from England in Literature

In the next lines, omitted here, the poet traces the subsequent line of Danish kings, descended from Scyld: first his son Beowulf (not the hero of this poem, but a warrior of more ancient times); then his grandson Healfdene In time one of Healfdene's four children, Hrothgar (hroth'gar), takes command of the kingdom. Following the young Scyld's earlier example, he begins by gathering about him a band of warriors.

To Hrothgar was granted glory in war,

Success in battle; retainers bold

40 Obeyed him gladly; his band increased.

To a mighty host'. Then his mind was moved

To have men fashion a high-built hall,

A mightier mead-hall than man had known,

Wherein to portion to old and young

45All goodly treasure that God had given,

Save only the folk-lands and lives of men.

His word was published to many a people

Far and wide o'er the ways of earth

To rear a folk-stead richly adorned;

The task was speeded, the time soon came

That the famous mead-hall was finished and done.

To distant nations its name was known,

The Hall of the Hart⁶; and the king kept well

His pledge and promise to deal out gifts,

55 Rings at the banquet. The great hall rose

High and horn-gabled,⁷ holding its place. . . .

Then an evil spirit who dwelt in the darkness

Endured it ill that he heard each day

The din of revelry ring through the hall,

60 The sound of the harp, and the scops' sweet song. . . . ⁸

They called him Grendel, a demon grim

Haunting the fen-lands, holding the moors,

Ranging the wastes, where the wretched wight

Made his lair with the monster kin;

6 65He bore the curse of the seed of Cain ⁹

Whereby God punished the grievous guilt

Of Abel's murder. Nor ever had Cain

Cause to boast of that deed of blood;

God banished him far from the fields of men;

70 Of his blood was begotten an evil brood,

Marauding monsters and menacing trolls

Goblins and giants who battled with God

A long time.

Grimly He gave them reward!

Then at the nightfall the fiend drew near

Where the timbered mead-hall towered on high,

To spy how the Danes fared after the feast.

Within the wine-hall he found the warriors

Fast in slumber, forgetting grief,---

Forgetting the woe of the world of men.

80 Grim and greedy the gruesome monster, (repetition of initial consonant sounds)

Fierce and furious, launched attack,

Slew thirty spearmen asleep in the hall,

Sped away gloating, gripping the spoil,

Dragging the dead men home to his den.

Then in the dawn with the coming of daybreak

5. folk-land, common land (the public land owned by the community). Germanic tribal law reserved this land for grazing.

6. Hall of the Hart, Heorot (M';) rot), Hrothgar's meadhall. The hart (or stag) was a symbol of Germanic kingship. The head of the scepter found at Sutton Hoo was a stag.

7. horn-gabled, perhaps with roof ornaments carved to resemble a stag's antlers, or perhaps simply "wide-gabled."

8. scop's sweet song. The scop (skop) was the tribe's storyteller, chanting his tales to the sound of the harp.

9. seed of Cain. In Genesis, Cain !l!urd_rs his brother Abel and is driven into the wilderness by God. According to legend his offspring included a variety of monsters. The poet mentions eotenas, "etans" (cannibal giants like trolls), ylfe "elves," (beautiful but evil), and orc-neas, "goblins" (animated corpses like zombies). Grendel may have been a creature of this last type.

The war-might of Grendel was widely known.

Mirth was stilled by the sound of weeping;

The wail of the mourner awoke with day.

And the peerless hero, the honored prince,¹⁰

90 Weighed down with woe and heavy of heart,

Sat sorely grieving for slaughtered thanes,¹¹

As they traced the track of the cursed monster.

From that day onward the deadly feud

Was a long-enduring and loathsome strife.

95 Not longer was it than one night later

The fiend returning renewed attack

With heart firm-fixed in the hateful war,

Feeling no rue for the grievous wrong.

'Twas easy thereafter to mark the men

Who sought their slumber elsewhere afar,

Found beds in the bowers, since Grendel's hate

Was so baldly blazoned in baleful signs.

He held himself at a safer distance

Who escaped the clutch of the demon's claw.

So Grendel raided and ravaged the realm,

One against all, in an evil war

Till the best of buildings was empty and still. '

Twas a weary while! Twelve winters' time

The lord of the Scyldings had suffered woe,

110 Sore affliction and deep distress.

And the malice of Grendel, in mournful lays,

Was widely sung by the sons of men,

The hateful feud that he fought with Hrothgar

Year after year of struggle and strife,

An endless scourging, a scorning of peace

With any man of the Danish might.

No strength could move him to stay his hand,

Or pay for his murders;¹² the wise knew well

10. honored prince, Hrothgar.

ll. thanes, warriors. A thane ranked between an earl (a nobleman) and an ordinary freeman.

12. murders. The poet here ironically refers to the Danes' inability to force Grendel to pay wergild ("man-payment"), or compensation, to the families of the warriors he has murdered. In Anglo-Saxon and Germanic law, a fixed price in money was placed on the life of every individual in the tribe, from the churl (the lowest-ranking freeman) to the king. This money was paid by the killer's family to that of the victim to avoid blood feud.

They could hope for no halting of savage assault.

120 Like a dark death-shadow the ravaging

demon, . Nightlong prowling the misty moors,

Ensnared the warriors, wary or weak.

No man can say how these shades of hell

Come and go on their grisly rounds. . . .

125 The son of Healfdene was heavy-hearted,

Sorrowfully brooding in sore distress,

Finding no help in a hopeless strife;

Too bitter the struggle that stunned the people,

The long oppression, loathsome and grim.

Beowulf translated by Charles Kennedy

The Geats lived in southwestern Sweden. Hygelac, their king as the story begins, is historical. He was famous for his unusual height. ("Even when he was twelve years old, no horse could carry him," claims an eighth-century Book of Monsters.) He died in battle while raiding the European mainland in 521. Beowulf, as Hygelac's thane, owes the king obedience. But hearing of Grendel's attacks on the neighboring Danes, he decides to go to their rescue, sailing from the valley of the Gota river in Sweden to the Danish island of Zealand, where Hrothgar has erected his mead-hall, Heorot.

Then tales off the terrible deeds of Grendel

Reached Hygelac's thane in his home with the Geats;

Of living strong men he was the strongest,

Fearless and gallant and great of heart.

He gave command for a goodly vessel

1 135 Fitted and furnished; he fain would sail

Over the swan-road to seek the king

Who suffered so sorely for need of men.

And his bold retainers found little to blame

In his daring venture, dear though he was;

140 They viewed the omens, and urged him on.

Brave was the band he had gathered about him,

Fourteen stalwarts seasoned and bold,

Seeking the shore where the ship lay waiting,

A sea-skilled mariner sighting the land marks.

Came the hour of boarding; the boat was riding

The waves of the harbor under the hill.

The eager mariners mounted the prow;

Billows were breaking, sea against sand.

In the ship's hold snugly they stowed their trappings,

1 150 Gleaming armor and battle-gear;

Launched the vessel, the well-braced bark,

Seaward bound on a joyous journey.

Over breaking billows, with bellying sail

And foamy beak, like a flying bird

1 155 The ship sped on, till the next day's sun

Showed sea-cliffs shining, towering hills

And stretching headlands. The sea was crossed,

The voyage ended, the vessel moored.

And the Weder people ¹³ waded ashore

With clatter of trappings and coats of mail;

Gave thanks to God that His grace had granted

Sea-paths safe for their ocean-journey.

Then the Scylding coast guard watched from the sea-cliff

Warriors bearing their shining shields,

Their gleaming war-gear, ashore from the ship.

His mind was puzzled, he wondered much

What men they were. On his good horse mounted,

Hrothgar's thane made haste to the beach,

Boldly brandished his mighty spear

With manful challenge: "What men are you,

Carrying weapons and clad in steel,

Who thus come driving across the deep

On the ocean-lanes in your lofty ship?

Long have I served as the Scylding outpost,

1 175 Held watch and ward at the ocean's edge

Lest foreign foemen with hostile fleet

Should come to harry our Danish home,

And never more openly sailed to these shores

Men without password, or leave to land.

I have never laid eyes upon earl on earth

More stalwart and sturdy than one of your troop,

A hero in armor; no hall-thane he

Tricked out with weapons, unless looks belie him

And noble bearing. But now I must know

1 185Your birth and breeding, nor may you come

In cunning stealth upon Danish soil.

You distant-dwellers, you far seafarers,

Hearken, and ponder words that are plain:

'Tis best you hasten to have me know

Who your kindred and whence you come."

The lord of the seamen gave swift reply,

The prince of the Weders unlocked his word hoard:

"We are sprung of a strain of the Geatish stock,

Hygelac's comrades and hearth-companions.

My father was famous in many a folk-land,

A leader noble, Ecgtheow¹⁴ his name! . . .

With loyal purpose we seek your lord,

The prince of your people, great Healfdene's son. . . .

You know if it's true, as we've heard it told,

That among the Scyldings some secret scather,

Some stealthy demon in dead of night,

With grisly horror and fiendish hate

Is spreading unheard-of havoc and death.

Mayhap I can counsel the good, old king

2 205 What way he can master the merciless fiend,

If his coil of evil is ever to end

And feverish care grow cooler and fade

Or else ever after his doom shall be

Distress and sorrow while still there stands

This best of halls on its lofty height."

Then from the saddle the coast guard

spoke,

The fearless sentry: "A seasoned warrior

Now go your way with your weapons and

armor,

And I will guide you; I'll give command

That my good retainers may guard your

ship, . . ."

Then the Geats marched on; behind at her

mooring,

Fastened at anchor, their broad-beamed

boat

Safely rode on her swinging cable.

Boar-heads ¹⁵ glittered on glistening helmets

Above their cheek-guards, gleaming with

gold;

Bright and tire-hardened the boar held watch

Over the column of marching men.

Onward they hurried in eager haste

Till their eyes caught sight of the high-built

hall,

Splendid with gold, the seat of the king,

Most stately of structures under the sun;

Its light shone out over many a land.

The coast guard showed them the shining

hall,

The home of heroes; made plain the path;

Turned his horse; gave tongue to :

Lords: "It is time to leave you! The mighty Lord

235 In His mercy shield you and hold you safe

In your bold adventure.

I'll back to the sea

And hold my watch against hostile horde."

13. Weder people, Weder-Geatas, "Storm-Geats," an epithet for Beowulfs people.

14. Ecglheow, (edj'tha 6).

15. Boar-heads. Germanic tribesmen regularly used the boar's head as a magical decoration for their helmets. The boar, sacred to the Norse god Frey, is a desperate fighter when cornered.

The street had paving of colored stone;

The path was plain to the marching men.

Bright were their byrnies, hard and hand linked;

In their shining armor the chain mail sang

As the troop in their war-gear tramped to the hall.

The sea-weary sailors set down their shields,

Their wide, bright bucklers along the wall,

245 And sank to the bench.

Their byrnies rang.

Their stout spears stood in a stack together

Shod with iron and shaped of ash.

'Twas a well-armed troop! Then a stately warrior

Questioned the strangers about their kin:

"Whence come you bearing your burnished shields,

Your steel-gray harness and visored helms,

Your heap of spears?

I am Hrothgar's herald, His servant-thane.

I have never seen strangers,

So great a number, of nobler mien.

Not exiles, I ween, but high-minded heroes

In greatness of heart have you sought out Hrothgar."

Then bold under helmet the hero made answer,

Mighty of heart: "We are Hygelac's men,

His board-companions; Beowulf is my name.

I will state my mission to Healfdene's son,

The noble leader, your lordly prince,

If he will grant approach to his gracious presence."

And Wulfgar answered, the Wendel prince,¹⁶

Renowned for merit in many a land,

For war-might and wisdom: "I will learn the wish

Of the Scylding leader, the lord of the Danes,

Our honored ruler and giver of rings,

Concerning your mission, and soon report

The answer our leader thinks good to give."

He swiftly strode to where Hrothgar sat

Old and gray with his earls ¹⁷ about him;

Crossed the floor and stood face to face

With the Danish king; he knew courtly custom.

Wulfgar saluted his lord and friend:

275 "Men from afar have fared to our land

Over ocean's margin-men of the Geats,

Their leader called Beowulf-seeking a boon,

The holding of parley, my prince, with thee.

O gracious Hrothgar, refuse not the favor!

280 In their splendid war-gear they merit well

The esteem of earls; he's a stalwart leader

Who led this troop to the land of the Danes."

Hrothgar spoke, the lord of the Scyldings:

"Their leader I knew when he still was a lad. . . .

Seafaring men who have voyaged to Geatland

With gifts of treasure as token of peace,

Say that his hand-grip has thirty men's strength.

God, in His mercy, has sent him to save us

So springs my hope-from Grendel's assaults.

290 For his gallant courage I'll load him with gifts!

Make haste now, marshal the men to the hall,

And give them welcome to Danish ground."

Then to the door went the well-known warrior,

Spoke from the threshold welcoming words:

295 "The Danish leader, my lord, declares

That he knows your kinship; right welcome you come,

You stout sea-rovers, to Danish soil.

Enter now, in your shining armor

And vizored helmets, to Hrothgar's hall.

300 But leave your shields and the shafts of slaughter

To wait the issue and weighing of words."

Then the bold one rose with his band around him,

16. Wulfgar. . . the Wendel prince. Hrothgar's herald may have been one of the Vandals, a Germanic tribe living south of the Baltic Sea.

17. earls, his chief men.

A splendid massing of mighty thanes;

A few stood guard as the Geat gave bidding

305 Over the weapons stacked by the wall.

They followed in haste on the heels of their leader

Under Heorot's roof. Full ready and bold

The helmeted warrior strode to the hearth;

Beowulf spoke; his byrny glittered,

310 His war-net woven by cunning of smfth:

"Hail! King Hrothgar! I am Hygelac"s thane,

Hygelac's kinsman. Many a deed

Of honor and daring I've done in my youth.

This business of Grendel was brought to my ears

315 On my native soil. The seafarers say

This best of buildings; this boasted hall,

Stands dark and deserted when sun is set,

When darkening shadows gather with dusk.

The best of my people, prudent and brave,

Urged me, King Hrothgar, to seek you out;

They had in remembrance my courage and might.

Many had seen me come safe from the conflict,

Bloody from battle; five foes I bound

Of the giant kindred, and crushed their clan.

325 Hard-driven in danger and darkness of night

I slew the nicors ¹⁸ that swam the sea,

Avenged the woe they had caused the Weders,

And ended their evil-they needed the lesson!

And now with Grendel, the fearful fiend,

330 Single-handed I'll settle the strife!

Prince of the Danes, protector of Scyldings,

Lord of nations, and leader of men,

I beg one favor-refuse me not,

Since I come thus faring from far-off lands

335 That I may alone with my loyal earls,

With this hardy company, cleanse Hart Hall.

I have heard that the demon in proud disdain

Spurns all weapons; and I too scorn

May Hygelac's heart have joy of the deed

340 To bear my sword, or sheltering shield,

Or yellow buckler, to battle the fiend.

With hand-grip only I'll grapple with (I’’ll fight bare handed like the monster) Grendel;

Foe against foe I'll fight to the death,

And the one who is taken must trust to God's grace! . . .

345 If death shall call me, he'll carry away

My gory flesh to his fen-retreat

To gorge at leisure and gulp me down,

18. nicors, water demons, animal in shape.

Soiling the marshes with stains of blood.

There'll be little need longer to care for my body!

350 If the battle slays me, to Hygelac send

This best of corselets that covers my breast, . . .

Finest of byrnies. Fate goes as Fate must!"

Hrothgar spoke, the lord of the Scyldings:

"Deed of daring and dream of honor

355 Bring you, friend Beowulf, knowing our need! . .. .

It is sorrow sore to recite to another

The wrongs that Grendel has wrought in the hall,

His savage hatred and sudden assaults.

My war-troop is weakened, my hall-band is wasted;

360 Fate swept them away into Grendel's grip.

But God may easily bring to an end

The ruinous deeds of the ravaging foe.

Full often my warriors over their ale-cups

Boldly boasted, when drunk with beer,

365 They would bide in the beer-hall the coming of battle;

The fury of Grendel, with flashing swords.

Then in the dawn, when the daylight strengthened,

The hall stood reddened and reeking with gore,

Bench-boards wet with the blood of battle;

370 And I had the fewer of faithful fighters,

Beloved retainers, whom Death had taken.

Sit now at the banquet, unbend your mood,

Speak of great deeds as your heart may spur you!"

Then in the beer-hall were benches made ready

For the Geatish heroes. Noble of heart,

Proud and stalwart, they sat them down

And a beer-thane served them; bore in his hands

The patterned ale-cup, pouring the mead,

While the scop's sweet singing was heard in the hall.

380 There was joy of heroes, a host at ease,

A welcome meeting of Weder and Dane.

Soiling the marshes with stains of blood.

There'll be little need longer to care for my body!

Then out spoke Unferth, Ecglaf’’s son,¹⁹

Who sat at the feet of the Scylding lord,

Picking a quarrel-for BeowuIf’’s quest,

385 His bold sea-voyaging, irked him sore;

He bore it ill that any man other

In all the earth should ever achieve

More fame under heaven than he himself:

"Are you the Beowulf that strove with Breca²⁰

390 In a swimming match in the open sea,

Both of you wantonly tempting the waves,

Risking your lives on the lonely deep

For a silly boast? No man could dissuade you,

Nor friend nor foe, from the foolhardy venture

395 Of ocean-swimming; with outstretched arms

You clasped the sea-stream, measured her streets,

With plowing shoulders parted the waves.

The sea-flood boiled with its wintry surges,

Seven nights you toiled in the tossing sea;

400 His strength was the greater, his swimming the stronger! . . .

Therefore, I ween, worse fate shall befall,

Stout as you are in the struggle of war,

In deeds of battle, if you dare to abide

Encounter with Grendel at coming of night."

405 Beowulf spoke, the son of Ecgtheow:

"My good friend Unferth, addled with beer

Much have you made of the deeds of Breca!

I count it true that I had more courage,

More strength in swimming than any other man.

410 In our youth we boasted-we were both of us boys

We would risk our lives in the raging sea.

And we made it good! We gripped in our hands

Naked swords, as we swam in the waves,

19. Unferth, Ecglaf's (edj'lafs) son. Unferth's name can be interpreted as "Peacebreaker." His role is a familiar one in heroic poetry, that of the king's rude retainer whose mockery provokes the hero to reveal himself. Something very like the Unferth episode occurs in Book VIII of the Odyssey.

20. Breca (brek'_).

Guarding us well from the whales' assault.

415 In the breaking seas he could not outstrip me,

Nor would I leave him.

For five nights long Side by side we strove in the waters

Till racing combers wrenched us apart,

Freezing squalls, and the falling night,

420 And a bitter north wind's icy blast.

Rough were the waves; the wrath of the sea fish

Was fiercely roused; but my firm-linked byrny,

The gold-adorned corselet that covered my breast,

Gave firm defense from the clutching foe.

425 Down to the bottom a savage sea-beast

Fiercely dragged me and held me fast

In a deadly grip; none the less it was granted me

To pierce the monster with point of steel.

Death swept it away with the swing of my sword.

430 The grisly sea-beasts again and again

Beset me sore; but I served them home

With my faithful blade as was well-befitting.

They failed of their pleasure to feast their fill

Crowding round my corpse on the ocean bottom!

435 Bloody with wounds, at the break of day,

They lay on the sea-bench slain with the sword.

No more would they cumber the mariner's course

On the ocean deep. From the east came the sun,

Bright beacon of God, and the seas subsided;

440 I beheld the headlands, the windy walls.

Fate often delivers an undoomed earl

If his spirit be gallant! And so I was granted

To slay with the sword-edge nine of the nicors.

I have never heard tell of more terrible strife

445 Under dome of heaven in darkness of night,

Nor of man harder pressed on the paths of ocean.

But I freed my life from the grip of the foe

Though spent with the struggle. The billows bore me,

The swirling currents and surging seas,

450 To the land of the Finns. ²¹ And little I've heard

Of any such valiant adventures from you!

Neither Breca nor you in the press of battle

Ever showed such daring with dripping swords

Though I boast not of it! But you stained your blade

455 With blood of your brothers, your closest of kin;

And for that you'll endure damnation in hell,

Sharp as you are! I say for a truth,

Son of Ecglaf, never had Grendel

Wrought such havoc and woe in the hall,

460 That horrid demon so harried your king,

If your heart were as brave as you'd have men think!

But Grendel has found that he never need fear

Revenge from your people, or valiant attack

From the Victor-Scyldings; he takes his toll,

465 Sparing none of the Danish stock.

He slays and slaughters and works his will

Fearing no hurt at the hands of the Danes!

But soon will I show him the stuff of the Geats,

Their courage in battle and strength in the strife;

470 Then let him who may go bold to the mead hall

When the next day dawns on the dwellings of men,

And the sun in splendor shines warm from the south."

Glad of heart was the giver of treasure, ²²

Hoary-headed and hardy in war;

475 The lordly leader had hope of help

As he listened to Beowulf’’s bold resolve.

21. Finns, probably the Lapps, inhabitants of Finmarken, around the North Cape in the northern extremity of Norway and considerably above the Arctic Circle.

22. giver of treasure, Hrothgar.

There was revel of heroes and high carouse,

Their speech was happy; and Hrothgar's queen,

Of gentle manners, in jewelled splendor

480 Gave courtly greeting to all the guests. .

In the hall as of old were brave words spoken,

There was noise of revel; happy the host

Till the son of Healfdene would go to his rest.

He knew that the monster would meet in the hall

485 Relentless struggle when light of the sun

Was dusky with gloom of the gathering night,

And shadow-shapes crept in the covering dark,

Dim under heaven. The host arose.

Hrothgar graciously greeted his guest,

490 Gave rule of the wine-hall, and wished him well,

Praised the warrior in parting words:

"Never to any man, early or late,

Since first I could brandish buckler and sword,

Have I trusted this ale-hall save only to you!

495 Be mindful of glory, show forth your strength,

Keep watch against foe! No wish of your heart

Shall go unfulfilled if you live through the fight."

Then Hrothgar withdrew with his host of retainers, . . .

The Geatish hero put all his hope

500 In his fearless might and the mercy of God!

He stripped from his shoulders the byrny of steel,

Doffed helmet from head; into hand of thane

Gave inlaid iron, the best of blades;

Bade him keep well the weapons of war.

505 Beowulf uttered a gallant boast,

The stalwart Geat, ere he sought his bed:

"I count myself nowise weaker in war

Or grapple of battle than Grendel himself.

Therefore I scorn to slay him with sword,

510 Deal deadly wound, as I well might do!

Nothing he knows of a noble fighting,

Of thrusting and hewing and hacking of shield,

Fierce as he is in the fury of war.

In the shades of darkness we'll spurn the sword

If he dares without weapon to do or to die.

And God in His wisdom shall glory assign,

The ruling Lord, as He deems it right."

Then the bold in battle bowed down to his rest,

Cheek pressed pillow; the peerless thanes

520 Were stretched in slumber around their lord.

Not one had hope of return to his home,

To the stronghold or land where he lived as a boy.

For they knew how death had befallen the Danes,

How many were slain as they slept in the wine-hall. . . .

525 Then through the shades of enshrouding night

The fiend came stealing; the archers slept

Whose duty was holding the horn-decked hall

Though one was watching-full well they (Beowulf is awake) knew

No evil demon could drag them down

530 To shades under ground if God were not willing.

But the hero watched awaiting the foe,

Abiding in anger the issue of war.

From the stretching moors, from the misty hollows,

Grendel came creeping, accursed of God,

535 A murderous ravager minded to snare

Spoil of heroes in high-built hall.

Under clouded heavens he held his way

Till there rose before him the high-roofed house,

Wine-hall of warriors gleaming with gold.

540 Nor was it the first of his fierce assaults

On the home of Hrothgar; but never before

Had he found worse fate or hardier hall thanes!

Storming the building he burst the portal,

Though fastened of iron, with fiendish strength;

545 Forced open the entrance in savage fury

And rushed in rage o'er the shining floor.

A baleful glare from his eyes was gleaming

Most like to a flame.

He found in the hall

Many a warrior sealed in slumber,

550 A host of kinsmen.

His heart rejoiced;

The savage monster was minded to sever

Lives from bodies ere break of day,

To feast his fill of the flesh of men.

But he was not fated to glut his greed

555 With more of mankind when the night was ended!

The hardy kinsman of Hygelac waited

To see how the monster would make his attack.

The demon delayed not, but quickly

clutched

A sleeping thane in his swift assault,

560 Tore him in pieces, bit through the bones,

Gulped the blood, and gobbled the flesh,

Greedily gorged on the lifeless corpse,

The hands and the feet. Then the fiend

stepped nearer,

Sprang on the Sea-Geat lying outstretched,

565 Clasping him close with his monstrous claw.

But Beowulf grappled and gripped him hard,

Struggled up on his elbow; the shepherd of Sins

Soon found that never before had he felt

In any man other in all the earth

570 A mightier hand-grip; his mood was humbled,

His courage fled; but he found no escape!

He was fain to be gone; he would flee to the darkness,

The fellowship of devils. Far different his fate

From that which befell him in former days!

575 The hardy hero, Hygelac's kinsman,

Remembered the boast he had made at the banquet;

He sprang to his feet, clutched Grendel fast,

Though fingers were cracking, the fiend pulling free.

The earl pressed after; the monster was minded

580 To win his freedom and flee to the fens.

He knew that his fingers were fast in the grip

Of a savage foe. Sorry the venture,

The raid that the ravager made on the hall.

There was din in Heorot. For all the Danes,

585 The city-dwellers, the stalwart Scyldings,

That was a bitter spilling of beer!

The walls resounded, the fight was fierce,

Savage the strife as the warriors struggled.

The wonder was that the lofty wine-hall

590 Withstood the struggle, nor crashed to earth,

The house so fair; it was firmly fastened

Within and without with iron bands

Cunningly smithied; though men have said

That many a mead-bench gleaming with gold

595 Sprang from its sill as the warriors strove.

The Scylding wise men had never weened

That any ravage could wreck the building,

Firmly fashioned and finished with bone,

Or any cunning compass its fall,

600 Till the time when the swelter and surge of fire

Should swallow it up in a swirl of flame. 23

Continuous tumult filled the hall;

A terror fell on the Danish folk

As they heard through the wall the horrible wailing,

605 The groans of Grendel, the foe of God

Howling his hideous hymn of pain,

The hell-thane shrieking in sore defeat.

He was fast in the grip of the man who was greatest

Of mortal men in the strength of his might,

610 Who would never rest while the wretch was living,

23. swirl of flame. This is one of a number of references in the poem to the later burning of Heorot.

Counting his life-days a menace to man.

Many an earl of Beowulf brandished

His ancient iron to guard his lord,

To shelter safely the peerless prince.

615 They had no knowledge, those daring thanes,

When they drew their weapons to hack and hew,

To thrust to the heart, that the sharpest sword,

The choicest iron in all the world,

Could work no harm to the hideous foe.

620 On every sword he had laid a spell,

On every blade; but a bitter death

Was to be his fate; far was the journey

The monster made to the home of fiends.

Then he who had wrought such wrong to men,

625 With grim delight as he warred with God,

Soon found that his strength was feeble and failing

In the crushing hold of Hygelac's thane.

Each loathed the other while life should last!

There Grendel suffered a grievous hurt,

630 A wound _ the shoulder, gaping and wide;

Sinews snapped and bone-joints broke,

And Beowulf gained the glory of battle.

Grendel, fated, fled to the fens,

To his joyless dwelling, sick unto death.

635 He knew in his heart that his hours were numbered,

His days at an end. For all the Danes

Their wish was fulfilled in the fall of Grendel.

The stranger from far, the stalwart and strong,

Had purged of evil the hall of Hrothgar,

640 And cleansed of crime; the heart of the hero

Joyed in the deed his daring had done.

The lord of the Geats made good to the East Danes

The boast he had uttered; he ended their ill,

And all the sorrow they suffered long

645 And needs must suffer-a foul offense.

The token was clear when the bold in battle

Laid down the shoulder and dripping claw

Grendel's arm-in the gabled hall!

When morning came, as they tell the tale,

650 Many a warrior hastened to hall,

Folk-leaders faring from far and near

Over wide-running ways, to gaze at the wonder,

The trail of the demon. Nor seemed his death

A matter of sorrow to any man

655 Who viewed the tracks of the vanquished monster

As he slunk weary-hearted away from the hall,

Doomed and defeated and marking his flight

With bloody prints to the nicors' pool.

The crimson currents bubbled and heaved

660 In eddying reaches reddened with gore;

The surges boiled with the fiery blood.

But the monster had sunk from the sight of

men.

In that fenny covert the cursed fiend

Not long thereafter laid down his life,

665 His heathen spirit; and hell received him.

Then all the comrades, the old and young,

The brave of heart, in a blithesome band

Came riding their horses home from the

mere.

Beowulf’’s prowess was praised in song;

670 And many men stated that south or north,

Over all the world, or between the seas,

Or under the heaven, no hero was greater.

Then spoke Hrothgar; hasting to hall

He stood at the steps, stared up at the roof

675 High and gold-gleaming; saw Grendel's

hand:

"Thanks be to God for this glorious sight!

I have suffered much evil, much outrage

from Grendel,

But the God of glory works wonder on

wonder.

I had no hope of a haven from sorrow

680 While this best of houses stood badged with

blood,

A woe far-reaching for all the wise

Who weened that they never could hold the

hall

Against the assaults of devils and demons.

But now with God's help this hero has

compassed

685 A deed our cunning could no way contrive.

I will keep you, Beowulf, close to my heart

In firm affection; as son to father

Hold fast henceforth to this foster-kinship.

You shall know not want of treasure or

wealth

690 Or goodly gift that your wish may crave,

While I have power. For poorer deeds

I have granted guerdon, ²⁴ and graced with

honor

Weaker warriors, feebler in fight.

You have done such deeds that your fame

shall flourish

695 Through all the ages! God grant you still

All goodly grace as He gave before."

Beowulf spoke, the son of Ecgtheow:

"By favor of God we won the fight,

Did the deed of valor, and boldly dared

700 The might of the monster. I would you could

see

The fiend himself lying dead before you!

I thought to grip him in stubborn grasp

And bind him down on the bed of death,

There to lie straining in struggle for life,

705 While I gripped him fast lest he vanish away.

But I might not hold him or hinder his going

For God did not grant it, my fingers failed.

Too savage the strain of his fiendish strength!

To save his life he left shoulder and claw,

710 The arm of the monster, to mark his track,

But he bought no comfort; no whit thereby

Shall the wretched ravager racked with sin,

The loathsome spoiler, prolong his life.

A deep wound holds him in deadly grip,

715 In baleful bondage; and black with crime

The demon shall wait for the day of doom

When the God of glory shall give decree."

Then slower of speech was the son of

Ecglaf,

More wary of boasting of warlike deeds,

720 While the nobles gazed at the grisly claw,

The fiend's hand fastened by hero's might

On the lofty roof. Most like to steel

Were the hardened nails, the heathen's

hand-spurs,

Horrible, monstrous; and many men said

725 No tempered sword, no excellent iron,

Could have harmed the monster or hacked

away

The demon's battle-claw dripping with

blood.

The Feast

In joyful haste was Heorot decked

And a willing host of women and men

730 Gaily dressed and adorned the guest-hall.

Splendid hangings with sheen of gold

Shone on the walls, a glorious sight

To eyes that delight to behold such wonders.

The shining building was wholly shattered

735 Though braced and fastened with iron

bands;

Hinges were riven; the roof alone

Remained unharmed when the horrid

monster,

Foul with evil, slunk off in flight. . . .

Soon was the time when the son of

Healfdene

740 Went to the wine-hall; he fain would join

With happy heart in the joy of feasting.

I never have heard of a mightier muster

Of proud retainers around their prince. . . .

Upon Beowulf, then, as a token of triumph,

745 Hrothgar bestowed a standard of gold,

A banner embroidered, a byrny and helm.

In sight of many, a costly sword

Before the hero was borne on high; . . .

On the crest of the helmet a crowning

wreath,

750 Woven of wire-work, warded the head

Lest tempered swordblade, sharp from the

file,

Deal deadly wound when the shielded

warrIor

Went forth to battle against the foe.

Eight horses also with plated headstalls

755 The lord of heroes bade lead into hall;

24. guerdon (gerd'n), reward.

On one was a saddle skillfully fashioned

And set with jewels, the battle-seat

Of the king himself, when the son of

Healfdene

Would fain take part in the play of swords;

760 Never in fray had his valor failed,

His kingly courage, when corpses were

falling. . . .

Then on the ale-bench to each of the earls

Who embarked with Beowulf, sailing the

sea-paths,

The lord of princes dealt ancient heirlooms,

765 Gift of treasure, and guerdon of gold

To requite his slaughter whom Grendel slew,

As he would have slain others, but all-wise

God

And the hero's courage had conquered

Fate. . . .

Stewards poured wine from wondrous

vessels;

770 And Wealhtheow, ²⁵ wearing a golden crown,

Came forth in state where the two were

sitting,

Courteous comrades, uncle and nephew, ²⁶

Each true to the other in ties of peace. . . .

Wealhtheow spoke to the warrior host:

775 "Take, dear Beowulf, collar and corselet,

Wear these treasures with right good will!

Thrive and prosper and prove your might!

Befriend my boys with your kindly counsel;

I will remember and I will repay.

780 You have earned the undying honor of

heroes

In regions reaching as far and wide

As the windy walls that the sea encircles.

May Fate show favor while life shall last!

I wish you wealth to your heart's content;

785 In your days of glory be good to my sons!

Here each hero is true to other,

Gentle of spirit, loyal to lord,

Friendly thanes and a folk united,

Wine-cheered warriors who do my will."

790 Then she went to her seat. . . .

25. Wealhtheow (wii'al thii 6), Hrothgar's wife, the queen of the Danes.

26. uncle and nephew, Hrothgar and Hrothulf, the son of Hrothgar's younger brother Halga.

The Troll-Wife Avenges Grendel

790 . . . At the fairest of feasts

Men drank of the wine-cup, knowing not

Fate, .

Nor the fearful doom that befell the earls

When darkness gathered, and gracious

Hrothgar

Sought his dwelling and sank to rest.

795 A host of heroes guarded the hall

As they oft had done in the days of old.

They stripped the benches and spread the

floor .

With beds and bolsters. But one of the beer ­

thanes

Bowed to his hall-rest doomed to death.

800 They set at their heads their shining shields,

Their battle-bucklers; and there on the bench .

Above each hero. his towering helmet,

His spear and corselet hung close at hand.

It was ever their wont to be ready for war

805 At home or in field, as it ever befell

That their lord had need. 'Twas a noble race!

Then they sank to slumber. But one paid

dear

For his evening rest, as had often happened

I When Grendel haunted the lordly hall

810 And wrought such ruin, till his end was come,

Death for his sins; it was easily seen,

Though the monster was slain, an avenger

survived

Prolonging the feud, though the fiend had

perished.

The mother of Grendel, a monstrous hag,

815 Brooded over her misery, doomed to live

In evil waters and icy streams. . . .

But rabid and raging his mother resolved

On a dreadful revenge for the death of her son!

She stole to the hall where the Danes were

sleeping,

820 And horror fell on the host of earls

When the dam! of Grendel burst in the door.

But the terror was less as the war-craft is

weaker,

A woman's strength, than the might of a

man...

As soon as discovered, the hag was in haste

825 To fly to the open, to flee for her life.

One of the warriors she swiftly seized,

Clutched him fast and made off to the fens.

He was of heroes the dearest to Hrothgar,

The best of comrades between two seas;

830 The warrior brave, the stouthearted spearman,

She slew in his sleep. Nor was Beowulf there;

But after the banquet another abode

Had been assigned to the glorious Geat.

There was tumult in Heorot

She tore from its place

835 The bloodstained claw. Care was renewed!

It was no good bargain when both in turn

Must pay the price with the lives of friends!

Then the white-haired warrior, the aged king, .

Was numb with sorrow, knowing his thane

840 No longer was living, his dearest man dead.

Beowulf, the brave, was speedily summoned.

The hero came tramping into the hall

With his chosen band-the boards resounded ­

Greeted the leader, the Ingwine’’s lord,

845 And asked if the night had been peaceful and

pleasant.

1. dam, mother.

2. Ingwine (ing'wi n_), literally, "friends of lng," an epi ­thet for the Danes. lng was an epithet of the Norse god Frey

Hrothgar spoke, the lord of the Scyldings:

"Ask not of pleasure; pain is renewed

For the Da,nish people. l££schere3 is

dead! . . .

He was my comrade, closest of counsellors,

850 My shoulder-companion as side by side

We fought for our lives in the welter of war,

In the shock of battle when boar-helms

crashed.

As an earl should be, a prince without peer,

Such was Aeschere, slain in the hall

855 By the wandering demon! I know not

whither

She fled to shelter, proud of her spoil,

Gorged to the full. She avenged the

feud. . . .

Oft in the hall I have heard my people,

Comrades and counselors, telling a tale

860 Of evil spirits their eyes have sighted,

Two mighty marauders who haunt the

moors.

One shape, as clearly as men could see,

Seemed woman's likeness, and one seemed

man,

An outcast wretch of another world,

865 And huger far than a human form.

Grendel my countrymen called him, not

knowing

What monster-brood spawned him, what

sire begot.

Wild and lonely the land they live in,

Windswept ridges and wolf-retreats,

870 Dread tracts of fen where the falling torrent

Downward dips into gloom and shadow

Under the dusk of the darkening cliff.

Not far in miles lies the lonely mere

Where trees firm-rooted and hung with frost

875 Overshroud the wave with shadowing

gloom.

And there a portent appears each night,

A flame in the water; no man so wise

Who knows the bound of its bottomless

depth.

The heather-stepper, the horned stag,

880 The antlered hart hard driven by hounds,

Invading that forest in flight from afar

Will turn at bay and die on the brink

Ere ever he'll plunge in that haunted pool.

'Tis an eerie spot! Its tossing spray

885 Mounts dark to heaven when high winds stir

The driving storm, and the sky is murky,

And with foul weather the heavens weep.

On your arm only rests all our hope!

Not yet have you tempted those terrible reaches,

890 The region that shelters that sinful wight.

Go if you dare! I will give requital

With ancient treasure and twisted gold,

As I formerly gave in guerdon of battle,

If out of that combat you come alive."

895 Beowulf spoke, the son of Ecgtheow:

"Sorrow not, brave one! Better for man

To avenge a friend than much to mourn:

All men must die; let him who may

Win glory ere death. That guerdon is best

900 For the noble man when his name survives him.

Then let us rise up, 0 ward of the realm,

And haste us forth to behold the track

Of Grendel's dam.

And I give you pledge

She shall not in safety escape to cover,

905 To earthy cavern, or forest fastness,

Or gulf of ocean, go where she may.

This day with patience endure the burden

Of every woe, as I know you will."

Up sprang the ancient, gave thanks to God

910 For the heartening words the hero had spoken

Beowulf Slays the Troll-Wife

Quickly a horse was bridled for Hrothgar,

A mettlesome charger with braided mane;

In royal splendor the king rode forth

Mid the trampling tread of a troop of shieldmen.

915 The tracks lay clear where the fiend had fared

Over plain and bottom and woodland path,

Through murky moorland making her way

With the lifeless body, the best of thanes

Who of old with Hrothgar had guarded the hall.

920 By a narrow path the king pressed on.

Through rocky upland and rugged ravine,

A lonely journey, past looming headlands,

The lair of monster and lurking troll.

Tried retainers, a trusty few,

925 Advanced with Hrothgar to view the ground.

Sudden they came on a dismal covert

Of trees that hung over hoary stone,

Over churning water and bloodstained wave.

Then for the Danes was the woe the deeper,

930 The sorrow sharper for Scylding earls,

When they first caught sight, on the rocky

sea-cliff,

Of slaughtered Aeschere's severed head.

The water boiled in a bloody swirling

With seething gore as the spearmen gazed.

935 The trumpet sounded a martial strain;

The shield-troop halted. Their eyes beheld

The swimming forms of strange sea ­

dragons,

Dim serpent shapes in the watery depths,

Sea-beasts sunning on headland slopes;

940 Snakelike monsters that oft at sunrise

On evil errands scour the sea.

Startled by tumult and trumpet's blare,

Enraged and savage, they swam away;

But one the lord of the Geats brought low,

945 Stripped of his sea-strength, despoiled of life,

As the bitter bow-bolt pierced his heart.

His watery-speed grew slower, and ceased,

And he floated, caught in the clutch of death.

Then they hauled him in with sharp-hooked boar-spears,

950 By sheer strength grappled and dragged him ashore,

A wondrous wave-beast; and all the array

Gathered to gaze at the grisly guest.

Beowulf donned his armor for battle,

Heeded not danger; the hand-braided byrny,1 ­

955 Broad of shoulder and richly bedecked,

Must stand the ordeal of the watery depths.

Well could that corselet defend the frame

Lest hostile thrust should pierce to the heart.

Or blows of battle beat down the life.

960 A gleaming helmet guarded his head

As he planned his plunge to the depths of the pool

Through the heaving waters-a helm adorned

With lavish inlay and lordly chains,

Ancient work of the weapon-smith

965 Skillfully fashioned, beset with the boar,

That no blade of battle might bite it through.

Not the least or the worst of his war equipment.

Was the sword the herald of Hrothgar loan

In his hour of need--Hrunting-- its name ­

970 An ancient heirloom, trusty and tried;

Its blade was iron, with etched design,

Tempered in blood of many a battle.

Never in fight had it failed the hand

That drew it daring the perils of war,

975 The rush of the foe. Not the first time then

That its edge must venture on valiant deeds. . . .

Beowulf spoke, the son of Ecgtheow:

"O gracious ruler, gold-giver to men,

As I now set forth to attempt this feat,

980 Great son of Healfdene, hold well in mind

The solemn pledge we plighted of old, --..

That if doing your service I meet my death

You will mark my fall with a father's love.

Protect my kinsmen, my trusty comrades,

985 If battle take me. And all the treasure

You have heaped on me bestow upon _Hygelac. . . ."

After these words the prince of the Weders

Awaited no answer, but turned to the task,

Straightway plunged in the swirling pool.

990 Nigh unto a day he endured the depths

Ere he first had view of the vast sea-bottom.

Soon she found, who had haunted the flood,

A ravening hag, for a hundred half-years,

Greedy and grim, that a man was groping

4. herald of Hrothgar. .. Hrunting (hrun'ting). Hrothgar's herald here is Unferth, now reconciled to Beowulf. Hrunting may mean "Thruster."

995 In daring search through the sea-troll's home.

Swift she grappled and grasped the warrior

With horrid grip, but could work no harm,

No hurt to his body; the ring-locked byrny

Cloaked his life from her clutching claw;

1000 Nor could she tear through the tempered mail

With her savage fingers. The she-wolf bore

The ring-prince down through the watery depths

To her den at the bottom; nor could Beowulf draw

His blade for battle, though brave his mood.

1005 Many a sea-beast, strange sea-monsters,

Tasked him hard with their menacing tusks,

Broke his byrny and smote him sore.

Then he found himself in a fearsome hall

Where water came not to work him hurt,

1010 But the flood was stayed by the sheltering roof.

There in the glow of firelight gleaming

The hero had view of the huge sea-troll.

He swung his war-sword with all his strength,

Withheld not the blow, and the savage blade

1015 Sang on her head its hymn of hate.

But the bold one found that the battle-flasher

Would bite no longer, nor harm her life.

The sword-edge failed at his sorest need.

Often of old with ease it had suffered

1020 The clash of battle, cleaving the helm,

The fated warrior's woven mail.

That time was first for the treasured blade

That its glory failed in the press of the fray.

But fixed of purpose and firm of mood

1025 Hygelac's earl was mindful of honor;

In wrath, undaunted, he dashed to earth

The jewelled sword with its scrolled design,

The blade of steel; staked all on strength,

On the might of his hand, as a man must do

1030 Who thinks to win in the welter of battle

Enduring glory; he fears not death.

The Geat-prince joyed in the straining struggle,

Stalwart-hearted and stirred to wrath,

Gripped the shoulder of Grendel's dam

1035 And headlong hurled the hag to the ground.

But she quickly clutched him and drew him close,

Countered the onset with savage claw.

The warrior staggered, for all his strength,

Dismayed and shaken and borne to earth.

1040 She knelt upon him and drew her dagger,

With broad bright blade, to avenge her son,

/ Her only issue. But the corselet's steel

Shielded his breast and sheltered his life

'Withstanding entrance of point and edge. . . .

1045 Swift the hero sprang to his feet;

Saw mid the war-gear a stately sword,

An ancient war-brand of biting edge,

Choicest of weapons worthy and strong,

The work of giants, a warrior's joy,

1050 So heavy no hand but his own could hold it,

Bear to battle or wield in war.

Then the Scylding warrior, savage and grim,

Seized the ring-hilt and swung the sword,

Struck with fury, despairing of life, _

1055 Thrust at the throat, broke through the bone-rings;

The stout blade stabbed through her fated flesh.

She sank in death; the sword was bloody;

The hero joyed in the work of his hand.

The gleaming radiance shimmered and shone

1060 As the candle of heaven shines clear from the sky.

Wrathful and resolute Hygelac's thane

Surveyed the span of the spacious hall;

Grimly gripping the hilted sword

With upraised weapon he turned to the wall. . . .

1065 And there before him bereft of life

He saw the broken body of Grendel

Stilled in battle, and stretched in death,

As the struggle in Heorot smote him down.

The corpse sprang wide as he struck the blow,

1070 The hard sword-stroke that severed the

head.

Then the tried retainers, who there with Hrothgar

Watched the face of the foaming pool,

Saw that the churning reaches were

reddened,

The eddying surges stained with blood.

1075 And the gray, old spearmen spoke of the hero,

Having no hope he would ever return

Crowned with triumph and cheered with spoil.

Many were sure that the savage sea-wolf

Had slain their leader. At last came noon.

1080 The stalwart Scyldings forsook the headland; (Hrothgar and his men left; Beowulf’’s men stay by the water.)

Their proud gold-giver departed home.

But the Geats sat grieving and sick in spirit,

Stared at the water with longing eyes,

Having no hope they would ever behold

1085 Their gracious leader and lord again.

Then the great sword, eaten with blood of battle,

Began to soften and waste away

In iron icicles, wonder of wonders,

Melting away most like to ice

1090 When the Father looses the fetters of frost,

Slackens the bondage that binds the wave,

Strong in power of times and seasons;

He is true God! Of the goodly treasures

From the sea-cave Beowulf took but two,

1095 The monster's head and the precious hilt

Blazing with gems; but the blade had melted,

The sword dissolved, in the deadly heat,

The venomous blood of the fallen fiend. . . .

With sturdy strokes the lord of the seamen

1l00 To land came swimming, rejoiced in his spoil,

Had joy of the burden he brought from the depths.

And his mighty thanes came forward to meet him,

Gave thanks to God they were granted to see

Their well-loved leader both sound and safe.

1l05 From the stalwart hero his helmet and byrny

Were quickly loosened; the lake lay still,

Its motionless reaches reddened with blood. . . .

From the sea-cliffs brim the warriors bore

The head of Grendel, with heavy toil;

1110 Four of the stoutest, with all their strength,

1115 And proud in the midst of his marching men

Their leader measured the path to the mead ­ hall.

The hero entered, the hardy in battle,

The great in glory, to greet the king;

And Grendel's head by the hair was carried

1120 Across the floor where the feasters drank ­

A terrible sight for lord and for lady ­

A gruesome vision whereon men gazed!

Beowulf spoke, the son of Ecgtheow:

"O son of Healfdene, lord of the Scyldings!

1125 This sea-spoil wondrous, whereon you stare,

We joyously bring you in token of triumph!

Barely with life surviving the battle,

The war under water, I wrought the deed

Weary and spent; and death had been swift

1130 Had God not granted His sheltering strength.

My strong-edged Hrunting, stoutest of blades,

Availed me nothing. But God revealed ­

Often His arm has aided the friendless ­

The fairest of weapons hanging on wall,

1135 An ancient broadsword; I seized the blade,

Slew in the struggle, as fortune availed,

The cavern-warders. But the war-brand old,

The battle-blade with its scrolled design,

Dissolved in the gush of the venomous gore;

1140 The hilt alone I brought from the battle.

The record of ruin, and slaughter of Danes,

These wrongs I avenged, as was fitting and right.

Now I can promise you, prince of the Scyldings,

Henceforth in Heorot rest without rue

That evil invader, that ancient foe!

Great sorrow of soul from his malice I suffered; ,

But thanks be to God who has spared me to see

His bloody head at the battle's end!

1225 Join now in the banquet; have joy of the feast,

O mightly in battle! And the morrow shall bring

Exchange of treasure in ample store."

Happy of heart the Geat leader hastened,

Took seat at the board as the good king bade.

1230 Once more, as of old, brave heroes made merry

And tumult of revelry rose in the hall.

Then dark over men the night shadows deepened;

The host all arose, for Hrothgar was minded,

The gray, old Scylding, to go to his rest.

1235 On Beowulf too, after labor of battle,

Came limitless longing and craving for sleep.

A hall-thane graciously guided the hero,

Weary and worn, to the place prepared,

Serving his wishes and every want

1240 As befitted a mariner come from afar.

The stout-hearted warrior sank to his rest;

The lofty building, splendid and spacious,

Towered above him. His sleep was sound

Till the black-coated raven, blithesome of spirit,

1245 Hailed the coming of Heaven's bliss.

The Parting of Beowulf and Hrothgar

Then over the shadows uprose the sun.

The Geats were in haste, and eager of heart

To depart to their people. Beowulf longed

To embark in his boat, to set sail for his home.

1250 The hero tendered the good sword Hrunting

To the son of Ecglaf, bidding him bear

The lovely blade; gave thanks for the loan,

Called it a faithful friend in the fray,

Bitter in battle. The greathearted hero

1255 Spoke no word in blame of the blade!

Arrayed in war-gear, and ready for sea,

The warriors bestirred them; and, dear to the

Danes, Beowulf sought the high seat of the king.

The gallant in war gave greeting to Hrothgar;

1260 Beowulf spoke, the son of Ecgtheow:

"It is time at last to tell of our longing!

Our homes are far, and our hearts are fain

To seek again Hygelac over the sea.

You have welcomed us royally, harbored us well

1265 As a man could wish; if I ever can win

Your affection more fully, O leader of heroes,

Swift shall you find me to serve you again!"

Hrothgar addressed him, uttered his answer:

"Truly, these words has the Lord of wisdom

1270 Set in your heart, for I never have hearkened

To speech so sage from a man so young.

You have strength, and prudence, and wisdom of word! . . .

The Sea-Geats could have no happier choice

If you would be willing to rule the realm,

1275 As king to hold guard o'er the hoard and the heroes.

The longer I know you, the better I like you,

Beloved Beowulf! You have brought it to pass

That between our peoples a lasting peace

Shall bind the Geats to the Danish-born;

1280 And strife shall vanish, and war shall cease,

And former feuds, while. I rule this realm."

Then the son of Healfdene, shelter of earls,

Bestowed twelve gifts on the hero in hall,

Bade him in safety with bounty of treasure

1285 Seek his dear people, and soon return.

The peerless leader, the Scylding lord,

Kissed the good thane and clasped to his bosom

While tears welled fast from the old man's eyes.

Both chances he weighed in his wise, old heart,

1290 But greatly doubted if ever again

They should meet at councilor drinking of mead.

Nor could Hrothgar master-so dear was the man ­

His swelling sorrow; a yearning love

For the dauntless hero, deep in his heart,

1295 Burned through his blood. Beowulf, the brave,

Prizing his treasure and proud of the gold,

Turned away, treading the grassy plain.

The ring-stemmed sea-goer, riding at anchor,

Awaited her lord. There was loud acclaim

2300 Of Hrothgar's gifts, as they went their way.

He was a king without failing or fault,

Till old age, master of all mankind,

Stripped him of power and pride of strength.

Then down to the sea came the band of the brave,

1305 The host of young heroes in harness of war,

In their woven mail; and the coast-warden viewed

The heroes' return, as he heeded their coming!

No uncivil greeting he gave from the sea-cliff

As they strode to ship in their glistening steel;

But rode toward them and called their return

A welcome sight for their Weder kin.

There on the sand the ring-stemmed ship,

The broad-bosomed bark, was loaded with war-gear,

With horses and treasure; the mast towered high

1315 Over the riches of Hrothgar's hoard.

A battle-sword Beowulf gave to the boat ­ warden

Hilted with gold; and thereafter in hall

He had the more honor because of the heirloom,

The shining treasure. The ship was launched.

1320 Cleaving the combers of open sea

They dropped the shoreline of Denmark astern.

A stretching sea-cloth, a bellying sail,

Was bent on the mast; there was groaning of timbers;

A gale was blowing; the boat drove on.

1325 The foamy-necked plunger plowed through the billows,

The ring-stemmed ship through the breaking seas,

Till at last they sighted the sea-cliffs of Geatland,

The well-known headlands; and, whipped by the wind,

The boat drove shoreward and beached on the sand. . . .

1330 Then the hero strode with his stalwart band

Across the stretches of sandy beach,

The wide sea-shingle. The world-candle shone, ­

The hot sun hasting on high from the south.

Marching together they made their way

1335 To where in his stronghold the stout young king, . . .

Dispensed his treasure. Soon Hygelac heard

Of the landing of Beowulf, bulwark of man

That his shoulder-companion had come to his court

Sound and safe from the strife of battle.

1340 The hall was prepared, as the prince gave bidding,

Places made ready for much travelled men.

And he who came safe from the surges of battle

Sat by the side of the king himself, . . .

In friendly fashion in high-built hall

1345 Hygelac questioned his comrade and thane;

For an eager longing burned in his breast

To hear from the Sea-Geats the tale of their travels. . . .

Beowulf now tells the king of his battles with Grendel and Grendel's mother, and of the re ­wards his victory has won. He concludes:

"These riches I bring you ruler of heroes,

And warmly tender with right good will.

1350 Save for you, king Hygelac, few are my kinsmen, _

Few are the favors but come from you."

Then he bade men bring the boar-crested headpiece,

The towering helmet, and steel-gray sark,1

The splendid war-sword, and spoke this word:

1355 "The good king Hrothgar gave me this gift,

This battle-armor, and first to you

Bade tell the tale of his friendly favor. . . .

Well may you wear it! Have joy of it all. " . . .

Then the battle-bold king, the bulwark of heroes,

1360 Bade bring a battle-sword banded with gold,

The heirloom of Hrethe1; no sharper steel,

No lovelier treasure, belonged to the Geats.

He laid the war-blade on Beowul's lap,

Gave him a hall and a stately seat

1365 And hides seven thousand. Inherited lands

Both held by birth-fee, home and estate.

But one held rule o'er the spacious realm,

And higher therein his order and rank.

The Fire-Dragon and the Treasure

It later befell in the years that followed

1370 After Hygelac sank in the surges of war, . . .

That the kingdom came into Beowulf's hand.

For fifty winters he governed it well,

Aged and wise with the wisdom of years,

Till a fire-drake flying in darkness of night

1375 Began to ravage and work his will.

On the upland heath he guarded a hoard,

A stone barrow lofty. Under it lay

A path concealed from the sight of men.

There a thief broke in on the heathen treasure,

1380 Laid hand on a flagon all fretted with gold,

As the dragon discovered, though cozened in sleep

By the pilferer's cunning. The people soon found

1. sark, shirt (here, of mail).

2. Hrethel (hreth';!I), king of the Geats, father of Hygelac, Rrandfather of Beowulf.

3. hides. The hide (roughly, as much land as could be worked by one plow in a. single year) varied from 40 to 120 acres. Seven thousand hides is a huge piece of land.

4. fire-drake, a fire-breathing dragon.

That the mood of the dragon was roused to wrath! . . .

For three hundred winters this waster of peoples

1385 Held the huge treasure-hall under the earth

Till the robber aroused him to anger and rage,

Stole the rich beaker and bore to his master,

Imploring his lord for a compact of peace.

So the hoard was robbed and its riches plundered;

1390 To the wretch was granted the boon that he begged;

And his liege-lord first had view of the treasure,

The ancient work of the men of old.

Then the worm awakened and war was kindled,

The rush of the monster along the rock,

1395 When the fierce one found the tracks of the foe; . . .

Swiftly the fire-drake sought through the plain

The man who wrought him this wrong in his sleep.

Inflamed and savage he circled the mound,

But the waste was deserted-no man was in sight.

1400 The worm's mood was kindled to battle and war;

Time and again he returned to the barrow

Seeking the treasure-cup. Soon he was sure

That a man had plundered the precious gold.

Enraged and restless the hoard-warden waited

1405 The gloom of evening. The guard of the mound

Was swollen with anger; the fierce one resolved

To requite with fire the theft of the cup.

Then the day was sped as the worm desired;

Lurking no longer within his wall

1410 He sallied forth surrounded with fire,

Encircled with flame. For the folk of the land

The beginning was dread as the ending was grievous.

That came so quickly upon their lord.

Then the baleful stranger belched fire and flame,

1415 Burned the bright dwellings-the glow of the blaze

Filled hearts with horror. The hostile flier

Was minded to leave there nothing alive.

From near and from far the war of the dragon,

The might of the monster, was widely revealed

1420 So that all could see how the ravaging scather

Hated and humbled the Geatish folk.

Then he hastened back ere the break of dawn

To his secret den and the spoil of gold.

He had compassed the land with a flame of fire,

1425 A blaze of burning; he trusted the wall,

The sheltering mound, and the strength of his might ­

But his trust betrayed him! The terrible news

Was brought to Beowulf, told for a truth,

That his home was consumed in the surges of fire. . . .

1430 Dark thoughts stirred in his surging bosom,

Welled in his breast, as was not his wont.

The flame of the dragon had leveled the fortress,

The people's stronghold washed by the wave.

But the king of warriors, prince of the Weders,

1435 Exacted an ample revenge for it all.

The lord of warriors and leader of earls

Bade work him of iron a wondrous shield,

Knowing full well that wood could not serve him

Nor lindens defend him against the flame.

1440 The stalwart hero was doomed to suffer

The destined end of his days on earth;

Likewise the worm, though for many a winter

He had held his watch o'er the wealth of the hoard.

5. linden, a shield of linden wood.

The ring-prince scorned to assault the dragon

1445 With a mighty army, or host of men.

He feared not the combat, nor counted of worth

The might of the worm, his courage and craft,

Since often aforetime, beset in the fray,

He had safely issued from many an onset,

1450 Many a combat and, crowned with success,

Purged of evil the hall of Hrothgar

And crushed out Grendel's loathsome kin. . . .

With eleven comrades, kindled to rage

The Geat lord went to gaze on the dragon.

1455 Full well he knew how the feud arose,

The fearful affliction; for into his hold

From hand of finder the flagon had come.

The thirteenth man in the hurrying throng

Was the sorrowful captive who caused the feud.

With woeful spirit and all unwilling

Needs must he guide them, for he only knew

Where the earth-hall stood near the breaking billows

Filled with jewels and beaten gold.

The monstrous warden, waiting for battle,

1465 Watched and guarded the hoarded wealth. No easy bargain for any of men

To seize that treasure! The stalwart king,

Gold-friend of Geats, took seat on the headland,

Hailed his comrades and wished them well.

1470 Sad was his spirit, restless and ready,

And the march of Fate immeasurably near;

Fate that would strike, seek his soul's treasure,

And deal asunder the spirit and flesh.

Not long was his life encased in the body!

1475 Beowulf spoke, the son of Ecgtheow:

"Many an ordeal I endured in youth,

. And many a battle. I remember it all. . . .

For all the rich gifts that Hygelac gave me

I repaid him in battle with shining sword,

1480 As chance was given. He granted me land,

A gracious dwelling and goodly estate. . . .

I was always before him alone in the van.

So shall I bear me while life-days last,

While the sword holds out that has served me well, . . .

1485 With hand and hard blade, I must fight for the treasure," . . .

Beowulf and Wiglaf Slay the Dragon

The king for the last time greeted his comrades,

Bold helmet-bearers and faithful friends:

"I would bear no sword nor weapon to battle

With the evil worm, if 1 knew how else

1490 I could close with the fiend, as I grappled with Grendel.

From the worm I look for a welling of fire,

A belching of venom, and therefore I bear Shield and byrny.

Not one foot's space

Will I flee from the monster, the ward of the mound.

It shall fare with us both in the fight at the wall

As Fate shall allot, the lord of mankind.

Though bold in spirit, I make no boast

As I go to fight with the flying serpent.

Clad in your corselets and trappings of war,

1500 By the side of the barrow abide you to see

Which of us twain may- best after battle

Survive his wounds. Not yours the adventure,

Nor the mission of any, save mine alone,

To measure his strength with the monstrous dragon

1505 And play the part of a valiant earl.

By deeds of daring I'll gain the gold

Or death in battle shall break your lord."

Then the stalwart rose with his shield upon him,

Bold under helmet, bearing his sark

1510 Under the stone-cliff; he trusted the strength

Of his single might. Not so does a coward!

He who survived through many a struggle,

Many a combat and crashing of troops,

Saw where a stone-arch stood by the wall

1515 And a gushing stream broke out from the barrow.

Hot with fire was the flow of its surge,

Nor could any abide near the hoard unburned,

Nor endure its depths, for the flame of the dragon.

Then the lord of the Geats in the grip of his fury

1520 Gave shout of defiance; the strong-heart stormed.

His voice rang out with the rage of battle,

Resounding under the hoary stone.

Hate was aroused; the hoard-warden knew

'Twas the voice of a man. No more was there time

1525 To sue for peace; the breath of the serpent,

A blast of venom, burst from the rock.

The ground resounded; the lord of the Geats

Under the barrow swung up his shield

To face the dragon; the coiling foe

1530 Was gathered to strike in the deadly strife.

The stalwart hero had drawn his sword,

His ancient heirloom of tempered edge;

In the heart of each was fear of the other!

The shelter of kinsmen stood stout of heart

1535 Under towering shield as the great worm coiled;

Clad in his war-gear he waited the rush.

In twisting folds the flame-breathing dragon

Sped to its fate. The shield of the prince

For a lesser while guarded his life and his body

1540 Than heart had hoped. For the first time then

It was not his portion to prosper in war;

Fate did not grant him glory in battle!

Then lifted his arm the lord of the Geats

And smote the worm with his ancient sword

1545 But the brown edge failed as it fell on bone,

And cut less deep than the king had need

In his sore distress. Savage in mood

The ward of the barrow countered the blow

With a blast of fire; wide sprang the flame. . .

1550 Not long was the lull. Swiftly the battlers

Renewed their grapple. The guard of the hoard

Grew fiercer in fury. His venomous breath

Beat in his breast. Enveloped in flame

The folk-leader suffered a sore distress.

1555 No succoring band of shoulder-companions,

No sons of warriors aided him then

By valor in battle. They fled to the forest

To save their lives; but a sorrowful spirit

Welled in the breast of one of the band.

1560 The call of kinship can never be stilled

In the heart of a man who is trusty and true.

His name was Wiglaf, Weohstan's son,

A prince of the Scylfings, a peerless thane,

Aelfhere's kinsman; he saw his king

1565 Under his helmet smitten with heat.

He thought of the gifts which his lord had given,

The wealth and the land of the Wregmunding line

And all the folk-rights his father had owned;

Nor could he hold back, but snatched up his buckler,

1570 His linden shield and his ancient sword. . . .

Wiglaf spoke in sorrow of soul,

With bitter reproach rebuking his comrades:

"I remember the time, as we drank in the mead-hall,

When we swore to our lord who bestowed these rings

1575 That we would repay for the war-gear and armor,

The hard swords and helmets, if need like this

Should ever befall him. He chose us out

From all the host for this high adventure.

Now is the day that our lord has need

1580 Of the strength and courage of stalwart men.

Let us haste to succor his sore distress

In the horrible heat and the merciless flame.

God knows I had rather the fire should enfold

My body and limbs with my gold-friend and lord. . . .

1585 One helmet and sword, one byrny and shield,

Shall serve for us both in the storm of strife."

Then Wiglaf dashed through the deadly reek

In his battle-helmet to help his lord.

Brief were his words: "Beloved Beowulf,

1590 Summon your strength, remember the vow

You made of old in the years of youth

Not to allow your glory to lessen

As long as you lived. With resolute heart,

And dauntless daring, defend your life

1595 With all your force. I fight at your side!"

Once again the worm, when the words were spoken,

The hideous foe in a horror of flame,

Rushed in rage at the hated men.

Wiglaf’’s buckler was burned to the boss

1600 In the billows of fire; his byrny of mail

Gave the young hero no help or defense.

But he stoutly pressed on under shield of his kinsman

When his own was consumed in the scorching flame.

Then the king once more was mindful of glory,

1605 Swung his great sword-blade with all his might

And drove it home on the dragon's head.

But Naegling broke, it failed in the battle,

The blade of Beowulf, ancient and gray. . . ,

A third time then the terrible scather,

1610 The monstrous dragon inflamed with the feud,

Rushed on the king when the opening offered,

Fierce and flaming; fastened its fangs

6. Wiglaf. . . kinsman. Wiglafs father Weohstan (wa'6 ­stan) was apparently both a prince of the Scylfings (shil'fings), the ruling family among the Swedes, and

a member of the Wregmunding (wag'mim ding) family (see lines 1567-1568), the Geatish clan to which Beowulf belonged. Weohstan may have been a Swedish exile in Geatland (as the result of a blood feud) who had settled on Wregmunding lands. 1££Ifhere (alf'her rg) is not otherwise known.

7. Nae!gling (nag'ling). The name of Beowulfs sword is related to 1k££gl, "nail."

In Beowulf’’s throat; he was bloodied with gore;

His lifeblood streamed from the welling wound.

1615 As they tell the tale, in the king's sore need

His shoulder-companion showed forth his valor,

His craft and courage, and native strength.

To the head of the dragon he paid no heed,

Though his hand was burned as he helped his king.

1620 A little lower the stalwart struck

At the evil beast, and his blade drove home

Plated and gleaming. The fire began

To lessen and wane. The king of the Weders

Summoned his wits; he drew the dagger

1625 He wore on his corselet, cutting and keen,

And slit asunder the worm with the blow.

So they felled the foe and wrought their revenge;

The kinsmen together had killed the dragon.

So a man should be when the need is bitter!

1630 That was the last fight Beowulf fought;

That was the end of his work in the world.

The wound which the dragon had dealt him began

To swell and burn; and soon he could feel

The baneful venom inflaming his breast.

1635 The wise, old warrior sank down by the wall

And stared at the work of the giants of old,

The arches of stone and the standing columns

Upholding the ancient earth-hall within.

His loyal thane, the kindest of comrades,

1640 Saw Beowulf bloody and broken in war;

In his hands bore water and bathed his leader,

And loosened the helm from his dear lord's head.

Beowulf spoke, though his hurt was sore,

The wounds of battle grievous and grim. .

1645 Full well he weened that his life was ended,

And all the joy of his years on earth;

That his days were done, and Death most near:

"My armor and sword I would leave to my son

Had Fate but granted, born of my body,

1650 An heir to follow me after I'm gone.

1655 Kept well what was mine, courted no quarrels, (Beowulf was proud of these things.)

1660 Go quickly, dear Wiglaf, to gaze on the gold

Beneath the hoar stone. The dragon lies still

In the slumber of death, despoiled of his hoard.

Make haste that my eyes may behold the treasure,

The gleaming jewels, the goodly store,

1665 And, glad of the gold, more peacefully leave

The life and the realm I have ruled so long."

Then Weohstan's son, as they tell the tale,

Clad in his corselet and trappings of war,

Hearkened at once to his wounded lord.

1670 Under roof of the barrow he broke his way.

Proud in triumph he stood by the seat,

Saw glittering jewels and gold on the ground,

The den of the dragon, the old dawn-flier,

And all the wonders along the walls.

1675 Great bowls and flagons of bygone men

Lay all unburnished and barren of gems,

Many a helmet ancient and rusted,

Many an arm-ring cunningly wrought.

Treasure and gold, though hid in the ground,

1680 Override man's wishes, hide them who will!

High o'er the hoard he beheld a banner,

Greatest of wonders, woven with skill,

All wrought of gold; its radiance lighted

The vasty ground and the glittering gems. . . .

1685 As I've heard the tale, the hero unaided

Rifled .those riches of giants of old,

The hoard in the barrow, and heaped in his arms

Beakers and platters, picked what he would

And took the banner, the brightest of signs. . . .

1690 In haste returning enriched with spoil.

He feared, and wondered if still he would find

The lord of the Weders alive on the plain,

Broken and weary and smitten with wounds.

With his freight of treasure he found the prince,

1695 His dear lord, bloody and nigh unto death.

With water he bathed him till words broke forth

From the hoard of his heart and, aged and sad,

Beowulf spoke, as he gazed on the gold:

I gave my life for this golden hoard.

1705 Heed well the wants, the need of my people;

My hour is come, and my end is near.

Bid warriors build, when they burn my body,

A stately barrow on the headland's height.

It shall be for remembrance among my people

1710 As it towers high on the Cape of the Whale,

And sailors shall know it as Beowulf’’s Barrow,

Seafaring mariners driving their ships

Through fogs of ocean from far countries."

Then the great-hearted king unclasped from his throat

1715 A collar of gold, and gave to his thane;

Gave the young hero his gold-decked helmet,

His ring and his byrny, and wished him well. "

You are the last of the Wgmunding line.

All my kinsmen, earls in their glory,

1720 Fate has sent to their final doom,

And I must follow." These words were the last

The old king spoke ere the received him,

The leaping flames of the funeral blaze,

And his breath went forth from his bosom, his soul

1725 Went forth from the flesh, to the joys of the just. .

Not long was it then till the laggards in battle

Came forth from the forest, ten craven in fight,

Who had dared not face the attack of the foe

In their lord's great need. The shirkers in shame

1730 Came wearing their bucklers and trappings of war

Where the old man lay. They looked upon Wiglaf.

Weary he sat by the side of his leader

Attempting with water to waken his lord.

It availed him little; the wish was vain! . . .

1735 He reproached the cowards whose courage had failed: . . .

"Lo! he may say who would speak the truth Col

That the lord who gave you these goodly rings,

This warlike armor wherein you stand ­

When oft on the ale-bench he dealt to his hall-men

1740 Helmet and byrny, endowing his thanes

With the fairest he found from near or from far ­

That he grievously wasted these trappings of war

When battle befell him. The king of the folk

Had no need to boast of his friends in the fight.

1745 But the God of victory granted him strength

To avenge himself with the edge of the sword

When he needed valor. Of little avail

The help I brought in the bitter battle!

Yet still I strove, though beyond my strength, war

1750 To aid my kinsman. And ever the weaker

The savage foe when I struck with my sword;

Ever the weaker the welling flame!

Too few defenders surrounded our ruler

When the hour of evil and terror befell.

1755 Now granting of treasure and giving of swords,

Shall fail of his birthright when men from afar

1760 Death is better for every earl

Than life besmirched with the brand of shame!"

The Messenger Foretells the Doom of the Geats

Then Wiglaf bade tell the tidings of battle

Up over the cliff in the camp of the host

Where the linden-bearers all morning long

1765 Sat wretched in spirit, and ready for both,

The return, or the death, of their dear-loved lord.

Not long did he hide, who rode up the headland,

The news of their sorrow, but spoke before all:

"Our leader lies low, the lord of the Weders,

1770 The king of the Geats, on the couch of death.

He sleeps his last sleep by the deeds of the worm.

The dreadful dragon is stretched beside him

Slain with dagger-wounds.

Not by the sword Could he quell the monster or lay him low. . . .

1775 Let us go quickly to look on the king

Who brought us treasure, and bear his corpse

To the funeral pyre. The precious hoard

Shall burn with the hero. There lies the heap

Of untold treasure so grimly gained,

1780 Jewels and gems he bought with his blood

At the end of life. All these at the last

The flames shall veil and the brands devour.

No man for remembrance shall take from the treasure,

Nor beauteous maiden adorn her breast

1785 With gleaming jewel; bereft of gold

And tragic-hearted many shall tread

A foreign soil, now their lord has ceased

From laughter and revel and rapture of joy.

Many a spear in the cold of morning

1790 Shall be borne in hand uplifted on high.

No sound of harp shall waken the warrior,

But the dusky raven despoiling the dead

Shall clamor and cry and call to the eagle

What fare he found at the carrion-feast

1795 The while with the wolf he worried the corpses." . . .

They went with tears to behold the wonder.

They found the friend, who had dealt them treasure

In former days, on the bed of death,

Stretched out lifeless upon the sand. . . .

1800 They had sighted first, where it lay outstretched,

The monstrous wonder, the loathsome worm,

The horrible fire-drake, hideous-hued,

Scorched with the flame. The spread of its length

Was fifty foot-measures! Oft in the night

1805 It sported in air, then sinking to earth

Returned to its den. Now moveless in death

It had seen the last of its earthly lair.

Beside the dragon were bowls and beakers,

Platters lying, and precious swords

1810 Eaten with rust, where the hoard had rested

A thousand winters in the womb of earth. . . .

Then spoke Wiglaf, Weohstan's son:

"Often for one man many must sorrow

As has now befallen the folk of the Geats.

1815 We could not persuade the king by our counsel,

Our well-loved leader, to shun assault

On the dreadful dragon guarding the gold;

To let him lie where he long had lurked

In his secret lair till the world shall end.

1820 But Beowulf, dauntless, pressed to his doom. . . .

Let us haste once more to behold the treasure,

The gleaming wonders beneath the wall.

I will show the way that you all may see

And closely scan the rings and the gold.

1825 Let the bier be ready, the pyre prepared,

When we come again to carry our lord,

Our leader beloved, where long he shall lie

In the kindly care of the Lord of all."

Beowulf's Funeral

Then the son of Weohstan, stalwart in war,

1830 Bade send command to the heads of homes

To bring from afar the wood for the burning

Where the good king lay: "Now glede8 shall devour,

As dark flame waxes, the warrior prince

Who has often withstood the shower of steel

1835 When the storm of arrows, sped from the string,

Broke over shield, and shaft did service,

With feather-fittings guiding the barb."

Then the wise son of Weohstan chose from the host

Seven thanes of the king, the best of the band;

1840 Eight heroes together they hied to the barrow

In under the roof of the fearful foe;

One of the warriors leading the way

Bore in his hand a burning brand.

They cast no lots who should loot the treasure

When they saw unguarded the gold in the hall

Lying there useless; little they scrupled

As quickly they plundered the precious store.

Then a wagon was loaded with well-wrought treasure,

A countless number of every kind;

And the aged warrior, the white-haired king, Was borne on high to the Cape of the Whale.

1855 The Geat folk fashioned a peerless pyre

Hung round with helmets and battle-boards,

With gleaming byrnies as Beowulf bade.

In sorrow of soul they laid on the pyre Their mighty leader, their well-loved lord.

1860 The warriors kindled the bale on the barrow,

Wakened the greatest of funeral fires. '

Dark o'er the blaze the wood-smoke mounted;

The winds were still, and the sound of weepmg

Rose with the roar of the surging flame

1865 Till the heat of the fire had broken the body.

With hearts that were heavy they chanted their sorrow,

Singing a dirge for the death of their lord;

And an aged woman with upbound locks

Lamented for Beowulf, wailing in woe.

1870 Over and over she uttered her dread

Of sorrow to come, of bloodshed and slaughter,

Terror of battle, and bondage, and shame.

The smoke of the bale-fire rose to the sky!

The men of the Weder folk fashioned a mound

1875 Broad and high on the brow of the cliff,

Seen from afar by seafaring men.

Ten days they worked on the warrior's barrow

Inclosing the ash of the funeral flame

With a wall as worthy as wisdom could shape.

1880 They bore to the barrow the rings and the gems,

The wealth of the hoard the heroes had plundered.

The golden treasure they gave to the earth,

The gold to the ground, where it still remains

As useless to men as it was of yore.

1885 Then round the mound rode the brave in battle,

The sons of warriors, twelve in a band,

Bemoaning their sorrow and mourning their king.

They sang their dirge and spoke of the hero

Vaunting his valor and venturous deeds.

1890 So is it proper a man should praise

His friendly lord with a loving heart,

When his soul must forth from the fleeting flesh.

So the folk of the Geats, the friends of his hearth,

Bemoaned the fall of their mighty lord;

1895 Said he was kindest of worldly kings,

Mildest, most gentle, most eager for fame.