That was to the aged lord youngest of wordsOf his breast-thoughts, ere ever he chose him the bale,The hot battle-wellings; from his heart now departedHis soul, to seek out the doom of the soothfast.XXXIX. WIGLAF CASTETH SHAME ON THOSE FLEERS.2820Butgone was it then with the unaged manFull hard that there he beheld on the earthThe liefest of friends at the ending of life,Of bearing most piteous. And likewise lay his baneThe Earth-drake, the loathly fear, reft of his life,By bale laid undone: the ring-hoards no longerThe Worm, the crook-bowed, ever might wield;For soothly the edges of the irons him bare off,The hard battle-sharded leavings of hammers,So that the wide-flier stilled with wounding2830Fell onto earth anigh to his hoard-hall,Nor along the lift ever more playing he turnedAt middle-nights, proud of the owning of treasure,Show'd the face of him forth, but to earth there he fellBecause of the host-leader's work of the hand.This forsooth on the land hath thriven to few,Of men might and main bearing, by hearsay of mine,Though in each of all deeds full daring he were,That against venom-scather's fell breathing he set on,Or the hall of his rings with hand be a-stirring,2840If so be that he waking the warder had foundAbiding in burg. By Beowulf wasHis deal of the king-treasure paid for by death;There either had they fared on to the endOf this loaned life. Long it was not untilThose laggards of battle the holt were a-leaving,Unwarlike troth-liars, the ten there together,Who durst not e'en now with darts to be playingE'en in their man-lord's most mickle need.But shamefully now their shields were they bearing,2850Their weed of the battle, there where lay the aged;They gazed on Wiglaf where weary'd he sat,The foot-champion, hard by his very lord's shoulder,And wak'd him with water: but no whit it sped him;Never might he on earth howsoe'er well he will'd itIn that leader of spears hold the life any more,Nor the will of the Wielder change ever a whit;But still should God's doom of deeds rule the redeFor each man of men, as yet ever it doth.Then from out of the youngling an answer full grim2860Easy got was for him who had lost heart erewhile,And word gave out Wiglaf, Weohstan's sonThe sorrowful-soul'd man: on those unlief he saw:Lo that may he say who sooth would be saying,That the man-lord who dealt you the gift of those dear things,The gear of the war-host wherein there ye stand,Whereas he on the ale-bench full oft was a-givingUnto the hall-sitters war-helm and byrny,The king to his thanes, e'en such as he choicestAnywhere, far or near, ever might find:2870That he utterly wrongsome those weeds of the warHad cast away, then when the war overtook him.Surely never the folk-king of his fellows in battleHad need to be boastful; howsoever God gave him,The Victory-wielder, that he himself wreaked himAlone with the edge, when to him need of might was.Unto him of life-warding but little might IGive there in the war-tide; and yet I beganAbove measure of my might my kinsman to help;Ever worse was the Worm then when I with sword2880Smote the life-foe, and ever the fire less stronglyWelled out from his wit. Of warders o'er littleThrong'd about the king when him the battle befell.Now shall taking of treasures and giving of swordsAnd all joy of your country-home fail from your kindred,All hope wane away; of the land-right moreoverMay each of the men of that kinsman'sburgeverRoam lacking; sithence that the athelings eft-soonsFrom afar shall have heard of your faring in flight,Your gloryless deed. Yea, death shall be better2890For each of the earls than a life ever ill-fam'd.XL. WIGLAF SENDETH TIDING TO THE HOST: THE WORDS OF THE MESSENGER.Thenhe bade them that war-work give out at the barriersUp over the sea-cliff, whereas then the earl-hostThe morning-long day sat sad of their mood,The bearers of war-boards, in weening of both things,Either the end-day, or else the back-comingOf the lief man. Forsooth he little was silentOf the new-fallen tidings who over the ness rode,But soothly he said over all there a-sitting:Now is the will-giver of the folk of the Weders,2900The lord of the Geats, fast laid in the death-bed,In the slaughter-rest wonneth he by the Worm's doings.And beside him yet lieth his very life-winnerAll sick with the sax-wounds; with sword might he neverOn the monster, the fell one, in any of mannersWork wounding at all. There yet sitteth Wiglaf,Weohstan's own boy, over Beowulf king,One earl over the other, over him the unliving;With heart-honours holdeth he head-ward withalOver lief, over loath. But to folk is a weening2910Of war-tide as now, so soon as unhiddenTo Franks and to Frisians the fall of the kingIs become over widely. Once was the strife shapenHard 'gainst the Hugs, sithence Hygelac cameFaring with float-host to Frisian land,Whereas him the Hetware vanquish'd in war,With might gat the gain, with o'er-mickle main;The warrior bebyrny'd he needs must bow down:He fell in the host, and no fretted war-gearGave that lord to the doughty, but to us was aye sithence2920The mercy ungranted that was of the Merwing.Nor do I from the Swede folk of peace or good faithWeen ever a whit. For widely 'twas wottedThat Ongentheow erst had undone the lifeOf Hæthcyn the Hrethel's son hard by the Raven-wood,Then when in their pride the Scylfings of warErst gat them to seek to the folk of the Geats.Unto him soon the old one, the father of Ohthere,The ancient and fearful gave back the hand-stroke,Brake up the sea-wise one, rescued his bride.2930The aged his spouse erst, bereft of the gold,Mother of Onela, yea and of Ohthere;And follow'd up thereon his foemen the deadly,Until they betook them and sorrowfully therewithUnto the Raven-holt, reft of their lord.With huge host then beset he the leaving of swordsAll weary with wounds, and woe he behight them,That lot of the wretched, the livelong night through;Quoth he that the morrow's morn with the swords' edgesHe would do them to death, hang some on the gallows2940For a game unto fowl. But again befell comfortTo the sorry of mood with the morrow-day early;Whereas they of Hygelac's war-horn and trumpetThe voice wotted, whenas the good king his ways cameFaring on in the track of his folk's doughty men.XLI. MORE WORDS OF THE MESSENGER. HOW HE FEARS THE SWEDES WHEN THEY WOT OF BEOWULF DEAD.Wasthe track of the war-sweat of Swedes and of Geats,The men's slaughter-race, right wide to be seen,How those folks amongst them were waking the feud.Departed that good one, and went with his fellows,Old and exceeding sad, fastness to seek;2950The earl Ongentheow upward returned;Of Hygelac's battle-might oft had he heard,The war-craft of the proud one; in withstanding he trow'd not,That he to the sea-folk in fight might debate,Or against the sea-farers defend him his hoard,His bairns and his bride. He bow'd him aback thence,The old under the earth-wall. Then was the chase biddenTo the Swede-folk, and Hygelac's sign was upreared,And the plain of the peace forth on o'er-pass'd they,After the Hrethlings onto the hedge throng'd.2960There then was Ongentheow by the swords' edges,The blent-hair'd, the hoary one, driven to biding,So that the folk-king fain must he takeSole doom of Eofor. Him in his wrath thenWulf the Wonreding reach'd with his weapon,So that from the stroke sprang the war-sweat in streamsForth from under his hair; yet naught fearsome was he,The aged, the Scylfing, but paid aback rathelyWith chaffer that worse was that war-crash of slaughter,Sithence the folk-king turned him thither;2970And nowise might the brisk one that son was of WonredUnto the old carle give back the hand-slaying,For that he on Wulf's head the helm erst had sheared,So that all with the blood stained needs must he bow,And fell on the field; but not yet was he fey,But he warp'd himself up, though the wound had touch'd nigh.But thereon the hard Hygelac's thane there,Whenas down lay his brother, let the broad blade,The old sword of eotens, that helm giant-fashion'dBreak over the board-wall, and down the king bowed,2980The herd of the folk unto fair life was smitten.There were many about there who bound up his kinsman,Upraised him swiftly when room there was made them,That the slaughter-stead there at the stour they might wield,That while when was reaving one warrior the other:From Ongentheow took he the iron-wrought byrny,The hard-hilted sword, with his helm all together:The hoary one's harness to Hygelac bare he;The fret war-gear then took he, and fairly behight himBefore the folk due gifts, and even so did it;2990Gild he gave for that war-race, the lord of the Geats,The own son of Hrethel, when home was he come,To Eofor and Wulf gave he over-much treasure,To them either he gave an hundred of thousands,Land and lock'd rings. Of the gift none needed to wyte himOf mid earth, since the glory they gained by battle.Then to Eofor he gave his one only daughter,An home-worship soothly, for pledge of his good will.That is the feud and the foeship full soothly,The dead-hate of men, e'en as I have a weening,3000Wherefor the Swede people against us shall seek,Sithence they have learned that lieth our lordAll lifeless; e'en he that erewhile hath heldAgainst all the haters the hoard and the realm;Who after the heroes' fall held the fierce Scylfings,Framed the folk-rede, and further theretoDid earlship-deeds. Now is haste best of allThat we now the folk-king should fare to be seeing,And then that we bring him who gave us the ringsOn his way to the bale: nor shall somewhat alone3010With the moody be molten; but manifold hoard is,Gold untold of by tale that grimly is cheapened,And now at the last by this one's own lifeAre rings bought, and all these the brand now shall fret,The flame thatch them over: no earl shall bear offOne gem in remembrance; nor any fair maidenShall have on her halse a ring-honour thereof,But in grief of mood henceforth, bereaved of gold,Shall oft, and not once alone, alien earth tread,Now that the host-learn'd hath laid aside laughter,3020The game and the glee-joy. Therefore shall the spear,Full many a morn-cold, of hands be bewounden,Uphoven in hand; and no swough of the harpShall waken the warriors; but the wan raven ratherFain over the fey many tales shall tell forth,And say to the erne how it sped him at eating,While he with the wolf was a-spoiling the slain.So was the keen-whetted a-saying this whileSpells of speech loathly; he lied not muchOf weirds or of words. Then uprose all the war-band,3030And unblithe they wended under the Ernes-ness,All welling of tears, the wonder to look on.Found they then on the sand, now lacking of soul,Holding his bed, him that gave them the ringsIn time erewhile gone by. But then was the end-dayGone for the good one; since the king of the battle,The lord of the Weders, in wonder-death died.But erst there they saw a more seldom-seen sight,The Worm on the lea-land over against himDown lying there loathly; there was the fire-drake,3040The grim of the terrors, with gleeds all beswealed.He was of fifty feet of his measureLong of his lying. Lift-joyance held heIn the whiles of the night, but down again wendedTo visit his den. Now fast was he in death,He had of the earth-dens the last end enjoyed.There by him now stood the beakers and bowls,There lay the dishes and dearly-wrought swords,Rusty, through-eaten they, as in earth's bosomA thousand of winters there they had wonned.3050For that heritage there was, all craftily eked,Gold of the yore men, in wizardry wounden;So that that ring-hall might none reach thereto,Not any of mankind but if God his own self,Sooth king of victories, gave unto whom he would(He is holder of men) to open that hoard,E'en to whichso of mankind should seem to him meet.XLII. THEY GO TO LOOK ON THE FIELD OF DEED.Thenit was to be seen that throve not the wayTo him that unrightly had hidden within thereThe fair gear 'neath the wall. The warder erst slew3060Some few of folk, and the feud then becameWrothfully wreaked. A wonder whenasA valour-strong earl may reach on the endingOf the fashion of life, when he longer in nowiseOne man with his kinsmen may dwell in the mead-hall!So to Beowulf was it when the burg's ward he sought.For the hate of the weapons: he himself knew notWherethrough forsooth his world's sundering should be.So until Doomsday they cursed it deeply,Those princes the dread, who erst there had done it,3070That that man should be of sins never sackless,A-hoppled in shrines, in hell-bonds fast set,With plague-spots be punish'd, who that plain should plunder.But naught gold-greedy was he, more gladly had heThe grace of the Owner erst gotten to see.Now spake out Wiglaf, that son was of Weohstan:Oft shall many an earl for the will but of oneDree the wrack, as to us even now is befallen:Nowise might we learn the lief lord of us,The herd of the realm, any of rede,3080That he should not go greet that warder of gold,But let him live yet, whereas long he was lying,And wonne in his wicks until the world's ending;But he held to high weird and the hoard hath been seen,Grimly gotten: o'er hard forsooth was that giving,That the king of the folk e'en thither enticed.Lo! I was therein, and I look'd it all over,The gear of the house, when for me room was gotten,But I lightly in nowise had leave for the passageIn under the earth-wall; in haste I gat hold3090Forsooth with my hands of a mickle main burdenOf hoard-treasures, and hither then out did I bear them,Out unto my king, and then quick was he yet,Wise, and wit-holding: a many things spake he,That aged in grief-care, and bade me to greet you,And prayed ye would do e'en after your friend's deedsAloft in the bale-stead a howe builded high,Most mickle and mighty, as he amongst men wasThe worthfullest warrior wide over the world,While he the burg-weal erewhile might brook.3100Then so let us hasten this second of whilesTo see and to seek the throng of things strange,The wonder 'neath wall; I shall wise you the way,So that ye from a-near may look on enoughOf rings and broad gold; and be the bier swiftlyAll yare thereunto, whenas out we shall fare.Then let us so ferry the lord that was ours,The lief man of men, to where long shall heIn the All-Wielder's keeping full patiently wait.Bade then to bid the bairn of that Weohstan,3110The deer of the battle, to a many of warriors,The house-owning wights, that the wood of the baleThey should ferry from far, e'en the folk-owning men,Toward the good one. And now shall the gleed fret away,The wan flame a-waxing, the strong one of warriors,Him who oft-times abided the shower of ironWhen the storm of the shafts driven on by the stringsShook over the shield-wall, and the shaft held its service,And eager with feather-gear follow'd the barb.Now then the wise one, that son was of Weohstan,3120Forth from the throng then call'd of the king's thanesA seven together, the best to be gotten,And himself went the eighth in under the foe-roof;One man of the battlers in hand there he bareA gleam of the fire, of the first went he inward.It was nowise allotted who that hoard should despoil,Sithence without warden some deal that there wasThe men now beheld in the hall there a-wonning,Lying there fleeting; little mourn'd any,That they in all haste outward should ferry3130The dear treasures. But forthwith the drake did they shove,The Worm, o'er the cliff-wall, and let the wave take him,The flood fathom about the fretted works' herd.There then was wounden gold on the wain ladenUntold of each kind, and the Atheling borne,The hoary of warriors, out on to Whale-ness.XLIII. OF THE BURIAL OF BEOWULF.Forhim then they geared, the folk of the Geats,A pile on the earth all unweaklike that was,With war-helms behung, and with boards of the battle,And bright byrnies, e'en after the boon that he bade.3140Laid down then amidmost their king mighty-famousThe warriors lamenting, the lief lord of them.Began on the burg of bale-fires the biggestThe warriors to waken: the wood-reek went upSwart over the smoky glow, sound of the flameBewound with the weeping (the wind-blending stilled),Until it at last the bone-house had brokenHot at the heart. All unglad of mindWith mood-care they mourned their own liege lord's quelling.Likewise a sad lay the wife of aforetime3150For Beowulf the king, with her hair all upbounden,Sang sorrow-careful; said oft and overThat harm-days for herself in hard wise she dreaded,The slaughter-falls many, much fear of the warrior,The shaming and bondage. Heaven swallow'd the reek.Wrought there and fashion'd the folk of the WedersA howe on the lithe, that high was and broad.Unto the wave-farers wide to be seen:Then it they betimber'd in time of ten days,The battle-strong's beacon; the brands' very-leavings3160They bewrought with a wall in the worthiest of ways,That men of all wisdom might find how to work.Into burg then they did the rings and bright sun-gems,And all such adornments as in the hoard thereThe war-minded men had taken e'en now;The earls' treasures let they the earth to be holding,Gold in the grit, wherein yet it liveth,As useless to men-folk as ever it erst was.Then round the howe rode the deer of the battle,The bairns of the athelings, twelve were they in all.3170Their care would they mourn, and bemoan them their king,The word-lay would they utter and over the man speak:They accounted his earlship and mighty deeds done,And doughtily deem'd them; as due as it isThat each one his friend-lord with words should belaud,And love in his heart, whenas forth shall heAway from the body be fleeting at last.In such wise they grieved, the folk of the Geats,For the fall of their lord, e'en they his hearth-fellows;Quoth they that he was a world-king forsooth,3180The mildest of all men, unto men kindest,To his folk the most gentlest, most yearning of fame.
That was to the aged lord youngest of words
Of his breast-thoughts, ere ever he chose him the bale,
The hot battle-wellings; from his heart now departed
His soul, to seek out the doom of the soothfast.
Butgone was it then with the unaged man
Full hard that there he beheld on the earth
The liefest of friends at the ending of life,
Of bearing most piteous. And likewise lay his bane
The Earth-drake, the loathly fear, reft of his life,
By bale laid undone: the ring-hoards no longer
The Worm, the crook-bowed, ever might wield;
For soothly the edges of the irons him bare off,
The hard battle-sharded leavings of hammers,
So that the wide-flier stilled with wounding
Fell onto earth anigh to his hoard-hall,
Nor along the lift ever more playing he turned
At middle-nights, proud of the owning of treasure,
Show'd the face of him forth, but to earth there he fell
Because of the host-leader's work of the hand.
This forsooth on the land hath thriven to few,
Of men might and main bearing, by hearsay of mine,
Though in each of all deeds full daring he were,
That against venom-scather's fell breathing he set on,
Or the hall of his rings with hand be a-stirring,
If so be that he waking the warder had found
Abiding in burg. By Beowulf was
His deal of the king-treasure paid for by death;
There either had they fared on to the end
Of this loaned life. Long it was not until
Those laggards of battle the holt were a-leaving,
Unwarlike troth-liars, the ten there together,
Who durst not e'en now with darts to be playing
E'en in their man-lord's most mickle need.
But shamefully now their shields were they bearing,
Their weed of the battle, there where lay the aged;
They gazed on Wiglaf where weary'd he sat,
The foot-champion, hard by his very lord's shoulder,
And wak'd him with water: but no whit it sped him;
Never might he on earth howsoe'er well he will'd it
In that leader of spears hold the life any more,
Nor the will of the Wielder change ever a whit;
But still should God's doom of deeds rule the rede
For each man of men, as yet ever it doth.
Then from out of the youngling an answer full grim
Easy got was for him who had lost heart erewhile,
And word gave out Wiglaf, Weohstan's son
The sorrowful-soul'd man: on those unlief he saw:
Lo that may he say who sooth would be saying,
That the man-lord who dealt you the gift of those dear things,
The gear of the war-host wherein there ye stand,
Whereas he on the ale-bench full oft was a-giving
Unto the hall-sitters war-helm and byrny,
The king to his thanes, e'en such as he choicest
Anywhere, far or near, ever might find:
That he utterly wrongsome those weeds of the war
Had cast away, then when the war overtook him.
Surely never the folk-king of his fellows in battle
Had need to be boastful; howsoever God gave him,
The Victory-wielder, that he himself wreaked him
Alone with the edge, when to him need of might was.
Unto him of life-warding but little might I
Give there in the war-tide; and yet I began
Above measure of my might my kinsman to help;
Ever worse was the Worm then when I with sword
Smote the life-foe, and ever the fire less strongly
Welled out from his wit. Of warders o'er little
Throng'd about the king when him the battle befell.
Now shall taking of treasures and giving of swords
And all joy of your country-home fail from your kindred,
All hope wane away; of the land-right moreover
May each of the men of that kinsman'sburgever
Roam lacking; sithence that the athelings eft-soons
From afar shall have heard of your faring in flight,
Your gloryless deed. Yea, death shall be better
For each of the earls than a life ever ill-fam'd.
Thenhe bade them that war-work give out at the barriers
Up over the sea-cliff, whereas then the earl-host
The morning-long day sat sad of their mood,
The bearers of war-boards, in weening of both things,
Either the end-day, or else the back-coming
Of the lief man. Forsooth he little was silent
Of the new-fallen tidings who over the ness rode,
But soothly he said over all there a-sitting:
Now is the will-giver of the folk of the Weders,
The lord of the Geats, fast laid in the death-bed,
In the slaughter-rest wonneth he by the Worm's doings.
And beside him yet lieth his very life-winner
All sick with the sax-wounds; with sword might he never
On the monster, the fell one, in any of manners
Work wounding at all. There yet sitteth Wiglaf,
Weohstan's own boy, over Beowulf king,
One earl over the other, over him the unliving;
With heart-honours holdeth he head-ward withal
Over lief, over loath. But to folk is a weening
Of war-tide as now, so soon as unhidden
To Franks and to Frisians the fall of the king
Is become over widely. Once was the strife shapen
Hard 'gainst the Hugs, sithence Hygelac came
Faring with float-host to Frisian land,
Whereas him the Hetware vanquish'd in war,
With might gat the gain, with o'er-mickle main;
The warrior bebyrny'd he needs must bow down:
He fell in the host, and no fretted war-gear
Gave that lord to the doughty, but to us was aye sithence
The mercy ungranted that was of the Merwing.
Nor do I from the Swede folk of peace or good faith
Ween ever a whit. For widely 'twas wotted
That Ongentheow erst had undone the life
Of Hæthcyn the Hrethel's son hard by the Raven-wood,
Then when in their pride the Scylfings of war
Erst gat them to seek to the folk of the Geats.
Unto him soon the old one, the father of Ohthere,
The ancient and fearful gave back the hand-stroke,
Brake up the sea-wise one, rescued his bride.
The aged his spouse erst, bereft of the gold,
Mother of Onela, yea and of Ohthere;
And follow'd up thereon his foemen the deadly,
Until they betook them and sorrowfully therewith
Unto the Raven-holt, reft of their lord.
With huge host then beset he the leaving of swords
All weary with wounds, and woe he behight them,
That lot of the wretched, the livelong night through;
Quoth he that the morrow's morn with the swords' edges
He would do them to death, hang some on the gallows
For a game unto fowl. But again befell comfort
To the sorry of mood with the morrow-day early;
Whereas they of Hygelac's war-horn and trumpet
The voice wotted, whenas the good king his ways came
Faring on in the track of his folk's doughty men.
Wasthe track of the war-sweat of Swedes and of Geats,
The men's slaughter-race, right wide to be seen,
How those folks amongst them were waking the feud.
Departed that good one, and went with his fellows,
Old and exceeding sad, fastness to seek;
The earl Ongentheow upward returned;
Of Hygelac's battle-might oft had he heard,
The war-craft of the proud one; in withstanding he trow'd not,
That he to the sea-folk in fight might debate,
Or against the sea-farers defend him his hoard,
His bairns and his bride. He bow'd him aback thence,
The old under the earth-wall. Then was the chase bidden
To the Swede-folk, and Hygelac's sign was upreared,
And the plain of the peace forth on o'er-pass'd they,
After the Hrethlings onto the hedge throng'd.
There then was Ongentheow by the swords' edges,
The blent-hair'd, the hoary one, driven to biding,
So that the folk-king fain must he take
Sole doom of Eofor. Him in his wrath then
Wulf the Wonreding reach'd with his weapon,
So that from the stroke sprang the war-sweat in streams
Forth from under his hair; yet naught fearsome was he,
The aged, the Scylfing, but paid aback rathely
With chaffer that worse was that war-crash of slaughter,
Sithence the folk-king turned him thither;
And nowise might the brisk one that son was of Wonred
Unto the old carle give back the hand-slaying,
For that he on Wulf's head the helm erst had sheared,
So that all with the blood stained needs must he bow,
And fell on the field; but not yet was he fey,
But he warp'd himself up, though the wound had touch'd nigh.
But thereon the hard Hygelac's thane there,
Whenas down lay his brother, let the broad blade,
The old sword of eotens, that helm giant-fashion'd
Break over the board-wall, and down the king bowed,
The herd of the folk unto fair life was smitten.
There were many about there who bound up his kinsman,
Upraised him swiftly when room there was made them,
That the slaughter-stead there at the stour they might wield,
That while when was reaving one warrior the other:
From Ongentheow took he the iron-wrought byrny,
The hard-hilted sword, with his helm all together:
The hoary one's harness to Hygelac bare he;
The fret war-gear then took he, and fairly behight him
Before the folk due gifts, and even so did it;
Gild he gave for that war-race, the lord of the Geats,
The own son of Hrethel, when home was he come,
To Eofor and Wulf gave he over-much treasure,
To them either he gave an hundred of thousands,
Land and lock'd rings. Of the gift none needed to wyte him
Of mid earth, since the glory they gained by battle.
Then to Eofor he gave his one only daughter,
An home-worship soothly, for pledge of his good will.
That is the feud and the foeship full soothly,
The dead-hate of men, e'en as I have a weening,
Wherefor the Swede people against us shall seek,
Sithence they have learned that lieth our lord
All lifeless; e'en he that erewhile hath held
Against all the haters the hoard and the realm;
Who after the heroes' fall held the fierce Scylfings,
Framed the folk-rede, and further thereto
Did earlship-deeds. Now is haste best of all
That we now the folk-king should fare to be seeing,
And then that we bring him who gave us the rings
On his way to the bale: nor shall somewhat alone
With the moody be molten; but manifold hoard is,
Gold untold of by tale that grimly is cheapened,
And now at the last by this one's own life
Are rings bought, and all these the brand now shall fret,
The flame thatch them over: no earl shall bear off
One gem in remembrance; nor any fair maiden
Shall have on her halse a ring-honour thereof,
But in grief of mood henceforth, bereaved of gold,
Shall oft, and not once alone, alien earth tread,
Now that the host-learn'd hath laid aside laughter,
The game and the glee-joy. Therefore shall the spear,
Full many a morn-cold, of hands be bewounden,
Uphoven in hand; and no swough of the harp
Shall waken the warriors; but the wan raven rather
Fain over the fey many tales shall tell forth,
And say to the erne how it sped him at eating,
While he with the wolf was a-spoiling the slain.
So was the keen-whetted a-saying this while
Spells of speech loathly; he lied not much
Of weirds or of words. Then uprose all the war-band,
And unblithe they wended under the Ernes-ness,
All welling of tears, the wonder to look on.
Found they then on the sand, now lacking of soul,
Holding his bed, him that gave them the rings
In time erewhile gone by. But then was the end-day
Gone for the good one; since the king of the battle,
The lord of the Weders, in wonder-death died.
But erst there they saw a more seldom-seen sight,
The Worm on the lea-land over against him
Down lying there loathly; there was the fire-drake,
The grim of the terrors, with gleeds all beswealed.
He was of fifty feet of his measure
Long of his lying. Lift-joyance held he
In the whiles of the night, but down again wended
To visit his den. Now fast was he in death,
He had of the earth-dens the last end enjoyed.
There by him now stood the beakers and bowls,
There lay the dishes and dearly-wrought swords,
Rusty, through-eaten they, as in earth's bosom
A thousand of winters there they had wonned.
For that heritage there was, all craftily eked,
Gold of the yore men, in wizardry wounden;
So that that ring-hall might none reach thereto,
Not any of mankind but if God his own self,
Sooth king of victories, gave unto whom he would
(He is holder of men) to open that hoard,
E'en to whichso of mankind should seem to him meet.
Thenit was to be seen that throve not the way
To him that unrightly had hidden within there
The fair gear 'neath the wall. The warder erst slew
Some few of folk, and the feud then became
Wrothfully wreaked. A wonder whenas
A valour-strong earl may reach on the ending
Of the fashion of life, when he longer in nowise
One man with his kinsmen may dwell in the mead-hall!
So to Beowulf was it when the burg's ward he sought.
For the hate of the weapons: he himself knew not
Wherethrough forsooth his world's sundering should be.
So until Doomsday they cursed it deeply,
Those princes the dread, who erst there had done it,
That that man should be of sins never sackless,
A-hoppled in shrines, in hell-bonds fast set,
With plague-spots be punish'd, who that plain should plunder.
But naught gold-greedy was he, more gladly had he
The grace of the Owner erst gotten to see.
Now spake out Wiglaf, that son was of Weohstan:
Oft shall many an earl for the will but of one
Dree the wrack, as to us even now is befallen:
Nowise might we learn the lief lord of us,
The herd of the realm, any of rede,
That he should not go greet that warder of gold,
But let him live yet, whereas long he was lying,
And wonne in his wicks until the world's ending;
But he held to high weird and the hoard hath been seen,
Grimly gotten: o'er hard forsooth was that giving,
That the king of the folk e'en thither enticed.
Lo! I was therein, and I look'd it all over,
The gear of the house, when for me room was gotten,
But I lightly in nowise had leave for the passage
In under the earth-wall; in haste I gat hold
Forsooth with my hands of a mickle main burden
Of hoard-treasures, and hither then out did I bear them,
Out unto my king, and then quick was he yet,
Wise, and wit-holding: a many things spake he,
That aged in grief-care, and bade me to greet you,
And prayed ye would do e'en after your friend's deeds
Aloft in the bale-stead a howe builded high,
Most mickle and mighty, as he amongst men was
The worthfullest warrior wide over the world,
While he the burg-weal erewhile might brook.
Then so let us hasten this second of whiles
To see and to seek the throng of things strange,
The wonder 'neath wall; I shall wise you the way,
So that ye from a-near may look on enough
Of rings and broad gold; and be the bier swiftly
All yare thereunto, whenas out we shall fare.
Then let us so ferry the lord that was ours,
The lief man of men, to where long shall he
In the All-Wielder's keeping full patiently wait.
Bade then to bid the bairn of that Weohstan,
The deer of the battle, to a many of warriors,
The house-owning wights, that the wood of the bale
They should ferry from far, e'en the folk-owning men,
Toward the good one. And now shall the gleed fret away,
The wan flame a-waxing, the strong one of warriors,
Him who oft-times abided the shower of iron
When the storm of the shafts driven on by the strings
Shook over the shield-wall, and the shaft held its service,
And eager with feather-gear follow'd the barb.
Now then the wise one, that son was of Weohstan,
Forth from the throng then call'd of the king's thanes
A seven together, the best to be gotten,
And himself went the eighth in under the foe-roof;
One man of the battlers in hand there he bare
A gleam of the fire, of the first went he inward.
It was nowise allotted who that hoard should despoil,
Sithence without warden some deal that there was
The men now beheld in the hall there a-wonning,
Lying there fleeting; little mourn'd any,
That they in all haste outward should ferry
The dear treasures. But forthwith the drake did they shove,
The Worm, o'er the cliff-wall, and let the wave take him,
The flood fathom about the fretted works' herd.
There then was wounden gold on the wain laden
Untold of each kind, and the Atheling borne,
The hoary of warriors, out on to Whale-ness.
Forhim then they geared, the folk of the Geats,
A pile on the earth all unweaklike that was,
With war-helms behung, and with boards of the battle,
And bright byrnies, e'en after the boon that he bade.
Laid down then amidmost their king mighty-famous
The warriors lamenting, the lief lord of them.
Began on the burg of bale-fires the biggest
The warriors to waken: the wood-reek went up
Swart over the smoky glow, sound of the flame
Bewound with the weeping (the wind-blending stilled),
Until it at last the bone-house had broken
Hot at the heart. All unglad of mind
With mood-care they mourned their own liege lord's quelling.
Likewise a sad lay the wife of aforetime
For Beowulf the king, with her hair all upbounden,
Sang sorrow-careful; said oft and over
That harm-days for herself in hard wise she dreaded,
The slaughter-falls many, much fear of the warrior,
The shaming and bondage. Heaven swallow'd the reek.
Wrought there and fashion'd the folk of the Weders
A howe on the lithe, that high was and broad.
Unto the wave-farers wide to be seen:
Then it they betimber'd in time of ten days,
The battle-strong's beacon; the brands' very-leavings
They bewrought with a wall in the worthiest of ways,
That men of all wisdom might find how to work.
Into burg then they did the rings and bright sun-gems,
And all such adornments as in the hoard there
The war-minded men had taken e'en now;
The earls' treasures let they the earth to be holding,
Gold in the grit, wherein yet it liveth,
As useless to men-folk as ever it erst was.
Then round the howe rode the deer of the battle,
The bairns of the athelings, twelve were they in all.
Their care would they mourn, and bemoan them their king,
The word-lay would they utter and over the man speak:
They accounted his earlship and mighty deeds done,
And doughtily deem'd them; as due as it is
That each one his friend-lord with words should belaud,
And love in his heart, whenas forth shall he
Away from the body be fleeting at last.
In such wise they grieved, the folk of the Geats,
For the fall of their lord, e'en they his hearth-fellows;
Quoth they that he was a world-king forsooth,
The mildest of all men, unto men kindest,
To his folk the most gentlest, most yearning of fame.