Soothfast and sorrowful; whiles a spell seldom told2110Told he by right, the king roomy-hearted;Whiles began afterward he by eld bounden,The aged hoar warrior, of his youth to bewail him,Its might of the battle; his breast well'd within him,When he, wont in winters, of many now minded.So we there withinward the livelong day's wearingTook pleasure amongst us, till came upon menAnother of nights; then eftsoons againWas yare for the harm-wreak the mother of Grendel:All sorry she wended, for her son death had taken,2120The war-hate of the Weders: that monster of womenAwreaked her bairn, and quelled a warriorIn manner all mighty. Then was there from Aeschere,The wise man of old, life waning away;Nor him might they even when come was the morning,That death-weary wight, the folk of the DanesBurn up with the brand, nor lade on the baleThe man well-belov'd, for his body she bare offIn her fathom the fiendly all under the fell-stream.That was unto Hrothgar of sorrows the heaviest2130Of them which the folk-chieftain long had befallen.Then me did the lord king, and e'en by thy life,Mood-heavy beseech me that I in the holm-throngShould do after earlship, my life to adventure,And frame me main-greatness, and meed he behight me.Then I of the welling flood, which is well kenned,The grim and the grisly ground-herder did find.There to us for a while was the blending of hands;The holm welled with gore, and the head I becarvedIn that hall of the ground from the Mother of Grendel2140With the all-eked edges; unsoftly out thenceMy life forth I ferry'd, for not yet was I fey.But the earls' burg to me was giving thereafterMuch sort of the treasures, e'en Healfdene's son.XXXI. BEOWULF GIVES HROTHGAR’S GIFTS TO HYGELAC, AND BY HIM IS REWARDED. OF THE DEATH OF HYGELAC AND OF HEARDRED HIS SON, AND HOW BEOWULF IS KING OF THE GEATS: THE WORM IS FIRST TOLD OF.Sotherewith the folk-king far'd, living full seemly;By those wages forsooth ne'er a whit had I lost,By the meed of my main, but to me treasure gave he,The Healfdene's son, to the doom of myself;Which to thee, king of bold ones, will I be a-bringing,And gladly will give thee; for of thee is all gotten2150Of favours along, and but little have IOf head-kinsmen forsooth, saving, Hygelac, thee.Then he bade them bear in the boar-shape, the head-sign,The battle-steep war-helm, the byrny all hoary,The sword stately-good, and spell after he said:This raiment of war Hrothgar gave to my hand,The wise of the kings, and therewithal bade me,That I first of all of his favour should flit thee;He quoth that first had it King Heorogar of old,The king of the Scyldings, a long while of time;2160But no sooner would he give it unto his son,Heoroward the well-whet, though kind to him were he,This weed of the breast. Do thou brook it full well.On these fretworks, so heard I, four horses therewith,All alike, close followed after the track,Steeds apple-fallow. Fair grace he gave himOf horses and treasures. E'en thus shall do kinsman,And nowise a wile-net shall weave for anotherWith craft of the darkness, or do unto deathHis very hand-fellow. But now unto Hygelac2170The bold in the battle was his nephew full faithful,And either to other of good deeds was mindful.I heard that the neck-ring to Hygd did he give,E'en the wonder-gem well-wrought, that Wealh-theow gave him,The king's daughter; gave he three steeds therewithalSlender, and saddle-bright; sithence to her was,After the ring-gift, the breast well beworthy'd.Thus boldly he bore him, the Ecgtheow's bairn,The groom kenned in battle, in good deeds a-doing;After due doom he did, and ne'er slew he the drunken2180Hearth-fellows of him: naught rough was his heart;But of all men of mankind with the greatest of mightThe gift fully and fast set, which had God to him given,That war-deer did hold. Long was he contemned,While the bairns of the Geats naught told him for good,Nor him on the mead-bench worthy of mickleThe lord of the war-hosts would be a-making.Weened they strongly that he were but slack then,An atheling unkeen; then came about changeTo the fame-happy man for every foul harm.2190Bade then the earls' burg in to be bringing,The king battle-famed, the leaving of Hrethel,All geared with gold; was not 'mid the Geats thenA treasure-gem better of them of the sword-kind,That which then on Beowulf's harm there he laid;And gave to him there seven thousand in gift,A built house and king-stool; to both them togetherWas in that folkship land that was kindly,Father-right, home; to the other one ratherA wide realm, to him who was there the better.2200But thereafter it went so in days later wornThrough the din of the battle, sithence Hygelac lay lowAnd unto Heardred swords of the battleUnder the war-board were for a bane;When fell on him midst of this victory-folkThe hard battle-wolves, the Scyldings of war,And by war overwhelmed the nephew of Hereric;That sithence unto Beowulf turned the broad realmAll into his hand. Well then did he hold itFor a fifty of winters; then was he an old king,2210An old fatherland's warder; until one beganThrough the dark of the night-tide, a drake, to hold sway.In a howe high aloft watched over an hoard,A stone-burg full steep; thereunder a path sty'dUnknown unto men, and therewithin wendedWho of men do I know not; for his lust there took he,From the hoard of the heathen his hand took awayA hall-bowl gem-flecked, nowise back did he give itThough the herd of the hoard him sleeping beguil'd heWith thief-craft; and this then found out the king,2220The best of folk-heroes, that wrath-bollen was he.XXXII. HOW THE WORM CAME TO THE HOWE, AND HOW HE WAS ROBBED OF A CUP; AND HOW HE FELL ON THE FOLK.Notat all with self-wielding the craft of the worm-hoardsHe sought of his own will, who sore himself harmed;But for threat of oppression a thrall, of I wot notWhich bairn of mankind, from blows wrathful fled,House-needy forsooth, and hied him therein,A man by guilt troubled. Then soon it betidedThat therein to the guest there stood grisly terror;However the wretched, of every hope waning········The ill-shapen wight, whenas the fear gat him,2230The treasure-vat saw; of such there was a manyUp in that earth-house of treasures of old,As them in the yore-days, though what man I know not,The huge leavings and loom of a kindred of high ones,Well thinking of thoughts there had hidden away.Dear treasures. But all them had death borne awayIn the times of erewhile; and the one at the lastOf the doughty of that folk that there longest lived,There waxed he friend-sad, yet ween'd he to tarry,That he for a little those treasures the longsome2240Might brook for himself. But a burg now all readyWonn'd on the plain nigh the waves of the water,New by a ness, by narrow-crafts fasten'd;Within there then bare of the treasures of earlsThat herd of the rings a deal hard to carry,Of gold fair beplated, and few words he quoth:Hold thou, O earth, now, since heroes may hold not,The owning of earls. What! it erst within theeGood men did get to them; now war-death hath gotten,Life-bale the fearful, each man and every2250Of my folk; e'en of them who forwent the life:The hall-joy had they seen. No man to wear swordI own, none to brighten the beaker beplated,The dear drink-vat; the doughty have sought to else-whither.Now shall the hard war-helm bedight with the goldBe bereft of its plating; its polishers sleep,They that the battle-mask erewhile should burnish:Likewise the war-byrny, which abode in the battleO'er break of the war-boards the bite of the irons,Crumbles after the warrior; nor may the ring'd byrny2260After the war-leader fare wide afieldOn behalf of the heroes: nor joy of the harp is,No game of the glee-wood; no goodly hawk nowThrough the hall swingeth; no more the swift horseBeateth the burg-stead. Now hath bale-quellingA many of life-kin forth away sent.Suchwise sad-moody moaned in sorrowOne after all, unblithely bemoaningBy day and by night, till the welling of deathTouch'd at his heart. The old twilight-scather2270Found the hoard's joyance standing all open,E'en he that, burning, seeketh to burgs,The evil drake, naked, that flieth a night-tide,With fire encompass'd; of him the earth-dwellersAre strongly adrad; wont is he to seek toThe hoard in the earth, where he the gold heathenWinter-old wardeth; nor a whit him it betters.So then the folk-scather for three hundred wintersHeld in the earth a one of hoard-housesAll-eked of craft, until him there anger'd2280A man in his mood, who bare to his man-lordA beaker beplated, and bade him peace-wardingOf his lord: then was lightly the hoard searched over,And the ring-hoard off borne; and the boon it was grantedTo that wretched-wrought man. There then the lord sawThat work of men foregone the first time of times.Then awaken'd the Worm, and anew the strife was;Along the stone stank he, the stout-hearted foundThe foot-track of the foe; he had stept forth o'er-farWith dark craft, over-nigh to the head of the drake.2290So may the man unfey full easily outliveThe woe and the wrack-journey, he whom the Wielder'sOwn grace is holding. Now sought the hoard-wardenEager over the ground; for the groom he would findWho unto him sleeping had wrought out the sore:Hot and rough-moody oft he turn'd round the howeAll on the outward; but never was any manOn the waste; but however in war he rejoiced,In battle-work. Whiles he turn'd back to his howeAnd sought to his treasure-vat; soon he found this,2300That one of the grooms had proven the gold,The high treasures; then the hoard-warden abided,But hardly forsooth, until come was the even,And all anger-bollen was then the burg-warden,And full much would the loath one with the fire-flame pay backFor his drink-vat the dear. Then day was departedE'en at will to the Worm, and within wall no longerWould he bide, but awayward with burning he fared,All dight with the fire: it was fearful beginningTo the folk in the land, and all swiftly it fell2310On their giver of treasure full grievously ended.XXXIII. THE WORM BURNS BEOWULF’S HOUSE, AND BEOWULF GETS READY TO GO AGAINST HIM. BEOWULF’S EARLY DEEDS IN BATTLE WITH THE HETWARE TOLD OF.Beganthen the guest to spew forth of gleeds,The bright dwellings to burn; stood the beam of the burningFor a mischief to menfolk; now nothing that quick wasThe loathly lift-flier would leave there forsooth;The war of the Worm was wide to be seen there,The narrowing foe's hatred anigh and afar,How he, the fight-scather, the folk of the GeatsHated and harm'd; shot he back to the hoard,His dark lordly hall, ere yet was the day's while;2320The land-dwellers had he in the lightlowencompass'dWith bale and with brand; in his burg yet he trusted,His war-might and his wall: but his weening bewray'd him.Then Beowulf was done to wit of the terrorFull swiftly forsooth, that the house of himself,Best of buildings, was molten in wellings of fire,The gift-stool of the Geats. To the good one was thatA grief unto heart; of mind-sorrows the greatest.Weened the wise one, that Him, e'en the Wielder,The Lord everlasting, against the old rights2330He had bitterly anger'd; the breast boil'd within himWith dark thoughts, that to him were naught duly wonted.Now had the fire-drake the own fastness of folk,The water-land outward, that ward of the earth,With gleeds to ground wasted; so therefore the war-king,The lord of the Weder-folk, learned him vengeance.Then he bade be work'd for him, that fence of the warriors,And that all of iron, the lord of the earls,A war-board all glorious, for wissed he yarelyThat the holt-wood hereto might help him no whit,2340The linden 'gainst fire-flame. Of fleeting days nowThe Atheling exceeding good end should abide,The end of the world's life, and the Worm with him also,Though long he had holden the weal of the hoard.Forsooth scorned then the lord of the ringsThat he that wide-flier with war-band should seek,With a wide host; he fear'd not that war for himself,Nor for himself the Worm's war accounted one whit,His might and his valour, for that he erst a manyStrait-daring of battles had bided, and liv'd,2350Clashings huge of the battle, sithence he of Hrothgar,He, the man victory-happy, had cleansed the hall,And in war-tide had gripped the kindred of Grendel,The loathly of kindreds; nor was that the leastOf hand-meetings, wherein erst was Hygelac slain,Sithence the Geats' king in the onrush of battle,The lord-friend of the folks, down away in the Frieslands,The offspring of Hrethel, died, drunken of sword-drinks,All beaten of bill. Thence Beowulf came forthBy his own craft forsooth, dreed the work of the swimming;2360He had on his arm, he all alone, thirtyOf war-gears, when he to the holm went adown.Then nowise the Hetware needed to joy themOver the foot-war, wherein forth against himThey bore the war-linden: few went back againFrom that wolf of the battle to wend to their homes.O'erswam then the waters' round Ecgtheow's son,Came all wretched and byrd-alone back to his people,Whereas offer'd him Hygd then the kingdom and hoard,The rings and the king-stool: trowed naught in the child,2370That he 'gainst folks outland the fatherland-seatsMight can how to hold, now was Hygelac dead:Yet no sooner therefor might the poor folk prevailTo gain from the Atheling in any of waysThat he unto Heardred would be for a lord,Or eke that that kingdom henceforward should choose;Yet him midst of the folk with friend-lore he held,All kindly with honour till older he waxedAnd wielded the Weder-Geats. To him men-waifs thereafterSought from over the sea, the sons they of Ohthere,2380For they erst had withstood the helm of the Scylfings,E'en him that was best of the kings of the sea,Of them that in Swede-realm dealt out the treasure,The mighty of princes. Unto him 'twas a life-mark;To him without food there was fated the life-wound,That Hygelac's son, by the swinging of swords;And him back departed Ongentheow's bairn,To go seek to his house, sithence Heardred lay dead,And let Beowulf hold the high seat of the kingAnd wield there the Geats. Yea, good was that king.XXXIV. BEOWULF GOES AGAINST THE WORM. HE TELLS OF HEREBEALD AND HÆTHCYN.2390Ofthat fall of the folk-king he minded the paymentIn days that came after: unto Eadgils he wasA friend to him wretched; with folk he upheld himOver the wide sea, that same son of Ohthere,With warriors and weapons. Sithence had he wreakingWith cold journeys of care: from the king took he life.Now each one of hates thus had he outlived,And of perilous slaughters, that Ecgtheow's son,All works that be doughty, until that one dayWhen he with the Worm should wend him to deal.2400So twelvesome he set forth all swollen with anger,The lord of the Geats, the drake to go look on.Aright had he learnt then whence risen the feud was,The bale-hate against men-folk: to his barm then had comeThe treasure-vat famous by the hand of the finder;He was in that troop of men the thirteenthWho the first of that battle had set upon foot,The thrall, the sad-minded; in shame must he thenceforthWise the way to the plain; and against his will went heThereunto, where the earth-hall the one there he wist,2410The howe under earth anigh the holm's welling,The wave-strife: there was it now full all withinWith gems and with wires; the monster, the warden,The yare war-wolf, he held him therein the hoard golden,The old under the earth: it was no easy cheapingTo go and to gain for any of grooms.Sat then on the ness there the strife-hardy kingWhile farewell he bade to his fellows of hearth,The gold-friend of the Geats; sad was gotten his soul,Wavering, death-minded; weird nigh beyond measure,2420Which him old of years gotten now needs must be greeting,Must seek his soul's hoard and asunder must dealHis life from his body: no long while now wasThe life of the Atheling in flesh all bewounden.Now spake out Beowulf, Ecgtheow's bairn:Many a one in my youth of war-onsets I outliv'd,And the whiles of the battle: all that I remember.Seven winters had I when the wielder of treasures,The lord-friend of folk, from my father me took,Held me and had me Hrethel the king,2430Gave me treasure and feast, and remember'd the friendship.For life thence I was not to him a whit loather,A berne in his burgs than his bairns were, or each one,Herebeald, or Hæthcyn, or Hygelac mine.For the eldest there was in unseemly wiseBy the mere deed of kinsman a murder-bed strawen,Whenas him did Hæthcyn from out of his horn-bow,His lord and his friend, with shaft lay alow:His mark he miss'd shooting, and shot down his kinsman,One brother another with shaft all bebloody'd;2440That was fight feeless by fearful crime sinned,Soul-weary to heart, yet natheless then hadThe atheling from life all unwreak'd to be ceasing.So sad-like it is for a carle that is agedTo be biding the while that his boy shall be ridingYet young on the gallows; then a lay should he utter,A sorrowful song whenas hangeth his sonA gain unto ravens, and naught good of availMay he, old and exceeding old, anywise frame.Ever will he be minded on every each morning2450Of his son's faring otherwhere; nothing he heedethOf abiding another withinward his burgs,An heritage-warder, then whenas the oneBy the very death's need hath found out the ill.Sorrow-careful he seeth within his son's bowerThe waste wine-hall, the resting-place now of the winds,All bereft of the revel; the riders are sleeping,The heroes in grave, and no voice of the harp is,No game in the garths such as erewhile was gotten.XXXV. BEOWULF TELLS OF PAST FEUDS, AND BIDS FAREWELL TO HIS FELLOWS: HE FALLS ON THE WORM, AND THE BATTLE OF THEM BEGINS.Thento sleeping-stead wendeth he, singeth he sorrow,2460The one for the other; o'er-roomy all seem'd himThe meads and the wick-stead. So the helm of the WedersFor Herebeald's sake the sorrow of heartAll welling yet bore, and in nowise might heOn the banesman of that life the feud be a-booting;Nor ever the sooner that warrior might hateWith deeds loathly, though he to him nothing was lief.He then with the sorrow wherewith that sore beset himMan's joy-tide gave up, and chose him God's light.To his offspring he left, e'en as wealthy man doeth,2470His land and his folk-burgs when he from life wended.Then sin was and striving of Swedes and of Geats,Over the wide water war-tide in common,The hard horde-hate to wit sithence Hrethel perish'd;And to them ever were the Ongentheow's sonsDoughty and host-whetting, nowise then would friendshipHold over the waters; but round about HreosnaburghThe fierce fray of foeman was oftentimes fram'd.Kin of friends that mine were, there they awreakedThe feud and the evil deed, e'en as was famed;2480Although he, the other, with his own life he bought it,A cheaping full hard: unto Hæthcyn it was,To the lord of the Geat-folk, a life-fateful war.Learned I that the morrow one brother the otherWith the bills' edges wreaked the death on the banesman,Whereas Ongentheow is a-seeking of Eofor:Glode the war-helm asunder, the aged of ScylfingsFell, sword-bleak; e'en so remember'd the handFeud enough; nor e'en then did the life-stroke withhold.I to him for the treasure which erewhile he gave me2490Repaid it in warring, as was to me granted,With my light-gleaming sword. To me gave he land,The hearth and the home-bliss: unto him was no needThat unto the Gifthas or unto the Spear-DanesOr into the Swede-realm he needs must go seekingA worse wolf of war for a worth to be cheaping;For in the host ever would I be before himAlone in the fore-front, and so life-long shall IBe a-framing of strife, whileas tholeth the sword,Which early and late hathbesteadme full often,2500Sithence was I by doughtiness unto Day-ravenThe hand-bane erst waxen, to the champion of Hug-folk;He nowise the fretwork to the king of the Frisians,The breast-worship to wit, might bring any more,But cringed in battle that herd of the banner,The Atheling in might: the edge naught was his bane,But for him did the war-grip the heart-wellings of himBreak, the house of the bones. Now shall the bill's edge,The hand and hard sword, about the hoard battle.So word uttered Beowulf, spake out the boast word2510For the last while as now: Many wars dared IIn the days of my youth, and now will I yet,The old warder of folk, seek to the feud,Full gloriously frame, if the scather of foul-deedFrom the hall of the earth me out shall be seeking.Greeted he then each one of the grooms,The keen wearers of helms, for the last while of whiles,His own fellows the dear: No sword would I fare with,No weapon against the Worm, wist I but how'Gainst the monster of evil in otherwise might I2520Uphold me my boast, as erst did I with Grendel;But there fire of the war-tide full hot do I ween me,And the breath, and the venom; I shall bear on me thereforeBoth the board and the byrny; nor the burg's warden shall IOverflee for a foot's-breadth, but unto us twainIt shall be at the wall as to us twain Weird willeth,The Maker of each man. Of mood am I eager;So that 'gainst that war-flier from boast I withhold me.Abide ye upon burg with your byrnies bewarded,Ye men in your battle-gear, which may the better2530After the slaughter-race save us from woundingOf the twain of us. Naught is it yours to take over,Nor the measure of any man save alone me,That he on the monster should mete out his might,Or work out the earlship: but I with my main mightShall gain me the gold, or else gets me the battle,The perilous life-bale, e'en me your own lord.Arose then by war-round the warrior renownedHard under helm, and the sword-sark he bareUnder the stone-cliffs: in the strength then he trowed2540Of one man alone; no dastard's way such is.Then he saw by the wall (e'en he, who so many,The good of man-bounties, of battles had out-liv'd,Of crashes of battle whenas hosts were blended)A stone-bow a-standing, and from out thence a streamBreaking forth from the burg; was that burn's outwellingAll hot with the war-fire; and none nigh to the hoard thenMight ever unburning any while bide,Live out through the deep for the flame of the drake.Out then from his breast, for as bollen as was he,2550Let the Weder-Geats' chief the words be out faring;The stout-hearted storm'd and the stave of him enter'dBattle-bright sounding in under the hoar stone.Then uproused was hate, and the hoard-warden wottedThe speech of man's word, and no more while there wasFriendship to fetch. Then forth came there firstThe breath of the evil beast out from the stone,The hot sweat of battle, and dinn'd then the earth.The warrior beneath the burg swung up his war-roundAgainst that grisly guest, the lord of the Geats;2560Then the heart of the ring-bow'd grew eager therewithTo seek to the strife. His sword ere had he drawn,That good lord of the battle, the leaving of old,The undull of edges: there was unto eitherOf the bale-minded ones the fear of the other.All steadfast of mind stood against his steep shieldThe lord of the friends, when the Worm was a-bowingTogether all swiftly, in war-gear he bided;Then boune was the burning one, bow'd in his going,To the fate of him faring. The shield was well warding2570The life and the lyke of the mighty lord kingFor a lesser of whiles than his will would have had it,If he at that frist on the first of the dayWas to wield him, as weird for him never will'd it,The high-day of battle. His hand he upbraided,The lord of the Geats, and the grisly-fleck'd smote heWith the leaving of Ing, in such wise that the edge fail'd,The brown blade on the bone, and less mightily bitThan the king of the nation had need in that stour,With troubles beset. But then the burg-warden2580After the war-swing all wood of his moodCast forth the slaughter-flame, sprung thereon widelyThe battle-gleams: nowise of victory he boasted,The gold-friend of the Geats; his war-bill had falter'd,All naked in war, in such wise as it should not,The iron exceeding good. Naught was it easyFor him there, the mighty-great offspring of Ecgtheow,That he now that earth-plain should give up for ever;But against his will needs must he dwell in the wickOf the otherwhere country; as ever must each man2590Let go of his loan-days. Not long was it thenceforthEre the fell ones of fight fell together again.The hoard-warden up-hearten'd him, welled his breastWith breathing anew. Then narrow need bore he,Encompass'd with fire, who erst the folk wielded;Nowise in a heap his hand-fellows there,The bairns of the athelings, stood all about himIn valour of battle; but they to holt bow'd them;Their dear life they warded; but in one of them welledHis soul with all sorrow. So sib-ship may never2600Turn aside any whit to the one that well thinketh.XXXVI. WIGLAF SON OF WEOHSTAN GOES TO THE HELP OF BEOWULF: NÆGLING, BEOWULF’S SWORD, IS BROKEN ON THE WORM.Wiglafso hight he, the son of Weohstan,Lief linden-warrior, and lord of Scylfings,The kinsman of Aelfhere: and he saw his man-lordUnder his host-mask tholing the heat;He had mind of the honour that to him gave he erewhile.The wick-stead the wealthy of them, the Wægmundings,And the folk-rights each one which his father had owned.Then he might not withhold him, his hand gripp'd the round,Yellow linden; he tugg'd out withal the old sword,2610That was known among men for the heirloom of Eanmund,Ohthere's son, unto whom in the strife did become,To the exile unfriended, Weohstan for the baneWith the sword-edge, and unto his kinsmen bare offThe helm the brown-brindled, the byrny beringed,And the old eoten-sword that erst Onela gave him;Were they his kinsman's weed of the war,Host-fight-gear all ready. Of the feud nothing spake he.Though he of his brother the bairn had o'er-thrown.But the host-gear befretted he held many seasons,2620The bill and the byrny, until his own boy mightDo him the earlship as did his ere-father.Amidst of the Geats then he gave him the war-weedOf all kinds unnumber'd, whenas he from life wendedOld on the forth-way. Then was the first timeFor that champion the young that he the war-raceWith his high lord the famed e'er he should frame:Naught melted his mood, naught the loom of his kinsmanWeaken'd in war-tide; that found out the WormWhen they two together had gotten to come.2630Now spake out Wiglaf many words rightwise,And said to his fellows: all sad was his soul:I remember that while when we gat us the mead,And whenas we behight to the high lord of usIn the beer-hall, e'en he who gave us these rings,That we for the war-gear one while would pay,If unto him thislike need e'er should befall,For these helms and hard swords. So he chose us from hostTo this faring of war by his very own will,Of glories he minded us, and gave me these gems here,2640Whereas us of gar-warriors he counted for good,And bold bearers of helms. Though our lord e'en for usThis work of all might was of mind all aloneHimself to be framing, the herd of the folk,Whereas most of all men he hath mightiness framed.Of deeds of all daring, yet now is the day comeWhereon to our man-lord behoveth the mainOf good battle-warriors; so thereunto wend we,And help we the host-chief, whiles that the heat be,The gleed-terror grim. Now of me wotteth God2650That to me is much liefer that that, my lyke-body,With my giver of gold the gleed should engrip.Unmeet it methinketh that we shields should bearBack unto our own home, unless we may erstThe foe fell adown and the life-days defendOf the king of the Weders. Well wot I hereofThat his old deserts naught such were, that he onlyOf all doughty of Geats the grief should be bearing.Sink at strife. Unto us shall one sword be, one helm,One byrny and shield, to both of us common.2660Through the slaughter-reek waded he then, bare his war-helmTo the finding his lord, and few words he quoth:O Beowulf the dear, now do thee all well,As thou in thy youthful life quothest of yore,That naught wouldst thou let, while still thou wert living,Thy glory fade out. Now shalt thou of deeds famed,The atheling of single heart, with all thy main dealFor the warding thy life, and to stay thee I will.Then after these words all wroth came the Worm,The dire guest foesome, that second of whiles2670With fire-wellings flecked, his foes to go look on,The loath men. With flame was lightly then burnt upThe board to the boss, and might not the byrnyTo the warrior the young frame any help yet.But so the young man under shield of his kinsmanWent onward with valour, whenas his own wasAll undone with gleeds; then again the war-kingRemember'd his glories, and smote with mainmightWith his battle-bill, so that it stood in the headNeed-driven by war-hate. Then asunder burst Nægling,2680Waxed weak in the war-tide, e'en Beowulf's sword,The old and grey-marked; to him was not givenThat to him any whit might the edges of ironsBe helpful in battle; over-strong was the handWhich every of swords, by the hearsay of me,With its swing over-wrought, when he bare unto strifeA wondrous hard weapon; naught it was to him better.Then was the folk-scather for the third of times yet,The fierce fire-drake, all mindful of feud;He rac'd on that strong one, when was room to him given,2690Hot and battle-grim; he all the halse of him grippedWith bitter-keen bones; all bebloody'd he waxedWith the gore of his soul. Well'd in waves then the war-sweat.XXXVII. THEY TWO SLAY THE WORM. BEOWULF IS WOUNDED DEADLY: HE BIDDETH WIGLAF BEAR OUT THE TREASURE.Thenheard I that at need of the high king of folkThe upright earl made well manifest might,His craft and his keenness as kind was to him;The head there he heeded not (but the hand burnedOf that man of high mood when he helped his kinsman),Whereas he now the hate-guest smote yet a deal nether,That warrior in war-gear, whereby the sword dived,2700The plated, of fair hue, and thereby fell the flameTo minish thereafter, and once more the king's selfWielded his wit, and his slaying-sax drew out,The bitter and battle-sharp, borne on his byrny;Asunder the Weder's helm smote the Worm midmost;They felled the fiend, and force drave the life out,And they twain together had gotten him ending,Those athelings sib. E'en such should a man be,A thane good at need. Now that to the king wasThe last victory-while, by the deeds of himself,2710Of his work of the world. Sithence fell the wound,That the earth-drake to him had wrought but erewhile.To swell and to sweal; and this soon he found out,That down in the breast of him bale-evil welled,The venom withinward; then the Atheling wended,So that he by the wall, bethinking him wisdom.Sat on seat there and saw on the works of the giants,How that the stone-bows fast stood on pillars,The earth-house everlasting upheld withinward.Then with his hand him the sword-gory,2720That great king his thane, the good beyond measure,His friend-lord with water washed full well,The sated of battle, and unspanned his war-helm.Forth then spake Beowulf, and over his wound said,His wound piteous deadly; wist he full well,That now of his day-whiles all had hedreed,Of the joy of the earth; all was shaken asunderThe tale of his days; death without measure nigh:Unto my son now should I be givingMy gear of the battle, if to me it were granted2730Any ward of the heritage after my daysTo my body belonging. This folk have I holdenFifty winters; forsooth was never a folk-kingOf the sitters around, no one of them soothly,Who me with the war-friends durst wend him to greetAnd bear down with the terror. In home have I abidedThe shapings of whiles, and held mine own well.No wily hates sought I; for myself swore not manyOf oaths in unright. For all this may I,Sick with the life-wounds, soothly have joy.2740Therefore naught need wyte me the Wielder of menWith kin murder-bale, when breaketh asunderMy life from my lyke. And now lightly go thouTo look on the hoard under the hoar stone,Wiglaf mine lief, now that lieth the WormAnd sleepeth sore wounded, beshorn of his treasure;And be hasty that I now the wealth of old time,The gold-having may look on, and yarely beholdThe bright cunning gems, that the softlier may IAfter the treasure-weal let go away2750My life, and the folk-ship that long I have held.XXXVIII. BEOWULF BEHOLDETH THE TREASURE AND PASSETH AWAY.Thenheard I that swiftly the son of that WeohstanAfter this word-say his lord the sore wounded,Battle-sick, there obeyed, and bare forth his ring-net,His battle-sark woven, in under the burg-roof;Saw then victory-glad as by the seat went he,The kindred-thane moody, sun-jewels a many,Much glistering gold lying down on the ground,Many wonders on wall, and the den of the Worm,The old twilight-flier; there were flagons a-standing,2760The vats of men bygone, of brighteners bereft,And maim'd of adornment; was many an helmRusty and old, and of arm-rings a manyFull cunningly twined. All lightly may treasure,The gold in the ground, every one of mankindBefool with o'erweening, hide it who will.Likewise he saw standing a sign there all-goldenHigh over the hoard, the most of hand-wonders,With limb-craft belocked, whence light a ray gleamed.Whereby the den's ground-plain gat he to look on,2770The fair works scan throughly. Not of the Worm thereWas aught to be seen now, but the edge had undone him.Heard I then that in howe of the hoard was bereaving,The old work of the giants, but one man alone,Into his barm laded beakers and dishesAt his very own doom; and the sign eke he took,The brightest of beacons. But the bill of the old lord(The edge was of iron) erewhile it scathedHim who of that treasure hand-bearer wasA long while, and fared a-bearing the flame-dread2780Before the hoard hot, and welling of fiercenessIn the midnights, until that by murder he died.In haste was the messenger, eager of back-fare,Further'd with fretted gems. Him longing fordidTo wot whether the bold man he quick there shall meetIn that mead-stead, e'en he the king of the Weders,All sick of his might, whereas he erst Itft him.He fetching the treasure then found the king mighty,His own lord, yet there, and him ever all goryAt end of his life; and he yet once again2790Fell the water to warp o'er him, till the word's pointBrake through the breast-hoard, and Beowulf spake out.The aged, in grief as he gaz'd on the gold:Now I for these fretworks to the Lord of all thanking,To the King of all glory, in words am yet saying,To the Lord ever living, for that which I look on;Whereas such I might for the people of mine,Ere ever my death-day, get me to own.Now that for the treasure-hoard here have I soldMy life and laid down the same, frame still then ever2800The folk-need, for here never longer I may be.So bid ye the war-mighty work me a howeBright after the bale-fire at the sea's nose,Which for a remembrance to the people of meAloft shall uplift him at Whale-ness for ever,That it the sea-goers sithence may hoteBeowulf's Howe, e'en they that the high-shipsOver the flood-mists drive from afar.Did off from his halse then a ring was all golden,The king the great-hearted, and gave to his thane,2810To the spear-warrior young his war-helm gold-brindled,The ring and the byrny, and bade him well brook them:Thou art the end-leaving of all of our kindred,The Wægmundings; Weird now hath swept all awayOf my kinsmen, and unto the doom of the MakerThe earls in their might; now after them shall I.
Soothfast and sorrowful; whiles a spell seldom told
Told he by right, the king roomy-hearted;
Whiles began afterward he by eld bounden,
The aged hoar warrior, of his youth to bewail him,
Its might of the battle; his breast well'd within him,
When he, wont in winters, of many now minded.
So we there withinward the livelong day's wearing
Took pleasure amongst us, till came upon men
Another of nights; then eftsoons again
Was yare for the harm-wreak the mother of Grendel:
All sorry she wended, for her son death had taken,
The war-hate of the Weders: that monster of women
Awreaked her bairn, and quelled a warrior
In manner all mighty. Then was there from Aeschere,
The wise man of old, life waning away;
Nor him might they even when come was the morning,
That death-weary wight, the folk of the Danes
Burn up with the brand, nor lade on the bale
The man well-belov'd, for his body she bare off
In her fathom the fiendly all under the fell-stream.
That was unto Hrothgar of sorrows the heaviest
Of them which the folk-chieftain long had befallen.
Then me did the lord king, and e'en by thy life,
Mood-heavy beseech me that I in the holm-throng
Should do after earlship, my life to adventure,
And frame me main-greatness, and meed he behight me.
Then I of the welling flood, which is well kenned,
The grim and the grisly ground-herder did find.
There to us for a while was the blending of hands;
The holm welled with gore, and the head I becarved
In that hall of the ground from the Mother of Grendel
With the all-eked edges; unsoftly out thence
My life forth I ferry'd, for not yet was I fey.
But the earls' burg to me was giving thereafter
Much sort of the treasures, e'en Healfdene's son.
Sotherewith the folk-king far'd, living full seemly;
By those wages forsooth ne'er a whit had I lost,
By the meed of my main, but to me treasure gave he,
The Healfdene's son, to the doom of myself;
Which to thee, king of bold ones, will I be a-bringing,
And gladly will give thee; for of thee is all gotten
Of favours along, and but little have I
Of head-kinsmen forsooth, saving, Hygelac, thee.
Then he bade them bear in the boar-shape, the head-sign,
The battle-steep war-helm, the byrny all hoary,
The sword stately-good, and spell after he said:
This raiment of war Hrothgar gave to my hand,
The wise of the kings, and therewithal bade me,
That I first of all of his favour should flit thee;
He quoth that first had it King Heorogar of old,
The king of the Scyldings, a long while of time;
But no sooner would he give it unto his son,
Heoroward the well-whet, though kind to him were he,
This weed of the breast. Do thou brook it full well.
On these fretworks, so heard I, four horses therewith,
All alike, close followed after the track,
Steeds apple-fallow. Fair grace he gave him
Of horses and treasures. E'en thus shall do kinsman,
And nowise a wile-net shall weave for another
With craft of the darkness, or do unto death
His very hand-fellow. But now unto Hygelac
The bold in the battle was his nephew full faithful,
And either to other of good deeds was mindful.
I heard that the neck-ring to Hygd did he give,
E'en the wonder-gem well-wrought, that Wealh-theow gave him,
The king's daughter; gave he three steeds therewithal
Slender, and saddle-bright; sithence to her was,
After the ring-gift, the breast well beworthy'd.
Thus boldly he bore him, the Ecgtheow's bairn,
The groom kenned in battle, in good deeds a-doing;
After due doom he did, and ne'er slew he the drunken
Hearth-fellows of him: naught rough was his heart;
But of all men of mankind with the greatest of might
The gift fully and fast set, which had God to him given,
That war-deer did hold. Long was he contemned,
While the bairns of the Geats naught told him for good,
Nor him on the mead-bench worthy of mickle
The lord of the war-hosts would be a-making.
Weened they strongly that he were but slack then,
An atheling unkeen; then came about change
To the fame-happy man for every foul harm.
Bade then the earls' burg in to be bringing,
The king battle-famed, the leaving of Hrethel,
All geared with gold; was not 'mid the Geats then
A treasure-gem better of them of the sword-kind,
That which then on Beowulf's harm there he laid;
And gave to him there seven thousand in gift,
A built house and king-stool; to both them together
Was in that folkship land that was kindly,
Father-right, home; to the other one rather
A wide realm, to him who was there the better.
But thereafter it went so in days later worn
Through the din of the battle, sithence Hygelac lay low
And unto Heardred swords of the battle
Under the war-board were for a bane;
When fell on him midst of this victory-folk
The hard battle-wolves, the Scyldings of war,
And by war overwhelmed the nephew of Hereric;
That sithence unto Beowulf turned the broad realm
All into his hand. Well then did he hold it
For a fifty of winters; then was he an old king,
An old fatherland's warder; until one began
Through the dark of the night-tide, a drake, to hold sway.
In a howe high aloft watched over an hoard,
A stone-burg full steep; thereunder a path sty'd
Unknown unto men, and therewithin wended
Who of men do I know not; for his lust there took he,
From the hoard of the heathen his hand took away
A hall-bowl gem-flecked, nowise back did he give it
Though the herd of the hoard him sleeping beguil'd he
With thief-craft; and this then found out the king,
The best of folk-heroes, that wrath-bollen was he.
Notat all with self-wielding the craft of the worm-hoards
He sought of his own will, who sore himself harmed;
But for threat of oppression a thrall, of I wot not
Which bairn of mankind, from blows wrathful fled,
House-needy forsooth, and hied him therein,
A man by guilt troubled. Then soon it betided
That therein to the guest there stood grisly terror;
However the wretched, of every hope waning
········
The ill-shapen wight, whenas the fear gat him,
The treasure-vat saw; of such there was a many
Up in that earth-house of treasures of old,
As them in the yore-days, though what man I know not,
The huge leavings and loom of a kindred of high ones,
Well thinking of thoughts there had hidden away.
Dear treasures. But all them had death borne away
In the times of erewhile; and the one at the last
Of the doughty of that folk that there longest lived,
There waxed he friend-sad, yet ween'd he to tarry,
That he for a little those treasures the longsome
Might brook for himself. But a burg now all ready
Wonn'd on the plain nigh the waves of the water,
New by a ness, by narrow-crafts fasten'd;
Within there then bare of the treasures of earls
That herd of the rings a deal hard to carry,
Of gold fair beplated, and few words he quoth:
Hold thou, O earth, now, since heroes may hold not,
The owning of earls. What! it erst within thee
Good men did get to them; now war-death hath gotten,
Life-bale the fearful, each man and every
Of my folk; e'en of them who forwent the life:
The hall-joy had they seen. No man to wear sword
I own, none to brighten the beaker beplated,
The dear drink-vat; the doughty have sought to else-whither.
Now shall the hard war-helm bedight with the gold
Be bereft of its plating; its polishers sleep,
They that the battle-mask erewhile should burnish:
Likewise the war-byrny, which abode in the battle
O'er break of the war-boards the bite of the irons,
Crumbles after the warrior; nor may the ring'd byrny
After the war-leader fare wide afield
On behalf of the heroes: nor joy of the harp is,
No game of the glee-wood; no goodly hawk now
Through the hall swingeth; no more the swift horse
Beateth the burg-stead. Now hath bale-quelling
A many of life-kin forth away sent.
Suchwise sad-moody moaned in sorrow
One after all, unblithely bemoaning
By day and by night, till the welling of death
Touch'd at his heart. The old twilight-scather
Found the hoard's joyance standing all open,
E'en he that, burning, seeketh to burgs,
The evil drake, naked, that flieth a night-tide,
With fire encompass'd; of him the earth-dwellers
Are strongly adrad; wont is he to seek to
The hoard in the earth, where he the gold heathen
Winter-old wardeth; nor a whit him it betters.
So then the folk-scather for three hundred winters
Held in the earth a one of hoard-houses
All-eked of craft, until him there anger'd
A man in his mood, who bare to his man-lord
A beaker beplated, and bade him peace-warding
Of his lord: then was lightly the hoard searched over,
And the ring-hoard off borne; and the boon it was granted
To that wretched-wrought man. There then the lord saw
That work of men foregone the first time of times.
Then awaken'd the Worm, and anew the strife was;
Along the stone stank he, the stout-hearted found
The foot-track of the foe; he had stept forth o'er-far
With dark craft, over-nigh to the head of the drake.
So may the man unfey full easily outlive
The woe and the wrack-journey, he whom the Wielder's
Own grace is holding. Now sought the hoard-warden
Eager over the ground; for the groom he would find
Who unto him sleeping had wrought out the sore:
Hot and rough-moody oft he turn'd round the howe
All on the outward; but never was any man
On the waste; but however in war he rejoiced,
In battle-work. Whiles he turn'd back to his howe
And sought to his treasure-vat; soon he found this,
That one of the grooms had proven the gold,
The high treasures; then the hoard-warden abided,
But hardly forsooth, until come was the even,
And all anger-bollen was then the burg-warden,
And full much would the loath one with the fire-flame pay back
For his drink-vat the dear. Then day was departed
E'en at will to the Worm, and within wall no longer
Would he bide, but awayward with burning he fared,
All dight with the fire: it was fearful beginning
To the folk in the land, and all swiftly it fell
On their giver of treasure full grievously ended.
Beganthen the guest to spew forth of gleeds,
The bright dwellings to burn; stood the beam of the burning
For a mischief to menfolk; now nothing that quick was
The loathly lift-flier would leave there forsooth;
The war of the Worm was wide to be seen there,
The narrowing foe's hatred anigh and afar,
How he, the fight-scather, the folk of the Geats
Hated and harm'd; shot he back to the hoard,
His dark lordly hall, ere yet was the day's while;
The land-dwellers had he in the lightlowencompass'd
With bale and with brand; in his burg yet he trusted,
His war-might and his wall: but his weening bewray'd him.
Then Beowulf was done to wit of the terror
Full swiftly forsooth, that the house of himself,
Best of buildings, was molten in wellings of fire,
The gift-stool of the Geats. To the good one was that
A grief unto heart; of mind-sorrows the greatest.
Weened the wise one, that Him, e'en the Wielder,
The Lord everlasting, against the old rights
He had bitterly anger'd; the breast boil'd within him
With dark thoughts, that to him were naught duly wonted.
Now had the fire-drake the own fastness of folk,
The water-land outward, that ward of the earth,
With gleeds to ground wasted; so therefore the war-king,
The lord of the Weder-folk, learned him vengeance.
Then he bade be work'd for him, that fence of the warriors,
And that all of iron, the lord of the earls,
A war-board all glorious, for wissed he yarely
That the holt-wood hereto might help him no whit,
The linden 'gainst fire-flame. Of fleeting days now
The Atheling exceeding good end should abide,
The end of the world's life, and the Worm with him also,
Though long he had holden the weal of the hoard.
Forsooth scorned then the lord of the rings
That he that wide-flier with war-band should seek,
With a wide host; he fear'd not that war for himself,
Nor for himself the Worm's war accounted one whit,
His might and his valour, for that he erst a many
Strait-daring of battles had bided, and liv'd,
Clashings huge of the battle, sithence he of Hrothgar,
He, the man victory-happy, had cleansed the hall,
And in war-tide had gripped the kindred of Grendel,
The loathly of kindreds; nor was that the least
Of hand-meetings, wherein erst was Hygelac slain,
Sithence the Geats' king in the onrush of battle,
The lord-friend of the folks, down away in the Frieslands,
The offspring of Hrethel, died, drunken of sword-drinks,
All beaten of bill. Thence Beowulf came forth
By his own craft forsooth, dreed the work of the swimming;
He had on his arm, he all alone, thirty
Of war-gears, when he to the holm went adown.
Then nowise the Hetware needed to joy them
Over the foot-war, wherein forth against him
They bore the war-linden: few went back again
From that wolf of the battle to wend to their homes.
O'erswam then the waters' round Ecgtheow's son,
Came all wretched and byrd-alone back to his people,
Whereas offer'd him Hygd then the kingdom and hoard,
The rings and the king-stool: trowed naught in the child,
That he 'gainst folks outland the fatherland-seats
Might can how to hold, now was Hygelac dead:
Yet no sooner therefor might the poor folk prevail
To gain from the Atheling in any of ways
That he unto Heardred would be for a lord,
Or eke that that kingdom henceforward should choose;
Yet him midst of the folk with friend-lore he held,
All kindly with honour till older he waxed
And wielded the Weder-Geats. To him men-waifs thereafter
Sought from over the sea, the sons they of Ohthere,
For they erst had withstood the helm of the Scylfings,
E'en him that was best of the kings of the sea,
Of them that in Swede-realm dealt out the treasure,
The mighty of princes. Unto him 'twas a life-mark;
To him without food there was fated the life-wound,
That Hygelac's son, by the swinging of swords;
And him back departed Ongentheow's bairn,
To go seek to his house, sithence Heardred lay dead,
And let Beowulf hold the high seat of the king
And wield there the Geats. Yea, good was that king.
Ofthat fall of the folk-king he minded the payment
In days that came after: unto Eadgils he was
A friend to him wretched; with folk he upheld him
Over the wide sea, that same son of Ohthere,
With warriors and weapons. Sithence had he wreaking
With cold journeys of care: from the king took he life.
Now each one of hates thus had he outlived,
And of perilous slaughters, that Ecgtheow's son,
All works that be doughty, until that one day
When he with the Worm should wend him to deal.
So twelvesome he set forth all swollen with anger,
The lord of the Geats, the drake to go look on.
Aright had he learnt then whence risen the feud was,
The bale-hate against men-folk: to his barm then had come
The treasure-vat famous by the hand of the finder;
He was in that troop of men the thirteenth
Who the first of that battle had set upon foot,
The thrall, the sad-minded; in shame must he thenceforth
Wise the way to the plain; and against his will went he
Thereunto, where the earth-hall the one there he wist,
The howe under earth anigh the holm's welling,
The wave-strife: there was it now full all within
With gems and with wires; the monster, the warden,
The yare war-wolf, he held him therein the hoard golden,
The old under the earth: it was no easy cheaping
To go and to gain for any of grooms.
Sat then on the ness there the strife-hardy king
While farewell he bade to his fellows of hearth,
The gold-friend of the Geats; sad was gotten his soul,
Wavering, death-minded; weird nigh beyond measure,
Which him old of years gotten now needs must be greeting,
Must seek his soul's hoard and asunder must deal
His life from his body: no long while now was
The life of the Atheling in flesh all bewounden.
Now spake out Beowulf, Ecgtheow's bairn:
Many a one in my youth of war-onsets I outliv'd,
And the whiles of the battle: all that I remember.
Seven winters had I when the wielder of treasures,
The lord-friend of folk, from my father me took,
Held me and had me Hrethel the king,
Gave me treasure and feast, and remember'd the friendship.
For life thence I was not to him a whit loather,
A berne in his burgs than his bairns were, or each one,
Herebeald, or Hæthcyn, or Hygelac mine.
For the eldest there was in unseemly wise
By the mere deed of kinsman a murder-bed strawen,
Whenas him did Hæthcyn from out of his horn-bow,
His lord and his friend, with shaft lay alow:
His mark he miss'd shooting, and shot down his kinsman,
One brother another with shaft all bebloody'd;
That was fight feeless by fearful crime sinned,
Soul-weary to heart, yet natheless then had
The atheling from life all unwreak'd to be ceasing.
So sad-like it is for a carle that is aged
To be biding the while that his boy shall be riding
Yet young on the gallows; then a lay should he utter,
A sorrowful song whenas hangeth his son
A gain unto ravens, and naught good of avail
May he, old and exceeding old, anywise frame.
Ever will he be minded on every each morning
Of his son's faring otherwhere; nothing he heedeth
Of abiding another withinward his burgs,
An heritage-warder, then whenas the one
By the very death's need hath found out the ill.
Sorrow-careful he seeth within his son's bower
The waste wine-hall, the resting-place now of the winds,
All bereft of the revel; the riders are sleeping,
The heroes in grave, and no voice of the harp is,
No game in the garths such as erewhile was gotten.
Thento sleeping-stead wendeth he, singeth he sorrow,
2460The one for the other; o'er-roomy all seem'd him
The meads and the wick-stead. So the helm of the Weders
For Herebeald's sake the sorrow of heart
All welling yet bore, and in nowise might he
On the banesman of that life the feud be a-booting;
Nor ever the sooner that warrior might hate
With deeds loathly, though he to him nothing was lief.
He then with the sorrow wherewith that sore beset him
Man's joy-tide gave up, and chose him God's light.
To his offspring he left, e'en as wealthy man doeth,
His land and his folk-burgs when he from life wended.
Then sin was and striving of Swedes and of Geats,
Over the wide water war-tide in common,
The hard horde-hate to wit sithence Hrethel perish'd;
And to them ever were the Ongentheow's sons
Doughty and host-whetting, nowise then would friendship
Hold over the waters; but round about Hreosnaburgh
The fierce fray of foeman was oftentimes fram'd.
Kin of friends that mine were, there they awreaked
The feud and the evil deed, e'en as was famed;
Although he, the other, with his own life he bought it,
A cheaping full hard: unto Hæthcyn it was,
To the lord of the Geat-folk, a life-fateful war.
Learned I that the morrow one brother the other
With the bills' edges wreaked the death on the banesman,
Whereas Ongentheow is a-seeking of Eofor:
Glode the war-helm asunder, the aged of Scylfings
Fell, sword-bleak; e'en so remember'd the hand
Feud enough; nor e'en then did the life-stroke withhold.
I to him for the treasure which erewhile he gave me
Repaid it in warring, as was to me granted,
With my light-gleaming sword. To me gave he land,
The hearth and the home-bliss: unto him was no need
That unto the Gifthas or unto the Spear-Danes
Or into the Swede-realm he needs must go seeking
A worse wolf of war for a worth to be cheaping;
For in the host ever would I be before him
Alone in the fore-front, and so life-long shall I
Be a-framing of strife, whileas tholeth the sword,
Which early and late hathbesteadme full often,
Sithence was I by doughtiness unto Day-raven
The hand-bane erst waxen, to the champion of Hug-folk;
He nowise the fretwork to the king of the Frisians,
The breast-worship to wit, might bring any more,
But cringed in battle that herd of the banner,
The Atheling in might: the edge naught was his bane,
But for him did the war-grip the heart-wellings of him
Break, the house of the bones. Now shall the bill's edge,
The hand and hard sword, about the hoard battle.
So word uttered Beowulf, spake out the boast word
For the last while as now: Many wars dared I
In the days of my youth, and now will I yet,
The old warder of folk, seek to the feud,
Full gloriously frame, if the scather of foul-deed
From the hall of the earth me out shall be seeking.
Greeted he then each one of the grooms,
The keen wearers of helms, for the last while of whiles,
His own fellows the dear: No sword would I fare with,
No weapon against the Worm, wist I but how
'Gainst the monster of evil in otherwise might I
Uphold me my boast, as erst did I with Grendel;
But there fire of the war-tide full hot do I ween me,
And the breath, and the venom; I shall bear on me therefore
Both the board and the byrny; nor the burg's warden shall I
Overflee for a foot's-breadth, but unto us twain
It shall be at the wall as to us twain Weird willeth,
The Maker of each man. Of mood am I eager;
So that 'gainst that war-flier from boast I withhold me.
Abide ye upon burg with your byrnies bewarded,
Ye men in your battle-gear, which may the better
After the slaughter-race save us from wounding
Of the twain of us. Naught is it yours to take over,
Nor the measure of any man save alone me,
That he on the monster should mete out his might,
Or work out the earlship: but I with my main might
Shall gain me the gold, or else gets me the battle,
The perilous life-bale, e'en me your own lord.
Arose then by war-round the warrior renowned
Hard under helm, and the sword-sark he bare
Under the stone-cliffs: in the strength then he trowed
Of one man alone; no dastard's way such is.
Then he saw by the wall (e'en he, who so many,
The good of man-bounties, of battles had out-liv'd,
Of crashes of battle whenas hosts were blended)
A stone-bow a-standing, and from out thence a stream
Breaking forth from the burg; was that burn's outwelling
All hot with the war-fire; and none nigh to the hoard then
Might ever unburning any while bide,
Live out through the deep for the flame of the drake.
Out then from his breast, for as bollen as was he,
Let the Weder-Geats' chief the words be out faring;
The stout-hearted storm'd and the stave of him enter'd
Battle-bright sounding in under the hoar stone.
Then uproused was hate, and the hoard-warden wotted
The speech of man's word, and no more while there was
Friendship to fetch. Then forth came there first
The breath of the evil beast out from the stone,
The hot sweat of battle, and dinn'd then the earth.
The warrior beneath the burg swung up his war-round
Against that grisly guest, the lord of the Geats;
Then the heart of the ring-bow'd grew eager therewith
To seek to the strife. His sword ere had he drawn,
That good lord of the battle, the leaving of old,
The undull of edges: there was unto either
Of the bale-minded ones the fear of the other.
All steadfast of mind stood against his steep shield
The lord of the friends, when the Worm was a-bowing
Together all swiftly, in war-gear he bided;
Then boune was the burning one, bow'd in his going,
To the fate of him faring. The shield was well warding
The life and the lyke of the mighty lord king
For a lesser of whiles than his will would have had it,
If he at that frist on the first of the day
Was to wield him, as weird for him never will'd it,
The high-day of battle. His hand he upbraided,
The lord of the Geats, and the grisly-fleck'd smote he
With the leaving of Ing, in such wise that the edge fail'd,
The brown blade on the bone, and less mightily bit
Than the king of the nation had need in that stour,
With troubles beset. But then the burg-warden
After the war-swing all wood of his mood
Cast forth the slaughter-flame, sprung thereon widely
The battle-gleams: nowise of victory he boasted,
The gold-friend of the Geats; his war-bill had falter'd,
All naked in war, in such wise as it should not,
The iron exceeding good. Naught was it easy
For him there, the mighty-great offspring of Ecgtheow,
That he now that earth-plain should give up for ever;
But against his will needs must he dwell in the wick
Of the otherwhere country; as ever must each man
Let go of his loan-days. Not long was it thenceforth
Ere the fell ones of fight fell together again.
The hoard-warden up-hearten'd him, welled his breast
With breathing anew. Then narrow need bore he,
Encompass'd with fire, who erst the folk wielded;
Nowise in a heap his hand-fellows there,
The bairns of the athelings, stood all about him
In valour of battle; but they to holt bow'd them;
Their dear life they warded; but in one of them welled
His soul with all sorrow. So sib-ship may never
Turn aside any whit to the one that well thinketh.
Wiglafso hight he, the son of Weohstan,
Lief linden-warrior, and lord of Scylfings,
The kinsman of Aelfhere: and he saw his man-lord
Under his host-mask tholing the heat;
He had mind of the honour that to him gave he erewhile.
The wick-stead the wealthy of them, the Wægmundings,
And the folk-rights each one which his father had owned.
Then he might not withhold him, his hand gripp'd the round,
Yellow linden; he tugg'd out withal the old sword,
That was known among men for the heirloom of Eanmund,
Ohthere's son, unto whom in the strife did become,
To the exile unfriended, Weohstan for the bane
With the sword-edge, and unto his kinsmen bare off
The helm the brown-brindled, the byrny beringed,
And the old eoten-sword that erst Onela gave him;
Were they his kinsman's weed of the war,
Host-fight-gear all ready. Of the feud nothing spake he.
Though he of his brother the bairn had o'er-thrown.
But the host-gear befretted he held many seasons,
The bill and the byrny, until his own boy might
Do him the earlship as did his ere-father.
Amidst of the Geats then he gave him the war-weed
Of all kinds unnumber'd, whenas he from life wended
Old on the forth-way. Then was the first time
For that champion the young that he the war-race
With his high lord the famed e'er he should frame:
Naught melted his mood, naught the loom of his kinsman
Weaken'd in war-tide; that found out the Worm
When they two together had gotten to come.
Now spake out Wiglaf many words rightwise,
And said to his fellows: all sad was his soul:
I remember that while when we gat us the mead,
And whenas we behight to the high lord of us
In the beer-hall, e'en he who gave us these rings,
That we for the war-gear one while would pay,
If unto him thislike need e'er should befall,
For these helms and hard swords. So he chose us from host
To this faring of war by his very own will,
Of glories he minded us, and gave me these gems here,
Whereas us of gar-warriors he counted for good,
And bold bearers of helms. Though our lord e'en for us
This work of all might was of mind all alone
Himself to be framing, the herd of the folk,
Whereas most of all men he hath mightiness framed.
Of deeds of all daring, yet now is the day come
Whereon to our man-lord behoveth the main
Of good battle-warriors; so thereunto wend we,
And help we the host-chief, whiles that the heat be,
The gleed-terror grim. Now of me wotteth God
That to me is much liefer that that, my lyke-body,
With my giver of gold the gleed should engrip.
Unmeet it methinketh that we shields should bear
Back unto our own home, unless we may erst
The foe fell adown and the life-days defend
Of the king of the Weders. Well wot I hereof
That his old deserts naught such were, that he only
Of all doughty of Geats the grief should be bearing.
Sink at strife. Unto us shall one sword be, one helm,
One byrny and shield, to both of us common.
Through the slaughter-reek waded he then, bare his war-helm
To the finding his lord, and few words he quoth:
O Beowulf the dear, now do thee all well,
As thou in thy youthful life quothest of yore,
That naught wouldst thou let, while still thou wert living,
Thy glory fade out. Now shalt thou of deeds famed,
The atheling of single heart, with all thy main deal
For the warding thy life, and to stay thee I will.
Then after these words all wroth came the Worm,
The dire guest foesome, that second of whiles
With fire-wellings flecked, his foes to go look on,
The loath men. With flame was lightly then burnt up
The board to the boss, and might not the byrny
To the warrior the young frame any help yet.
But so the young man under shield of his kinsman
Went onward with valour, whenas his own was
All undone with gleeds; then again the war-king
Remember'd his glories, and smote with mainmight
With his battle-bill, so that it stood in the head
Need-driven by war-hate. Then asunder burst Nægling,
Waxed weak in the war-tide, e'en Beowulf's sword,
The old and grey-marked; to him was not given
That to him any whit might the edges of irons
Be helpful in battle; over-strong was the hand
Which every of swords, by the hearsay of me,
With its swing over-wrought, when he bare unto strife
A wondrous hard weapon; naught it was to him better.
Then was the folk-scather for the third of times yet,
The fierce fire-drake, all mindful of feud;
He rac'd on that strong one, when was room to him given,
Hot and battle-grim; he all the halse of him gripped
With bitter-keen bones; all bebloody'd he waxed
With the gore of his soul. Well'd in waves then the war-sweat.
Thenheard I that at need of the high king of folk
The upright earl made well manifest might,
His craft and his keenness as kind was to him;
The head there he heeded not (but the hand burned
Of that man of high mood when he helped his kinsman),
Whereas he now the hate-guest smote yet a deal nether,
That warrior in war-gear, whereby the sword dived,
The plated, of fair hue, and thereby fell the flame
To minish thereafter, and once more the king's self
Wielded his wit, and his slaying-sax drew out,
The bitter and battle-sharp, borne on his byrny;
Asunder the Weder's helm smote the Worm midmost;
They felled the fiend, and force drave the life out,
And they twain together had gotten him ending,
Those athelings sib. E'en such should a man be,
A thane good at need. Now that to the king was
The last victory-while, by the deeds of himself,
Of his work of the world. Sithence fell the wound,
That the earth-drake to him had wrought but erewhile.
To swell and to sweal; and this soon he found out,
That down in the breast of him bale-evil welled,
The venom withinward; then the Atheling wended,
So that he by the wall, bethinking him wisdom.
Sat on seat there and saw on the works of the giants,
How that the stone-bows fast stood on pillars,
The earth-house everlasting upheld withinward.
Then with his hand him the sword-gory,
That great king his thane, the good beyond measure,
His friend-lord with water washed full well,
The sated of battle, and unspanned his war-helm.
Forth then spake Beowulf, and over his wound said,
His wound piteous deadly; wist he full well,
That now of his day-whiles all had hedreed,
Of the joy of the earth; all was shaken asunder
The tale of his days; death without measure nigh:
Unto my son now should I be giving
My gear of the battle, if to me it were granted
Any ward of the heritage after my days
To my body belonging. This folk have I holden
Fifty winters; forsooth was never a folk-king
Of the sitters around, no one of them soothly,
Who me with the war-friends durst wend him to greet
And bear down with the terror. In home have I abided
The shapings of whiles, and held mine own well.
No wily hates sought I; for myself swore not many
Of oaths in unright. For all this may I,
Sick with the life-wounds, soothly have joy.
Therefore naught need wyte me the Wielder of men
With kin murder-bale, when breaketh asunder
My life from my lyke. And now lightly go thou
To look on the hoard under the hoar stone,
Wiglaf mine lief, now that lieth the Worm
And sleepeth sore wounded, beshorn of his treasure;
And be hasty that I now the wealth of old time,
The gold-having may look on, and yarely behold
The bright cunning gems, that the softlier may I
After the treasure-weal let go away
My life, and the folk-ship that long I have held.
Thenheard I that swiftly the son of that Weohstan
After this word-say his lord the sore wounded,
Battle-sick, there obeyed, and bare forth his ring-net,
His battle-sark woven, in under the burg-roof;
Saw then victory-glad as by the seat went he,
The kindred-thane moody, sun-jewels a many,
Much glistering gold lying down on the ground,
Many wonders on wall, and the den of the Worm,
The old twilight-flier; there were flagons a-standing,
The vats of men bygone, of brighteners bereft,
And maim'd of adornment; was many an helm
Rusty and old, and of arm-rings a many
Full cunningly twined. All lightly may treasure,
The gold in the ground, every one of mankind
Befool with o'erweening, hide it who will.
Likewise he saw standing a sign there all-golden
High over the hoard, the most of hand-wonders,
With limb-craft belocked, whence light a ray gleamed.
Whereby the den's ground-plain gat he to look on,
The fair works scan throughly. Not of the Worm there
Was aught to be seen now, but the edge had undone him.
Heard I then that in howe of the hoard was bereaving,
The old work of the giants, but one man alone,
Into his barm laded beakers and dishes
At his very own doom; and the sign eke he took,
The brightest of beacons. But the bill of the old lord
(The edge was of iron) erewhile it scathed
Him who of that treasure hand-bearer was
A long while, and fared a-bearing the flame-dread
Before the hoard hot, and welling of fierceness
In the midnights, until that by murder he died.
In haste was the messenger, eager of back-fare,
Further'd with fretted gems. Him longing fordid
To wot whether the bold man he quick there shall meet
In that mead-stead, e'en he the king of the Weders,
All sick of his might, whereas he erst Itft him.
He fetching the treasure then found the king mighty,
His own lord, yet there, and him ever all gory
At end of his life; and he yet once again
Fell the water to warp o'er him, till the word's point
Brake through the breast-hoard, and Beowulf spake out.
The aged, in grief as he gaz'd on the gold:
Now I for these fretworks to the Lord of all thanking,
To the King of all glory, in words am yet saying,
To the Lord ever living, for that which I look on;
Whereas such I might for the people of mine,
Ere ever my death-day, get me to own.
Now that for the treasure-hoard here have I sold
My life and laid down the same, frame still then ever
The folk-need, for here never longer I may be.
So bid ye the war-mighty work me a howe
Bright after the bale-fire at the sea's nose,
Which for a remembrance to the people of me
Aloft shall uplift him at Whale-ness for ever,
That it the sea-goers sithence may hote
Beowulf's Howe, e'en they that the high-ships
Over the flood-mists drive from afar.
Did off from his halse then a ring was all golden,
The king the great-hearted, and gave to his thane,
To the spear-warrior young his war-helm gold-brindled,
The ring and the byrny, and bade him well brook them:
Thou art the end-leaving of all of our kindred,
The Wægmundings; Weird now hath swept all away
Of my kinsmen, and unto the doom of the Maker
The earls in their might; now after them shall I.