Original
language Anglo-Saxon (Old English)
Original
author / composer and recorder unknown
This
text is based on that translated by Francis B. Gummere
Published
in "The Harvard Classics"
Volume
49 (1910) by P.F. Collier & Son
BEOWULF
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:[1] 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,[2]
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!
[1]
Not, of course, Beowulf the Great, hero of the epic.
[2]
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.
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[1] 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.[2] Nor far was that day
when
father and son-in-law stood in feud
for
warfare and hatred that woke again.[3]
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[4]
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[5]
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,[6] and far was he driven,
for
the slaughter's sake, from sight of men.
Of
Cain awoke all that woful breed,
Etins[7]
and elves and evil-spirits,
as
well as the giants that warred with God
weary
while: but their wage was paid them!
[1]
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 the
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 oppo-
site
to him. The scene for a flying (see below, v.499) was thus very
effectively
set. Planks on trestles -- the "board" of later English litera-
ture
-- 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 them-
selves
out for sleep on the benches.
[2]
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.
[3]
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.
[4]
A skilled minstrel. The Danes are heathens, as one is told presently;
but
this lay of beginnings is taken from Genesis.
[5]
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.
[6]
Cain's.
[7]
Giants.
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,[1] when that bale was shown,
was
seen in sooth, with surest token, --
the
hall-thane's[2] 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[3] 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[4] 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[5]
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!
[1]
The smaller buildings within the main enclosure but separate from
the
hall.
[2]
Grendel.
[3]
"Sorcerers-of-hell."
[4]
Hrothgar, who is the "Scyldings'-friend" of 170.
[5]
That is, in formal or prescribed phrase.
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[1] he sought, and, sailor proved,
led
them on to the land's confines.
Time had now flown;[2] 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'[3] clansmen climbed ashore,
anchored
their sea-wood, with armor clashing
and
gear of battle: God they thanked
for
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:[4]
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."
[1]
Ship.
[2]
That is, since Beowulf selected his ship and led his men to the harbor.
[3]
One of the auxiliary names of the Geats.
[4]
Or: Not thus openly ever came warriors hither; yet...
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[1] 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[2]
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."
[1]
Hrothgar.
[2]
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.
V
STONE-BRIGHT
the street:[1] 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."
[1]
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.
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[1]
by night, in need and peril
avenging
the Weders,[2] 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;[3] 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[4] should take me,
best
of war-weeds, warding my breast,
armor
excellent, heirloom of Hrethel
and
work of Wayland.[5] Fares Wyrd[6] as she must."
[1]
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.
[2]
His own people, the Geats.
[3]
That is, cover it as with a face-cloth. "There will be no need of
funeral
rites."
[4]
Personification of Battle.
[5]
The Germanic Vulcan.
[6]
This mighty power, whom the Christian poet can still revere, has here
the
general force of "Destiny."
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[1] 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[2] I settled,
to
the Wylfings sent, o'er watery ridges,
treasures
olden: oaths he[3] 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.
[1]
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 ren-
dered
to Beowulf's father in time of dire need.
[2]
Money, for wergild, or man-price.
[3]
Ecgtheow, Beowulf's sire.
VIII
UNFERTH
spake, the son of Ecglaf,
who
sat at the feet of the Scyldings' lord,
unbound
the battle-runes.[1] -- 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[2] 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.
[1]
"Began the fight."
[2]
Breca.
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[1] 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."
[1]
Murder.
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[1]
could not hurl to haunts of darkness;
wakeful,
ready, with warrior's wrath,
bold
he bided the battle's issue.
[1]
Beowulf, -- the "one."
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;[1] 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.
[1]
That is, he was a "lost soul," doomed to hell.
XII
NOT
in any wise would the earls'-defence[1]
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 roof7
[1]
Kenning for Beowulf.
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:[1] 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[2] was urged to crime!
And afresh to the race,[3] 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.
[1]
"Guarded the treasure."
[2]
Sc. Heremod.
[3]
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.
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[1]
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.
[1] Unferth, Beowulf's sometime opponent in the flyting.
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