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 seemedthe enemy’s end to any manwho saw by the gait of the graceless foehow the weary-hearted, away from thence,baffled in battle and banned, his stepsdeath-marked dragged to the devils’ mere.Bloody the billows were boiling there,turbid the tide of tumbling waveshorribly seething, with sword-blood hot,by that doomed one dyed, who in den of the moorlaid forlorn his life adown,his heathen soul, and hell received it.Home then rode the hoary clansmenfrom that merry journey, and many a youth,on horses white, the hardy warriors,back from the mere. Then Beowulf’s gloryeager they echoed, and all averredthat 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-battletheir 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 soonof Beowulf’s quest right cleverly sang,and artfully added an excellent tale,in well-ranged words, of the warlike deedshe 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 twainstood side by side in stress of war,and multitude of the monster kindthey had felled with their swords. Of Sigemund grew,when he passed from life, no little praise;for the doughty-in-combat a dragon killedthat herded the hoard:{13a}under hoary rockthe atheling dared the deed alonefearful quest, nor was Fitela there.Yet so it befell, his falchion piercedthat wondrous worm, -- on the wall it struck,best blade; the dragon died in its blood.Thus had the dread-one by daring achievedover 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 renownamong races of men, this refuge-of-warriors,for deeds of daring that decked his namesince the hand and heart of Heremodgrew slack in battle. He, swiftly banishedto mingle with monsters at mercy of foes,to death was betrayed; for torrents of sorrowhad lamed him too long; a load of careto 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 seemedto all: the other{13b}was urged to crime!And afresh to the race,{13c}the fallow roadsby swift steeds measured! The morning sunwas climbing higher. Clansmen hastenedto 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 maidensmeasured the path to the mead-house fair.
XIV
HROTHGAR spake, -- to the hall he went,stood by the steps, the steep roof saw,garnished with gold, and Grendel’s hand: --“For the sight I see to the Sovran Rulerbe speedy thanks! A throng of sorrowsI have borne from Grendel; but God still workswonder on wonder, the Warden-of-Glory.It was but now that I never morefor woes that weighed on me waited helplong 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 everfoes infernal and fiendish spritesfrom havoc in hall. This hero now,by the Wielder’s might, a work has donethat not all of us erst could ever doby wile and wisdom. Lo, well can she saywhoso of women this warrior boreamong sons of men, if still she liveth,that the God of the ages was good to herin the birth of her bairn. Now, Beowulf, thee,of heroes best, I shall heartily loveas mine own, my son; preserve thou everthis kinship new: thou shalt never lackwealth 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 nowfulfilled such deeds, that thy fame shall endurethrough all the ages. As ever he did,well may the Wielder reward thee still!”Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --“This work of war most willinglywe have fought, this fight, and fearlessly daredforce of the foe. Fain, too, were Ihadst thou but seen himself, what timethe fiend in his trappings tottered to fall!Swiftly, I thought, in strongest gripeon his bed of death to bind him down,that he in the hent of this hand of mineshould breathe his last: but he broke away.Him I might not -- the Maker willed not --hinder from flight, and firm enough holdthe 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 helpcould the cursed one thus procure at all.None the longer liveth he, loathsome fiend,sunk in his sins, but sorrow holds himtightly grasped in gripe of anguish,in baleful bonds, where bide he must,evil outlaw, such awful doomas the Mighty Maker shall mete him out.”
More silent seemed the son of Ecglaf{14a}in boastful speech of his battle-deeds,since athelings all, through the earl’s great prowess,beheld that hand, on the high roof gazing,foeman’s fingers, -- the forepart of eachof the sturdy nails to steel was likest, --heathen’s “hand-spear,” hostile warrior’sclaw uncanny. ’Twas clear, they said,that him no blade of the brave could touch,how keen soever, or cut awaythat battle-hand bloody from baneful foe.
XV
THERE was hurry and hest in Heorot nowfor hands to bedeck it, and dense was the throngof men and women the wine-hall to cleanse,the guest-room to garnish. Gold-gay shone the hangingsthat were wove on the wall, and wonders manyto delight each mortal that looks upon them.Though braced within by iron bands,that building bright was broken sorely;{15a}rent were its hinges; the roof aloneheld safe and sound, when, seared with crime,the fiendish foe his flight essayed,of life despairing. -- No light thing that,the flight for safety, -- essay it who will!Forced of fate, he shall find his wayto the refuge ready for race of man,for soul-possessors, and sons of earth;and there his body on bed of deathshall rest after revel.Arrived was the hourwhen to hall proceeded Healfdene’s son:the king himself would sit to banquet.Ne’er heard I of host in haughtier throngmore graciously gathered round giver-of-rings!Bowed then to bench those bearers-of-glory,fain of the feasting. Featly receivedmany a mead-cup the mighty-in-spirit,kinsmen who sat in the sumptuous hall,Hrothgar and Hrothulf. Heorot nowwas filled with friends; the folk of Scyldingsne’er yet had tried the traitor’s deed.To Beowulf gave the bairn of Healfdenea gold-wove banner, guerdon of triumph,broidered battle-flag, breastplate and helmet;and a splendid sword was seen of manyborne to the brave one. Beowulf tookcup in hall:{15b}for such costly giftshe suffered no shame in that soldier throng.For I heard of few heroes, in heartier mood,with four such gifts, so fashioned with gold,on the ale-bench honoring others thus!O’er the roof of the helmet high, a ridge,wound with wires, kept ward o’er the head,lest the relict-of-files{15c}should fierce invade,sharp in the strife, when that shielded heroshould go to grapple against his foes.Then the earls’-defence{15d}on the floor{15e}bade leadcoursers eight, with carven head-gear,adown the hall: one horse was deckedwith a saddle all shining and set in jewels;’twas the battle-seat of the best of kings,when to play of swords the son of Healfdenewas fain to fare. Ne’er failed his valorin the crush of combat when corpses fell.To Beowulf over them both then gavethe refuge-of-Ingwines right and power,o’er war-steeds and weapons: wished him joy of them.Manfully thus the mighty prince,hoard-guard for heroes, that hard fight repaidwith steeds and treasures contemned by nonewho is willing to say the sooth aright.
XVI
AND the lord of earls, to each that camewith Beowulf over the briny ways,an heirloom there at the ale-bench gave,precious gift; and the price{16a}bade payin gold for him whom Grendel erstmurdered, -- and fain of them more had killed,had not wisest God their Wyrd averted,and the man’s{16b}brave mood. The Maker thenruled human kind, as here and now.Therefore is insight always best,and forethought of mind. How much awaits himof lief and of loath, who long time here,through days of warfare this world endures!
Then song and music mingled soundsin the presence of Healfdene’s head-of-armies{16c}and harping was heard with the hero-layas Hrothgar’s singer the hall-joy wokealong the mead-seats, making his songof that sudden raid on the sons of Finn.{16d}Healfdene’s hero, Hnaef the Scylding,was fated to fall in the Frisian slaughter.{16e}Hildeburh needed not hold in valueher enemies’ honor!{16f}Innocent bothwere the loved ones she lost at the linden-play,bairn and brother, they bowed to fate,stricken by spears; ’twas a sorrowful woman!None doubted why the daughter of Hocbewailed her doom when dawning came,and under the sky she saw them lying,kinsmen murdered, where most she had kennedof the sweets of the world! By war were swept, too,Finn’s own liegemen, and few were left;in the parleying-place{16g}he could ply no longerweapon, nor war could he wage on Hengest,and rescue his remnant by right of armsfrom the prince’s thane. A pact he offered:another dwelling the Danes should have,hall and high-seat, and half the powershould fall to them in Frisian land;and at the fee-gifts, Folcwald’s sonday by day the Danes should honor,the folk of Hengest favor with rings,even as truly, with treasure and jewels,with fretted gold, as his Frisian kinhe meant to honor in ale-hall there.Pact of peace they plighted furtheron both sides firmly. Finn to Hengestwith oath, upon honor, openly promisedthat woful remnant, with wise-men’s aid,nobly to govern, so none of the guestsby word or work should warp the treaty,{16h}or with malice of mind bemoan themselvesas forced to follow their fee-giver’s slayer,lordless men, as their lot ordained.Should Frisian, moreover, with foeman’s taunt,that murderous hatred to mind recall,then edge of the sword must seal his doom.
Oaths were given, and ancient goldheaped from hoard. -- The hardy Scylding,battle-thane best,{16i}on his balefire lay.All on the pyre were plain to seethe gory sark, the gilded swine-crest,boar of hard iron, and athelings manyslain by the sword: at the slaughter they fell.It was Hildeburh’s hest, at Hnaef’s own pyrethe bairn of her body on brands to lay,his bones to burn, on the balefire placed,at his uncle’s side. In sorrowful dirgesbewept them the woman: great wailing ascended.Then wound up to welkin the wildest of death-fires,roared o’er the hillock:{16j}heads all were melted,gashes burst, and blood gushed outfrom bites{16k}of the body. Balefire devoured,greediest spirit, those spared not by warout of either folk: their flower was gone.
XVII
THEN hastened those heroes their home to see,friendless, to find the Frisian land,houses and high burg. Hengest stillthrough the death-dyed winter dwelt with Finn,holding pact, yet of home he minded,though powerless his ring-decked prow to driveover the waters, now waves rolled fiercelashed by the winds, or winter locked themin icy fetters. Then fared anotheryear to men’s dwellings, as yet they do,the sunbright skies, that their season everduly await. Far off winter was driven;fair lay earth’s breast; and fain was the rover,the guest, to depart, though more gladly he ponderedon wreaking his vengeance than roaming the deep,and how to hasten the hot encounterwhere sons of the Frisians were sure to be.So he escaped not the common doom,when Hun with “Lafing,” the light-of-battle,best of blades, his bosom pierced:its edge was famed with the Frisian earls.On fierce-heart Finn there fell likewise,on himself at home, the horrid sword-death;for Guthlaf and Oslaf of grim attackhad sorrowing told, from sea-ways landed,mourning their woes.{17a}Finn’s wavering spiritbode not in breast. The burg was reddenedwith blood of foemen, and Finn was slain,king amid clansmen; the queen was taken.To their ship the Scylding warriors boreall the chattels the chieftain owned,whatever they found in Finn’s domainof gems and jewels. The gentle wifeo’er paths of the deep to the Danes they bore,led to her land.The lay was finished,the gleeman’s song. Then glad rose the revel;bench-joy brightened. Bearers drawfrom their “wonder-vats” wine. Comes Wealhtheow forth,under gold-crown goes where the good pair sit,uncle and nephew, true each to the other one,kindred in amity. Unferth the spokesmanat the Scylding lord’s feet sat: men had faith in his spirit,his keenness of courage, though kinsmen had found himunsure at the sword-play. The Scylding queen spoke:“Quaff of this cup, my king and lord,breaker of rings, and blithe be thou,gold-friend of men; to the Geats here speaksuch words of mildness as man should use.Be glad with thy Geats; of those gifts be mindful,or near or far, which now thou hast.
Men say to me, as son thou wishestyon hero to hold. Thy Heorot purged,jewel-hall brightest, enjoy while thou canst,with many a largess; and leave to thy kinfolk and realm when forth thou goestto greet thy doom. For gracious I deemmy Hrothulf,{17b}willing to hold and rulenobly our youths, if thou yield up first,prince of Scyldings, thy part in the world.I ween with good he will well requiteoffspring of ours, when all he mindsthat for him we did in his helpless daysof gift and grace to gain him honor!”Then she turned to the seat where her sons wereplaced,Hrethric and Hrothmund, with heroes’ bairns,young men together: the Geat, too, sat there,Beowulf brave, the brothers between.
XVIII
A CUP she gave him, with kindly greetingand winsome words. Of wounden gold,she offered, to honor him, arm-jewels twain,corselet and rings, and of collars the noblestthat ever I knew the earth around.Ne’er heard I so mighty, ’neath heaven’s dome,a hoard-gem of heroes, since Hama boreto his bright-built burg the Brisings’ necklace,jewel and gem casket. -- Jealousy fled he,Eormenric’s hate: chose help eternal.Hygelac Geat, grandson of Swerting,on the last of his raids this ring bore with him,under his banner the booty defending,the war-spoil warding; but Wyrd o’erwhelmed himwhat time, in his daring, dangers he sought,feud with Frisians. Fairest of gemshe bore with him over the beaker-of-waves,sovran strong: under shield he died.Fell the corpse of the king into keeping of Franks,gear of the breast, and that gorgeous ring;weaker warriors won the spoil,after gripe of battle, from Geatland’s lord,and held the death-field.Din rose in hall.Wealhtheow spake amid warriors, and said: --“This jewel enjoy in thy jocund youth,Beowulf lov’d, these battle-weeds wear,a royal treasure, and richly thrive!Preserve thy strength, and these striplings herecounsel in kindness: requital be mine.Hast done such deeds, that for days to comethou art famed among folk both far and near,so wide as washeth the wave of Oceanhis windy walls. Through the ways of lifeprosper, O prince! I pray for theerich possessions. To son of minebe helpful in deed and uphold his joys!Here every earl to the other is true,mild of mood, to the master loyal!Thanes are friendly, the throng obedient,liegemen are revelling: list and obey!”Went then to her place. -- That was proudest of feasts;flowed wine for the warriors. Wyrd they knew not,destiny dire, and the doom to be seenby many an earl when eve should come,and Hrothgar homeward hasten away,royal, to rest. The room was guardedby an army of earls, as erst was done.They bared the bench-boards; abroad they spreadbeds and bolsters. -- One beer-carouserin danger of doom lay down in the hall. --
At their heads they set their shields of war,bucklers bright; on the bench were thereover each atheling, easy to see,the high battle-helmet, the haughty spear,the corselet of rings. ’Twas their custom soever to be for battle prepared,at home, or harrying, which it were,even as oft as evil threatenedtheir sovran king. -- They were clansmen good.
XIX
THEN sank they to sleep. With sorrow one boughthis rest of the evening, -- as ofttime had happenedwhen Grendel guarded that golden hall,evil wrought, till his end drew nigh,slaughter for sins. ’Twas seen and toldhow an avenger survived the fiend,as was learned afar. The livelong timeafter that grim fight, Grendel’s mother,monster of women, mourned her woe.She was doomed to dwell in the dreary waters,cold sea-courses, since Cain cut downwith edge of the sword his only brother,his father’s offspring: outlawed he fled,marked with murder, from men’s delightswarded the wilds. -- There woke from himsuch fate-sent ghosts as Grendel, who,war-wolf horrid, at Heorot founda warrior watching and waiting the fray,with whom the grisly one grappled amain.But the man remembered his mighty power,the glorious gift that God had sent him,in his Maker’s mercy put his trustfor comfort and help: so he conquered the foe,felled the fiend, who fled abject,reft of joy, to the realms of death,mankind’s foe. And his mother now,gloomy and grim, would go that questof sorrow, the death of her son to avenge.To Heorot came she, where helmeted Danesslept in the hall. Too soon came backold ills of the earls, when in she burst,the mother of Grendel. Less grim, though, that terror,e’en as terror of woman in war is less,might of maid, than of men in armswhen, hammer-forged, the falchion hard,sword gore-stained, through swine of the helm,crested, with keen blade carves amain.Then was in hall the hard-edge drawn,the swords on the settles,{19a}and shields a-manyfirm held in hand: nor helmet mindednor harness of mail, whom that horror seized.Haste was hers; she would hie afarand save her life when the liegemen saw her.Yet a single atheling up she seizedfast and firm, as she fled to the moor.He was for Hrothgar of heroes the dearest,of trusty vassals betwixt the seas,whom she killed on his couch, a clansman famous,in battle brave. -- Nor was Beowulf there;another house had been held apart,after giving of gold, for the Geat renowned. --Uproar filled Heorot; the hand all had viewed,blood-flecked, she bore with her; bale was returned,dole in the dwellings: ’twas dire exchangewhere Dane and Geat were doomed to givethe lives of loved ones. Long-tried king,the hoary hero, at heart was sadwhen he knew his noble no more lived,and dead indeed was his dearest thane.To his bower was Beowulf brought in haste,dauntless victor. As daylight broke,along with his earls the atheling lord,with his clansmen, came where the king abodewaiting to see if the Wielder-of-Allwould turn this tale of trouble and woe.Strode o’er floor the famed-in-strife,with his hand-companions, -- the hall resounded, --wishing to greet the wise old king,Ingwines’ lord; he asked if the nighthad passed in peace to the prince’s mind.
XX
HROTHGAR spake, helmet-of-Scyldings: --“Ask not of pleasure! Pain is renewedto Danish folk. Dead is Aeschere,of Yrmenlaf the elder brother,my sage adviser and stay in council,shoulder-comrade in stress of fightwhen warriors clashed and we warded our heads,hewed the helm-boars; hero famedshould be every earl as Aeschere was!But here in Heorot a hand hath slain himof wandering death-sprite. I wot not whither,{20a}proud of the prey, her path she took,fain of her fill. The feud she avengedthat yesternight, unyieldingly,Grendel in grimmest grasp thou killedst, --seeing how long these liegemen minehe ruined and ravaged. Reft of life,in arms he fell. Now another comes,keen and cruel, her kin to avenge,faring far in feud of blood:so that many a thane shall think, who e’ersorrows in soul for that sharer of rings,this is hardest of heart-bales. The hand lies lowthat once was willing each wish to please.Land-dwellers here{20b}and liegemen mine,who house by those parts, I have heard relatethat such a pair they have sometimes seen,march-stalkers mighty the moorland haunting,wandering spirits: one of them seemed,so far as my folk could fairly judge,of womankind; and one, accursed,in man’s guise trod the misery-trackof exile, though huger than human bulk.Grendel in days long gone they named him,folk of the land; his father they knew not,nor any brood that was born to himof treacherous spirits. Untrod is their home;by wolf-cliffs haunt they and windy headlands,fenways fearful, where flows the streamfrom mountains gliding to gloom of the rocks,underground flood. Not far is it hencein measure of miles that the mere expands,and o’er it the frost-bound forest hanging,sturdily rooted, shadows the wave.By night is a wonder weird to see,fire on the waters. So wise lived noneof the sons of men, to search those depths!Nay, though the heath-rover, harried by dogs,the horn-proud hart, this holt should seek,long distance driven, his dear life firston the brink he yields ere he brave the plungeto hide his head: ’tis no happy place!Thence the welter of waters washes upwan to welkin when winds bestirevil storms, and air grows dusk,and the heavens weep. Now is help once morewith thee alone! The land thou knowst not,place of fear, where thou findest outthat sin-flecked being. Seek if thou dare!I will reward thee, for waging this fight,with ancient treasure, as erst I did,with winding gold, if thou winnest back.”
XXI
BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:“Sorrow not, sage! It beseems us betterfriends to avenge than fruitlessly mourn them.Each of us all must his end abidein the ways of the world; so win who mayglory ere death! When his days are told,that is the warrior’s worthiest doom.Rise, O realm-warder! Ride we anon,and mark the trail of the mother of Grendel.No harbor shall hide her -- heed my promise! --enfolding of field or forested mountainor floor of the flood, let her flee where she will!But thou this day endure in patience,as I ween thou wilt, thy woes each one.”Leaped up the graybeard: God he thanked,mighty Lord, for the man’s brave words.For Hrothgar soon a horse was saddledwave-maned steed. The sovran wisestately rode on; his shield-armed menfollowed in force. The footprints ledalong the woodland, widely seen,a path o’er the plain, where she passed, and trodthe murky moor; of men-at-armsshe bore the bravest and best one, dead,him who with Hrothgar the homestead ruled.On then went the atheling-borno’er stone-cliffs steep and strait defiles,narrow passes and unknown ways,headlands sheer, and the haunts of the Nicors.Foremost he{21a}fared, a few at his sideof the wiser men, the ways to scan,till he found in a flash the forested hillhanging over the hoary rock,a woful wood: the waves belowwere dyed in blood. The Danish menhad sorrow of soul, and for Scyldings all,for many a hero, ’twas hard to bear,ill for earls, when Aeschere’s headthey found by the flood on the foreland there.Waves were welling, the warriors saw,hot with blood; but the horn sang oftbattle-song bold. The band sat down,and watched on the water worm-like things,sea-dragons strange that sounded the deep,and nicors that lay on the ledge of the ness --such as oft essay at hour of mornon the road-of-sails their ruthless quest, --and sea-snakes and monsters. These started away,swollen and savage that song to hear,that war-horn’s blast. The warden of Geats,with bolt from bow, then balked of life,of wave-work, one monster, amid its heartwent the keen war-shaft; in water it seemedless doughty in swimming whom death had seized.Swift on the billows, with boar-spears wellhooked and barbed, it was hard beset,done to death and dragged on the headland,wave-roamer wondrous. Warriors viewedthe grisly guest.Then girt him Beowulfin martial mail, nor mourned for his life.His breastplate broad and bright of hues,woven by hand, should the waters try;well could it ward the warrior’s bodythat battle should break on his breast in vainnor harm his heart by the hand of a foe.And the helmet white that his head protectedwas destined to dare the deeps of the flood,through wave-whirl win: ’twas wound with chains,decked with gold, as in days of yorethe weapon-smith worked it wondrously,with swine-forms set it, that swords nowise,brandished in battle, could bite that helm.Nor was that the meanest of mighty helpswhich Hrothgar’s orator offered at need:“Hrunting” they named the hilted sword,of old-time heirlooms easily first;iron was its edge, all etched with poison,with battle-blood hardened, nor blenched it at fightin hero’s hand who held it ever,on paths of peril prepared to goto folkstead{21b}of foes. Not first time thisit was destined to do a daring task.For he bore not in mind, the bairn of Ecglafsturdy and strong, that speech he had made,drunk with wine, now this weapon he lentto a stouter swordsman. Himself, though, durst notunder welter of waters wager his lifeas loyal liegeman. So lost he his glory,honor of earls. With the other not so,who girded him now for the grim encounter.
XXII
BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --“Have mind, thou honored offspring of Healfdenegold-friend of men, now I go on this quest,sovran wise, what once was said:if in thy cause it came that Ishould lose my life, thou wouldst loyal bideto me, though fallen, in father’s place!Be guardian, thou, to this group of my thanes,my warrior-friends, if War should seize me;and the goodly gifts thou gavest me,Hrothgar beloved, to Hygelac send!Geatland’s king may ken by the gold,Hrethel’s son see, when he stares at the treasure,that I got me a friend for goodness famed,and joyed while I could in my jewel-bestower.And let Unferth wield this wondrous sword,earl far-honored, this heirloom precious,hard of edge: with Hrunting Iseek doom of glory, or Death shall take me.”
After these words the Weder-Geat lordboldly hastened, biding neveranswer at all: the ocean floodsclosed o’er the hero. Long while of the dayfled ere he felt the floor of the sea.
Soon found the fiend who the flood-domainsword-hungry held these hundred winters,greedy and grim, that some guest from above,some man, was raiding her monster-realm.She grasped out for him with grisly claws,and the warrior seized; yet scathed she nothis body hale; the breastplate hindered,as she strove to shatter the sark of war,the linked harness, with loathsome hand.Then bore this brine-wolf, when bottom she touched,the lord of rings to the lair she hauntedwhiles vainly he strove, though his valor held,weapon to wield against wondrous monstersthat sore beset him; sea-beasts manytried with fierce tusks to tear his mail,and swarmed on the stranger. But soon he markedhe was now in some hall, he knew not which,where water never could work him harm,nor through the roof could reach him everfangs of the flood. Firelight he saw,beams of a blaze that brightly shone.Then the warrior was ware of that wolf-of-the-deep,mere-wife monstrous. For mighty strokehe swung his blade, and the blow withheld not.Then sang on her head that seemly bladeits war-song wild. But the warrior foundthe light-of-battle{22a}was loath to bite,to harm the heart: its hard edge failedthe noble at need, yet had known of oldstrife hand to hand, and had helmets cloven,doomed men’s fighting-gear. First time, this,for the gleaming blade that its glory fell.Firm still stood, nor failed in valor,heedful of high deeds, Hygelac’s kinsman;flung away fretted sword, featly jewelled,the angry earl; on earth it laysteel-edged and stiff. His strength he trusted,hand-gripe of might. So man shall dowhenever in war he weens to earn himlasting fame, nor fears for his life!Seized then by shoulder, shrank not from combat,the Geatish war-prince Grendel’s mother.Flung then the fierce one, filled with wrath,his deadly foe, that she fell to ground.Swift on her part she paid him backwith grisly grasp, and grappled with him.Spent with struggle, stumbled the warrior,fiercest of fighting-men, fell adown.On the hall-guest she hurled herself, hent her short sword,broad and brown-edged,{22b}the bairn to avenge,the sole-born son. -- On his shoulder laybraided breast-mail, barring death,withstanding entrance of edge or blade.Life would have ended for Ecgtheow’s son,under wide earth for that earl of Geats,had his armor of war not aided him,battle-net hard, and holy Godwielded the victory, wisest Maker.The Lord of Heaven allowed his cause;and easily rose the earl erect.
XXIII
’MID the battle-gear saw he a blade triumphant,old-sword of Eotens, with edge of proof,warriors’ heirloom, weapon unmatched,-- save only ’twas more than other mento bandy-of-battle could bear at all --as the giants had wrought it, ready and keen.Seized then its chain-hilt the Scyldings’ chieftain,bold and battle-grim, brandished the sword,reckless of life, and so wrathfully smotethat it gripped her neck and grasped her hard,her bone-rings breaking: the blade pierced throughthat fated-one’s flesh: to floor she sank.Bloody the blade: he was blithe of his deed.Then blazed forth light. ’Twas bright withinas when from the sky there shines uncloudedheaven’s candle. The hall he scanned.By the wall then went he; his weapon raisedhigh by its hilts the Hygelac-thane,angry and eager. That edge was not uselessto the warrior now. He wished with speedGrendel to guerdon for grim raids many,for the war he waged on Western-Danesoftener far than an only time,when of Hrothgar’s hearth-companionshe slew in slumber, in sleep devoured,fifteen men of the folk of Danes,and as many others outward bore,his horrible prey. Well paid for thatthe wrathful prince! For now prone he sawGrendel stretched there, spent with war,spoiled of life, so scathed had left himHeorot’s battle. The body sprang farwhen after death it endured the blow,sword-stroke savage, that severed its head.Soon,{23a}then, saw the sage companionswho waited with Hrothgar, watching the flood,that the tossing waters turbid grew,blood-stained the mere. Old men together,hoary-haired, of the hero spake;the warrior would not, they weened, again,proud of conquest, come to seektheir mighty master. To many it seemedthe wolf-of-the-waves had won his life.The ninth hour came. The noble Scyldingsleft the headland; homeward wentthe gold-friend of men.{23b}But the guests sat on,stared at the surges, sick in heart,and wished, yet weened not, their winsome lordagain to see.
Now that sword began,from blood of the fight, in battle-droppings,{23c}war-blade, to wane: ’twas a wondrous thingthat all of it melted as ice is wontwhen frosty fetters the Father loosens,unwinds the wave-bonds, wielding allseasons and times: the true God he!Nor took from that dwelling the duke of the Geatssave only the head and that hilt withalblazoned with jewels: the blade had melted,burned was the bright sword, her blood was so hot,so poisoned the hell-sprite who perished within there.Soon he was swimming who safe saw in combatdownfall of demons; up-dove through the flood.The clashing waters were cleansed now,waste of waves, where the wandering fiendher life-days left and this lapsing world.Swam then to strand the sailors’-refuge,sturdy-in-spirit, of sea-booty glad,of burden brave he bore with him.Went then to greet him, and God they thanked,the thane-band choice of their chieftain blithe,that safe and sound they could see him again.Soon from the hardy one helmet and armordeftly they doffed: now drowsed the mere,water ’neath welkin, with war-blood stained.Forth they fared by the footpaths thence,merry at heart the highways measured,well-known roads. Courageous mencarried the head from the cliff by the sea,an arduous task for all the band,the firm in fight, since four were neededon the shaft-of-slaughter{23d}strenuouslyto bear to the gold-hall Grendel’s head.So presently to the palace therefoemen fearless, fourteen Geats,marching came. Their master-of-clanmighty amid them the meadow-ways trod.Strode then within the sovran thanefearless in fight, of fame renowned,hardy hero, Hrothgar to greet.And next by the hair into hall was borneGrendel’s head, where the henchmen were drinking,an awe to clan and queen alike,a monster of marvel: the men looked on.
XXIV
BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --“Lo, now, this sea-booty, son of Healfdene,Lord of Scyldings, we’ve lustily brought thee,sign of glory; thou seest it here.Not lightly did I with my life escape!In war under water this work I essayedwith endless effort; and even somy strength had been lost had the Lord not shielded me.Not a whit could I with Hrunting doin work of war, though the weapon is good;yet a sword the Sovran of Men vouchsafed meto spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging,old, gigantic, -- how oft He guidesthe friendless wight! -- and I fought with that brand,felling in fight, since fate was with me,the house’s wardens. That war-sword thenall burned, bright blade, when the blood gushed o’er it,battle-sweat hot; but the hilt I brought backfrom my foes. So avenged I their fiendish deedsdeath-fall of Danes, as was due and right.And this is my hest, that in Heorot nowsafe thou canst sleep with thy soldier band,and every thane of all thy folkboth old and young; no evil fear,Scyldings’ lord, from that side again,aught ill for thy earls, as erst thou must!”Then the golden hilt, for that gray-haired leader,hoary hero, in hand was laid,giant-wrought, old. So owned and enjoyed itafter downfall of devils, the Danish lord,wonder-smiths’ work, since the world was ridof that grim-souled fiend, the foe of God,murder-marked, and his mother as well.Now it passed into power of the people’s king,best of all that the oceans boundwho have scattered their gold o’er Scandia’s isle.Hrothgar spake -- the hilt he viewed,heirloom old, where was etched the riseof that far-off fight when the floods o’erwhelmed,raging waves, the race of giants(fearful their fate!), a folk estrangedfrom God Eternal: whence guerdon duein that waste of waters the Wielder paid them.So on the guard of shining goldin runic staves it was rightly saidfor whom the serpent-traced sword was wrought,best of blades, in bygone days,and the hilt well wound. -- The wise-one spake,son of Healfdene; silent were all: --“Lo, so may he say who sooth and rightfollows ’mid folk, of far times mindful,a land-warden old,{24a}that this earl belongsto the better breed! So, borne aloft,thy fame must fly, O friend my Beowulf,far and wide o’er folksteads many. Firmly thoushalt all maintain,mighty strength with mood of wisdom. Love ofmine will I assure thee,as, awhile ago, I promised; thou shalt prove a stayin future,in far-off years, to folk of thine,to the heroes a help. Was not Heremod thusto offspring of Ecgwela, Honor-Scyldings,nor grew for their grace, but for grisly slaughter,for doom of death to the Danishmen.
He slew, wrath-swollen, his shoulder-comrades,companions at board! So he passed alone,chieftain haughty, from human cheer.Though him the Maker with might endowed,delights of power, and uplifted highabove all men, yet blood-fierce his mind,his breast-hoard, grew, no bracelets gave heto Danes as was due; he endured all joylessstrain of struggle and stress of woe,long feud with his folk. Here find thy lesson!Of virtue advise thee! This verse I have said for thee,wise from lapsed winters. Wondrous seemshow to sons of men Almighty Godin the strength of His spirit sendeth wisdom,estate, high station: He swayeth all things.Whiles He letteth right lustily farethe heart of the hero of high-born race, --in seat ancestral assigns him bliss,his folk’s sure fortress in fee to hold,puts in his power great parts of the earth,empire so ample, that end of itthis wanter-of-wisdom weeneth none.So he waxes in wealth, nowise can harm himillness or age; no evil caresshadow his spirit; no sword-hate threatensfrom ever an enemy: all the worldwends at his will, no worse he knoweth,till all within him obstinate pridewaxes and wakes while the warden slumbers,the spirit’s sentry; sleep is too fastwhich masters his might, and the murderer nears,stealthily shooting the shafts from his bow!