Hath wielded wide ever. Now by wan night there came,There strode in the shade-goer; slept there the shooters,They who that horn-house should be a-holding,All men but one man: to men was that known,That them indeed might not, since will'd not the Maker,The scather unceasing drag off 'neath the shadow;But he ever watching in wrath 'gainst the wroth oneMood-swollen abided the battle-mote ever.XII. GRENDEL COMETH INTO HART: OF THE STRIFE BETWIXT HIM AND BEOWULF.710Camethen from the moor-land, all under the mist-bents,Grendel a-going there, bearing God's anger.The scather the ill one was minded of mankindTo have one in his toils from the high hall aloft.'Neath the welkin he waded, to the place whence the wine-house,The gold-hall of men, most yarely he wistWith gold-plates fair coloured; nor was it the first timeThat he unto Hrothgar's high home had betook him.Never he in his life-days, either erst or thereafter,Of warriors more hardy or hall-thanes had found.720Came then to the house the wight on his ways,Of all joys bereft; and soon sprang the door open,With fire-bands made fast, when with hand he had touch'd it;Brake the bale-heedy, he with wrath bollen,The mouth of the house there, and early thereafterOn the shiny-fleck'd floor thereof trod forth the fiend;On went he then mood-wroth, and out from his eyes stoodLikest to fire-flame light full unfair.In the high house beheld he a many of warriors,A host of men sib all sleeping together,730Of man-warriors a heap; then laugh'd out his mood;In mind deem'd he to sunder, or ever came day,The monster, the fell one, from each of the men thereThe life from the body; for befell him a bodingOf fulfilment of feeding: but weird now it was notThat he any more of mankind thenceforwardShould eat, that night over. Huge evil beheld thenThe Hygelac's kinsman, and how the foul scatherAll with his fear-grips would fare there before him;How never the monster was minded to tarry,740For speedily gat he, and at the first stour,A warrior a-sleeping, and unaware slit him,Bit his bone-coffer, drank blood a-streaming,Great gobbets swallow'd in; thenceforth soon had heOf the unliving one every whit eatenTo hands and feet even: then forth strode he nigher,And took hold with his hand upon him the highhearted.The warrior a-resting; reach'd out to himwardsThe fiend with his hand, gat fast on him rathelyWith thought of all evil, and besat him his arm.750Then swiftly was finding the herdsman of fouldeedsThat forsooth he had met not in Middle-garth ever,In the parts of the earth, in any man elseA hand-grip more mighty; then wax'd he of moodHeart-fearful, but none the more outward might he;Hence-eager his heart was to the darkness to hie him,And the devil-dray seek: not there was his serviceE'en such as he found in his life-days before.Then to heart laid the good one, the Hygelac's kinsman,His speech of the even-tide; uplong he stood760And fast with him grappled, till bursted his fingers.The eoten was out-fain, but on strode the earl.The mighty fiend minded was, whereso he might,To wind him about more widely away thence,And flee fenwards; he found then the might of his fingersIn the grip of the fierce one; sorry faring was thatWhich he, the harm-scather, had taken to Hart.The warrior-hall dinn'd now; unto all Danes there waxed,To the castle-abiders, to each of the keen ones,To all earls, as an ale-dearth. Now angry were both770Of the fierce mighty warriors, far rang out the hall-house;Then mickle the wonder it was that the wine-hallWithstood the two war-deer, nor welter'd to earthThe fair earthly dwelling; but all fast was it buildedWithin and without with the banding of ironBy crafty thought smithy'd. But there from the sill bow'dFell many a mead-bench, by hearsay of mine,With gold well adorned, where strove they the wrothful.Hereof never ween'd they, the wise of the Scyldings,That ever with might should any of men780The excellent, bone-dight, break into pieces,Or unlock with cunning, save the light fire's embracingIn smoke should it swallow. So uprose the roarNew and enough; now fell on the North-DanesIll fear and the terror, on each and on all men,Of them who from wall-top hearken'd the weeping,Even God's foeman singing the fear-lay,The triumphless song, and the wound-bewailingOf the thrall of the Hell; for there now fast held himHe who of men of main was the mightiest790In that day which is told of, the day of this life.XIII. BEOWULF HATH THE VICTORY: GRENDEL IS HURT DEADLY AND LEAVETH HAND AND ARM IN THE HALL.Naughtwould the earls' help for anything thenceforthThat murder-comer yet quick let loose of,Nor his life-days forsooth to any of folkTold he for useful. Out then drew full manyOf Beowult's earls the heir-loom of old days,For their lord and their master's fair life would hey ward,That mighty of princes, if so might they do it.For this did they know not when they the strife dreed,Those hardy-minded men of the battle,800And on every half there thought to be hewing,And search out his soul, that the ceaseless scatherNot any on earth of the choice of all irons,Not one of the war-bills, would greet home for ever.For he had forsworn him from victory-weapons,And each one of edges. But his sundering of soulIn the days that we tell of, the day of this life,Should be weary and woeful, the ghost wending elsewhereTo the wielding of fiends to wend him afar.Then found he out this, he who mickle erst made810Out of mirth of his mood unto children of menAnd had fram'd many crimes, he the foeman of God,That the body of him would not bide to avail him,But the hardy of mood, even Hygelac's kinsman,Had him fast by the hand: now was each to the otherAll loathly while living: his body-sore bidedThe monster: was manifest now on his shoulderThe unceasing wound, sprang the sinews asunder,The bone-lockers bursted. To Beowulf nowWas the battle-fame given; should Grendel thenceforth820Flee life-sick awayward and under the fen-bentsSeek his unmerry stead: now wist he more surelyThat ended his life was, and gone over for ever,His day-tale told out. But was for all Dane-folkAfter that slaughter-race all their will done.Then had he cleans'd for them, he the far-comer,Wise and stout-hearted, the high hall of Hrothgar,And say'd it from war. So the night-work he joy'd inAnd his doughty deed done. Yea, but he for the East-DanesThat lord of the Geat-folk his boast's end had gotten,830Withal their woes bygone all had he booted,And the sorrow hate-fashion'd that afore they had dreed,And the hard need and bitter that erst they must bear,The sorrow unlittle. Sithence was clear tokenWhen the deer of the battle laid down there the handThe arm and the shoulder, and all there togetherOf the grip of that Grendel 'neath the great roof upbuilded.XIV. THE DANES REJOICE; THEY GO TO LOOK ON THE SLOT OF GRENDEL, AND COME BACK TO HART, AND ON THE WAY MAKE MERRY WITH RACING AND THE TELLING OF TALES.Therewas then on the morning, as I have heard tell it,Round the gift-hall a many of men of the warriors:Were faring folk-leaders from far and from near840O'er the wide-away roads the wonder to look on,The track of the loathly: his life-sundering nowiseWas deem'd for a sorrow to any of men thereWho gaz'd on the track of the gloryless wight;How he all a-weary of mood thence awayward,Brought to naught in the battle, to the mere of the nicors,Now fey and forth-fleeing, his life-steps had flitted.There all in the blood was the sea-brim a-welling,The dread swing of the waves was washing all mingledWith hot blood; with the gore of the sword was it welling;850The death-doom'd had dyed it, sithence he unmerryIn his fen-hold had laid down the last of his life,His soul of the heathen, and hell gat hold on him.Thence back again far'd they those fellows of old,With many a young one, from their wayfaring merry,Full proud from the mere-side on mares there a-ridingThe warriors on white steeds. There then was of BeowulfSet forth the might mighty; oft quoth it a manyThat nor northward nor southward beside the twin sea-floods,Over all the huge earth's face now never another,860Never under the heaven's breadth, was there a better,Nor of wielders of war-shields a worthier of kingship;But neither their friendly lord blam'd they one whit,Hrothgar the glad, for good of kings was he.There whiles the warriors far-famed let leapTheir fair fallow horses and fare into flytingWhere unto them the earth-ways for fair-fashion'd seemed,Through their choiceness well kenned; and whiles a king's thane,A warrior vaunt-laden, of lays grown bemindful,E'en he who all many of tales of the old days870A multitude minded, found other words alsoSooth-bounden, and boldly the man thus beganE'en Beowulf's wayfare well wisely to stir,With good speed to set forth the spells well arededAnd to shift about words. And well of all told heThat he of Sigemund erst had heard say,Of the deeds of his might; and many things uncouth:Of the strife of the Wælsing and his wide wayfarings,Of those that men's children not well yet they wist,The feud and the crimes, save Fitela with him;880Somewhat of such things yet would he say,The eme to the nephew; e'en as they aye wereIn all strife soever fellows full needful;And full many had they of the kin of the eotensLaid low with the sword. And to Sigemund upsprangAfter his death-day fair doom unlittleSithence that the war-hard the Worm there had quelled,The herd of the hoard; he under the hoar stone,The bairn of the Atheling, all alone dar'd it,That wight deed of deeds; with him Fitela was not.890But howe'er, his hap was that the sword so through-wadedThe Worm the all-wondrous, that in the wall stoodThe iron dear-wrought: and the drake died the murder.There had the warrior so won by wightness,That he of the ring-hoard the use might be havingAll at his own will. The sea-boat he loaded,And into the ship's barm bore the bright fretworkWæls' son. In the hotness the Worm was to-molten.Now he of all wanderers was widely the greatestThrough the peoples of man-kind, the warder of warriors,900By mighty deeds; erst then and early he throve.Now sithence the warfare of Heremod waned,His might and his valour, amidst of the eotensTo the wielding of foemen straight was he betrayed,And speedily sent forth: by the surges of sorrowO'er-long was he lam'd, became he to his lieges,To all of the athelings, a life-care thenceforward.Withal oft bemoaned in times that were olderThe ways of that stout heart many a carle of the wisest.Who trow'd in him boldly for booting of bales,910And had look'd that the king's bairn should ever be thriving,His father's own lordship should take, hold the folk,The hoard and the ward-burg, and realm of the heroes,The own land of the Scyldings. To all men was Beowulf,The Hygelac's kinsman to the kindred of menfolk,More fair unto friends; but on Heremod crime fell.So whiles the men flyting the fallow street thereWith their mares were they meting. There then was the morn-lightThrust forth and hasten'd; went many a warriorAll hardy of heart to the high hall aloft920The rare wonder to see; and the King's self withalFrom the bride-bower wended, the warder of ring-hoards,All glorious he trod and a mickle troop had he,He for choice ways beknown; and his Queen therewithalMeted the mead-path with a meyny of maidens.XV. KING HROTHGAR AND HIS THANES LOOK ON THE ARM OF GRENDEL. CONVERSE BETWIXT HROTHGAR AND BEOWULF CONCERNING THE BATTLE.Outthen spake Hrothgar; for he to the hall went,By the staple a-standing the steep roof he sawShining fair with the gold, and the hand there of Grendel:For this sight that I see to the All-wielder thanksBefall now forthwith, for foul evil I bided,930All griefs from this Grendel; but God, glory's Herder,Wonder on wonder ever can work.Unyore was it then when I for myselfMight ween never more, wide all through my life-days,Of the booting of woes; when all blood-besprinkledThe best of all houses stood sword-gory here;Wide then had the woe thrust off each of the wiseOf them that were looking that never life-longThat land-work of the folk they might ward from the loathly,From ill wights and devils. But now hath a warrior940Through the might of the Lord a deed made thereuntoWhich we, and all we together, in nowiseBy wisdom might work. What! well might be sayingThat maid whosoever this son brought to birthAccording to man's kind, if yet she be living,That the Maker of old time to her was all-graciousIn the bearing of bairns. O Beowulf, I nowThee best of all men as a son unto meWill love in my heart, and hold thou henceforwardOur kinship new-made now; nor to thee shall be lacking950As to longings of world-goods whereof I have wielding;Full oft I for lesser things guerdon have given,The worship of hoards, to a warrior was weaker,A worser in strife. Now thyself for thyselfBy deeds hast thou fram'd it that liveth thy fair fameFor ever and ever. So may the All-wielderWith good pay thee ever, as erst he hath done it.Then Beowulf spake out, the Ecgtheow's bairn:That work of much might with mickle of loveWe framed with fighting, and frowardly ventur'd960The might of the uncouth; now I would that ratherThou mightest have look'd on the very man there,The foe in his fret-gear all worn unto falling.There him in all haste with hard griping did IOn the slaughter-bed deem it to bind him indeed,That he for my hand-grip should have to be lyingAll busy for life: but his body fled off.Him then, I might not (since would not the Maker)From his wayfaring sunder, nor naught so well sought IThe life-foe; o'er-mickle of might was he yet,970The foeman afoot: but his hand has he left us,A life-ward, a-warding the ways of his wending,His arm and his shoulder therewith. Yet in nowiseThat wretch of the grooms any solace hath got him,Nor longer will live the loathly deed-doer,Beswinked with sins; for the sore hath him nowIn the grip of need grievous, in strait hold togather'dWith bonds that be baleful: there shall he abide,That wight dyed with all evil-deeds, the doom mickle,For what wise to him the bright Maker will write it.980Then a silenter man was the son there of EcglafIn the speech of the boasting of works of the battle,After when every atheling by craft of the earlOver the high roof had look'd on the hand there,Yea, the fiend's fingers before his own eyen,Each one of the nail-steads most like unto steel,Hand-spur of the heathen one; yea, the own clawUncouth of the war-wight. But each one there quoth it,That no iron of the best, of the hardy of folk,Would touch him at all, which e'er of the monster990The battle-hand bloody might bear away thence.XVI. HROTHGAR GIVETH GIFTS TO BEOWULF.Thenwas speedily bidden that Hart be withinwardBy hand of man well adorn'd; was there a manyOf warriors and wives, who straightway that wine-houseThe guest-house, bedight them: there gold-shotten shoneThe webs over the walls, many wonders to look onFor men every one who on such things will stare.Was that building the bright all broken aboutAll withinward, though fast in the bands of the iron;Asunder the hinges rent, only the roof there1000Was saved all sound, when the monster of evilThe guilty of crime-deeds had gat him to flightNever hoping for life. Nay, lightly now may notThat matter be fled from, frame it whoso may frame it.But by strife man shall win of the bearers of souls,Of the children of men, compelled by need,The abiders on earth, the place made all ready,The stead where his body laid fast on his death-bedShall sleep after feast. Now time and place was itWhen unto the hall went that Healfdene's son,1010And the King himself therein the feast should be sharing;Never heard I of men-folk in fellowship moreAbout their wealth-giver so well themselves bearing.Then bow'd unto bench there the abounders in richesAnd were fain of their fill. Full fairly there tookA many of mead-cups the kin of those men,The sturdy of heart in the hall high aloft,Hrothgar and Hrothulf. Hart there withinwardOf friends was fulfilled; naught there that was guilesomeThe folk of the Scyldings for yet awhile framed.1020Gave then to Beowulf Healfdene's bairnA golden war-ensign, the victory's guerdon,A staff-banner fair-dight, a helm and a byrny:The great jewel-sword a many men saw themBear forth to the hero. Then Beowulf tookThe cup on the floor, and nowise of that fee-giftBefore the shaft-shooters the shame need he have.Never heard I how friendlier four of the treasures,All gear'd with the gold about, many men erewhileOn the ale-bench have given to others of men.1030Round the roof of the helm, the burg of the head,A wale wound with wires held ward from without-ward,So that the file-leavings might not over fiercely,Were they never so shower-hard, scathe the shield-bold,When he 'gainst the angry in anger should get him.Therewith bade the earls' burg that eight of the horsesWith cheek-plates adorned be led down the floorIn under the fences; on one thereof stoodA saddle all craft-bedeck'd, seemly with treasure.That same was the war-seat of the high King full surely1040Whenas that the sword-play that Healfdene's sonWould work; never failed in front of the warThe wide-kenn'd one's war-might, whereas fell the slain.So to Beowulf thereon of either of bothThe Ingwines' high warder gave wielding to have,Both the war-steeds and weapons, and bade him well brook them.Thuswise and so manly the mighty of princes,Hoard-warden of heroes, the battle-race paidWith mares and with gems, so as no man shall blame them,E'en he who will say sooth aright as it is.XVII. THEY FEAST IN HART. THE GLEEMAN SINGS OF FINN AND HENGEST.1050Thenthe lord of the earl-folk to every and each oneOf them who with Beowulf the sea-ways had wornThen and there on the mead-bench did handsel them treasure,An heir-loom to wit; for him also he bade itThat a were-gild be paid, whom Grendel aforetimeBy wickedness quell'd, as far more of them would he,Save from them God all-witting the weird away wended,And that man's mood withal. But the Maker all wieldedOf the kindred of mankind, as yet now he doeth.Therefore through-witting will be the best everywhere1060And the forethought of mind. Many things must abideOf lief and of loth, he who here a long whileIn these days of the strife with the world shall be dealing.There song was and sound all gather'd togetherOf that Healfdene's warrior and wielder of battle,The wood of glee greeted, the lay wreaked often,Whenas the hall-game the minstrel of HrothgarAll down by the mead-bench tale must be making:By Finn's sons aforetime, when the fear gat them,The hero of Half-Danes, Hnæf of the Scyldings,1070On the slaughter-field Frisian needs must he fall.Forsooth never Hildeburh needed to heryThe troth of the Eotens; she all unsinningWas lorne of her lief ones in that play of the linden,Her bairns and her brethren, by fate there they fellSpear-wounded. That was the all-woeful of women.Not unduly without cause the daughter of HocMourn'd the Maker's own shaping, sithence came the mornWhen she under the heavens that tide came to see,Murder-bale of her kinsmen, where most had she erewhile?1080Of world's bliss. The war-tide took all men awayOf Finn's thanes that were, save only a few;E'en so that he might not on the field of the meetingHold Hengest a war-tide, or fight any whit,Nor yet snatch away thence by war the woe-leavingsFrom the thane of the King; but terms now they bade himThat for them other stead all for all should make room,A hall and high settle, whereof the half-wieldingThey with the Eotens' bairns henceforth might hold,And with fee-gifts moreover the son of Folkwalda1090Each day of the days the Danes should beworthy;The war-heap of Hengest with rings should he honourEven so greatly with treasure of treasures,Of gold all beplated, as he the kin FrisianDown in the beer-hall duly should dight.Troth then they struck there each of the two halves,A peace-troth full fast. There Finn unto HengestStrongly, unstrifeful, with oath-swearing swore,That he the woe-leaving by the doom of the wise onesShould hold in ail honour, that never man henceforth1100With word or with work the troth should be breaking,Nor through craft of the guileful should undo it ever,Though their ring-giver's bane they must follow in rankAll lordless, e'en so need is it to be:But if any of Frisians by over-bold speakingThe murderful hatred should call unto mind,Then naught but the edge of the sword should avenge it.Then done was the oath there, and gold of the goldenHeav'd up from the hoard. Of the bold Here-ScyldingsAll yare on the bale was the best battle-warrior;1110On the death-howe beholden was easily thereThe sark stain'd with war-sweat, the all-golden swine,The iron-hard boar; there was many an athelingWith wounds all outworn; some on slaughter-field welter'd.But Hildeburh therewith on Hnæf's bale she bade themThe own son of herself to set fast in the flame,His bone-vats to burn up and lay on the bale there:On his shoulder all woeful the woman lamented,Sang songs of bewailing, as the warrior strode upward,Wound up to the welkin that most of death-fires,1120Before the howe howled; there molten the heads were,The wound-gates burst open, there blood was out-springingFrom foe-bites of the body; the flame swallow'd all,The greediest of ghosts, of them that war gat himOf either of folks; shaken off was their life-breath.XVIII. THE ENDING OF THE TALE OF FINN.Departedthe warriors their wicks to visitAll forlorn of their friends now, Friesland to look on,Their homes and their high burg. Hengest a while yetThrough the slaughter-dyed winter bode dwelling with FinnAnd all without strife: he remember'd his homeland,1130Though never he might o'er the mere be a-drivingThe high prow be-ringed: with storm the holm welter'd,Won war 'gainst the winds; winter locked the wavesWith bondage of ice, till again came anotherOf years into the garth, as yet it is ever,And the days which the season to watch never cease,The glory-bright weather; then gone was the winter,And fair was the earth's barm. Now hastened the exile.The guest from the garths; he on getting of vengeanceOf harms thought more greatly than of the sea's highway,1140If he but a wrath-mote might yet be a-wendingWhere the bairns of the Eotens might he still remember.The ways of the world forwent he in nowiseThen, whenas Hunlafing the light of the battle,The best of all bills, did into his breast,Whereof mid the Eotens were the edges well knowen.Withal to the bold-hearted Finn befell afterSword-bales the deadly at his very own dwelling,When the grim grip of war Guthlaf and OslafAfter the sea-fare lamented with sorrow1150And wyted him deal of their woes; nor then might heIn his breast hold his wavering heart. Was the hall dightWith the lives of slain foemen, and slain eke was FinnThe King 'midst of his court-men; and there the Queen, taken,The shooters of the Scyldings ferry'd down to the sea-ships,And the house-wares and chattels the earth-king had had,E'en such as at Finn's home there might they find,Of collars and cunning gems. They on the sea-pathThe all-lordly wife to the Danes straightly wended,Led her home to their people. So sung was the lay,1160The song of the gleeman; then again arose game,The bench-voice wax'd brighter, gave forth the birlersWine of the wonder-vats. Then came forth WealhtheowUnder gold ring a-going to where sat the two good ones,The uncle and nephew, yet of kindred unsunder'd,Each true to the other. Eke Unferth the spokesmanSat at feet of the Scyldings' lord; each of his heart trow'dThat of mickle mood was he, though he to his kinsmenWere un-upright in edge-play. Spake the dame of the Scyldings:Now take thou this cup, my lord of the kingly,1170Bestower of treasures! Be thou in thy joyance,Thou gold-friend of men! and speak to these Geat-folkIn mild words, as duly behoveth to do;Be glad toward the Geat-folk, and mindful of gifts;From anigh and from far peace hast thou as now.To me one hath said it, that thou for a son wouldstThis warrior be holding. Lo! Hart now is cleansed,The ring-hall bright-beaming. Have joy while thou mayestIn many a meed, and unto thy kinsmenLeave folk and dominion, when forth thou must fare1180To look on the Maker's own making. I know nowMy Hrothulf the gladsome, that he this young manWill hold in all honour if thou now before him,O friend of the Scyldings, shall fare from the world;I ween that good-will yet this man will be yieldingTo our offspring that after us be, if he mind himOf all that which we two, for good-will and for worship,Unto him erst a child yet have framed of kindness.Then along by the bench did she turn, where her boys were,Hrethric and Hrothmund, and the bairns of high warriors,1190The young ones together; and there sat the good one,Beowulf the Geat, betwixt the two brethren.XIX. MORE GIFTS ARE GIVEN TO BEOWULF. THE BRISING COLLAR TOLD OF.Borneto him then the cup was, and therewith friendly biddingIn words was put forth; and gold about woundenAll blithely they bade him bear; arm-gearings twain,Rail and rings, the most greatest of fashion of neck-ringsOf them that on earth I have ever heard tell of:Not one under heaven wrought better was heard ofMidst the hoard-gems of heroes, since bore away HamaTo the bright burg and brave the neck-gear of the Brisings,1200The gem and the gem-chest: from the foeman's guile fled heOf Eormenric then, and chose rede everlasting.That ring Hygelac had, e'en he of the Geat-folk,The grandson of Swerting, the last time of all timesWhen he under the war-sign his treasure defended,The slaughter-prey warded. Him weird bore awaySithence he for pride-sake the war-woe abided,The feud with the Frisians; the fretwork he flitted,The gem-stones much worthy, all over the waves' cup.The King the full mighty cring'd under the shield;1210Into grasp of the Franks the King's life was gottenWith the gear of the breast and the ring altogether;It was worser war-wolves then reft gear from the slainAfter the war-shearing; there the Geats' war-folkHeld the house of the dead men. The Hall took the voices;Spake out then Wealhtheow; before the host said she:Brook thou this roundel, lief Beowulf, henceforth,Dear youth, with all hail, and this rail be thou using,These gems of folk-treasures, and thrive thou well ever;Thy might then make manifest! Be to these lads here1220Kind of lore, and for that will I look to thy guerdon.Thou hast won by thy faring, that far and near henceforth,Through wide time to come, men will give thee the worship,As widely as ever the sea winds aboutThe windy land-walls. Be the while thou art livingAn atheling wealthy, and well do I will theeOf good of the treasures; be thou to my sonIn deed ever friendly, and uphold thy joyance!Lo! each of the earls here to the other is trusty,And mild of his mood and to man-lord full faithful,1230Kind friends all the thanes are, the folk ever yare.Ye well drunk of folk-grooms, now do ye my biddings.To her settle then far'd she; was the feast of the choicest,The men drank the wine nothing wotting of weird,The grim shaping of old, e'en as forth it had goneTo a many of earls; sithence came the even,And Hrothgar departed to his chamber on high,The rich to his rest; and aright the house wardedEarls untold of number, as oft did they erewhile.The bench-boards they bar'd them, and there they spread over1240With beds and with bolsters. Of the beer-skinkers oneWho fain was and fey bow'd adown to his floor-rest.At their heads then they rested their rounds of the battle,Their board-woods bright-shining. There on the bench was,Over the atheling, easy to look onThe battle-steep war-helm, the byrny be-ringed,The wood of the onset, all-glorious. Their wont wasThat oft and oft were they all yare for the war-tide,Both at home and in hosting, were it one were it either,And for every such tide as their liege lord unto1250The need were befallen: right good was that folk.XX. GRENDEL’S DAM BREAKS INTO HART AND BEARS OFF AESCHERE.Sosank they to slumber; but one paid full sorelyFor his rest of the even, as to them fell full oftenSithence that the gold-hall Grendel had guarded,And won deed of unright, until that the end cameAnd death after sinning: but clear was it shown now,Wide wotted of men, that e'en yet was a wreakerLiving after the loathly, a long while of timeAfter the battle-care, Grendel's own mother;The woman, the monster-wife, minded her woe,1260She who needs must in horror of waters be wonning,The streams all a-cold, sithence Cain was becomeFor an edge-bane forsooth to his very own brother,The own son of his father. Forth bann'd then he fared,All marked by murder, from man's joy to flee,And dwelt in the waste-land. Thence woke there a manyGhosts shapen of old time, of whom one was Grendel,The fierce wolf, the hateful, who found him at HartA man there a-watching, abiding the war-tide;Where to him the fell ogre to hand-grips befell;1270Howe'er he him minded of the strength of his might,The great gift set fast in him given of God,And trowed in grace by the All-wielder given,His fostering, his staying; so the fiend he o'ercameAnd bow'd down the Hell's ghost, that all humble he wendedFordone of all mirth death's house to go look on,That fiend of all mankind. But yet was his mother,The greedy, the glum-moody, fain to be goingA sorrowful journey her son's death to wreak.So came she to Hart whereas now the Ring-Danes1280Were sleeping adown the hall; soon there befellChange of days to the earl-folk, when in she came thrusting,Grendel's mother: and soothly was minish'd the terrorBy even so much as the craft-work of maidens,The war-terror of wife, is beside the man weapon'd,When the sword all hard bounden, by hammers to-beaten,The sword all sweat-stain'd, through the swine o'er the war-helmWith edges full doughty down rightly sheareth.But therewith in the hall was tugg'd out the hard edge,The sword o'er the settles, and wide shields a many1290Heaved fast in the hand: no one the helm heeded,Nor the byrny wide-wrought, when the wild fear fell on them.In haste was she then, and out would she thenceforthFor the saving her life, whenas she should be found there.But one of the athelings she speedily handledAnd caught up full fast, and fenward so fared.But he was unto Hrothgar the liefest of heroesOf the sort of the fellows; betwixt the two sea-floodsA mighty shield-warrior, whom she at rest brake up,A war-wight well famed. There Beowulf was not;1300Another house soothly had erewhile been dightedAfter gift of that treasure to that great one of Geats.Uprose cry then in Hart, all 'mid gore had she takenThe hand, the well-known, and now care wrought anewIn the wicks was arisen. Naught well was the bargainThat on both halves they needs must be buying that tideWith the life-days of friends. Then the lord king, the wise,The hoary of war-folk, was harmed of moodWhen his elder of thanes and he now unliving,The dearest of all, he knew to be dead.1310To the bower full swiftly was Beowulf brought now,The man victory-dower'd; together with day-dawnWent he, one of the earls, that champion beworthy'd,Himself with his fellows, where the wise was abidingTo wot if the All-wielder ever will to himAfter the tale of woe happy change work.Then went down the floor he the war-worthyWith the host of his hand, while high dinn'd the hall-wood,Till he there the wise one with words had well greeted,The lord of the Ingwines, and ask'd had the night been.1320Since sore he was summon'd, a night of sweet easement.XXI. HROTHGAR LAMENTS THE SLAYING OF AESCHERE, AND TELLS OF GRENDEL’S MOTHER AND HER DEN.Spakeout then Hrothgar the helm of the Scyldings:Ask no more after bliss; for new-made now is sorrowFor the folk of the Danes; for Aeschere is dead,He who was Yrmenlaf's elder of brethren,My wise man of runes, my bearer of redes,Mine own shoulder-fellow, when we in the war-tideWarded our heads and the host on the host fell,And the boars were a-crashing; e'en such should an earl be,An atheling exceeding good, e'en as was Aeschere.1330Now in Hart hath befallen for a hand-bane unto himA slaughter-ghost wandering; naught wot I whitherThe fell one, the carrion-proud, far'd hath her back-fare,By her fill made all famous. That feud hath she wreakedWherein yesternight gone by Grendel thou quelledstThrough thy hardihood fierce with grips hard enow.For that he over-long the lief people of meMade to wane and undid. In the war then he cringed,Being forfeit of life. But now came another,An ill-scather mighty, her son to awreak;1340And further hath she now the feud set on foot,As may well be deemed of many a thane,Who after the wealth-giver weepeth in mind,A hard bale of heart. Now the hand lieth lowWhich well-nigh for every joy once did avail you.The dwellers in land here, my people indeed,The wise-of-rede hall-folk, have I heard say e'en this:That they have set eyes on two such-like erewhile,Two mickle mark-striders the moorland a-holding,Ghosts come from elsewhere, but of them one there was,As full certainly might they then know it to be,1350In the likeness of woman; and the other shap'd loathlyAll after man's image trod the tracks of the exile,Save that more was he shapen than any man other;And in days gone away now they named him Grendel,The dwellers in fold; they wot not if a fatherUnto him was born ever in the days of erewhileOf dark ghosts. They dwell in a dim hidden land,The wolf-bents they bide in, on the nesses the windy,The perilous fen-paths where the stream of the fell-side1360Midst the mists of the nesses wends netherward ever,The flood under earth. Naught far away hence,But a mile-mark forsooth, there standeth the mere,And over it ever hang groves all berimed,The wood fast by the roots over-helmeth the water.But each night may one a dread wonder there see,A fire in the flood. But none liveth so wiseOf the bairns of mankind, that the bottom may know.Although the heath-stepper beswinked by hounds,The hart strong of horns, that holt-wood should seek to1370Driven fleeing from far, he shall sooner leave life,Leave life-breath on the bank, or ever will heTherein hide his head. No hallow'd stead is it:Thence the blending of water-waves ever uprisethWan up to the welkin, whenso the wind stirrethWeather-storms loathly, until the lift darkensAnd weepeth the heavens. Now along the rede wendethOf thee again only. Of that earth yet thou know'st not,The fearful of steads, wherein thou mayst findThat much-sinning wight; seek then if thou dare,1380And thee for that feud will I guerdon with fee,The treasures of old time, as erst did I do,With the gold all-bewounden, if away thence thou get thee.XXII. THEY FOLLOW GRENDEL’S DAM TO HER LAIR.Spakeout then Beowulf the Ecgtheow's bairn:O wise of men, mourn not; for to each man 'tis betterThat his friend he awreak than weep overmuch.Lo! each of us soothly abideth the endingOf the life of the world. Then let him work who work mayHigh deeds ere the death: to the doughty of war-ladsWhen he is unliving shall it best be hereafter.1390Rise up, warder of kingdom! and swiftly now wend weThe Grendel Kinswoman's late goings to look on;And this I behote thee, that to holm shall she flee not,Nor into earth's fathom, nor into the fell-holt,Nor the grounds of the ocean, go whereas she will go.For this one of days patience dree thou a while thenOf each one of thy woes, as I ween it of thee.Then leapt up the old man, and lightly gave God thank,That mighty of Lords, for the word which the man spake.
Hath wielded wide ever. Now by wan night there came,
There strode in the shade-goer; slept there the shooters,
They who that horn-house should be a-holding,
All men but one man: to men was that known,
That them indeed might not, since will'd not the Maker,
The scather unceasing drag off 'neath the shadow;
But he ever watching in wrath 'gainst the wroth one
Mood-swollen abided the battle-mote ever.
Camethen from the moor-land, all under the mist-bents,
Grendel a-going there, bearing God's anger.
The scather the ill one was minded of mankind
To have one in his toils from the high hall aloft.
'Neath the welkin he waded, to the place whence the wine-house,
The gold-hall of men, most yarely he wist
With gold-plates fair coloured; nor was it the first time
That he unto Hrothgar's high home had betook him.
Never he in his life-days, either erst or thereafter,
Of warriors more hardy or hall-thanes had found.
Came then to the house the wight on his ways,
Of all joys bereft; and soon sprang the door open,
With fire-bands made fast, when with hand he had touch'd it;
Brake the bale-heedy, he with wrath bollen,
The mouth of the house there, and early thereafter
On the shiny-fleck'd floor thereof trod forth the fiend;
On went he then mood-wroth, and out from his eyes stood
Likest to fire-flame light full unfair.
In the high house beheld he a many of warriors,
A host of men sib all sleeping together,
Of man-warriors a heap; then laugh'd out his mood;
In mind deem'd he to sunder, or ever came day,
The monster, the fell one, from each of the men there
The life from the body; for befell him a boding
Of fulfilment of feeding: but weird now it was not
That he any more of mankind thenceforward
Should eat, that night over. Huge evil beheld then
The Hygelac's kinsman, and how the foul scather
All with his fear-grips would fare there before him;
How never the monster was minded to tarry,
For speedily gat he, and at the first stour,
A warrior a-sleeping, and unaware slit him,
Bit his bone-coffer, drank blood a-streaming,
Great gobbets swallow'd in; thenceforth soon had he
Of the unliving one every whit eaten
To hands and feet even: then forth strode he nigher,
And took hold with his hand upon him the highhearted.
The warrior a-resting; reach'd out to himwards
The fiend with his hand, gat fast on him rathely
With thought of all evil, and besat him his arm.
Then swiftly was finding the herdsman of fouldeeds
That forsooth he had met not in Middle-garth ever,
In the parts of the earth, in any man else
A hand-grip more mighty; then wax'd he of mood
Heart-fearful, but none the more outward might he;
Hence-eager his heart was to the darkness to hie him,
And the devil-dray seek: not there was his service
E'en such as he found in his life-days before.
Then to heart laid the good one, the Hygelac's kinsman,
His speech of the even-tide; uplong he stood
And fast with him grappled, till bursted his fingers.
The eoten was out-fain, but on strode the earl.
The mighty fiend minded was, whereso he might,
To wind him about more widely away thence,
And flee fenwards; he found then the might of his fingers
In the grip of the fierce one; sorry faring was that
Which he, the harm-scather, had taken to Hart.
The warrior-hall dinn'd now; unto all Danes there waxed,
To the castle-abiders, to each of the keen ones,
To all earls, as an ale-dearth. Now angry were both
Of the fierce mighty warriors, far rang out the hall-house;
Then mickle the wonder it was that the wine-hall
Withstood the two war-deer, nor welter'd to earth
The fair earthly dwelling; but all fast was it builded
Within and without with the banding of iron
By crafty thought smithy'd. But there from the sill bow'd
Fell many a mead-bench, by hearsay of mine,
With gold well adorned, where strove they the wrothful.
Hereof never ween'd they, the wise of the Scyldings,
That ever with might should any of men
The excellent, bone-dight, break into pieces,
Or unlock with cunning, save the light fire's embracing
In smoke should it swallow. So uprose the roar
New and enough; now fell on the North-Danes
Ill fear and the terror, on each and on all men,
Of them who from wall-top hearken'd the weeping,
Even God's foeman singing the fear-lay,
The triumphless song, and the wound-bewailing
Of the thrall of the Hell; for there now fast held him
He who of men of main was the mightiest
In that day which is told of, the day of this life.
Naughtwould the earls' help for anything thenceforth
That murder-comer yet quick let loose of,
Nor his life-days forsooth to any of folk
Told he for useful. Out then drew full many
Of Beowult's earls the heir-loom of old days,
For their lord and their master's fair life would hey ward,
That mighty of princes, if so might they do it.
For this did they know not when they the strife dreed,
Those hardy-minded men of the battle,
And on every half there thought to be hewing,
And search out his soul, that the ceaseless scather
Not any on earth of the choice of all irons,
Not one of the war-bills, would greet home for ever.
For he had forsworn him from victory-weapons,
And each one of edges. But his sundering of soul
In the days that we tell of, the day of this life,
Should be weary and woeful, the ghost wending elsewhere
To the wielding of fiends to wend him afar.
Then found he out this, he who mickle erst made
Out of mirth of his mood unto children of men
And had fram'd many crimes, he the foeman of God,
That the body of him would not bide to avail him,
But the hardy of mood, even Hygelac's kinsman,
Had him fast by the hand: now was each to the other
All loathly while living: his body-sore bided
The monster: was manifest now on his shoulder
The unceasing wound, sprang the sinews asunder,
The bone-lockers bursted. To Beowulf now
Was the battle-fame given; should Grendel thenceforth
Flee life-sick awayward and under the fen-bents
Seek his unmerry stead: now wist he more surely
That ended his life was, and gone over for ever,
His day-tale told out. But was for all Dane-folk
After that slaughter-race all their will done.
Then had he cleans'd for them, he the far-comer,
Wise and stout-hearted, the high hall of Hrothgar,
And say'd it from war. So the night-work he joy'd in
And his doughty deed done. Yea, but he for the East-Danes
That lord of the Geat-folk his boast's end had gotten,
Withal their woes bygone all had he booted,
And the sorrow hate-fashion'd that afore they had dreed,
And the hard need and bitter that erst they must bear,
The sorrow unlittle. Sithence was clear token
When the deer of the battle laid down there the hand
The arm and the shoulder, and all there together
Of the grip of that Grendel 'neath the great roof upbuilded.
Therewas then on the morning, as I have heard tell it,
Round the gift-hall a many of men of the warriors:
Were faring folk-leaders from far and from near
O'er the wide-away roads the wonder to look on,
The track of the loathly: his life-sundering nowise
Was deem'd for a sorrow to any of men there
Who gaz'd on the track of the gloryless wight;
How he all a-weary of mood thence awayward,
Brought to naught in the battle, to the mere of the nicors,
Now fey and forth-fleeing, his life-steps had flitted.
There all in the blood was the sea-brim a-welling,
The dread swing of the waves was washing all mingled
With hot blood; with the gore of the sword was it welling;
The death-doom'd had dyed it, sithence he unmerry
In his fen-hold had laid down the last of his life,
His soul of the heathen, and hell gat hold on him.
Thence back again far'd they those fellows of old,
With many a young one, from their wayfaring merry,
Full proud from the mere-side on mares there a-riding
The warriors on white steeds. There then was of Beowulf
Set forth the might mighty; oft quoth it a many
That nor northward nor southward beside the twin sea-floods,
Over all the huge earth's face now never another,
Never under the heaven's breadth, was there a better,
Nor of wielders of war-shields a worthier of kingship;
But neither their friendly lord blam'd they one whit,
Hrothgar the glad, for good of kings was he.
There whiles the warriors far-famed let leap
Their fair fallow horses and fare into flyting
Where unto them the earth-ways for fair-fashion'd seemed,
Through their choiceness well kenned; and whiles a king's thane,
A warrior vaunt-laden, of lays grown bemindful,
E'en he who all many of tales of the old days
A multitude minded, found other words also
Sooth-bounden, and boldly the man thus began
E'en Beowulf's wayfare well wisely to stir,
With good speed to set forth the spells well areded
And to shift about words. And well of all told he
That he of Sigemund erst had heard say,
Of the deeds of his might; and many things uncouth:
Of the strife of the Wælsing and his wide wayfarings,
Of those that men's children not well yet they wist,
The feud and the crimes, save Fitela with him;
Somewhat of such things yet would he say,
The eme to the nephew; e'en as they aye were
In all strife soever fellows full needful;
And full many had they of the kin of the eotens
Laid low with the sword. And to Sigemund upsprang
After his death-day fair doom unlittle
Sithence that the war-hard the Worm there had quelled,
The herd of the hoard; he under the hoar stone,
The bairn of the Atheling, all alone dar'd it,
That wight deed of deeds; with him Fitela was not.
But howe'er, his hap was that the sword so through-waded
The Worm the all-wondrous, that in the wall stood
The iron dear-wrought: and the drake died the murder.
There had the warrior so won by wightness,
That he of the ring-hoard the use might be having
All at his own will. The sea-boat he loaded,
And into the ship's barm bore the bright fretwork
Wæls' son. In the hotness the Worm was to-molten.
Now he of all wanderers was widely the greatest
Through the peoples of man-kind, the warder of warriors,
By mighty deeds; erst then and early he throve.
Now sithence the warfare of Heremod waned,
His might and his valour, amidst of the eotens
To the wielding of foemen straight was he betrayed,
And speedily sent forth: by the surges of sorrow
O'er-long was he lam'd, became he to his lieges,
To all of the athelings, a life-care thenceforward.
Withal oft bemoaned in times that were older
The ways of that stout heart many a carle of the wisest.
Who trow'd in him boldly for booting of bales,
And had look'd that the king's bairn should ever be thriving,
His father's own lordship should take, hold the folk,
The hoard and the ward-burg, and realm of the heroes,
The own land of the Scyldings. To all men was Beowulf,
The Hygelac's kinsman to the kindred of menfolk,
More fair unto friends; but on Heremod crime fell.
So whiles the men flyting the fallow street there
With their mares were they meting. There then was the morn-light
Thrust forth and hasten'd; went many a warrior
All hardy of heart to the high hall aloft
The rare wonder to see; and the King's self withal
From the bride-bower wended, the warder of ring-hoards,
All glorious he trod and a mickle troop had he,
He for choice ways beknown; and his Queen therewithal
Meted the mead-path with a meyny of maidens.
Outthen spake Hrothgar; for he to the hall went,
By the staple a-standing the steep roof he saw
Shining fair with the gold, and the hand there of Grendel:
For this sight that I see to the All-wielder thanks
Befall now forthwith, for foul evil I bided,
All griefs from this Grendel; but God, glory's Herder,
Wonder on wonder ever can work.
Unyore was it then when I for myself
Might ween never more, wide all through my life-days,
Of the booting of woes; when all blood-besprinkled
The best of all houses stood sword-gory here;
Wide then had the woe thrust off each of the wise
Of them that were looking that never life-long
That land-work of the folk they might ward from the loathly,
From ill wights and devils. But now hath a warrior
Through the might of the Lord a deed made thereunto
Which we, and all we together, in nowise
By wisdom might work. What! well might be saying
That maid whosoever this son brought to birth
According to man's kind, if yet she be living,
That the Maker of old time to her was all-gracious
In the bearing of bairns. O Beowulf, I now
Thee best of all men as a son unto me
Will love in my heart, and hold thou henceforward
Our kinship new-made now; nor to thee shall be lacking
As to longings of world-goods whereof I have wielding;
Full oft I for lesser things guerdon have given,
The worship of hoards, to a warrior was weaker,
A worser in strife. Now thyself for thyself
By deeds hast thou fram'd it that liveth thy fair fame
For ever and ever. So may the All-wielder
With good pay thee ever, as erst he hath done it.
Then Beowulf spake out, the Ecgtheow's bairn:
That work of much might with mickle of love
We framed with fighting, and frowardly ventur'd
The might of the uncouth; now I would that rather
Thou mightest have look'd on the very man there,
The foe in his fret-gear all worn unto falling.
There him in all haste with hard griping did I
On the slaughter-bed deem it to bind him indeed,
That he for my hand-grip should have to be lying
All busy for life: but his body fled off.
Him then, I might not (since would not the Maker)
From his wayfaring sunder, nor naught so well sought I
The life-foe; o'er-mickle of might was he yet,
The foeman afoot: but his hand has he left us,
A life-ward, a-warding the ways of his wending,
His arm and his shoulder therewith. Yet in nowise
That wretch of the grooms any solace hath got him,
Nor longer will live the loathly deed-doer,
Beswinked with sins; for the sore hath him now
In the grip of need grievous, in strait hold togather'd
With bonds that be baleful: there shall he abide,
That wight dyed with all evil-deeds, the doom mickle,
For what wise to him the bright Maker will write it.
Then a silenter man was the son there of Ecglaf
In the speech of the boasting of works of the battle,
After when every atheling by craft of the earl
Over the high roof had look'd on the hand there,
Yea, the fiend's fingers before his own eyen,
Each one of the nail-steads most like unto steel,
Hand-spur of the heathen one; yea, the own claw
Uncouth of the war-wight. But each one there quoth it,
That no iron of the best, of the hardy of folk,
Would touch him at all, which e'er of the monster
The battle-hand bloody might bear away thence.
Thenwas speedily bidden that Hart be withinward
By hand of man well adorn'd; was there a many
Of warriors and wives, who straightway that wine-house
The guest-house, bedight them: there gold-shotten shone
The webs over the walls, many wonders to look on
For men every one who on such things will stare.
Was that building the bright all broken about
All withinward, though fast in the bands of the iron;
Asunder the hinges rent, only the roof there
Was saved all sound, when the monster of evil
The guilty of crime-deeds had gat him to flight
Never hoping for life. Nay, lightly now may not
That matter be fled from, frame it whoso may frame it.
But by strife man shall win of the bearers of souls,
Of the children of men, compelled by need,
The abiders on earth, the place made all ready,
The stead where his body laid fast on his death-bed
Shall sleep after feast. Now time and place was it
When unto the hall went that Healfdene's son,
And the King himself therein the feast should be sharing;
Never heard I of men-folk in fellowship more
About their wealth-giver so well themselves bearing.
Then bow'd unto bench there the abounders in riches
And were fain of their fill. Full fairly there took
A many of mead-cups the kin of those men,
The sturdy of heart in the hall high aloft,
Hrothgar and Hrothulf. Hart there withinward
Of friends was fulfilled; naught there that was guilesome
The folk of the Scyldings for yet awhile framed.
Gave then to Beowulf Healfdene's bairn
A golden war-ensign, the victory's guerdon,
A staff-banner fair-dight, a helm and a byrny:
The great jewel-sword a many men saw them
Bear forth to the hero. Then Beowulf took
The cup on the floor, and nowise of that fee-gift
Before the shaft-shooters the shame need he have.
Never heard I how friendlier four of the treasures,
All gear'd with the gold about, many men erewhile
On the ale-bench have given to others of men.
Round the roof of the helm, the burg of the head,
A wale wound with wires held ward from without-ward,
So that the file-leavings might not over fiercely,
Were they never so shower-hard, scathe the shield-bold,
When he 'gainst the angry in anger should get him.
Therewith bade the earls' burg that eight of the horses
With cheek-plates adorned be led down the floor
In under the fences; on one thereof stood
A saddle all craft-bedeck'd, seemly with treasure.
That same was the war-seat of the high King full surely
Whenas that the sword-play that Healfdene's son
Would work; never failed in front of the war
The wide-kenn'd one's war-might, whereas fell the slain.
So to Beowulf thereon of either of both
The Ingwines' high warder gave wielding to have,
Both the war-steeds and weapons, and bade him well brook them.
Thuswise and so manly the mighty of princes,
Hoard-warden of heroes, the battle-race paid
With mares and with gems, so as no man shall blame them,
E'en he who will say sooth aright as it is.
Thenthe lord of the earl-folk to every and each one
Of them who with Beowulf the sea-ways had worn
Then and there on the mead-bench did handsel them treasure,
An heir-loom to wit; for him also he bade it
That a were-gild be paid, whom Grendel aforetime
By wickedness quell'd, as far more of them would he,
Save from them God all-witting the weird away wended,
And that man's mood withal. But the Maker all wielded
Of the kindred of mankind, as yet now he doeth.
Therefore through-witting will be the best everywhere
And the forethought of mind. Many things must abide
Of lief and of loth, he who here a long while
In these days of the strife with the world shall be dealing.
There song was and sound all gather'd together
Of that Healfdene's warrior and wielder of battle,
The wood of glee greeted, the lay wreaked often,
Whenas the hall-game the minstrel of Hrothgar
All down by the mead-bench tale must be making:
By Finn's sons aforetime, when the fear gat them,
The hero of Half-Danes, Hnæf of the Scyldings,
On the slaughter-field Frisian needs must he fall.
Forsooth never Hildeburh needed to hery
The troth of the Eotens; she all unsinning
Was lorne of her lief ones in that play of the linden,
Her bairns and her brethren, by fate there they fell
Spear-wounded. That was the all-woeful of women.
Not unduly without cause the daughter of Hoc
Mourn'd the Maker's own shaping, sithence came the morn
When she under the heavens that tide came to see,
Murder-bale of her kinsmen, where most had she erewhile?
Of world's bliss. The war-tide took all men away
Of Finn's thanes that were, save only a few;
E'en so that he might not on the field of the meeting
Hold Hengest a war-tide, or fight any whit,
Nor yet snatch away thence by war the woe-leavings
From the thane of the King; but terms now they bade him
That for them other stead all for all should make room,
A hall and high settle, whereof the half-wielding
They with the Eotens' bairns henceforth might hold,
And with fee-gifts moreover the son of Folkwalda
Each day of the days the Danes should beworthy;
The war-heap of Hengest with rings should he honour
Even so greatly with treasure of treasures,
Of gold all beplated, as he the kin Frisian
Down in the beer-hall duly should dight.
Troth then they struck there each of the two halves,
A peace-troth full fast. There Finn unto Hengest
Strongly, unstrifeful, with oath-swearing swore,
That he the woe-leaving by the doom of the wise ones
Should hold in ail honour, that never man henceforth
With word or with work the troth should be breaking,
Nor through craft of the guileful should undo it ever,
Though their ring-giver's bane they must follow in rank
All lordless, e'en so need is it to be:
But if any of Frisians by over-bold speaking
The murderful hatred should call unto mind,
Then naught but the edge of the sword should avenge it.
Then done was the oath there, and gold of the golden
Heav'd up from the hoard. Of the bold Here-Scyldings
All yare on the bale was the best battle-warrior;
On the death-howe beholden was easily there
The sark stain'd with war-sweat, the all-golden swine,
The iron-hard boar; there was many an atheling
With wounds all outworn; some on slaughter-field welter'd.
But Hildeburh therewith on Hnæf's bale she bade them
The own son of herself to set fast in the flame,
His bone-vats to burn up and lay on the bale there:
On his shoulder all woeful the woman lamented,
Sang songs of bewailing, as the warrior strode upward,
Wound up to the welkin that most of death-fires,
Before the howe howled; there molten the heads were,
The wound-gates burst open, there blood was out-springing
From foe-bites of the body; the flame swallow'd all,
The greediest of ghosts, of them that war gat him
Of either of folks; shaken off was their life-breath.
Departedthe warriors their wicks to visit
All forlorn of their friends now, Friesland to look on,
Their homes and their high burg. Hengest a while yet
Through the slaughter-dyed winter bode dwelling with Finn
And all without strife: he remember'd his homeland,
Though never he might o'er the mere be a-driving
The high prow be-ringed: with storm the holm welter'd,
Won war 'gainst the winds; winter locked the waves
With bondage of ice, till again came another
Of years into the garth, as yet it is ever,
And the days which the season to watch never cease,
The glory-bright weather; then gone was the winter,
And fair was the earth's barm. Now hastened the exile.
The guest from the garths; he on getting of vengeance
Of harms thought more greatly than of the sea's highway,
If he but a wrath-mote might yet be a-wending
Where the bairns of the Eotens might he still remember.
The ways of the world forwent he in nowise
Then, whenas Hunlafing the light of the battle,
The best of all bills, did into his breast,
Whereof mid the Eotens were the edges well knowen.
Withal to the bold-hearted Finn befell after
Sword-bales the deadly at his very own dwelling,
When the grim grip of war Guthlaf and Oslaf
After the sea-fare lamented with sorrow
And wyted him deal of their woes; nor then might he
In his breast hold his wavering heart. Was the hall dight
With the lives of slain foemen, and slain eke was Finn
The King 'midst of his court-men; and there the Queen, taken,
The shooters of the Scyldings ferry'd down to the sea-ships,
And the house-wares and chattels the earth-king had had,
E'en such as at Finn's home there might they find,
Of collars and cunning gems. They on the sea-path
The all-lordly wife to the Danes straightly wended,
Led her home to their people. So sung was the lay,
The song of the gleeman; then again arose game,
The bench-voice wax'd brighter, gave forth the birlers
Wine of the wonder-vats. Then came forth Wealhtheow
Under gold ring a-going to where sat the two good ones,
The uncle and nephew, yet of kindred unsunder'd,
Each true to the other. Eke Unferth the spokesman
Sat at feet of the Scyldings' lord; each of his heart trow'd
That of mickle mood was he, though he to his kinsmen
Were un-upright in edge-play. Spake the dame of the Scyldings:
Now take thou this cup, my lord of the kingly,
Bestower of treasures! Be thou in thy joyance,
Thou gold-friend of men! and speak to these Geat-folk
In mild words, as duly behoveth to do;
Be glad toward the Geat-folk, and mindful of gifts;
From anigh and from far peace hast thou as now.
To me one hath said it, that thou for a son wouldst
This warrior be holding. Lo! Hart now is cleansed,
The ring-hall bright-beaming. Have joy while thou mayest
In many a meed, and unto thy kinsmen
Leave folk and dominion, when forth thou must fare
To look on the Maker's own making. I know now
My Hrothulf the gladsome, that he this young man
Will hold in all honour if thou now before him,
O friend of the Scyldings, shall fare from the world;
I ween that good-will yet this man will be yielding
To our offspring that after us be, if he mind him
Of all that which we two, for good-will and for worship,
Unto him erst a child yet have framed of kindness.
Then along by the bench did she turn, where her boys were,
Hrethric and Hrothmund, and the bairns of high warriors,
The young ones together; and there sat the good one,
Beowulf the Geat, betwixt the two brethren.
Borneto him then the cup was, and therewith friendly bidding
In words was put forth; and gold about wounden
All blithely they bade him bear; arm-gearings twain,
Rail and rings, the most greatest of fashion of neck-rings
Of them that on earth I have ever heard tell of:
Not one under heaven wrought better was heard of
Midst the hoard-gems of heroes, since bore away Hama
To the bright burg and brave the neck-gear of the Brisings,
The gem and the gem-chest: from the foeman's guile fled he
Of Eormenric then, and chose rede everlasting.
That ring Hygelac had, e'en he of the Geat-folk,
The grandson of Swerting, the last time of all times
When he under the war-sign his treasure defended,
The slaughter-prey warded. Him weird bore away
Sithence he for pride-sake the war-woe abided,
The feud with the Frisians; the fretwork he flitted,
The gem-stones much worthy, all over the waves' cup.
The King the full mighty cring'd under the shield;
Into grasp of the Franks the King's life was gotten
With the gear of the breast and the ring altogether;
It was worser war-wolves then reft gear from the slain
After the war-shearing; there the Geats' war-folk
Held the house of the dead men. The Hall took the voices;
Spake out then Wealhtheow; before the host said she:
Brook thou this roundel, lief Beowulf, henceforth,
Dear youth, with all hail, and this rail be thou using,
These gems of folk-treasures, and thrive thou well ever;
Thy might then make manifest! Be to these lads here
Kind of lore, and for that will I look to thy guerdon.
Thou hast won by thy faring, that far and near henceforth,
Through wide time to come, men will give thee the worship,
As widely as ever the sea winds about
The windy land-walls. Be the while thou art living
An atheling wealthy, and well do I will thee
Of good of the treasures; be thou to my son
In deed ever friendly, and uphold thy joyance!
Lo! each of the earls here to the other is trusty,
And mild of his mood and to man-lord full faithful,
Kind friends all the thanes are, the folk ever yare.
Ye well drunk of folk-grooms, now do ye my biddings.
To her settle then far'd she; was the feast of the choicest,
The men drank the wine nothing wotting of weird,
The grim shaping of old, e'en as forth it had gone
To a many of earls; sithence came the even,
And Hrothgar departed to his chamber on high,
The rich to his rest; and aright the house warded
Earls untold of number, as oft did they erewhile.
The bench-boards they bar'd them, and there they spread over
With beds and with bolsters. Of the beer-skinkers one
Who fain was and fey bow'd adown to his floor-rest.
At their heads then they rested their rounds of the battle,
Their board-woods bright-shining. There on the bench was,
Over the atheling, easy to look on
The battle-steep war-helm, the byrny be-ringed,
The wood of the onset, all-glorious. Their wont was
That oft and oft were they all yare for the war-tide,
Both at home and in hosting, were it one were it either,
And for every such tide as their liege lord unto
The need were befallen: right good was that folk.
Sosank they to slumber; but one paid full sorely
For his rest of the even, as to them fell full often
Sithence that the gold-hall Grendel had guarded,
And won deed of unright, until that the end came
And death after sinning: but clear was it shown now,
Wide wotted of men, that e'en yet was a wreaker
Living after the loathly, a long while of time
After the battle-care, Grendel's own mother;
The woman, the monster-wife, minded her woe,
She who needs must in horror of waters be wonning,
The streams all a-cold, sithence Cain was become
For an edge-bane forsooth to his very own brother,
The own son of his father. Forth bann'd then he fared,
All marked by murder, from man's joy to flee,
And dwelt in the waste-land. Thence woke there a many
Ghosts shapen of old time, of whom one was Grendel,
The fierce wolf, the hateful, who found him at Hart
A man there a-watching, abiding the war-tide;
Where to him the fell ogre to hand-grips befell;
Howe'er he him minded of the strength of his might,
The great gift set fast in him given of God,
And trowed in grace by the All-wielder given,
His fostering, his staying; so the fiend he o'ercame
And bow'd down the Hell's ghost, that all humble he wended
Fordone of all mirth death's house to go look on,
That fiend of all mankind. But yet was his mother,
The greedy, the glum-moody, fain to be going
A sorrowful journey her son's death to wreak.
So came she to Hart whereas now the Ring-Danes
Were sleeping adown the hall; soon there befell
Change of days to the earl-folk, when in she came thrusting,
Grendel's mother: and soothly was minish'd the terror
By even so much as the craft-work of maidens,
The war-terror of wife, is beside the man weapon'd,
When the sword all hard bounden, by hammers to-beaten,
The sword all sweat-stain'd, through the swine o'er the war-helm
With edges full doughty down rightly sheareth.
But therewith in the hall was tugg'd out the hard edge,
The sword o'er the settles, and wide shields a many
Heaved fast in the hand: no one the helm heeded,
Nor the byrny wide-wrought, when the wild fear fell on them.
In haste was she then, and out would she thenceforth
For the saving her life, whenas she should be found there.
But one of the athelings she speedily handled
And caught up full fast, and fenward so fared.
But he was unto Hrothgar the liefest of heroes
Of the sort of the fellows; betwixt the two sea-floods
A mighty shield-warrior, whom she at rest brake up,
A war-wight well famed. There Beowulf was not;
Another house soothly had erewhile been dighted
After gift of that treasure to that great one of Geats.
Uprose cry then in Hart, all 'mid gore had she taken
The hand, the well-known, and now care wrought anew
In the wicks was arisen. Naught well was the bargain
That on both halves they needs must be buying that tide
With the life-days of friends. Then the lord king, the wise,
The hoary of war-folk, was harmed of mood
When his elder of thanes and he now unliving,
The dearest of all, he knew to be dead.
To the bower full swiftly was Beowulf brought now,
The man victory-dower'd; together with day-dawn
Went he, one of the earls, that champion beworthy'd,
Himself with his fellows, where the wise was abiding
To wot if the All-wielder ever will to him
After the tale of woe happy change work.
Then went down the floor he the war-worthy
With the host of his hand, while high dinn'd the hall-wood,
Till he there the wise one with words had well greeted,
The lord of the Ingwines, and ask'd had the night been.
Since sore he was summon'd, a night of sweet easement.
Spakeout then Hrothgar the helm of the Scyldings:
Ask no more after bliss; for new-made now is sorrow
For the folk of the Danes; for Aeschere is dead,
He who was Yrmenlaf's elder of brethren,
My wise man of runes, my bearer of redes,
Mine own shoulder-fellow, when we in the war-tide
Warded our heads and the host on the host fell,
And the boars were a-crashing; e'en such should an earl be,
An atheling exceeding good, e'en as was Aeschere.
Now in Hart hath befallen for a hand-bane unto him
A slaughter-ghost wandering; naught wot I whither
The fell one, the carrion-proud, far'd hath her back-fare,
By her fill made all famous. That feud hath she wreaked
Wherein yesternight gone by Grendel thou quelledst
Through thy hardihood fierce with grips hard enow.
For that he over-long the lief people of me
Made to wane and undid. In the war then he cringed,
Being forfeit of life. But now came another,
An ill-scather mighty, her son to awreak;
And further hath she now the feud set on foot,
As may well be deemed of many a thane,
Who after the wealth-giver weepeth in mind,
A hard bale of heart. Now the hand lieth low
Which well-nigh for every joy once did avail you.
The dwellers in land here, my people indeed,
The wise-of-rede hall-folk, have I heard say e'en this:
That they have set eyes on two such-like erewhile,
Two mickle mark-striders the moorland a-holding,
Ghosts come from elsewhere, but of them one there was,
As full certainly might they then know it to be,
1350
In the likeness of woman; and the other shap'd loathly
All after man's image trod the tracks of the exile,
Save that more was he shapen than any man other;
And in days gone away now they named him Grendel,
The dwellers in fold; they wot not if a father
Unto him was born ever in the days of erewhile
Of dark ghosts. They dwell in a dim hidden land,
The wolf-bents they bide in, on the nesses the windy,
The perilous fen-paths where the stream of the fell-side
Midst the mists of the nesses wends netherward ever,
The flood under earth. Naught far away hence,
But a mile-mark forsooth, there standeth the mere,
And over it ever hang groves all berimed,
The wood fast by the roots over-helmeth the water.
But each night may one a dread wonder there see,
A fire in the flood. But none liveth so wise
Of the bairns of mankind, that the bottom may know.
Although the heath-stepper beswinked by hounds,
The hart strong of horns, that holt-wood should seek to
Driven fleeing from far, he shall sooner leave life,
Leave life-breath on the bank, or ever will he
Therein hide his head. No hallow'd stead is it:
Thence the blending of water-waves ever upriseth
Wan up to the welkin, whenso the wind stirreth
Weather-storms loathly, until the lift darkens
And weepeth the heavens. Now along the rede wendeth
Of thee again only. Of that earth yet thou know'st not,
The fearful of steads, wherein thou mayst find
That much-sinning wight; seek then if thou dare,
And thee for that feud will I guerdon with fee,
The treasures of old time, as erst did I do,
With the gold all-bewounden, if away thence thou get thee.
Spakeout then Beowulf the Ecgtheow's bairn:
O wise of men, mourn not; for to each man 'tis better
That his friend he awreak than weep overmuch.
Lo! each of us soothly abideth the ending
Of the life of the world. Then let him work who work may
High deeds ere the death: to the doughty of war-lads
When he is unliving shall it best be hereafter.
Rise up, warder of kingdom! and swiftly now wend we
The Grendel Kinswoman's late goings to look on;
And this I behote thee, that to holm shall she flee not,
Nor into earth's fathom, nor into the fell-holt,
Nor the grounds of the ocean, go whereas she will go.
For this one of days patience dree thou a while then
Of each one of thy woes, as I ween it of thee.
Then leapt up the old man, and lightly gave God thank,
That mighty of Lords, for the word which the man spake.