The Dragon Megapack

by Wildside Press

  Had wielded the war-gain, the Lord the All-wise;

  Save that the skies’ Ruler had rightwisely doom’d it

  All easily. Sithence he stood up again.

  XXIV. BEOWULF SLAYETH GRENDEL’S DAM, SMITETH OFF GRENDEL’S HEAD, AND COMETH BACK WITH HIS THANES TO HART.

  Midst the war-gear he saw then a bill victory-wealthy,

  An old sword of eotens full doughty of edges,

  The worship of warriors. That was choice of all weapons,

  Save that more was it made than any man other

  In the battle-play ever might bear it afield,

  So goodly, all glorious, the work of the giants.

  Then the girdled hilt seiz’d he, the Wolf of the Scyldings,

  The rough and the sword-grim, and drew forth the ring-sword,

  Naught weening of life, and wrathful he smote then

  So that there on her halse the hard edge begripped,

  And brake through the bone-rings: the bill all through-waded

  Her flesh-sheathing fey; cring’d she down on the floor;

  The sword was war-sweaty, the man in his work joy’d.

  The bright beam shone forth, the light stood withinward,

  E’en as down from the heavens’ clear high aloft shineth

  The sky’s candle. He all along the house scanned;

  Then turn’d by the wall along, heav’d up his weapon

  Hard by the hilts the Hygelac’s thane there,

  Ireful one-reded; naught worthless the edge was

  Unto the warrior; but rathely now would he

  To Grendel make payment of many war-onsets,

  Of them that he wrought on the folk of the West Danes

  Oftener by mickle than one time alone,

  Whenas he the hearthfellows of Hrothgar the King

  Slew in their slumber and fretted them sleeping,

  Men fifteen to wit of the folk of the Danes,

  And e’en such another deal ferry’d off outward,

  Loathly prey. Now he paid him his guerdon therefor,

  The fierce champion; so well, that abed there he saw

  Where Grendel war-weary was lying adown

  Forlorn of his life, as him ere had scathed

  The battle at Hart; sprang wide the body,

  Sithence after death he suffer’d the stroke,

  The hard swing of sword. Then he smote the head off him.

  Now soon were they seeing, those sage of the carles,

  E’en they who with Hrothgar gaz’d down on the holm,

  That the surge of the billows was blended about,

  The sea stain’d with blood. Therewith the hoar-blended,

  The old men, of the good one gat talking together

  That they of the Atheling ween’d never eft-soon

  That he, glad in his war-gain, should wend him a-seeking

  The mighty king, since unto many it seemed

  That him the mere-she-wolf had sunder’d and broken.

  Came then nones of the day, and the ness there they gave up,

  The Scyldings the brisk; and then busk’d him home thence-ward

  The gold-friend of men. But the guests, there they sat

  All sick of their mood, and star’d on the mere;

  They wist not, they ween’d not if him their own friend-lord

  Himself they should see.

  Now that sword began

  Because of the war-sweat into icicles war-made,

  The war-bill, to wane: that was one of the wonders

  That it melted away most like unto ice

  When the bond of the frost the Father lets loosen,

  Unwindeth the wave-ropes, e’en he that hath wielding

  Of times and of seasons, who is the sooth Shaper.

  In those wicks there he took not, the Weder-Geats’ champion,

  Of treasure-wealth more, though he saw there a many,

  Than the off-smitten head and the sword-hilts together

  With treasure made shifting; for the sword-blade was molten,

  The sword broider’d was burn’d up, so hot was that blood,

  So poisonous the alien ghost there that had died.

  Now soon was a-swimming he who erst in the strife bode

  The war-onset of wrath ones; he div’d up through the water;

  And now were the wave-welters cleansed full well,

  Yea the dwellings full wide, where the ghost of elsewhither

  Let go of his life-days and the waning of living.

  Came then unto land the helm of the ship-lads

  Swimming stout-hearted, glad of his sea-spoil,

  The burden so mighty of that which he bore there.

  Yode then against him and gave thanks to God

  That fair heap of thanes, and were fain of their lord,

  For that hale and sound now they might see him with eyen;

  Then was from the bold one the helm and the byrny

  All speedily loosen’d. The lake now was laid,

  The water ’neath welkin with war-gore bestained.

  Forth then they far’d them alongst of the foot-tracks,

  Men fain of heart all, as they meted the earth-way,

  The street the well known; then those king-bold of men

  Away from the holm-cliff the head there they bore

  Uneasily ever to each one that bore it,

  The full stout-heart of men: it was four of them needs must

  On the stake of the slaughter with strong toil there ferry

  Unto the gold-hall the head of that Grendel;

  Until forthright in haste came into that hall,

  Fierce, keen in the hosting, a fourteen of men

  Of the Geat-folk a-ganging; and with them their lord,

  The moody amidst of the throng, trod the mead-plains;

  Came then in a-wending the foreman of thanes,

  The man keen of his deeds all beworshipp’d of doom,

  The hero, the battle-deer, Hrothgar to greet.

  Then was by the fell borne in onto the floor

  Grendel’s head, whereas men were a-drinking in hall,

  Aweful before the earls, yea and the woman.

  The sight wondrous to see the warriors there look’d on.

  XXV. CONVERSE OF HROTHGAR WITH BEOWULF.

  Spake out then Beowulf, Ecgtheow’s bairn:

  What! we the sea-spoils here to thee, son of Healfdene,

  High lord of the Scyldings, with lust have brought hither

  For a token of glory, e’en these thou beholdest.

  Now I all unsoftly with life I escaped,

  In war under the water dar’d I the work

  Full hard to be worked, and well-nigh there was

  The sundering of strife, save that me God had shielded.

  So it is that in battle naught might I with Hrunting

  One whit do the work, though the weapon be doughty;

  But to me then he granted, the Wielder of men,

  That on wall I beheld there all beauteous hanging

  An ancient sword, might-endow’d (often he leadeth right

  The friendless of men); so forth drew I that weapon.

  In that onset I slew there, as hap then appaid me,

  The herd of the house; then that bill of the host,

  The broider’d sword, burn’d up, and that blood sprang forth

  The hottest of battle-sweats; but the hilts thereof thenceforth

  From the foemen I ferry’d. I wreaked the foul deeds,

  The death-quelling of Danes, e’en as duly behoved.

  Now this I behote thee, that here in Hart mayst thou

  Sleep sorrowless henceforth with the host of thy men

  And the thanes every one that are of thy people

  Of doughty and young; that for them need thou dread not,

  O high lord of Scyldings, on that behalf soothly

  Life-bale for the earls as erst thou hast done.

  Then was the hilt golden to the ancient of warriors,

&
nbsp; The hoary of host-leaders, into hand given,

  The old work of giants; it turn’d to the owning,

  After fall of the Devils, of the lord of the Danes,

  That work of the wonder-smith, syth gave up the world

  The fierce-hearted groom, the foeman of God,

  The murder-beguilted, and there eke his mother;

  Unto the wielding of world-kings it turned,

  The best that there be betwixt of the sea-floods

  Of them that in Scaney dealt out the scat.

  Now spake out Hrothgar, as he look’d on the hilts there,

  The old heir-loom whereon was writ the beginning

  Of the strife of the old time, whenas the flood slew,

  The ocean a-gushing, that kin of the giants

  As fiercely they fared. That was a folk alien

  To the Lord everlasting; so to them a last guerdon

  Through the welling of waters the Wielder did give.

  So was on the sword-guards all of the sheer gold

  By dint of the rune-staves rightly bemarked,

  Set down and said for whom first was that sword wrought,

  And the choice of all irons erst had been done,

  Wreath-hilted and worm-adorn’d. Then spake the wise one,

  Healfdene’s son, and all were gone silent:

  Lo that may he say, who the right and the soothfast

  Amid the folk frameth, and far back all remembers,

  The old country’s warden, that as for this earl here

  Born better was he. Uprear’d is the fame-blast

  Through wide ways far yonder, O Beowulf, friend mine,

  Of thee o’er all peoples. Thou hold’st all with patience,

  Thy might with mood-wisdom; I shall make thee my love good,

  As we twain at first spake it. For a comfort thou shalt be

  Granted long while and long unto thy people,

  For a help unto heroes. Naught such became Heremod

  To Ecgwela’s offspring, the honourful Scyldings;

  For their welfare naught wax’d he, but for felling in slaughter,

  For the quelling of death to the folk of the Danes.

  Mood-swollen he brake there his board-fellows soothly,

  His shoulder-friends, until he sunder’d him lonely,

  That mighty of princes, from the mirth of all men-folk.

  Though him God the mighty in the joyance of might,

  In main strength, exalted high over all-men,

  And framed him forth, yet fast in his heart grew

  A breast-hoard blood-fierce; none of fair rings he gave

  To the Danes as due doom would. Unmerry he dured

  So that yet of that strife the trouble he suffer’d.

  A folk-bale so longsome. By such do thou learn thee,

  Get thee hold of man-valour: this tale for thy teaching

  Old in winters I tell thee. ’Tis wonder to say it,

  How the high God almighty to the kindred of mankind

  Through his mind the wide-fashion’d deals wisdom about,

  Home and earlship; he owneth the wielding of all.

  At whiles unto love he letteth to turn

  The mood-thought of a man that Is mighty of kindred,

  And in his land giveth him joyance of earth,

  And to have and to hold the high ward-burg of men,

  And sets so ’neath his wielding the deals of the world,

  Dominion wide reaching, that he himself may not

  In all his unwisdom of the ending bethink him.

  He wonneth well-faring, nothing him wasteth

  Sickness nor eld, nor the foe-sorrow to him

  Dark in mind waxeth, nor strife any where,

  The edge-hate, appeareth; but all the world for him

  Wends as he willeth, and the worse naught he wotteth.

  XXVI. MORE CONVERSE OF HROTHGAR AND BEOWULF: THE GEATS MAKE THEM READY FOR DEPARTURE.

  Until that within him a deal of o’erthink-ing

  Waxeth and groweth while sleepeth the warder,

  The soul’s herdsman; that slumber too fast is forsooth,

  Fast bounden by troubles, the banesman all nigh,

  E’en he that from arrow-bow evilly shooteth.

  Then he in his heart under helm is besmitten

  With a bitter shaft; not a whit then may he ward him

  From the wry wonder-biddings of the ghost the all-wicked.

  Too little he deems that which long he hath hold.

  Wrath-greedy he covets; nor e’en for boast-sake gives

  The rings fair beplated; and the forth-coming doom

  Forgetteth, forheedeth, for that God gave him erewhile,

  The Wielder of glory, a deal of the worship.

  At the ending-stave then it after befalleth

  That the shell of his body sinks fleeting away,

  And falleth all fey; and another one fetcheth,

  E’en one that undolefully dealeth the treasure,

  The earl’s gains of aforetime, and fear never heedeth.

  From the bale-envy ward thee, lief Beowulf, therefore,

  Thou best of all men, and choose thee the better,

  The redes everlasting; to o’erthinkirig turn not,

  O mighty of champions! for now thy might breatheth

  For a short while of time; but eft-soon it shall be

  That sickness or edges from thy strength thee shall sunder,

  Or the hold of the fire, or the welling of floods,

  Or the grip of the sword-blade, or flight of the spear,

  Or eld the all-evil: or the beaming of eyen

  Shall fail and shall dim: then shall it be forthright

  That thee, lordly man, the death over-masters.

  E’en so I the Ring-Danes for an hundred of seasons

  Did wield under the welkin and lock’d them by war

  From many a kindred the Middle-Garth over

  With ash-spears and edges, in such wise that not ever

  Under the sky’s run of my foemen I reckoned.

  What! to me in my land came a shifting of that,

  Came grief after game, sithence Grendel befell,

  My foeman of old, mine ingoer soothly.

  I from that onfall bore ever unceasing

  Mickle mood-care; herefor be thanks to the Maker,

  To the Lord everlasting, that in life I abided,

  Yea, that I on that head all sword-gory there,

  Now the old strife is over, with eyen should stare.

  Go fare thou to settle, the feast-joyance dree thou,

  O war-worshipp’d! unto us twain yet there will be

  Mickle treasure in common when come is the morning.

  Glad of mood then the Geat was, and speedy he gat him

  To go see the settle, as the sage one commanded.

  Then was after as erst, that they of the might-fame,

  The floor-sitters, fairly the feasting bedight them

  All newly. The helm of the night loured over

  Dark over the host-men. Uprose all the doughty,

  For he, the hoar-blended, would wend to his bed,

  That old man of the Scyldings. The Geat without measure,

  The mighty shield-warrior, now willed him rest.

  And soon now the hall-thane him of way-faring weary,

  From far away come, forth show’d him the road,

  E’en he who for courtesy cared for all things

  Of the needs of the thane, e’en such as on that day

  The farers o’er ocean would fainly have had.

  Rested then the wide-hearted; high up the house tower’d

  Wide-gaping all gold-dight; within slept the guest;

  Until the black raven, the blithe-hearted, boded

  The heavens’ joy: then was come thither a-hastening

  The bright sun o’er the plains, and hastened the scathers,

  The athelings once more aback to their people

  All fain to be faring; and fa
r away thence

  Would the comer high-hearted go visit his keel.

  Bade then the hard one Hrunting to bear,

  The Ecglaf’s son bade to take him his sword,

  The iron well-lov’d; gave him thanks for the lending,

  Quoth he that the war-friend for worthy he told,

  Full of craft in the war; nor with word he aught

  The edge of the sword. Hah! the high-hearted warrior.

  So whenas all way-forward, yare in their war-gear,

  Were the warriors, the dear one then went to the Danes,

  To the high seat went the Atheling, whereas was the other;

  The battle-bold warrior gave greeting to Hrothgar.

  XXVII. BEOWULF BIDS HROTHGAR FAREWELL: THE GEATS FARE TO SHIP.

  Out then spake Beowulf, Ecgtheow’s bairn:

  As now we sea-farers have will to be saying,

  We from afar come, that now are we fainest

  Of seeking to Hygelac. Here well erst were we

  Serv’d as our wills would, and well thine avail was.

  If I on the earth then, be it e’en but a little,

  Of the love of thy mood may yet more be an-earning,

  O lord of the men-folk, than heretofore might I,

  Of the works of the battle yare then soon shall I be.

  If I should be learning, I over the flood’s run,

  That the sitters about thee beset thee with dread,

  Even thee hating as otherwhile did they;

  Then thousands to theeward of thanes shall I bring

  For the helping of heroes. Of Hygelac wot I,

  The lord of the Geat-folk, though he be but a youngling,

  That shepherd of folk, that me will he further

  By words and by works, that well may I ward thee,

  And unto thine helping the spear-holt may bear,

  A main-staying mighty, whenas men thou art needing.

  And if therewith Hrethric in the courts of the Geat-house,

  The King’s bairn, take hosting, then may he a many

  Of friends find him soothly: far countries shall be

  Better sought to by him who for himself is doughty.

  Out then spake Hrothgar in answer to himward:

  Thy word-saying soothly the Lord of all wisdom

  Hath sent into thy mind; never heard I more sagely

  In a life that so young was a man word be laying;

  Strong of might and main art thou and sage of thy mood,

  Wise the words of thy framing. Tell I this for a weening,

  If it so come to pass that the spear yet shall take,

  Or the battle all sword-grim, the son of that Hrethel,

  Or sickness or iron thine Alderman have,

  Thy shepherd of folk, and thou fast to life hold thee,