Onela. {34a}
For
winters this war-gear Weohstan kept,
breastplate and board, till his
bairn had grown
earlship to earn as the old sire did:
then he
gave him, mid Geats, the gear of battle,
portion huge, when he passed
from life,
fared aged forth. For the first time now
with his
leader-lord the liegeman young
was bidden to share the shock of
battle.
Neither softened his soul, nor the sire’s bequest
weakened in war. {34b} So the worm found out
when once in
fight the foes had met!
Wiglaf spake, -- and his words were sage;
sad in spirit, he said to his comrades: --
“I remember the
time, when mead we took,
what promise we made to this prince of ours
in the banquet-hall, to our breaker-of-rings,
for gear of combat to
give him requital,
for hard-sword and helmet, if hap should bring
stress of this sort! Himself who chose us
from all his army to aid
him now,
urged us to glory, and gave these treasures,
because he
counted us keen with the spear
and hardy ’neath helm, though
this hero-work
our leader hoped unhelped and alone
to finish for
us, -- folk-defender
who hath got him glory greater than all men
for daring deeds! Now the day is come
that our noble master has need
of the might
of warriors stout. Let us stride along
the hero to
help while the heat is about him
glowing and grim! For God is my
witness
I am far more fain the fire should seize
along with my
lord these limbs of mine! {34c}
Unsuiting it seems our shields to
bear
homeward hence, save here we essay
to fell the foe and
defend the life
of the Weders’ lord. I wot ’twere shame
on the law of our land if alone the king
out of Geatish warriors woe
endured
and sank in the struggle! My sword and helmet,
breastplate and board, for us both shall serve!”
Through
slaughter-reek strode he to succor his chieftain,
his battle-helm
bore, and brief words spake: --
“Beowulf dearest, do all
bravely,
as in youthful days of yore thou vowedst
that while
life should last thou wouldst let no wise
thy glory droop! Now, great
in deeds,
atheling steadfast, with all thy strength
shield thy
life! I will stand to help thee.”
At the words the worm came
once again,
murderous monster mad with rage,
with fire-billows
flaming, its foes to seek,
the hated men. In heat-waves burned
that board {34d} to the boss, and the breastplate failed
to shelter at all the spear-thane young.
Yet quickly under his
kinsman’s shield
went eager the earl, since his own was now
all burned by the blaze. The bold king again
had mind of his glory:
with might his glaive
was driven into the dragon’s head, --
blow nerved by hate. But Naegling {34e} was
shivered,
broken in battle was Beowulf’s sword,
old and
gray. ’Twas granted him not
that ever the edge of iron at all
could help him at strife: too strong was his hand,
so the tale is
told, and he tried too far
with strength of stroke all swords he
wielded,
though sturdy their steel: they steaded him nought.
Then for the third time thought on its feud
that folk-destroyer,
fire-dread dragon,
and rushed on the hero, where room allowed,
battle-grim, burning; its bitter teeth
closed on his neck, and
covered him
with waves of blood from his breast that welled.
XXXV
’TWAS now, men say, in his sovran’s need
that the earl
made known his noble strain,
craft and keenness and courage enduring.
Heedless of harm, though his hand was burned,
hardy-hearted, he
helped his kinsman.
A little lower the loathsome beast
he smote
with sword; his steel drove in
bright and burnished; that blaze began
to lose and lessen. At last the king
wielded his wits again,
war-knife drew,
a biting blade by his breastplate hanging,
and
the Weders’-helm smote that worm asunder,
felled the foe, flung
forth its life.
So had they killed it, kinsmen both,
athelings
twain: thus an earl should be
in danger’s day! -- Of deeds of
valor
this conqueror’s-hour of the king was last,
of his
work in the world. The wound began,
which that dragon-of-earth had
erst inflicted,
to swell and smart; and soon he found
in his
breast was boiling, baleful and deep,
pain of poison. The prince
walked on,
wise in his thought, to the wall of rock;
then sat,
and stared at the structure of giants,
where arch of stone and
steadfast column
upheld forever that hall in earth.
Yet here
must the hand of the henchman peerless
lave with water his winsome
lord,
the king and conqueror covered with blood,
with struggle
spent, and unspan his helmet.
Beowulf spake in spite of his hurt,
his mortal wound; full well he knew
his portion now was past and gone
of earthly bliss, and all had fled
of his file of days, and death was
near:
“I would fain bestow on son of mine
this gear of
war, were given me now
that any heir should after me come
of my
proper blood. This people I ruled
fifty winters. No folk-king was
there,
none at all, of the neighboring clans
who war would wage
me with ’warriors’-friends’ {35a}
and
threat me with horrors. At home I bided
what fate might come, and I
cared for mine own;
feuds I sought not, nor falsely swore
ever
on oath. For all these things,
though fatally wounded, fain am I!
From the Ruler-of-Man no wrath shall seize me,
when life from my
frame must flee away,
for killing of kinsmen! Now quickly go
and
gaze on that hoard ’neath the hoary rock,
Wiglaf loved, now the
worm lies low,
sleeps, heart-sore, of his spoil bereaved.
And
fare in haste. I would fain behold
the gorgeous heirlooms, golden
store,
have joy in the jewels and gems, lay down
softlier for
sight of this splendid hoard
my life and the lordship I long have
held.”
XXXVI
I HAVE heard that swiftly the son of Weohstan
at wish and word of his
wounded king, --
war-sick warrior, -- woven mail-coat,
battle-sark, bore ’neath the barrow’s roof.
Then the
clansman keen, of conquest proud,
passing the seat, {36a}
saw store of jewels
and glistening gold the ground along;
by the
wall were marvels, and many a vessel
in the den of the dragon, the
dawn-flier old:
unburnished bowls of bygone men
reft of
richness; rusty helms
of the olden age; and arm-rings many
wondrously woven. -- Such wealth of gold,
booty from barrow, can
burden with pride
each human wight: let him hide it who will! --
His glance too fell on a gold-wove banner
high o’er the hoard,
of handiwork noblest,
brilliantly broidered; so bright its gleam,
all the earth-floor he easily saw
and viewed all these vessels. No
vestige now
was seen of the serpent: the sword had ta’en him.
Then, I heard, the hill of its hoard was reft,
old work of giants, by
one alone;
he burdened his bosom with beakers and plate
at his
own good will, and the ensign took,
brightest of beacons. -- The
blade of his lord
-- its edge was iron -- had injured deep
one
that guarded the golden hoard
many a year and its murder-fire
spread hot round the barrow in horror-billows
at midnight hour, till
it met its doom.
Hasted the herald, the hoard so spurred him
his
track to retrace; he was troubled by doubt,
high-souled hero, if
haply he’d find
alive, where he left him, the lord of Weders,
weakening fast by the wall of the cave.
So he carried the load. His
lord and king
he found all bleeding, famous chief
at the lapse
of life. The liegeman again
plashed him with water, till point of
word
broke through the breast-hoard. Beowulf spake,
sage and
sad, as he stared at the gold. --
“For the gold and treasure,
to God my thanks,
to the Wielder-of-Wonders, with words I say,
for what I behold, to Heaven’s Lord,
for the grace that I give
such gifts to my folk
or ever the day of my death be run!
Now I’ve
bartered here for booty of treasure
the last of my life, so look ye
well
to the needs of my land! No longer I tarry.
A barrow bid ye
the battle-fanned raise
for my ashes. ’Twill shine by the shore
of the flood,
to folk of mine memorial fair
on Hrones Headland
high uplifted,
that ocean-wanderers oft may hail
Beowulf’s
Barrow, as back from far
they drive their keels o’er the
darkling wave.”
From his neck he unclasped the collar of gold,
valorous king, to his vassal gave it
with bright-gold helmet,
breastplate, and ring,
to the youthful thane: bade him use them in
joy.
“Thou art end and remnant of all our race
the
Waegmunding name. For Wyrd hath swept them,
all my line, to the land
of doom,
earls in their glory: I after them go.”
This word
was the last which the wise old man
harbored in heart ere hot
death-waves
of balefire he chose. From his bosom fled
his soul
to seek the saints’ reward.
XXXVII
IT was heavy hap for that hero young
on his lord beloved to look and
find him
lying on earth with life at end,
sorrowful sight. But
the slayer too,
awful earth-dragon, empty of breath,
lay felled
in fight, nor, fain of its treasure,
could the writhing monster rule
it more.
For edges of iron had ended its days,
hard and
battle-sharp, hammers’ leaving; {37a}
and
that flier-afar had fallen to ground
hushed by its hurt, its hoard
all near,
no longer lusty aloft to whirl
at midnight, making its
merriment seen,
proud of its prizes: prone it sank
by the
handiwork of the hero-king.
Forsooth among folk but few achieve,
-- though sturdy and strong, as stories tell me,
and never so daring
in deed of valor, --
the perilous breath of a poison-foe
to
brave, and to rush on the ring-board hall,
whenever his watch the
warden keeps
bold in the barrow. Beowulf paid
the price of death
for that precious hoard;
and each of the foes had found the end
of this fleeting life.
Befell erelong
that the laggards in war
the wood had left,
trothbreakers, cowards, ten together,
fearing
before to flourish a spear
in the sore distress of their sovran lord.
Now in their shame their shields they carried,
armor of fight, where
the old man lay;
and they gazed on Wiglaf. Wearied he sat
at his
sovran’s shoulder, shieldsman good,
to wake him with water.
{37b} Nowise it availed.
Though well he
wished it, in world no more
could he barrier life for that
leader-of-battles
nor baffle the will of all-wielding God.
Doom
of the Lord was law o’er the deeds
of every man, as it is
to-day.
Grim was the answer, easy to get,
from the youth for
those that had yielded to fear!
Wiglaf spake, the son of Weohstan, --
mournful he looked on those men unloved: --
“Who sooth will
speak, can say indeed
that the ruler who gave you golden rings
and the harness of war in which ye stand
-- for he at ale-bench
often-times
bestowed on hall-folk helm and breastplate,
lord to
liegemen, the likeliest gear
which near of far he could find to give,
--
threw away and wasted these weeds of battle,
on men who
failed when the foemen came!
Not at all could the king of his
comrades-in-arms
venture to vaunt, though the Victory-Wielder,
God, gave him grace that he got revenge
sole with his sword in stress
and need.
To rescue his life, ’twas little that I
could
serve him in struggle; yet shift I made
(hopeless it seemed) to help
my kinsman.
Its strength ever waned, when with weapon I struck
that fatal foe, and the fire less strongly
flowed from its head. --
Too few the heroes
in throe of contest that thronged to our king!
Now gift of treasure and girding of sword,
joy of the house and
home-delight
shall fail your folk; his freehold-land
every
clansman within your kin
shall lose and leave, when lords high-born
hear afar of that flight of yours,
a fameless deed. Yea, death is
better
for liegemen all than a life of shame!”
XXXVIII
THAT battle-toil bade he at burg to announce,
at the fort on the
cliff, where, full of sorrow,
all the morning earls had sat,
daring shieldsmen, in doubt of twain:
would they wail as dead, or
welcome home,
their lord beloved? Little {38a} kept back
of the tidings new, but told them all,
the herald that up the
headland rode. --
“Now the willing-giver to Weder folk
in
death-bed lies; the Lord of Geats
on the slaughter-bed sleeps by the
serpent’s deed!
And beside him is stretched that slayer-of-men
with knife-wounds sick: {38b} no sword availed
on the awesome
thing in any wise
to work a wound. There Wiglaf sitteth,
Weohstan’s bairn, by Beowulf’s side,
the living earl by
the other dead,
and heavy of heart a head-watch {38c}
keeps
o’er friend and foe. -- Now our folk may look
for
waging of war when once unhidden
to Frisian and Frank the fall of the
king
is spread afar. -- The strife began
when hot on the Hugas
{38d} Hygelac fell
and fared with his
fleet to the Frisian land.
Him there the Hetwaras humbled in war,
plied with such prowess their power o’erwhelming
that the
bold-in-battle bowed beneath it
and fell in fight. To his friends no
wise
could that earl give treasure! And ever since
the Merowings’
favor has failed us wholly.
Nor aught expect I of peace and faith
from Swedish folk. ’Twas spread afar
how Ongentheow reft at
Ravenswood
Haethcyn Hrethling of hope and life,
when the folk of
Geats for the first time sought
in wanton pride the
Warlike-Scylfings.
Soon the sage old sire {38e} of Ohtere,
ancient and awful, gave answering blow;
the sea-king {38f}
he slew, and his spouse redeemed,
his good wife rescued, though
robbed of her gold,
mother of Ohtere and Onela.
Then he followed
his foes, who fled before him
sore beset and stole their way,
bereft of a ruler, to Ravenswood.
With his host he besieged there what swords had left,
the weary and
wounded; woes he threatened
the whole night through to that
hard-pressed throng:
some with the morrow his sword should kill,
some should go to the gallows-tree
for rapture of ravens. But rescue
came
with dawn of day for those desperate men
when they heard
the horn of Hygelac sound,
tones of his trumpet; the trusty king
had followed their trail with faithful band.
XXXIX
“THE bloody swath of Swedes and Geats
and the storm of their
strife, were seen afar,
how folk against folk the fight had wakened.
The ancient king with his atheling band
sought his citadel, sorrowing
much:
Ongentheow earl went up to his burg.
He had tested Hygelac’s
hardihood,
the proud one’s prowess, would prove it no longer,
defied no more those fighting-wanderers
nor hoped from the seamen to
save his hoard,
his bairn and his bride: so he bent him again,
old, to his earth-walls. Yet after him came
with slaughter for Swedes
the standards of Hygelac
o’er peaceful plains in pride
advancing,
till Hrethelings fought in the fenced town. {39a}
Then Ongentheow with edge of sword,
the hoary-bearded, was held at
bay,
and the folk-king there was forced to suffer
Eofor’s
anger. In ire, at the king
Wulf Wonreding with weapon struck;
and the chieftain’s blood, for that blow, in streams
flowed
’neath his hair. No fear felt he,
stout old Scylfing, but
straightway repaid
in better bargain that bitter stroke
and
faced his foe with fell intent.
Nor swift enough was the son of
Wonred
answer to render the aged chief;
too soon on his head the
helm was cloven;
blood-bedecked he bowed to earth,
and fell
adown; not doomed was he yet,
and well he waxed, though the wound was
sore.
Then the hardy Hygelac-thane, {39b}
when
his brother fell, with broad brand smote,
giants’ sword
crashing through giants’-helm
across the shield-wall: sank the
king,
his folk’s old herdsman, fatally hurt.
There were
many to bind the brother’s wounds
and lift him, fast as fate
allowed
his people to wield the place-of-war.
But Eofor took
from Ongentheow,
earl from other, the iron-breastplate,
hard
sword hilted, and helmet too,
and the hoar-chief’s harness to
Hygelac carried,
who took the trappings, and truly promised
rich
fee ’mid folk, -- and fulfilled it so.
For that grim strife
gave the Geatish lord,
Hrethel’s offspring, when home he came,
to Eofor and Wulf a wealth of treasure,
Each of them had a hundred
thousand {39c}
in land and linked rings; nor at
less price reckoned
mid-earth men such mighty deeds!
And to
Eofor he gave his only daughter
in pledge of grace, the pride of his
home.
“Such is the feud, the foeman’s rage,
death-hate of men:
so I deem it sure
that the Swedish folk will seek us home
for
this fall of their friends, the fighting-Scylfings,
when once they
learn that our warrior leader
lifeless lies, who land and hoard
ever defended from all his foes,
furthered his folk’s weal,
finished his course
a hardy hero. -- Now haste is best,
that we
go to gaze on our Geatish lord,
and bear the bountiful
breaker-of-rings
to the funeral pyre. No fragments merely
shall
burn with the warrior. Wealth of jewels,
gold untold and gained in
terror,
treasure at last with his life obtained,
all of that
booty the brands shall take,
fire shall eat it. No earl must carry
memorial jewel. No maiden fair
shall wreathe her neck with noble
ring:
nay, sad in spirit and shorn of her gold,
oft shall she
pass o’er paths of exile
now our lord all laughter has laid
aside,
all mirth and revel. Many a spear
morning-cold shall be
clasped amain,
lifted aloft; nor shall lilt of harp
those
warriors wake; but the wan-hued raven,
fain o’er the fallen,
his feast shall praise
and boast to the eagle how bravely he ate
when he and the wolf were wasting the slain.”
So he told his sorrowful tidings,
and little {39d} he lied, the
loyal man
of word or of work. The warriors rose;
sad, they
climbed to the Cliff-of-Eagles,
went, welling with tears, the wonder
to view.
Found on the sand there, stretched at rest,
their
lifeless lord, who had lavished rings
of old upon them. Ending-day
had dawned on the doughty-one; death had seized
in woful slaughter
the Weders’ king.
There saw they, besides, the strangest being,
loathsome, lying their leader near,
prone on the field. The fiery
dragon,
fearful fiend, with flame was scorched.
Reckoned by
feet, it was fifty measures
in length as it lay. Aloft erewhile
it had revelled by night, and anon come back,
seeking its den; now in
death’s sure clutch
it had come to the end of its earth-hall
joys.
By it there stood the stoups and jars;
dishes lay there,
and dear-decked swords
eaten with rust, as, on earth’s lap
resting,
a thousand winters they waited there.
For all that
heritage huge, that gold
of bygone men, was bound by a spell, {39e}
so the treasure-hall could be touched by none
of human kind, -- save
that Heaven’s King,
God himself, might give whom he would,
Helper of Heroes, the hoard to open, --
even such a man as seemed to
him meet.
XL
A PERILOUS path, it proved, he {40a} trod
who heinously hid, that hall within,
wealth under wall! Its watcher
had killed
one of a few, {40b} and the feud
was avenged
in woful fashion. Wondrous seems it,
what manner a
man of might and valor
oft ends his life, when the earl no longer
in mead-hall may live with loving friends.
So Beowulf, when that
barrow’s warden
he sought, and the struggle; himself knew not
in what wise he should wend from the world at last.
For {40c}
princes potent, who placed the gold,
with a curse to doomsday covered
it deep,
so that marked with sin the man should be,
hedged with
horrors, in hell-bonds fast,
racked with plagues, who should rob
their hoard.
Yet no greed for gold, but the grace of heaven,
ever the king had kept in view. {40d}
Wiglaf
spake, the son of Weohstan: --
“At the mandate of one, oft
warriors many
sorrow must suffer; and so must we.
The people’s-shepherd
showed not aught
of care for our counsel, king beloved!
That
guardian of gold he should grapple not, urged we,
but let him lie
where he long had been
in his earth-hall waiting the end of the
world,
the hest of heaven. -- This hoard is ours
but grievously
gotten; too grim the fate
which thither carried our king and lord.
I was within there, and all I viewed,
the chambered treasure, when
chance allowed me
(and my path was made in no pleasant wise)
under the earth-wall. Eager, I seized
such heap from the hoard as
hands could bear
and hurriedly carried it hither back
to my
liege and lord. Alive was he still,
still wielding his wits. The wise
old man
spake much in his sorrow, and sent you greetings
and
bade that ye build, when he breathed no more,
on the place of his
balefire a barrow high,
memorial mighty. Of men was he
worthiest
warrior wide earth o’er
the while he had joy of his jewels and
burg.
Let us set out in haste now, the second time
to see and
search this store of treasure,
these wall-hid wonders, -- the way I
show you, --
where, gathered near, ye may gaze your fill
at
broad-gold and rings. Let the bier, soon made,
be all in order when
out we come,
our king and captain to carry thither
-- man
beloved -- where long he shall bide
safe in the shelter of sovran
God.”
Then the bairn of Weohstan bade command,
hardy
chief, to heroes many
that owned their homesteads, hither to bring
firewood from far -- o’er the folk they ruled --
for the
famed-one’s funeral. “ Fire shall devour
and wan flames
feed on the fearless warrior
who oft stood stout in the iron-shower,
when, sped from the string, a storm of arrows
shot o’er the
shield-wall: the shaft held firm,
featly feathered, followed the
barb.”
And now the sage young son of Weohstan
seven chose
of the chieftain’s thanes,
the best he found that band within,
and went with these warriors, one of eight,
under hostile roof. In
hand one bore
a lighted torch and led the way.
No lots they cast
for keeping the hoard
when once the warriors saw it in hall,
altogether without a guardian,
lying there lost. And little they
mourned
when they had hastily haled it out,
dear-bought
treasure! The dragon they cast,
the worm, o’er the wall for the
wave to take,
and surges swallowed that shepherd of gems.
Then
the woven gold on a wain was laden --
countless quite! -- and the
king was borne,
hoary hero, to Hrones-Ness.
XLI
THEN fashioned for him the folk of Geats
firm on the earth a
funeral-pile,
and hung it with helmets and harness of war
and
breastplates bright, as the boon he asked;
and they laid amid it the
mighty chieftain,
heroes mourning their master dear.
Then on the
hill that hugest of balefires
the warriors wakened. Wood-smoke rose
black over blaze, and blent was the roar
of flame with weeping (the
wind was still),
till the fire had broken the frame of bones,
hot at the heart. In heavy mood
their misery moaned they, their
master’s death.
Wailing her woe, the widow {41a}
old,
her hair upbound, for Beowulf’s death
sung in her
sorrow, and said full oft
she dreaded the doleful days to come,
deaths enow, and doom of battle,
and shame. -- The smoke by the sky
was devoured.
The folk of the Weders fashioned there
on the
headland a barrow broad and high,
by ocean-farers far descried:
in ten days’ time their toil had raised it,
the battle-brave’s
beacon. Round brands of the pyre
a wall they built, the worthiest
ever
that wit could prompt in their wisest men.
They placed in
the barrow that precious booty,
the rounds and the rings they had
reft erewhile,
hardy heroes, from hoard in cave, --
trusting the
ground with treasure of earls,
gold in the earth, where ever it lies
useless to men as of yore it was.
Then about that barrow the
battle-keen rode,
atheling-born, a band of twelve,
lament to
make, to mourn their king,
chant their dirge, and their chieftain
honor.
They praised his earlship, his acts of prowess
worthily
witnessed: and well it is
that men their master-friend mightily laud,
heartily love, when hence he goes
from life in the body forlorn away.
Thus made their mourning the men of Geatland,
for their hero’s
passing his hearth-companions:
quoth that of all the kings of earth,
of men he was mildest and most beloved,
to his kin the kindest,
keenest for praise.
{0a} Not, of course, Beowulf the Great, hero of the epic.
{0b} Kenning for king or chieftain of a comitatus: he breaks off gold from the spiral rings -- often worn on the arm -- and so rewards his followers.
{1a} That is, “The Hart,” or “Stag,” so called from decorations in the gables that resembled the antlers of a deer. This hall has been carefully described in a pamphlet by Heyne. The building was rectangular, with opposite doors -- mainly west and east -- and a hearth in the middle of th single room. A row of pillars down each side, at some distance from the walls, made a space which was raised a little above the main floor, and was furnished with two rows of seats. On one side, usually south, was the high-seat midway between the doors. Opposite this, on the other raised space, was another seat of honor. At the banquet soon to be described, Hrothgar sat in the south or chief high-seat, and Beowulf opposite to him. The scene for a flying (see below, v.499) was thus very effectively set. Planks on trestles -- the “board” of later English literature -- formed the tables just in front of the long rows of seats, and were taken away after banquets, when the retainers were ready to stretch themselves out for sleep on the benches.
{1b} Fire was the usual end of these halls. See v. 781 below. One thinks of the splendid scene at the end of the Nibelungen, of the Nialssaga, of Saxo’s story of Amlethus, and many a less famous instance.
{1c} It is to be supposed that all hearers of this poem knew how Hrothgar’s hall was burnt, -- perhaps in the unsuccessful attack made on him by his son-in-law Ingeld.
{1d} A skilled minstrel. The Danes are heathens, as one is told presently; but this lay of beginnings is taken from Genesis.
{1e} A disturber of the border, one who sallies from his haunt in the fen and roams over the country near by. This probably pagan nuisance is now furnished with biblical credentials as a fiend or devil in good standing, so that all Christian Englishmen might read about him. “Grendel” may mean one who grinds and crushes.
{1f} Cain’s.
{1g} Giants.
{2a} The smaller buildings within the main enclosure but separate from the hall.
{2b} Grendel.
{2c} “Sorcerers-of-hell.”
{2d} Hrothgar, who is the “Scyldings’-friend” of 170.
{2e} That is, in formal or prescribed phrase.
{3a} Ship.
{3b} That is, since Beowulf selected his ship and led his men to the harbor.
{3c} One of the auxiliary names of the Geats.
{3d} Or: Not thus openly ever came warriors hither; yet...
{4a} Hrothgar.
{4b} Beowulf’s helmet has several boar-images on it; he is the “man of war”; and the boar-helmet guards him as typical representative of the marching party as a whole. The boar was sacred to Freyr, who was the favorite god of the Germanic tribes about the North Sea and the Baltic. Rude representations of warriors show the boar on the helmet quite as large as the helmet itself.
{5a} Either merely paved, the strata via of the Romans, or else thought of as a sort of mosaic, an extravagant touch like the reckless waste of gold on the walls and roofs of a hall.
{6a} The nicor, says Bugge, is a hippopotamus; a walrus, says Ten Brink. But that water-goblin who covers the space from Old Nick of jest to the Neckan and Nix of poetry and tale, is all one needs, and Nicor is a good name for him.
{6b} His own people, the Geats.
{6c} That is, cover it as with a face-cloth. “There will be no need of funeral rites.”
{6d} Personification of Battle.
{6e} The Germanic Vulcan.
{6f} This mighty power, whom the Christian poet can still revere, has here the general force of “Destiny.”
{7a} There is no irrelevance here. Hrothgar sees in Beowulf’s mission a heritage of duty, a return of the good offices which the Danish king rendered to Beowulf’s father in time of dire need.
{7b} Money, for wergild, or man-price.
{7c} Ecgtheow, Beowulf’s sire.
{8a} “Began the fight.”
{8b} Breca.
{9a} Murder.
{10a} Beowulf, -- the “one.”
{11a} That is, he was a “lost soul,” doomed to hell.
{12a} Kenning for Beowulf.
{13a} “Guarded the treasure.”
{13b} Sc. Heremod.
{13c} The singer has sung his lays, and the epic resumes its story. The time-relations are not altogether good in this long passage which describes the rejoicings of “the day after”; but the present shift from the riders on the road to the folk at the hall is not very violent, and is of a piece with the general style.
{14a} Unferth, Beowulf’s sometime opponent in the flyting.
{15a} There is no horrible inconsistency here such as the critics strive and cry about. In spite of the ruin that Grendel and Beowulf had made within the hall, the framework and roof held firm, and swift repairs made the interior habitable. Tapestries were hung on the walls, and willing hands prepared the banquet.
{15b} From its formal use in other places, this phrase, to take cup in hall, or “on the floor,” would seem to mean that Beowulf stood up to receive his gifts, drink to the donor, and say thanks.
{15c} Kenning for sword.
{15d} Hrothgar. He is also the “refuge of the friends of Ing,” below. Ing belongs to myth.
{15e} Horses are frequently led or ridden into the hall where folk sit at banquet: so in Chaucer’s Squire’s tale, in the ballad of King Estmere, and in the romances.
{16a} Man-price, wergild.
{16b} Beowulf’s.
{16c} Hrothgar.
{16d} There is no need to assume a gap in the Ms. As before about Sigemund and Heremod, so now, though at greater length, about Finn and his feud, a lay is chanted or recited; and the epic poet, counting on his readers’ familiarity with the story, -- a fragment of it still exists, -- simply gives the headings.
{16e} The exact story to which this episode refers in summary is not to be determined, but the following account of it is reasonable and has good support among scholars. Finn, a Frisian chieftain, who nevertheless has a “castle” outside the Frisian border, marries Hildeburh, a Danish princess; and her brother, Hnaef, with many other Danes, pays Finn a visit. Relations between the two peoples have been strained before. Something starts the old feud anew; and the visitors are attacked in their quarters. Hnaef is killed; so is a son of Hildeburh. Many fall on both sides. Peace is patched up; a stately funeral is held; and the surviving visitors become in a way vassals or liegemen of Finn, going back with him to Frisia. So matters rest a while. Hengest is now leader of the Danes; but he is set upon revenge for his former lord, Hnaef. Probably he is killed in feud; but his clansmen, Guthlaf and Oslaf, gather at their home a force of sturdy Danes, come back to Frisia, storm Finn’s stronghold, kill him, and carry back their kinswoman Hildeburh.
{16f} The “enemies” must be the Frisians.
{16g} Battlefield. -- Hengest is the “prince’s thane,” companion of Hnaef. “Folcwald’s son” is Finn.
{16h} That is, Finn would govern in all honor the few Danish warriors who were left, provided, of course, that none of them tried to renew the quarrel or avenge Hnaef their fallen lord. If, again, one of Finn’s Frisians began a quarrel, he should die by the sword.
{16i} Hnaef.
{16j} The high place chosen for the funeral: see description of Beowulf’s funeral-pile at the end of the poem.
{16k} Wounds.
{17a} That is, these two Danes, escaping home, had told the story of the attack on Hnaef, the slaying of Hengest, and all the Danish woes. Collecting a force, they return to Frisia and kill Finn in his home.
{17b} Nephew to Hrothgar, with whom he subsequently quarrels, and elder cousin to the two young sons of Hrothgar and Wealhtheow, -- their natural guardian in the event of the king’s death. There is something finely feminine in this speech of Wealhtheow’s, apart from its somewhat irregular and irrelevant sequence of topics. Both she and her lord probably distrust Hrothulf; but she bids the king to be of good cheer, and, turning to the suspect, heaps affectionate assurances on his probity. “My own Hrothulf” will surely not forget these favors and benefits of the past, but will repay them to the orphaned boy.
{19a} They had laid their arms on the benches near where they slept.
{20a} He surmises presently where she is.
{20b} The connection is not difficult. The words of mourning, of acute grief, are said; and according to Germanic sequence of thought, inexorable here, the next and only topic is revenge. But is it possible? Hrothgar leads up to his appeal and promise with a skillful and often effective description of the horrors which surround the monster’s home and await the attempt of an avenging foe.
{21a} Hrothgar is probably meant.
{21b} Meeting place.
{22a} Kenning for “sword.” Hrunting is bewitched, laid under a spell of uselessness, along with all other swords.
{22b} This brown of swords, evidently meaning burnished, bright, continues to be a favorite adjective in the popular ballads.
{23a} After the killing of the monster and Grendel’s decapitation.
{23b} Hrothgar.
{23c} The blade slowly dissolves in blood-stained drops like icicles.
{23d} Spear.
{24a} That is, “whoever has as wide authority as I have and can remember so far back so many instances of heroism, may well say, as I say, that no better hero ever lived than Beowulf.”
{25a} That is, he is now undefended by conscience from the temptations (shafts) of the devil.
{25b} Kenning for the sun. -- This is a strange role for the raven. He is the warrior’s bird of battle, exults in slaughter and carnage; his joy here is a compliment to the sunrise.
{26a} That is, he might or might not see Beowulf again. Old as he was, the latter chance was likely; but he clung to the former, hoping to see his young friend again “and exchange brave words in the hall.”
{27a} With the speed of the boat.
{27b} Queen to Hygelac. She is praised by contrast with the antitype, Thryth, just as Beowulf was praised by contrast with Heremod.
{27c} Kenning for “wife.”
{28a} Beowulf gives his uncle the king not mere gossip of his journey, but a statesmanlike forecast of the outcome of certain policies at the Danish court. Talk of interpolation here is absurd. As both Beowulf and Hygelac know, -- and the folk for whom the Beowulf was put together also knew, -- Froda was king of the Heathobards (probably the Langobards, once near neighbors of Angle and Saxon tribes on the continent), and had fallen in fight with the Danes. Hrothgar will set aside this feud by giving his daughter as “peace-weaver” and wife to the young king Ingeld, son of the slain Froda. But Beowulf, on general principles and from his observation of the particular case, foretells trouble. Note:
{28b} Play of shields, battle. A Danish warrior cuts down Froda in the fight, and takes his sword and armor, leaving them to a son. This son is selected to accompany his mistress, the young princess Freawaru, to her new home when she is Ingeld’s queen. Heedlessly he wears the sword of Froda in hall. An old warrior points it out to Ingeld, and eggs him on to vengeance. At his instigation the Dane is killed; but the murderer, afraid of results, and knowing the land, escapes. So the old feud must break out again.
{28c} That is, their disastrous battle and the slaying of their king.
{28d} The sword.
{28e} Beowulf returns to his forecast. Things might well go somewhat as follows, he says; sketches a little tragic story; and with this prophecy by illustration returns to the tale of his adventure.
{28f} Not an actual glove, but a sort of bag.
{29a} Hygelac.
{29b} This is generally assumed to mean hides, though the text simply says “seven thousand.” A hide in England meant about 120 acres, though “the size of the acre varied.”
{29c} On the historical raid into Frankish territory between 512 and 520 A.D. The subsequent course of events, as gathered from hints of this epic, is partly told in Scandinavian legend.
{29d} The chronology of this epic, as scholars have worked it out, would make Beowulf well over ninety years of age when he fights the dragon. But the fifty years of his reign need not be taken as historical fact.
{29e} The text is here hopelessly illegible, and only the general drift of the meaning can be rescued. For one thing, we have the old myth of a dragon who guards hidden treasure. But with this runs the story of some noble, last of his race, who hides all his wealth within this barrow and there chants his farewell to life’s glories. After his death the dragon takes possession of the hoard and watches over it. A condemned or banished man, desperate, hides in the barrow, discovers the treasure, and while the dragon sleeps, makes off with a golden beaker or the like, and carries it for propitiation to his master. The dragon discovers the loss and exacts fearful penalty from the people round about.
{31a} Literally “loan-days,” days loaned to man.
{31b} Chattuarii, a tribe that dwelt along the Rhine, and took part in repelling the raid of (Hygelac) Chocilaicus.
{31c} Onla, son of Ongentheow, who pursues his two nephews Eanmund and Eadgils to Heardred’s court, where they have taken refuge after their unsuccessful rebellion. In the fighting Heardred is killed.
{32a} That is, Beowulf supports Eadgils against Onela, who is slain by Eadgils in revenge for the “care-paths” of exile into which Onela forced him.
{32b} That is, the king could claim no wergild, or man-price, from one son for the killing of the other.
{32c} Usual euphemism for death.
{32d} Sc. in the grave.
{33a} Eofor for Wulf. -- The immediate provocation for Eofor in killing “the hoary Scylfing,” Ongentheow, is that the latter has just struck Wulf down; but the king, Haethcyn, is also avenged by the blow. See the detailed description below.
{33b} Hygelac.
{33c} Shield.
{33d} The hollow passage.
{34a} That is, although Eanmund was brother’s son to Onela, the slaying of the former by Weohstan is not felt as cause of feud, and is rewarded by gift of the slain man’s weapons.
{34b} Both Wiglaf and the sword did their duty. -- The following is one of the classic passages for illustrating the comitatus as the most conspicuous Germanic institution, and its underlying sense of duty, based partly on the idea of loyalty and partly on the practical basis of benefits received and repaid.
{34c} Sc. “than to bide safely here,” -- a common figure of incomplete comparison.
{34d} Wiglaf’s wooden shield.
{34e} Gering would translate “kinsman of the nail,” as both are made of iron.
{35a} That is, swords.
{36a} Where Beowulf lay.
{37a} What had been left or made by the hammer; well-forged.
{37b} Trying to revive him.
{38a} Nothing.
{38b} Dead.
{38c} Death-watch, guard of honor, “lyke-wake.”
{38d} A name for the Franks.
{38e} Ongentheow.
{38f} Haethcyn.
{39a} The line may mean: till Hrethelings stormed on the hedged shields, -- i.e. the shield-wall or hedge of defensive war -- Hrethelings, of course, are Geats.
{39b} Eofor, brother to Wulf Wonreding.
{39c} Sc. “value in” hides and the weight of the gold.
{39d} Not at all.
{39e} Laid on it when it was put in the barrow. This spell, or in our days the “curse,” either prevented discovery or brought dire ills on the finder and taker.
{40a} Probably the fugitive is meant who discovered the hoard. Ten Brink and Gering assume that the dragon is meant. “Hid” may well mean here “took while in hiding.”
{40b} That is “one and a few others.” But Beowulf seems to be indicated.
{40c} Ten Brink points out the strongly heathen character of this part of the epic. Beowulf’s end came, so the old tradition ran, from his unwitting interference with spell-bound treasure.
{40d} A hard saying, variously interpreted. In any case, it is the somewhat clumsy effort of the Christian poet to tone down the heathenism of his material by an edifying observation.
{41a} Nothing is said of Beowulf’s wife in the poem, but Bugge surmises that Beowulf finally accepted Hygd’s offer of kingdom and hoard, and, as was usual, took her into the bargain.
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