my makeup may be flaking

LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings

of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,

we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!

Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,

from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,

awing the earls. Since erst he lay

friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:

for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,

till before him the folk, both far and near,

who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,

gave him gifts: a good king he!

To him an heir was afterward born,

a son in his halls, whom heaven sent

to favor the folk, feeling their woe

that erst they had lacked an earl for leader

so long a while; the Lord endowed him,

the Wielder of Wonder, with world’s renown.

Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him,

son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.

So becomes it a youth to quit him well

with his father’s friends, by fee and gift,

that to aid him, aged, in after days,

come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,

liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds

shall an earl have honor in every clan.

Forth he fared at the fated moment,

sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.

Then they bore him over to ocean’s billow,

loving clansmen, as late he charged them,

while wielded words the winsome Scyld,

the leader beloved who long had ruled....

In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,

ice-flecked, outbound, atheling’s barge:

there laid they down their darling lord

on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings,

by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure

fetched from far was freighted with him.

No ship have I known so nobly dight

with weapons of war and weeds of battle,

with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay

a heaped hoard that hence should go

far o’er the flood with him floating away.

No less these loaded the lordly gifts,

thanes’ huge treasure, than those had done

who in former time forth had sent him

sole on the seas, a suckling child.

High o’er his head they hoist the standard,

a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,

gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,

mournful their mood. No man is able

to say in sooth, no son of the halls,

no hero ‘neath heaven, — who harbored that freight!

Now Beowulf bode in the burg of the Scyldings,

leader beloved, and long he ruled

in fame with all folk, since his father had gone

away from the world, till awoke an heir,

haughty Healfdene, who held through life,

sage and sturdy, the Scyldings glad.

Then, one after one, there woke to him,

to the chieftain of clansmen, children four:

Heorogar, then Hrothgar, then Halga brave;

and I heard that — was —’s queen,

the Heathoscylfing’s helpmate dear.

To Hrothgar was given such glory of war,

such honor of combat, that all his kin

obeyed him gladly till great grew his band

of youthful comrades. It came in his mind

to bid his henchmen a hall uprear,

a master mead-house, mightier far

than ever was seen by the sons of earth,

and within it, then, to old and young

he would all allot that the Lord had sent him,

save only the land and the lives of his men.

Wide, I heard, was the work commanded,

for many a tribe this mid-earth round,

to fashion the folkstead. It fell, as he ordered,

in rapid achievement that ready it stood there,

of halls the noblest: Heorot he named it

whose message had might in many a land.

Not reckless of promise, the rings he dealt,

treasure at banquet: there towered the hall,

high, gabled wide, the hot surge waiting

of furious flame. Nor far was that day

when father and son-in-law stood in feud

for warfare and hatred that woke again.

With envy and anger an evil spirit

endured the dole in his dark abode,

that he heard each day the din of revel

high in the hall: there harps rang out,

clear song of the singer. He sang who knew

tales of the early time of man,

how the Almighty made the earth,

fairest fields enfolded by water,

set, triumphant, sun and moon

for a light to lighten the land-dwellers,

and braided bright the breast of earth

with limbs and leaves, made life for all

of mortal beings that breathe and move.

So lived the clansmen in cheer and revel

a winsome life, till one began

to fashion evils, that field of hell.

Grendel this monster grim was called,

march-riever mighty, in moorland living,

in fen and fastness; fief of the giants

the hapless wight a while had kept

since the Creator his exile doomed.

On kin of Cain was the killing avenged

by sovran God for slaughtered Abel.

Ill fared his feud, and far was he driven,

for the slaughter’s sake, from sight of men.

Of Cain awoke all that woful breed,

Etins and elves and evil-spirits,

as well as the giants that warred with God

weary while: but their wage was paid them!

WENT he forth to find at fall of night

that haughty house, and heed wherever

the Ring-Danes, outrevelled, to rest had gone.

Found within it the atheling band

asleep after feasting and fearless of sorrow,

of human hardship. Unhallowed wight,

grim and greedy, he grasped betimes,

wrathful, reckless, from resting-places,

thirty of the thanes, and thence he rushed

fain of his fell spoil, faring homeward,

laden with slaughter, his lair to seek.

Then at the dawning, as day was breaking,

the might of Grendel to men was known;

then after wassail was wail uplifted,

loud moan in the morn. The mighty chief,

atheling excellent, unblithe sat,

labored in woe for the loss of his thanes,

when once had been traced the trail of the fiend,

spirit accurst: too cruel that sorrow,

too long, too loathsome. Not late the respite;

with night returning, anew began

ruthless murder; he recked no whit,

firm in his guilt, of the feud and crime.

They were easy to find who elsewhere sought

in room remote their rest at night,

bed in the bowers, when that bale was shown,

was seen in sooth, with surest token, —

the hall-thane’s hate. Such held themselves

far and fast who the fiend outran!

Thus ruled unrighteous and raged his fill

one against all; until empty stood

that lordly building, and long it bode so.

Twelve years’ tide the trouble he bore,

sovran of Scyldings, sorrows in plenty,

boundless cares. There came unhidden

tidings true to the tribes of men,

in sorrowful songs, how ceaselessly Grendel

harassed Hrothgar, what hate he bore him,

what murder and massacre, many a year,

feud unfading, — refused consent

to deal with any of Daneland’s earls,

make pact of peace, or compound for gold:

still less did the wise men ween to get

great fee for the feud from his fiendish hands.

But the evil one ambushed old and young

death-shadow dark, and dogged them still,

lured, or lurked in the livelong night

of misty moorlands: men may say not

where the haunts of these Hell-Runes be.

Such heaping of horrors the hater of men,

lonely roamer, wrought unceasing,

harassings heavy. O’er Heorot he lorded,

gold-bright hall, in gloomy nights;

and ne’er could the prince approach his throne,

— ‘twas judgment of God, — or have joy in his hall.

Sore was the sorrow to Scyldings’-friend,

heart-rending misery. Many nobles

sat assembled, and searched out counsel

how it were best for bold-hearted men

against harassing terror to try their hand.

Whiles they vowed in their heathen fanes

altar-offerings, asked with words

that the slayer-of-souls would succor give them

for the pain of their people. Their practice this,

their heathen hope; ‘twas Hell they thought of

in mood of their mind. Almighty they knew not,

Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord,

nor Heaven’s-Helmet heeded they ever,

Wielder-of-Wonder. — Woe for that man

who in harm and hatred hales his soul

to fiery embraces; — nor favor nor change

awaits he ever. But well for him

that after death-day may draw to his Lord,

and friendship find in the Father’s arms!

THUS seethed unceasing the son of Healfdene

with the woe of these days; not wisest men

assuaged his sorrow; too sore the anguish,

loathly and long, that lay on his folk,

most baneful of burdens and bales of the night.

This heard in his home Hygelac’s thane,

great among Geats, of Grendel’s doings.

He was the mightiest man of valor

in that same day of this our life,

stalwart and stately. A stout wave-walker

he bade make ready. Yon battle-king, said he,

far o’er the swan-road he fain would seek,

the noble monarch who needed men!

The prince’s journey by prudent folk

was little blamed, though they loved him dear;

they whetted the hero, and hailed good omens.

And now the bold one from bands of Geats

comrades chose, the keenest of warriors

e’er he could find; with fourteen men

the sea-wood he sought, and, sailor proved,

led them on to the land’s confines.

Time had now flown; afloat was the ship,

boat under bluff. On board they climbed,

warriors ready; waves were churning

sea with sand; the sailors bore

on the breast of the bark their bright array,

their mail and weapons: the men pushed off,

on its willing way, the well-braced craft.

Then moved o’er the waters by might of the wind

that bark like a bird with breast of foam,

till in season due, on the second day,

the curved prow such course had run

that sailors now could see the land,

sea-cliffs shining, steep high hills,

headlands broad. Their haven was found,

their journey ended. Up then quickly

the Weders’ clansmen climbed ashore,

anchored their sea-wood, with armor clashing

and gear of battle: God they thanked

for passing in peace o’er the paths of the sea.

Now saw from the cliff a Scylding clansman,

a warden that watched the water-side,

how they bore o’er the gangway glittering shields,

war-gear in readiness; wonder seized him

to know what manner of men they were.

Straight to the strand his steed he rode,

Hrothgar’s henchman; with hand of might

he shook his spear, and spake in parley.

“Who are ye, then, ye armed men,

mailed folk, that yon mighty vessel

have urged thus over the ocean ways,

here o’er the waters? A warden I,

sentinel set o’er the sea-march here,

lest any foe to the folk of Danes

with harrying fleet should harm the land.

No aliens ever at ease thus bore them,

linden-wielders: yet word-of-leave

clearly ye lack from clansmen here,

my folk’s agreement. — A greater ne’er saw I

of warriors in world than is one of you, —

yon hero in harness! No henchman he

worthied by weapons, if witness his features,

his peerless presence! I pray you, though, tell

your folk and home, lest hence ye fare

suspect to wander your way as spies

in Danish land. Now, dwellers afar,

ocean-travellers, take from me

simple advice: the sooner the better

I hear of the country whence ye came.”

To him the stateliest spake in answer;

the warriors’ leader his word-hoard unlocked:—

“We are by kin of the clan of Geats,

and Hygelac’s own hearth-fellows we.

To folk afar was my father known,

noble atheling, Ecgtheow named.

Full of winters, he fared away

aged from earth; he is honored still

through width of the world by wise men all.

To thy lord and liege in loyal mood

we hasten hither, to Healfdene’s son,

people-protector: be pleased to advise us!

To that mighty-one come we on mickle errand,

to the lord of the Danes; nor deem I right

that aught be hidden. We hear — thou knowest

if sooth it is — the saying of men,

that amid the Scyldings a scathing monster,

dark ill-doer, in dusky nights

shows terrific his rage unmatched,

hatred and murder. To Hrothgar I

in greatness of soul would succor bring,

so the Wise-and-Brave may worst his foes, —

if ever the end of ills is fated,

of cruel contest, if cure shall follow,

and the boiling care-waves cooler grow;

else ever afterward anguish-days

he shall suffer in sorrow while stands in place

high on its hill that house unpeered!”

Astride his steed, the strand-ward answered,

clansman unquailing: “The keen-souled thane

must be skilled to sever and sunder duly

words and works, if he well intends.

I gather, this band is graciously bent

to the Scyldings’ master. March, then, bearing

weapons and weeds the way I show you.

I will bid my men your boat meanwhile

to guard for fear lest foemen come, —

your new-tarred ship by shore of ocean

faithfully watching till once again

it waft o’er the waters those well-loved thanes,

— winding-neck’d wood, — to Weders’ bounds,

heroes such as the hest of fate

shall succor and save from the shock of war.”

They bent them to march, — the boat lay still,

fettered by cable and fast at anchor,

broad-bosomed ship. — Then shone the boars

over the cheek-guard; chased with gold,

keen and gleaming, guard it kept

o’er the man of war, as marched along

heroes in haste, till the hall they saw,

broad of gable and bright with gold:

that was the fairest, ‘mid folk of earth,

of houses ‘neath heaven, where Hrothgar lived,

and the gleam of it lightened o’er lands afar.

The sturdy shieldsman showed that bright

burg-of-the-boldest; bade them go

straightway thither; his steed then turned,

hardy hero, and hailed them thus:—

“Tis time that I fare from you. Father Almighty

in grace and mercy guard you well,

safe in your seekings. Seaward I go,

‘gainst hostile warriors hold my watch.”

STONE-BRIGHT the street: it showed the way

to the crowd of clansmen. Corselets glistened

hand-forged, hard; on their harness bright

the steel ring sang, as they strode along

in mail of battle, and marched to the hall.

There, weary of ocean, the wall along

they set their bucklers, their broad shields, down,

and bowed them to bench: the breastplates clanged,

war-gear of men; their weapons stacked,

spears of the seafarers stood together,

gray-tipped ash: that iron band

was worthily weaponed! — A warrior proud

asked of the heroes their home and kin.

“Whence, now, bear ye burnished shields,

harness gray and helmets grim,

spears in multitude? Messenger, I,

Hrothgar’s herald! Heroes so many

ne’er met I as strangers of mood so strong.

‘Tis plain that for prowess, not plunged into exile,

for high-hearted valor, Hrothgar ye seek!”

Him the sturdy-in-war bespake with words,

proud earl of the Weders answer made,

hardy ‘neath helmet:—”Hygelac’s, we,

fellows at board; I am Beowulf named.

I am seeking to say to the son of Healfdene

this mission of mine, to thy master-lord,

the doughty prince, if he deign at all

grace that we greet him, the good one, now.”

Wulfgar spake, the Wendles’ chieftain,

whose might of mind to many was known,

his courage and counsel: “The king of Danes,

the Scyldings’ friend, I fain will tell,

the Breaker-of-Rings, as the boon thou askest,

the famed prince, of thy faring hither,

and, swiftly after, such answer bring

as the doughty monarch may deign to give.”

Hied then in haste to where Hrothgar sat

white-haired and old, his earls about him,

till the stout thane stood at the shoulder there

of the Danish king: good courtier he!

Wulfgar spake to his winsome lord:—

“Hither have fared to thee far-come men

o’er the paths of ocean, people of Geatland;

and the stateliest there by his sturdy band

is Beowulf named. This boon they seek,

that they, my master, may with thee

have speech at will: nor spurn their prayer

to give them hearing, gracious Hrothgar!

In weeds of the warrior worthy they,

methinks, of our liking; their leader most surely,

a hero that hither his henchmen has led.”

HROTHGAR answered, helmet of Scyldings:—

“I knew him of yore in his youthful days;

his aged father was Ecgtheow named,

to whom, at home, gave Hrethel the Geat

his only daughter. Their offspring bold

fares hither to seek the steadfast friend.

And seamen, too, have said me this, —

who carried my gifts to the Geatish court,

thither for thanks, — he has thirty men’s

heft of grasp in the gripe of his hand,

the bold-in-battle. Blessed God

out of his mercy this man hath sent

to Danes of the West, as I ween indeed,

against horror of Grendel. I hope to give

the good youth gold for his gallant thought.

Be thou in haste, and bid them hither,

clan of kinsmen, to come before me;

and add this word, — they are welcome guests

to folk of the Danes.” [To the door of the hall

Wulfgar went] and the word declared:—

“To you this message my master sends,

East-Danes’ king, that your kin he knows,

hardy heroes, and hails you all

welcome hither o’er waves of the sea!

Ye may wend your way in war-attire,

and under helmets Hrothgar greet;

but let here the battle-shields bide your parley,

and wooden war-shafts wait its end.”

Uprose the mighty one, ringed with his men,

brave band of thanes: some bode without,

battle-gear guarding, as bade the chief.

Then hied that troop where the herald led them,

under Heorot’s roof: [the hero strode,]

hardy ‘neath helm, till the hearth he neared.

Beowulf spake, — his breastplate gleamed,

war-net woven by wit of the smith:—

“Thou Hrothgar, hail! Hygelac’s I,

kinsman and follower. Fame a plenty

have I gained in youth! These Grendel-deeds

I heard in my home-land heralded clear.

Seafarers say how stands this hall,

of buildings best, for your band of thanes

empty and idle, when evening sun

in the harbor of heaven is hidden away.

So my vassals advised me well, —

brave and wise, the best of men, —

O sovran Hrothgar, to seek thee here,

for my nerve and my might they knew full well.

Themselves had seen me from slaughter come

blood-flecked from foes, where five I bound,

and that wild brood worsted. I’ the waves I slew

nicors by night, in need and peril

avenging the Weders, whose woe they sought, —

crushing the grim ones. Grendel now,

monster cruel, be mine to quell

in single battle! So, from thee,

thou sovran of the Shining-Danes,

Scyldings’-bulwark, a boon I seek, —

and, Friend-of-the-folk, refuse it not,

O Warriors’-shield, now I’ve wandered far, —

that I alone with my liegemen here,

this hardy band, may Heorot purge!

More I hear, that the monster dire,

in his wanton mood, of weapons recks not;

hence shall I scorn — so Hygelac stay,

king of my kindred, kind to me! —

brand or buckler to bear in the fight,

gold-colored targe: but with gripe alone

must I front the fiend and fight for life,

foe against foe. Then faith be his

in the doom of the Lord whom death shall take.

Fain, I ween, if the fight he win,

in this hall of gold my Geatish band

will he fearless eat, — as oft before, —

my noblest thanes. Nor need’st thou then

to hide my head; for his shall I be,

dyed in gore, if death must take me;

and my blood-covered body he’ll bear as prey,

ruthless devour it, the roamer-lonely,

with my life-blood redden his lair in the fen:

no further for me need’st food prepare!

To Hygelac send, if Hild should take me,

best of war-weeds, warding my breast,

armor excellent, heirloom of Hrethel

and work of Wayland. Fares Wyrd as she must.”

HROTHGAR spake, the Scyldings’-helmet:—

“For fight defensive, Friend my Beowulf,

to succor and save, thou hast sought us here.

Thy father’s combat a feud enkindled

when Heatholaf with hand he slew

among the Wylfings; his Weder kin

for horror of fighting feared to hold him.

Fleeing, he sought our South-Dane folk,

over surge of ocean the Honor-Scyldings,

when first I was ruling the folk of Danes,

wielded, youthful, this widespread realm,

this hoard-hold of heroes. Heorogar was dead,

my elder brother, had breathed his last,

Healfdene’s bairn: he was better than I!

Straightway the feud with fee I settled,

to the Wylfings sent, o’er watery ridges,

treasures olden: oaths he swore me.

Sore is my soul to say to any

of the race of man what ruth for me

in Heorot Grendel with hate hath wrought,

what sudden harryings. Hall-folk fail me,

my warriors wane; for Wyrd hath swept them

into Grendel’s grasp. But God is able

this deadly foe from his deeds to turn!

Boasted full oft, as my beer they drank,

earls o’er the ale-cup, armed men,

that they would bide in the beer-hall here,

Grendel’s attack with terror of blades.

Then was this mead-house at morning tide

dyed with gore, when the daylight broke,

all the boards of the benches blood-besprinkled,

gory the hall: I had heroes the less,

doughty dear-ones that death had reft.

— But sit to the banquet, unbind thy words,

hardy hero, as heart shall prompt thee.”

Gathered together, the Geatish men

in the banquet-hall on bench assigned,

sturdy-spirited, sat them down,

hardy-hearted. A henchman attended,

carried the carven cup in hand,

served the clear mead. Oft minstrels sang

blithe in Heorot. Heroes revelled,

no dearth of warriors, Weder and Dane.

UNFERTH spake, the son of Ecglaf,

who sat at the feet of the Scyldings’ lord,

unbound the battle-runes. — Beowulf’s quest,

sturdy seafarer’s, sorely galled him;

ever he envied that other men

should more achieve in middle-earth

of fame under heaven than he himself. —

“Art thou that Beowulf, Breca’s rival,

who emulous swam on the open sea,

when for pride the pair of you proved the floods,

and wantonly dared in waters deep

to risk your lives? No living man,

or lief or loath, from your labor dire

could you dissuade, from swimming the main.

Ocean-tides with your arms ye covered,

with strenuous hands the sea-streets measured,

swam o’er the waters. Winter’s storm

rolled the rough waves. In realm of sea

a sennight strove ye. In swimming he topped thee,

had more of main! Him at morning-tide

billows bore to the Battling Reamas,

whence he hied to his home so dear

beloved of his liegemen, to land of Brondings,

fastness fair, where his folk he ruled,

town and treasure. In triumph o’er thee

Beanstan’s bairn his boast achieved.

So ween I for thee a worse adventure

— though in buffet of battle thou brave hast been,

in struggle grim, — if Grendel’s approach

thou darst await through the watch of night!”

Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:—

“What a deal hast uttered, dear my Unferth,

drunken with beer, of Breca now,

told of his triumph! Truth I claim it,

that I had more of might in the sea

than any man else, more ocean-endurance.

We twain had talked, in time of youth,

and made our boast, — we were merely boys,

striplings still, — to stake our lives

far at sea: and so we performed it.

Naked swords, as we swam along,

we held in hand, with hope to guard us

against the whales. Not a whit from me

could he float afar o’er the flood of waves,

haste o’er the billows; nor him I abandoned.

Together we twain on the tides abode

five nights full till the flood divided us,

churning waves and chillest weather,

darkling night, and the northern wind

ruthless rushed on us: rough was the surge.

Now the wrath of the sea-fish rose apace;

yet me ‘gainst the monsters my mailed coat,

hard and hand-linked, help afforded, —

battle-sark braided my breast to ward,

garnished with gold. There grasped me firm

and haled me to bottom the hated foe,

with grimmest gripe. ‘Twas granted me, though,

to pierce the monster with point of sword,

with blade of battle: huge beast of the sea

was whelmed by the hurly through hand of mine.

ME thus often the evil monsters

thronging threatened. With thrust of my sword,

the darling, I dealt them due return!

Nowise had they bliss from their booty then

to devour their victim, vengeful creatures,

seated to banquet at bottom of sea;

but at break of day, by my brand sore hurt,

on the edge of ocean up they lay,

put to sleep by the sword. And since, by them

on the fathomless sea-ways sailor-folk

are never molested. — Light from east,

came bright God’s beacon; the billows sank,

so that I saw the sea-cliffs high,

windy walls. For Wyrd oft saveth

earl undoomed if he doughty be!

And so it came that I killed with my sword

nine of the nicors. Of night-fought battles

ne’er heard I a harder ‘neath heaven’s dome,

nor adrift on the deep a more desolate man!

Yet I came unharmed from that hostile clutch,

though spent with swimming. The sea upbore me,

flood of the tide, on Finnish land,

the welling waters. No wise of thee

have I heard men tell such terror of falchions,

bitter battle. Breca ne’er yet,

not one of you pair, in the play of war

such daring deed has done at all

with bloody brand, — I boast not of it! —

though thou wast the bane of thy brethren dear,

thy closest kin, whence curse of hell

awaits thee, well as thy wit may serve!

For I say in sooth, thou son of Ecglaf,

never had Grendel these grim deeds wrought,

monster dire, on thy master dear,

in Heorot such havoc, if heart of thine

were as battle-bold as thy boast is loud!

But he has found no feud will happen;

from sword-clash dread of your Danish clan

he vaunts him safe, from the Victor-Scyldings.

He forces pledges, favors none

of the land of Danes, but lustily murders,

fights and feasts, nor feud he dreads

from Spear-Dane men. But speedily now

shall I prove him the prowess and pride of the Geats,

shall bid him battle. Blithe to mead

go he that listeth, when light of dawn

this morrow morning o’er men of earth,

ether-robed sun from the south shall beam!”

Joyous then was the Jewel-giver,

hoar-haired, war-brave; help awaited

the Bright-Danes’ prince, from Beowulf hearing,

folk’s good shepherd, such firm resolve.

Then was laughter of liegemen loud resounding

with winsome words. Came Wealhtheow forth,

queen of Hrothgar, heedful of courtesy,

gold-decked, greeting the guests in hall;

and the high-born lady handed the cup

first to the East-Danes’ heir and warden,

bade him be blithe at the beer-carouse,

the land’s beloved one. Lustily took he

banquet and beaker, battle-famed king.

Through the hall then went the Helmings’ Lady,

to younger and older everywhere

carried the cup, till come the moment

when the ring-graced queen, the royal-hearted,

to Beowulf bore the beaker of mead.

She greeted the Geats’ lord, God she thanked,

in wisdom’s words, that her will was granted,

that at last on a hero her hope could lean

for comfort in terrors. The cup he took,

hardy-in-war, from Wealhtheow’s hand,

and answer uttered the eager-for-combat.

Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:—

“This was my thought, when my thanes and I

bent to the ocean and entered our boat,

that I would work the will of your people

fully, or fighting fall in death,

in fiend’s gripe fast. I am firm to do

an earl’s brave deed, or end the days

of this life of mine in the mead-hall here.”

Well these words to the woman seemed,

Beowulf’s battle-boast. — Bright with gold

the stately dame by her spouse sat down.

Again, as erst, began in hall

warriors’ wassail and words of power,

the proud-band’s revel, till presently

the son of Healfdene hastened to seek

rest for the night; he knew there waited

fight for the fiend in that festal hall,

when the sheen of the sun they saw no more,

and dusk of night sank darkling nigh,

and shadowy shapes came striding on,

wan under welkin. The warriors rose.

Man to man, he made harangue,

Hrothgar to Beowulf, bade him hail,

let him wield the wine hall: a word he added:—

“Never to any man erst I trusted,

since I could heave up hand and shield,

this noble Dane-Hall, till now to thee.

Have now and hold this house unpeered;

remember thy glory; thy might declare;

watch for the foe! No wish shall fail thee

if thou bidest the battle with bold-won life.”

THEN Hrothgar went with his hero-train,

defence-of-Scyldings, forth from hall;

fain would the war-lord Wealhtheow seek,

couch of his queen. The King-of-Glory

against this Grendel a guard had set,

so heroes heard, a hall-defender,

who warded the monarch and watched for the monster.

In truth, the Geats’ prince gladly trusted

his mettle, his might, the mercy of God!

Cast off then his corselet of iron,

helmet from head; to his henchman gave, —

choicest of weapons, — the well-chased sword,

bidding him guard the gear of battle.

Spake then his Vaunt the valiant man,

Beowulf Geat, ere the bed be sought:—

“Of force in fight no feebler I count me,

in grim war-deeds, than Grendel deems him.

Not with the sword, then, to sleep of death

his life will I give, though it lie in my power.

No skill is his to strike against me,

my shield to hew though he hardy be,

bold in battle; we both, this night,

shall spurn the sword, if he seek me here,

unweaponed, for war. Let wisest God,

sacred Lord, on which side soever

doom decree as he deemeth right.”

Reclined then the chieftain, and cheek-pillows held

the head of the earl, while all about him

seamen hardy on hall-beds sank.

None of them thought that thence their steps

to the folk and fastness that fostered them,

to the land they loved, would lead them back!

Full well they wist that on warriors many

battle-death seized, in the banquet-hall,

of Danish clan. But comfort and help,

war-weal weaving, to Weder folk

the Master gave, that, by might of one,

over their enemy all prevailed,

by single strength. In sooth ‘tis told

that highest God o’er human kind

hath wielded ever! — Thro’ wan night striding,

came the walker-in-shadow. Warriors slept

whose hest was to guard the gabled hall, —

all save one. ‘Twas widely known

that against God’s will the ghostly ravager

him could not hurl to haunts of darkness;

wakeful, ready, with warrior’s wrath,

bold he bided the battle’s issue.

THEN from the moorland, by misty crags,

with God’s wrath laden, Grendel came.

The monster was minded of mankind now

sundry to seize in the stately house.

Under welkin he walked, till the wine-palace there,

gold-hall of men, he gladly discerned,

flashing with fretwork. Not first time, this,

that he the home of Hrothgar sought, —

yet ne’er in his life-day, late or early,

such hardy heroes, such hall-thanes, found!

To the house the warrior walked apace,

parted from peace; the portal opended,

though with forged bolts fast, when his fists had struck it,

and baleful he burst in his blatant rage,

the house’s mouth. All hastily, then,

o’er fair-paved floor the fiend trod on,

ireful he strode; there streamed from his eyes

fearful flashes, like flame to see.

He spied in hall the hero-band,

kin and clansmen clustered asleep,

hardy liegemen. Then laughed his heart;

for the monster was minded, ere morn should dawn,

savage, to sever the soul of each,

life from body, since lusty banquet

waited his will! But Wyrd forbade him

to seize any more of men on earth

after that evening. Eagerly watched

Hygelac’s kinsman his cursed foe,

how he would fare in fell attack.

Not that the monster was minded to pause!

Straightway he seized a sleeping warrior

for the first, and tore him fiercely asunder,

the bone-frame bit, drank blood in streams,

swallowed him piecemeal: swiftly thus

the lifeless corse was clear devoured,

e’en feet and hands. Then farther he hied;

for the hardy hero with hand he grasped,

felt for the foe with fiendish claw,

for the hero reclining, — who clutched it boldly,

prompt to answer, propped on his arm.

Soon then saw that shepherd-of-evils

that never he met in this middle-world,

in the ways of earth, another wight

with heavier hand-gripe; at heart he feared,

sorrowed in soul, — none the sooner escaped!

Fain would he flee, his fastness seek,

the den of devils: no doings now

such as oft he had done in days of old!

Then bethought him the hardy Hygelac-thane

of his boast at evening: up he bounded,

grasped firm his foe, whose fingers cracked.

The fiend made off, but the earl close followed.

The monster meant — if he might at all —

to fling himself free, and far away

fly to the fens, — knew his fingers’ power

in the gripe of the grim one. Gruesome march

to Heorot this monster of harm had made!

Din filled the room; the Danes were bereft,

castle-dwellers and clansmen all,

earls, of their ale. Angry were both

those savage hall-guards: the house resounded.

Wonder it was the wine-hall firm

in the strain of their struggle stood, to earth

the fair house fell not; too fast it was

within and without by its iron bands

craftily clamped; though there crashed from sill

many a mead-bench — men have told me —

gay with gold, where the grim foes wrestled.

So well had weened the wisest Scyldings

that not ever at all might any man

that bone-decked, brave house break asunder,

crush by craft, — unless clasp of fire

in smoke engulfed it. — Again uprose

din redoubled. Danes of the North

with fear and frenzy were filled, each one,

who from the wall that wailing heard,

God’s foe sounding his grisly song,

cry of the conquered, clamorous pain

from captive of hell. Too closely held him

he who of men in might was strongest

in that same day of this our life.

NOT in any wise would the earls’-defence

suffer that slaughterous stranger to live,

useless deeming his days and years

to men on earth. Now many an earl

of Beowulf brandished blade ancestral,

fain the life of their lord to shield,

their praised prince, if power were theirs;

never they knew, — as they neared the foe,

hardy-hearted heroes of war,

aiming their swords on every side

the accursed to kill, — no keenest blade,

no farest of falchions fashioned on earth,

could harm or hurt that hideous fiend!

He was safe, by his spells, from sword of battle,

from edge of iron. Yet his end and parting

on that same day of this our life

woful should be, and his wandering soul

far off flit to the fiends’ domain.

Soon he found, who in former days,

harmful in heart and hated of God,

on many a man such murder wrought,

that the frame of his body failed him now.

For him the keen-souled kinsman of Hygelac

held in hand; hateful alive

was each to other. The outlaw dire

took mortal hurt; a mighty wound

showed on his shoulder, and sinews cracked,

and the bone-frame burst. To Beowulf now

the glory was given, and Grendel thence

death-sick his den in the dark moor sought,

noisome abode: he knew too well

that here was the last of life, an end

of his days on earth. — To all the Danes

by that bloody battle the boon had come.

From ravage had rescued the roving stranger

Hrothgar’s hall; the hardy and wise one

had purged it anew. His night-work pleased him,

his deed and its honor. To Eastern Danes

had the valiant Geat his vaunt made good,

all their sorrow and ills assuaged,

their bale of battle borne so long,

and all the dole they erst endured

pain a-plenty. — ‘Twas proof of this,

when the hardy-in-fight a hand laid down,

arm and shoulder, — all, indeed,

of Grendel’s gripe, — ‘neath the gabled roof’

MANY at morning, as men have told me,

warriors gathered the gift-hall round,

folk-leaders faring from far and near,

o’er wide-stretched ways, the wonder to view,

trace of the traitor. Not troublous seemed

the enemy’s end to any man

who saw by the gait of the graceless foe

how the weary-hearted, away from thence,

baffled in battle and banned, his steps

death-marked dragged to the devils’ mere.

Bloody the billows were boiling there,

turbid the tide of tumbling waves

horribly seething, with sword-blood hot,

by that doomed one dyed, who in den of the moor

laid forlorn his life adown,

his heathen soul,-and hell received it.

Home then rode the hoary clansmen

from that merry journey, and many a youth,

on horses white, the hardy warriors,

back from the mere. Then Beowulf’s glory

eager they echoed, and all averred

that from sea to sea, or south or north,

there was no other in earth’s domain,

under vault of heaven, more valiant found,

of warriors none more worthy to rule!

(On their lord beloved they laid no slight,

gracious Hrothgar: a good king he!)

From time to time, the tried-in-battle

their gray steeds set to gallop amain,

and ran a race when the road seemed fair.

From time to time, a thane of the king,

who had made many vaunts, and was mindful of verses,

stored with sagas and songs of old,

bound word to word in well-knit rime,

welded his lay; this warrior soon

of Beowulf’s quest right cleverly sang,

and artfully added an excellent tale,

in well-ranged words, of the warlike deeds

he had heard in saga of Sigemund.

Strange the story: he said it all, —

the Waelsing’s wanderings wide, his struggles,

which never were told to tribes of men,

the feuds and the frauds, save to Fitela only,

when of these doings he deigned to speak,

uncle to nephew; as ever the twain

stood side by side in stress of war,

and multitude of the monster kind

they had felled with their swords. Of Sigemund grew,

when he passed from life, no little praise;

for the doughty-in-combat a dragon killed

that herded the hoard: under hoary rock

the atheling dared the deed alone

fearful quest, nor was Fitela there.

Yet so it befell, his falchion pierced

that wondrous worm, — on the wall it struck,

best blade; the dragon died in its blood.

Thus had the dread-one by daring achieved

over the ring-hoard to rule at will,

himself to pleasure; a sea-boat he loaded,

and bore on its bosom the beaming gold,

son of Waels; the worm was consumed.

He had of all heroes the highest renown

among races of men, this refuge-of-warriors,

for deeds of daring that decked his name

since the hand and heart of Heremod

grew slack in battle. He, swiftly banished

to mingle with monsters at mercy of foes,

to death was betrayed; for torrents of sorrow

had lamed him too long; a load of care

to earls and athelings all he proved.

Oft indeed, in earlier days,

for the warrior’s wayfaring wise men mourned,

who had hoped of him help from harm and bale,

and had thought their sovran’s son would thrive,

follow his father, his folk protect,

the hoard and the stronghold, heroes’ land,

home of Scyldings. — But here, thanes said,

the kinsman of Hygelac kinder seemed

to all: the other was urged to crime!

And afresh to the race, the fallow roads

by swift steeds measured! The morning sun

was climbing higher. Clansmen hastened

to the high-built hall, those hardy-minded,

the wonder to witness. Warden of treasure,

crowned with glory, the king himself,

with stately band from the bride-bower strode;

and with him the queen and her crowd of maidens

measured the path to the mead-house fair.

HROTHGAR spake, — to the hall he went,

stood by the steps, the steep roof saw,

garnished with gold, and Grendel’s hand:—

“For the sight I see to the Sovran Ruler

be speedy thanks! A throng of sorrows

I have borne from Grendel; but God still works

wonder on wonder, the Warden-of-Glory.

It was but now that I never more

for woes that weighed on me waited help

long as I lived, when, laved in blood,

stood sword-gore-stained this stateliest house, —

widespread woe for wise men all,

who had no hope to hinder ever

foes infernal and fiendish sprites

from havoc in hall. This hero now,

by the Wielder’s might, a work has done

that not all of us erst could ever do

by wile and wisdom. Lo, well can she say

whoso of women this warrior bore

among sons of men, if still she liveth,

that the God of the ages was good to her

in the birth of her bairn. Now, Beowulf, thee,

of heroes best, I shall heartily love

as mine own, my son; preserve thou ever

this kinship new: thou shalt never lack

wealth of the world that I wield as mine!

Full oft for less have I largess showered,

my precious hoard, on a punier man,

less stout in struggle. Thyself hast now

fulfilled such deeds, that thy fame shall endure

through all the ages. As ever he did,

well may the Wielder reward thee still!”

Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:—

“This work of war most willingly

we have fought, this fight, and fearlessly dared

force of the foe. Fain, too, were I

hadst thou but seen himself, what time

the fiend in his trappings tottered to fall!

Swiftly, I thought, in strongest gripe

on his bed of death to bind him down,

that he in the hent of this hand of mine

should breathe his last: but he broke away.

Him I might not — the Maker willed not —

hinder from flight, and firm enough hold

the life-destroyer: too sturdy was he,

the ruthless, in running! For rescue, however,

he left behind him his hand in pledge,

arm and shoulder; nor aught of help

could the cursed one thus procure at all.

None the longer liveth he, loathsome fiend,

sunk in his sins, but sorrow holds him

tightly grasped in gripe of anguish,

in baleful bonds, where bide he must,

evil outlaw, such awful doom

as the Mighty Maker shall mete him out.”

More silent seemed the son of Ecglaf

in boastful speech of his battle-deeds,

since athelings all, through the earl’s great prowess,

beheld that hand, on the high roof gazing,

foeman’s fingers, — the forepart of each

of the sturdy nails to steel was likest, —

heathen’s “hand-spear,” hostile warrior’s

claw uncanny. ‘Twas clear, they said,

that him no blade of the brave could touch,

how keen soever, or cut away

that battle-hand bloody from baneful foe.

THERE was hurry and hest in Heorot now

for hands to bedeck it, and dense was the throng

of men and women the wine-hall to cleanse,

the guest-room to garnish. Gold-gay shone the hangings

that were wove on the wall, and wonders many

to delight each mortal that looks upon them.

Though braced within by iron bands,

that building bright was broken sorely;

rent were its hinges; the roof alone

held safe and sound, when, seared with crime,

the fiendish foe his flight essayed,

of life despairing. — No light thing that,

the flight for safety, — essay it who will!

Forced of fate, he shall find his way

to the refuge ready for race of man,

for soul-possessors, and sons of earth;

and there his body on bed of death

shall rest after revel. Arrived was the hour

when to hall proceeded Healfdene’s son:

the king himself would sit to banquet.

Ne’er heard I of host in haughtier throng

more graciously gathered round giver-of-rings!

Bowed then to bench those bearers-of-glory,

fain of the feasting. Featly received

many a mead-cup the mighty-in-spirit,

kinsmen who sat in the sumptuous hall,

Hrothgar and Hrothulf. Heorot now

was filled with friends; the folk of Scyldings

ne’er yet had tried the traitor’s deed.

To Beowulf gave the bairn of Healfdene

a gold-wove banner, guerdon of triumph,

broidered battle-flag, breastplate and helmet;

and a splendid sword was seen of many

borne to the brave one. Beowulf took

cup in hall: for such costly gifts

he suffered no shame in that soldier throng.

For I heard of few heroes, in heartier mood,

with four such gifts, so fashioned with gold,

on the ale-bench honoring others thus!

O’er the roof of the helmet high, a ridge,

wound with wires, kept ward o’er the head,

lest the relict-of-files should fierce invade,

sharp in the strife, when that shielded hero

should go to grapple against his foes.

Then the earls’-defence on the floor bade lead

coursers eight, with carven head-gear,

adown the hall: one horse was decked

with a saddle all shining and set in jewels;

‘twas the battle-seat of the best of kings,

when to play of swords the son of Healfdene

was fain to fare. Ne’er failed his valor

in the crush of combat when corpses fell.

To Beowulf over them both then gave

the refuge-of-Ingwines right and power,

o’er war-steeds and weapons: wished him joy of them.

Manfully thus the mighty prince,

hoard-guard for heroes, that hard fight repaid

with steeds and treasures contemned by none

who is willing to say the sooth aright.

AND the lord of earls, to each that came

with Beowulf over the briny ways,

an heirloom there at the ale-bench gave,

precious gift; and the price bade pay

in gold for him whom Grendel erst

murdered, — and fain of them more had killed,

had not wisest God their Wyrd averted,

and the man’s brave mood. The Maker then

ruled human kind, as here and now.

Therefore is insight always best,

and forethought of mind. How much awaits him

of lief and of loath, who long time here,

through days of warfare this world endures!

Then song and music mingled sounds

in the presence of Healfdene’s head-of-armies

and harping was heard with the hero-lay

as Hrothgar’s singer the hall-joy woke

along the mead-seats, making his song

of that sudden raid on the sons of Finn.

Healfdene’s hero, Hnaef the Scylding,

was fated to fall in the Frisian slaughter.

Hildeburh needed not hold in value

her enemies’ honor! Innocent both

were the loved ones she lost at the linden-play,

bairn and brother, they bowed to fate,

stricken by spears; ‘twas a sorrowful woman!

None doubted why the daughter of Hoc

bewailed her doom when dawning came,

and under the sky she saw them lying,

kinsmen murdered, where most she had kenned

of the sweets of the world! By war were swept, too,

Finn’s own liegemen, and few were left;

in the parleying-place he could ply no longer

weapon, nor war could he wage on Hengest,

and rescue his remnant by right of arms

from the prince’s thane. A pact he offered:

another dwelling the Danes should have,

hall and high-seat, and half the power

should fall to them in Frisian land;

and at the fee-gifts, Folcwald’s son

day by day the Danes should honor,

the folk of Hengest favor with rings,

even as truly, with treasure and jewels,

with fretted gold, as his Frisian kin

he meant to honor in ale-hall there.

Pact of peace they plighted further

on both sides firmly. Finn to Hengest

with oath, upon honor, openly promised

that woful remnant, with wise-men’s aid,

nobly to govern, so none of the guests

by word or work should warp the treaty,

or with malice of mind bemoan themselves

as forced to follow their fee-giver’s slayer,

lordless men, as their lot ordained.

Should Frisian, moreover, with foeman’s taunt,

that murderous hatred to mind recall,

then edge of the sword must seal his doom.

Oaths were given, and ancient gold

heaped from hoard. — The hardy Scylding,

battle-thane best, on his balefire lay.

All on the pyre were plain to see

the gory sark, the gilded swine-crest,

boar of hard iron, and athelings many

slain by the sword: at the slaughter they fell.

It was Hildeburh’s hest, at Hnaef’s own pyre

the bairn of her body on brands to lay,

his bones to burn, on the balefire placed,

at his uncle’s side. In sorrowful dirges

bewept them the woman: great wailing ascended.

Then wound up to welkin the wildest of death-fires,

roared o’er the hillock: heads all were melted,

gashes burst, and blood gushed out

from bites of the body. Balefire devoured,

greediest spirit, those spared not by war

out of either folk: their flower was gone.

THEN hastened those heroes their home to see,

friendless, to find the Frisian land,

houses and high burg. Hengest still

through the death-dyed winter dwelt with Finn,

holding pact, yet of home he minded,

though powerless his ring-decked prow to drive

over the waters, now waves rolled fierce

lashed by the winds, or winter locked them

in icy fetters. Then fared another

year to men’s dwellings, as yet they do,

the sunbright skies, that their season ever

duly await. Far off winter was driven;

fair lay earth’s breast; and fain was the rover,

the guest, to depart, though more gladly he pondered

on wreaking his vengeance than roaming the deep,

and how to hasten the hot encounter

where sons of the Frisians were sure to be.

So he escaped not the common doom,

when Hun with “Lafing,” the light-of-battle,

best of blades, his bosom pierced:

its edge was famed with the Frisian earls.

On fierce-heart Finn there fell likewise,

on himself at home, the horrid sword-death;

for Guthlaf and Oslaf of grim attack

had sorrowing told, from sea-ways landed,

mourning their woes. Finn’s wavering spirit

bode not in breast. The burg was reddened

with blood of foemen, and Finn was slain,

king amid clansmen; the queen was taken.

To their ship the Scylding warriors bore

all the chattels the chieftain owned,

whatever they found in Finn’s domain

of gems and jewels. The gentle wife

o’er paths of the deep to the Danes they bore,

led to her land. The lay was finished,

the gleeman’s song. Then glad rose the revel;

bench-joy brightened. Bearers draw

from their “wonder-vats” wine. Comes Wealhtheow forth,

under gold-crown goes where the good pair sit,

uncle and nephew, true each to the other one,

kindred in amity. Unferth the spokesman

at the Scylding lord’s feet sat: men had faith in his spirit,

his keenness of courage, though kinsmen had found him

unsure at the sword-play. The Scylding queen spoke:

“Quaff of this cup, my king and lord,

breaker of rings, and blithe be thou,

gold-friend of men; to the Geats here speak

such words of mildness as man should use.

Be glad with thy Geats; of those gifts be mindful,

or near or far, which now thou hast.

Men say to me, as son thou wishest

yon hero to hold. Thy Heorot purged,

jewel-hall brightest, enjoy while thou canst,

with many a largess; and leave to thy kin

folk and realm when forth thou goest

to greet thy doom. For gracious I deem

my Hrothulf, willing to hold and rule

nobly our youths, if thou yield up first,

prince of Scyldings, thy part in the world.

I ween with good he will well requite

offspring of ours, when all he minds

that for him we did in his helpless days

of gift and grace to gain him honor!”

Then she turned to the seat where her sons were placed,

Hrethric and Hrothmund, with heroes’ bairns,

young men together: the Geat, too, sat there,

Beowulf brave, the brothers between.

A CUP she gave him, with kindly greeting

and winsome words. Of wounden gold,

she offered, to honor him, arm-jewels twain,

corselet and rings, and of collars the noblest

that ever I knew the earth around.

Ne’er heard I so mighty, ‘neath heaven’s dome,

a hoard-gem of heroes, since Hama bore

to his bright-built burg the Brisings’ necklace,

jewel and gem casket. — Jealousy fled he,

Eormenric’s hate: chose help eternal.

Hygelac Geat, grandson of Swerting,

on the last of his raids this ring bore with him,

under his banner the booty defending,

the war-spoil warding; but Wyrd o’erwhelmed him

what time, in his daring, dangers he sought,

feud with Frisians. Fairest of gems

he bore with him over the beaker-of-waves,

sovran strong: under shield he died.

Fell the corpse of the king into keeping of Franks,

gear of the breast, and that gorgeous ring;

weaker warriors won the spoil,

after gripe of battle, from Geatland’s lord,

and held the death-field. Din rose in hall.

Wealhtheow spake amid warriors, and said:—

“This jewel enjoy in thy jocund youth,

Beowulf lov’d, these battle-weeds wear,

a royal treasure, and richly thrive!

Preserve thy strength, and these striplings here

counsel in kindness: requital be mine.

Hast done such deeds, that for days to come

thou art famed among folk both far and near,

so wide as washeth the wave of Ocean

his windy walls. Through the ways of life

prosper, O prince! I pray for thee

rich possessions. To son of mine

be helpful in deed and uphold his joys!

Here every earl to the other is true,

mild of mood, to the master loyal!

Thanes are friendly, the throng obedient,

liegemen are revelling: list and obey!”

Went then to her place. — That was proudest of feasts;

flowed wine for the warriors. Wyrd they knew not,

destiny dire, and the doom to be seen

by many an earl when eve should come,

and Hrothgar homeward hasten away,

royal, to rest. The room was guarded

by an army of earls, as erst was done.

They bared the bench-boards; abroad they spread

beds and bolsters. — One beer-carouser

in danger of doom lay down in the hall. —

At their heads they set their shields of war,

bucklers bright; on the bench were there

over each atheling, easy to see,

the high battle-helmet, the haughty spear,

the corselet of rings. ‘Twas their custom so

ever to be for battle prepared,

at home, or harrying, which it were,

even as oft as evil threatened

their sovran king. — They were clansmen good.

THEN sank they to sleep. With sorrow one bought

his rest of the evening, — as ofttime had happened

when Grendel guarded that golden hall,

evil wrought, till his end drew nigh,

slaughter for sins. ‘Twas seen and told

how an avenger survived the fiend,

as was learned afar. The livelong time

after that grim fight, Grendel’s mother,

monster of women, mourned her woe.

She was doomed to dwell in the dreary waters,

cold sea-courses, since Cain cut down

with edge of the sword his only brother,

his father’s offspring: outlawed he fled,

marked with murder, from men’s delights

warded the wilds. — There woke from him

such fate-sent ghosts as Grendel, who,

war-wolf horrid, at Heorot found

a warrior watching and waiting the fray,

with whom the grisly one grappled amain.

But the man remembered his mighty power,

the glorious gift that God had sent him,

in his Maker’s mercy put his trust

for comfort and help: so he conquered the foe,

felled the fiend, who fled abject,

reft of joy, to the realms of death,

mankind’s foe. And his mother now,

gloomy and grim, would go that quest

of sorrow, the death of her son to avenge.

To Heorot came she, where helmeted Danes

slept in the hall. Too soon came back

old ills of the earls, when in she burst,

the mother of Grendel. Less grim, though, that terror,

e’en as terror of woman in war is less,

might of maid, than of men in arms

when, hammer-forged, the falchion hard,

sword gore-stained, through swine of the helm,

crested, with keen blade carves amain.

Then was in hall the hard-edge drawn,

the swords on the settles, and shields a-many

firm held in hand: nor helmet minded

nor harness of mail, whom that horror seized.

Haste was hers; she would hie afar

and save her life when the liegemen saw her.

Yet a single atheling up she seized

fast and firm, as she fled to the moor.

He was for Hrothgar of heroes the dearest,

of trusty vassals betwixt the seas,

whom she killed on his couch, a clansman famous,

in battle brave. — Nor was Beowulf there;

another house had been held apart,

after giving of gold, for the Geat renowned. —

Uproar filled Heorot; the hand all had viewed,

blood-flecked, she bore with her; bale was returned,

dole in the dwellings: ‘twas dire exchange

where Dane and Geat were doomed to give

the lives of loved ones. Long-tried king,

the hoary hero, at heart was sad

when he knew his noble no more lived,

and dead indeed was his dearest thane.

To his bower was Beowulf brought in haste,

dauntless victor. As daylight broke,

along with his earls the atheling lord,

with his clansmen, came where the king abode

waiting to see if the Wielder-of-All

would turn this tale of trouble and woe.

Strode o’er floor the famed-in-strife,

with his hand-companions, — the hall resounded, —

wishing to greet the wise old king,

Ingwines’ lord; he asked if the night

had passed in peace to the prince’s mind.

HROTHGAR spake, helmet-of-Scyldings:—

“Ask not of pleasure! Pain is renewed

to Danish folk. Dead is Aeschere,

of Yrmenlaf the elder brother,

my sage adviser and stay in council,

shoulder-comrade in stress of fight

when warriors clashed and we warded our heads,

hewed the helm-boars; hero famed

should be every earl as Aeschere was!

But here in Heorot a hand hath slain him

of wandering death-sprite. I wot not whither,

proud of the prey, her path she took,

fain of her fill. The feud she avenged

that yesternight, unyieldingly,

Grendel in grimmest grasp thou killedst, —

seeing how long these liegemen mine

he ruined and ravaged. Reft of life,

in arms he fell. Now another comes,

keen and cruel, her kin to avenge,

faring far in feud of blood

so that many a thane shall think, who e’er

sorrows in soul for that sharer of rings,

this is hardest of heart-bales. The hand lies low

that once was willing each wish to please.

Land-dwellers here and liegemen mine,

who house by those parts, I have heard relate

that such a pair they have sometimes seen,

march-stalkers mighty the moorland haunting,

wandering spirits: one of them seemed,

so far as my folk could fairly judge,

of womankind; and one, accursed,

in man’s guise trod the misery-track

of exile, though huger than human bulk.

Grendel in days long gone they named him,

folk of the land; his father they knew not,

nor any brood that was born to him

of treacherous spirits. Untrod is their home;

by wolf-cliffs haunt they and windy headlands,

fenways fearful, where flows the stream

from mountains gliding to gloom of the rocks,

underground flood. Not far is it hence

in measure of miles that the mere expands,

and o’er it the frost-bound forest hanging,

sturdily rooted, shadows the wave.

By night is a wonder weird to see,

fire on the waters. So wise lived none

of the sons of men, to search those depths!

Nay, though the heath-rover, harried by dogs,

the horn-proud hart, this holt should seek,

long distance driven, his dear life first

on the brink he yields ere he brave the plunge

to hide his head: ‘tis no happy place!

Thence the welter of waters washes up

wan to welkin when winds bestir

evil storms, and air grows dusk,

and the heavens weep. Now is help once more

with thee alone! The land thou knowst not,

place of fear, where thou findest out

that sin-flecked being. Seek if thou dare!

I will reward thee, for waging this fight,

with ancient treasure, as erst I did,

with winding gold, if thou winnest back.”

BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:

“Sorrow not, sage! It beseems us better

friends to avenge than fruitlessly mourn them.

Each of us all must his end abide

in the ways of the world; so win who may

glory ere death! When his days are told,

that is the warrior’s worthiest doom.

Rise, O realm-warder! Ride we anon,

and mark the trail of the mother of Grendel.

No harbor shall hide her — heed my promise! —

enfolding of field or forested mountain

or floor of the flood, let her flee where she will!

But thou this day endure in patience,

as I ween thou wilt, thy woes each one.”

Leaped up the graybeard: God he thanked,

mighty Lord, for the man’s brave words.

For Hrothgar soon a horse was saddled

wave-maned steed. The sovran wise

stately rode on; his shield-armed men

followed in force. The footprints led

along the woodland, widely seen,

a path o’er the plain, where she passed, and trod

the murky moor; of men-at-arms

she bore the bravest and best one, dead,

him who with Hrothgar the homestead ruled.

On then went the atheling-born

o’er stone-cliffs steep and strait defiles,

narrow passes and unknown ways,

headlands sheer, and the haunts of the Nicors.

Foremost he fared, a few at his side

of the wiser men, the ways to scan,

till he found in a flash the forested hill

hanging over the hoary rock,

a woful wood: the waves below

were dyed in blood. The Danish men

had sorrow of soul, and for Scyldings all,

for many a hero, ‘twas hard to bear,

ill for earls, when Aeschere’s head

they found by the flood on the foreland there.

Waves were welling, the warriors saw,

hot with blood; but the horn sang oft

battle-song bold. The band sat down,

and watched on the water worm-like things,

sea-dragons strange that sounded the deep,

and nicors that lay on the ledge of the ness —

such as oft essay at hour of morn

on the road-of-sails their ruthless quest, —

and sea-snakes and monsters. These started away,

swollen and savage that song to hear,

that war-horn’s blast. The warden of Geats,

with bolt from bow, then balked of life,

of wave-work, one monster, amid its heart

went the keen war-shaft; in water it seemed

less doughty in swimming whom death had seized.

Swift on the billows, with boar-spears well

hooked and barbed, it was hard beset,

done to death and dragged on the headland,

wave-roamer wondrous. Warriors viewed

the grisly guest. Then girt him Beowulf

in martial mail, nor mourned for his life.

His breastplate broad and bright of hues,

woven by hand, should the waters try;

well could it ward the warrior’s body

that battle should break on his breast in vain

nor harm his heart by the hand of a foe.

And the helmet white that his head protected

was destined to dare the deeps of the flood,

through wave-whirl win: ‘twas wound with chains,

decked with gold, as in days of yore

the weapon-smith worked it wondrously,

with swine-forms set it, that swords nowise,

brandished in battle, could bite that helm.

Nor was that the meanest of mighty helps

which Hrothgar’s orator offered at need:

“Hrunting” they named the hilted sword,

of old-time heirlooms easily first;

iron was its edge, all etched with poison,

with battle-blood hardened, nor blenched it at fight

in hero’s hand who held it ever,

on paths of peril prepared to go

to folkstead of foes. Not first time this

it was destined to do a daring task.

For he bore not in mind, the bairn of Ecglaf

sturdy and strong, that speech he had made,

drunk with wine, now this weapon he lent

to a stouter swordsman. Himself, though, durst not

under welter of waters wager his life

as loyal liegeman. So lost he his glory,

honor of earls. With the other not so,

who girded him now for the grim encounter.

BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:—

“Have mind, thou honored offspring of Healfdene

gold-friend of men, now I go on this quest,

sovran wise, what once was said:

if in thy cause it came that I

should lose my life, thou wouldst loyal bide

to me, though fallen, in father’s place!

Be guardian, thou, to this group of my thanes,

my warrior-friends, if War should seize me;

and the goodly gifts thou gavest me,

Hrothgar beloved, to Hygelac send!

Geatland’s king may ken by the gold,

Hrethel’s son see, when he stares at the treasure,

that I got me a friend for goodness famed,

and joyed while I could in my jewel-bestower.

And let Unferth wield this wondrous sword,

earl far-honored, this heirloom precious,

hard of edge: with Hrunting I

seek doom of glory, or Death shall take me.”

After these words the Weder-Geat lord

boldly hastened, biding never

answer at all: the ocean floods

closed o’er the hero. Long while of the day

fled ere he felt the floor of the sea.

Soon found the fiend who the flood-domain

sword-hungry held these hundred winters,

greedy and grim, that some guest from above,

some man, was raiding her monster-realm.

She grasped out for him with grisly claws,

and the warrior seized; yet scathed she not

his body hale; the breastplate hindered,

as she strove to shatter the sark of war,

the linked harness, with loathsome hand.

Then bore this brine-wolf, when bottom she touched,

the lord of rings to the lair she haunted

whiles vainly he strove, though his valor held,

weapon to wield against wondrous monsters

that sore beset him; sea-beasts many

tried with fierce tusks to tear his mail,

and swarmed on the stranger. But soon he marked

he was now in some hall, he knew not which,

where water never could work him harm,

nor through the roof could reach him ever

fangs of the flood. Firelight he saw,

beams of a blaze that brightly shone.

Then the warrior was ware of that wolf-of-the-deep,

mere-wife monstrous. For mighty stroke

he swung his blade, and the blow withheld not.

Then sang on her head that seemly blade

its war-song wild. But the warrior found

the light-of-battle was loath to bite,

to harm the heart: its hard edge failed

the noble at need, yet had known of old

strife hand to hand, and had helmets cloven,

doomed men’s fighting-gear. First time, this,

for the gleaming blade that its glory fell.

Firm still stood, nor failed in valor,

heedful of high deeds, Hygelac’s kinsman;

flung away fretted sword, featly jewelled,

the angry earl; on earth it lay

steel-edged and stiff. His strength he trusted,

hand-gripe of might. So man shall do

whenever in war he weens to earn him

lasting fame, nor fears for his life!

Seized then by shoulder, shrank not from combat,

the Geatish war-prince Grendel’s mother.

Flung then the fierce one, filled with wrath,

his deadly foe, that she fell to ground.

Swift on her part she paid him back

with grisly grasp, and grappled with him.

Spent with struggle, stumbled the warrior,

fiercest of fighting-men, fell adown.

On the hall-guest she hurled herself, hent her short sword,

broad and brown-edged, the bairn to avenge,

the sole-born son. — On his shoulder lay

braided breast-mail, barring death,

withstanding entrance of edge or blade.

Life would have ended for Ecgtheow’s son,

under wide earth for that earl of Geats,

had his armor of war not aided him,

battle-net hard, and holy God

wielded the victory, wisest Maker.

The Lord of Heaven allowed his cause;

and easily rose the earl erect.

‘MID the battle-gear saw he a blade triumphant,

old-sword of Eotens, with edge of proof,

warr

my makeup may be flaking

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