The Complete Old English Poems

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The Complete Old English Poems Page 72

by Craig Williamson

For the gathering Geats. The bold-hearted sat,

  Proud in their strength. A thane served mead

  Shimmering in ale-cups. The shaper sang,

  His clear voice in Heorot. There was joy in the hall, 495

  The camaraderie of warriors, a keep of carousing.

  That was no small company of Geats and Danes.

  Unferth spoke, Ecglaf’s son, who sat at the feet

  Of the Scylding king, unlocked battle-runes—

  Devious thoughts and unfriendly words. 500

  Beowulf’s undertaking was an ache to him,

  For he hated to hear that any man’s deeds

  Might hold more glory than his. He offered gall:

  “Are you the great Beowulf who challenged Breca

  In swollen pride, to swim the sea, 505

  To risk your lives for a foolish boast?

  No one could stop you, not friend or foe,

  From your swimming match on the open sea,

  Your death-diving in deep waters,

  Your proud journey over ocean roads. 510

  Your hands churned up the sea-streets,

  Those winter-waves for seven nights,

  But Breca was better, a winner over waves.

  The smarter warrior overcame your strength,

  Gathering glory. On the eighth morning, 515

  The sea washed him up on the Heathoreams’ shore.

  From there he sought his own homeland

  Where he ruled the Brondings, beloved by all,

  To sleep in his stronghold and deal out treasure.

  He had strength in swimming and a wealth of rings. 520

  That son of Beanstan fulfilled his boast,

  Got the best of you. I think worse things

  Await you even though you’ve endured

  Grim battles before, if you dare to keep

  The night-watch here to greet Grendel.” 525

  Beowulf replied, the son of Ecgtheow,

  Measured out meanings, mixed words:

  “Well, Unferth my friend, you said a mouthful

  About Breca’s bravery, on a belly full of beer.

  I’ll tell you the truth—I had greater sea-strength, 530

  More hard riding on the heave of waves

  Than any man. We were just boasting boys

  When we risked our lives in the roiling sea,

  Two alone at the edge of youth.

  We did what we said, made good our words. 535

  We took our bare swords swimming,

  Hard blades in hand, to ward off whales.

  Breca failed to swim faster or farther

  Beyond my strength in the surging sea,

  And I stayed by him. We swam together, 540

  Suffering the surge for five nights

  Till the coldest of sea-storms, heaving water,

  Tore us apart in the darkening waves,

  And the battle-grim north-wind

  Savaged our bond, split us apart. 545

  The waves were rough. Sea-beasts roused.

  There my body-mail of hand-locked rings

  Protected my life—the battle-jacket,

  Woven of iron and worked with gold,

  Covered my chest. A savage sea-fiend, 550

  Monster of the deep, dragged me down

  To the sea-bed in his cruel grasp,

  Till I touched him with my sharp sword,

  A burial greeting, a gift for his chest.

  Battle-rush took the sea-beast’s life 555

  Through my hard hand. Time and again

  The terrors attacked, monsters moved in.

  The fierce ones found me, diving for dinner.

  I served them well with my good sword—

  It was fitting for fish. I don’t think 560

  They enjoyed that feast at their sea-bed table.

  Their dead mouths weren’t able to eat me.

  The morning after, they slept late,

  Lulled by my sword, dozing on sand,

  Swept up by waves, so that never again 565

  Could the monsters hinder seafarers’ sailing.

  Light lifted from the east, God’s bright beacon,

  The sea calmed, the swells subsided,

  So I could see headlands, wave-walls,

  Windward shores. Fate often protects 570

  The undoomed man if his courage holds.

  I was offered nine sea-monsters

  To slay with my sword. I’ve never heard

  Of a harder battle in wind or water,

  Nor of a man more pressed in the sea-rush; 575

  Yet I survived the monsters’ grasp,

  Swam home alive, weary from the work.

  The sea-streams bore me far from home

  Into the arms of the Finns, the land of the Lapps.

  I’ve never heard, Unferth, of your exploits, 580

  Tracking terror, matching wits with monsters,

  Slinging courage with a swinging sword—

  I don’t mean to boast—though I heard

  You were a kin-killer, a bane to your brothers.

  For that family ravage you’ll rot in hell— 585

  Your soul is damned though your wit is keen.

  You want the truth? I’ll tell you Unferth,

  Son of Ecglaf, if your spirit had been strong,

  Your mind on monsters instead of memories

  Of killing kin, that awesome terror, 590

  That savage Grendel might have slain fewer

  Of Heorot’s heroes, left the hall unhaunted.

  He’s found this feud a little one-sided—

  He knows no need to fear your swords,

  The battle-blades of the Victory-Scyldings. 595

  He takes his toll in terror from the Danes—

  Your life’s the tribute he needs. The monster

  Shows mercy to no one. He lusts and feasts,

  Kills and carves up dinner with his claws,

  Invites the Scyldings to an endless sleep. 600

  The Geats will give him what the Danes have not—

  Strength and courage, a sword’s grim greeting.

  Then men may wake unafraid, drink

  Morning mead, saunter under the southern sun,

  Their world clothed in light, find their fellowship 605

  And forget fear.”

  Then the treasure-giver,

  Gray-haired, battle-famed, knew joy.

  The Lord of Bright-Danes had heard Beowulf,

  Counted his courage, his strength of spirit.

  Then laughter lifted in the great hall— 610

  Words were traded. Wealhtheow walked in,

  Hrothgar’s queen, clothed in gold.

  Careful of custom, mindful of manner,

  She greeted each hall-thane in turn.

  The noble woman served the first cup 615

  To the Danish king, keeper of the land,

  Beloved by his people, bade him rejoice

  In the beer-feast. He enjoyed the banquet,

  Raised up his cup, the victory-king.

  Then the lady of the Helmings went through the hall, 620

  Carrying the jeweled cup to young and old,

  Generous of mead and her gracious mind,

  Sharing her spirit, till the courteous queen,

  Adorned with rings, brought Beowulf the cup,

  Welcomed the Geat with wise words, 625

  Thanking God for granting her wish

  That some warrior might offer defense

  Against the darkness and an end to woe.

  The battle-fierce warrior took the cup

  From Wealhtheow’s hand. Beowulf spoke, 630

  Son of Ecgtheow, eager for battle:

  “I knew when I boarded the boat with my men,

  Sat down in the ship with my brave band,

  And sailed the sea, that I would fulfill my oath

  And the Danish hopes or discover death 635

  In Grendel’s claws, his fierc
e grasp.

  Here in Heorot I will stop this savagery,

  Cleanse this hall or cancel my days.”

  The queen cherished that plain boast,

  Sitting with Hrothgar, adorned with gold. 640

  The talk rose up, the hall-troops rejoicing

  Over old victories. The son of Healfdene

  Sought his night-rest in another hall.

  He knew the monster was bending his mind,

  Mulling since morning on attacking Heorot. 645

  Dark shapes were gliding, shadows sliding

  Under cloud-cover. The dark rim-walker,

  Fierce ravager, was writhing toward Heorot.

  The company rose—the leaders paid regards.

  Old Hrothgar wished young Beowulf well, 650

  Gave him control of the hall with these words:

  “I’ve never entrusted my people’s hall

  To anyone since I could lift hand and shield;

  Now I yield its keep to you—

  Control it. Guard this greatest of halls. 655

  Remember glory, reveal your strength,

  Watch out for that walking wrath,

  Confound the wraith. Whatever you dream

  Will be yours if you survive the onslaught.”

  Then King Hrothgar, protector of Danes, 660

  Left the hall with his close companions.

  The war-king wanted to find Wealhtheow,

  His bright queen in her bed-chamber.

  The King of Glory, as men would learn,

  Had set a hall-guard to greet Grendel, 665

  A dangerous man on a special mission

  To stand night-watch for the monstrous guest,

  The great giant. The lord of the Geats

  Trusted his strength and God’s grace.

  He stripped off his chain-mail, unlaced iron, 670

  Unlocked his helmet, lifted it from his head,

  Gave his sword to a servant, his best iron blade.

  Beowulf of the Geats spoke the quiet boast

  Of a good man before getting into bed:

  “I don’t claim any lesser strength, 675

  Any poorer power, any weaker will,

  Than Grendel, so I’ll give him this gift:

  I won’t put him to sleep with my sword,

  Steal his life with iron, though I might.

  In spite of his strength, his violent fame, 680

  His clawed hand can hold no sword

  To hew my shield, to hack my life.

  Let’s fight as equals—I’ll forego the sword,

  If he dares to fight me without weapons,

  And let wise God give out glory 685

  Wherever he wants to the one who wins.”

  The battle-brave earl put his head on his pillow,

  Lay back to rest with his seafaring thanes.

  None of them expected to see home again,

  Family or friends, kith or kin, 690

  The light of day or their land of birth.

  They knew night-slaughter had stricken the Danes,

  A curse of killing in a hall of corpses—

  But God gave them fortune’s weaving,

  The warp and weft of war-victory, 695

  A gift to the Geats of craft and comfort

  Through the savage strength of one warrior

  To seize the shadow, catch the killer.

  This is the truth of time’s long telling—

  A mighty God rules over all mankind. 700

  Out of the darkness a shadow-walker

  Came writhing, sliding toward sleepers

  Unaware in the gabled hall—except for one

  Who watched, waiting for the wraith.

  Men know that God the Creator 705

  Will not let a demon, a savage stalker,

  Drag us into shadows. Beowulf waited

  In waking anger, rage in reserve,

  Aching for action. Grendel came gliding

  Out of the moors, up from the marshes, 710

  Bearing God’s wrath. The monster meant

  To stalk and kill a mouthful of mankind.

  Under a shroud he slid to the door—

  Under dark clouds he crept to the hall,

  The house of giving, the home of feasting. 715

  That wasn’t the first time he sought

  Hrothgar’s home, but he never found

  In his grim days before or after

  Such bad luck, such hard hall-thanes.

  The unholy warrior reached the door, 720

  Separated from joy. The door burst open,

  Its iron bonds snapped with a touch of hands—

  A mindful of evil at the mouth of the hall.

  The fiend stalked the floor, swollen with anger,

  Fierce in his fury. Out of his lurid eyes, 725

  Leapt like a flame, an unfair light.

  He saw in the feast-hall a pile of men

  Sleeping together. His heart exulted,

  His mind bent—he meant before daybreak

  To separate life from limb for each man— 730

  An awesome terror up to old tricks.

  He was driven to find a fulfilling feast—

  His fate was one last feeding on mankind.

  The mighty one watched how the other moved,

  The kinsman of Hygelac saw his killing attack. 735

  The monster never thought of holding back—

  He seized the first sleeper, slit his body,

  Bit open his bone-house, drinking his blood,

  Swallowing flesh, feasting on hands and feet,

  Eating greedily the unliving one. 740

  One power moved unwarily up

  To the body of the other, a warrior at rest,

  Seized the strong-hearted thane with his hand,

  Reached for a clutch of flesh with his claw—

  But Beowulf was hatching his battle-plan, 745

  Snatched up the creature’s nailed hand,

  Shook his claw in a monstrous greeting,

  Grabbed his grasp. The cold keeper of sins

  Had never met a harder handgrip

  In all his dark marauding in middle-earth. 750

  His wretched heart discovered fear—

  He wanted to flee back home to the marshes,

  But his hand was locked in a terrible fist.

  His spirit spooked, his heart heaved for home,

  A host of demons, a haven of fens— 755

  But this time his only hold was in Beowulf’s hand.

  That was a new way of life for him.

  Hygelac’s thane remembered his boast

  Earlier in the evening, stood up strong,

  Held the fiend fast, fingers bursting. 760

  One tried to bolt—the other crushed him back.

  One wanted the fens—he got cold fingers.

  That was a bitter journey the demon-walker

  Made to Heorot. The hall resounded—

  The building shook like a wild ale-party! 765

  The proud Danes panicked, their hearts in shock,

  With two fierce hall-guards feasting on rage.

  The building roared with battle-shrieks

  As both warriors were bent on slaughter.

  It’s a wonder the wine-hall withstood 770

  The ravaging warriors, their fierce rage.

  It was braced and bound, inside and out,

  With iron bonds, hammered by smiths.

  I heard it said that many mead-benches

  Were ripped from the floor, splintered seats 775

  Of inlaid gold, while the grim ones grappled.

  No wise one of the Scyldings ever thought

  That Heorot could be wrecked by any means,

  That antler-boned hall, by crash or craft,

  Unless fire should reach out ravenous 780

  And swallow it whole. The sound of slaughter

  Rose in the hall, a strange new song.

  Fear seized the No
rth-Danes who heard

  For the first time there through the wall

  A dirge of terror, mad music 785

  Sung or screeched by the foe of God,

  A song of no victory, a depth of wailing

  From the clutch of hell. He was held fast

  By the strongest man in living memory.

  The protector of men had a plain purpose— 790

  To keep in his clutch the uninvited killer

  Whose useless days would serve no one.

  Beowulf’s retainers raised their swords,

  Old heirlooms, to protect their prince,

  To save the life of their mighty leader. 795

  When they leapt into the fray, they little knew—

  Hard-hearted warriors hacking at Grendel

  From every side, seeking his soul—

  That no iron on earth, not the sharpest sword,

  Could harm that demon, cut through flesh, 800

  For he had woven a spell against wounding,

  A protection against weapons made by man,

  A secret skin so nothing could touch him.

  His life-parting was painful, unexpected;

  That alien spirit, that savage shadow 805

  Would travel far to the keep of fiends.

  The demon discovered, who had always sought

  To bring his murderous heart to mankind—

  He was at war with God—that his body

  Would not travel on that last road 810

  Because the kinsman of Hygelac, bold Beowulf,

  Held him by the hand. Each was anathema

  To the life of the other. The awesome creature

  Finally felt pain in a body-wound:

  His shoulder-bone was seen, his sinews torn, 815

  His tendons ripped, his bone-locks broken.

  Battle-glory was given then to Beowulf.

  Grendel fled, life-lost and spirit-sick,

  Into the fens to his joyless home,

  A clutchless wraith. He knew his days were done. 820

  For the Danes, it was a dream come true

  After the blood-rush. He had purged the hall—

  The warrior who was battle-wise and heart-strong,

  Cleaned out Heorot, Hrothgar’s home,

  Delivering it from darkness. He rejoiced in his night-work, 825

  In the doom of his deeds—they were worth remembering.

  The leader of the Geats had made good his boast

  To the East-Danes, brought an end to evil,

  An ease to suffering, a last look at grief.

  That was no small sorrow they’d endured. 830

  It was a plain sign when the battle-brave man

  Nailed the monster’s arm—shoulder to fist—

  Under the eaves of Heorot’s roof.

  A welcome-home was Grendel’s claw.

  The next morning many great warriors 835

  Gathered in the gift-hall, as I heard tell;

  Folk-leaders came from far and near,

 

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