Greet them with gold over the sea-bird’s bath.
The ring-necked ships will carry this sharing
Of gifts as tokens of honor and friendship. 1860
I know our peoples will act honorably
In the old way toward friend and foe.”
Then king Hrothgar, Healfdene’s son,
Protector of thanes, gave twelve treasures
To Beowulf in the hall, bade him go safely home 1865
To his own people and come back again.
Then the king from a long Danish line,
Lord of the Scyldings, old and wise,
Kissed and embraced that best of thanes,
Holding his head while the tears ran down 1870
His grizzled face. He was of two minds,
But it seemed unlikely he would ever greet
This Geat again or keep his counsel.
So dear was Beowulf, his mood was keening—
He could not hold back the heart’s surges, 1875
The waves of sorrow, the spirit’s longing
Deep in his breast for this beloved man—
It burned in his blood. Then Beowulf left,
Glorious with gold, strode over the green,
Proud of his gifts. The wave-walking ship 1880
Waited for its owner, tethered on its anchor.
On that sea-journey, the gifts of Hrothgar
Were hailed by all. He was a blameless king
Until old age sapped his strength,
Stole his joy as it does with so many. 1885
Then young warriors walked to the shore,
Bearing mail-coats, ring-locked battle-shirts,
Woven steel. The coast-guard met them again.
He offered no taunts from the top of the cliff
But rode down to greet them, glorious guests— 1890
Said that their return would be richly welcomed
At home by the Geats when the men in bright armor
Disembarked from their boat. Then on the strand,
The sea-bellied ship was loaded with armor,
The ring-prowed craft with horses and treasure. 1895
The mast towered up over the gathering of gifts,
From Hrothgar’s hoard. Beowulf gave the boat-guard
A sword wound with gold—he was always honored
Afterward in the meadhall for that heirloom gift.
The ship sailed out, plowing deep water, 1900
Leaving Danish lands. The mast was rigged
With a swath of sail, a great sea-cape,
Bound by ropes. The sea-wood groaned,
Timbers creaked; the wave-winds did not hinder
That sea-craft from its course. The foamy-necked floater 1905
Rode the swells, walked over waves—
The boat with the bound prow crossed deep water
Until seafarers could see the cliffs of the Geats.
The ship sprang forward, driven by wind,
Strode for the sand, stood up on the shore. 1910
The Geats’ coast-guard who gazed at the sea,
Watching for warriors to welcome them home,
Hurried down to the shore, eager to greet them.
They moored the wide-bellied ship to the shore
With an anchor-rope, so the surging waves 1915
Would not bring wrack and ruin to the wood.
Beowulf ordered the prince’s treasure—
Armor, trappings, gems, and gold—
Borne from the ship. Soon they saw Hygelac,
Son of Hrethel, their own gift-giver, 1920
Whose hall of thanes nestled near the sea-wall,
A beautiful building. The king sat proudly
On his high throne. His young queen Hygd,
Wise and well-taught, courteous and accomplished,
Hæreth’s daughter, had dwelled in his hall 1925
Only a few years. She was generous to the Geats,
Not grasping of gifts or hoarding of hall-treasures.
She was not like Fremu, the queen of crime,
Who served up terror. No one except her lord
Dared look at her directly in the light of day. 1930
Whoever stared received the sword’s edge—
Whoever gazed got seized and shackled—
Whoever looked had a shortened life.
After any arrest, the case was soon settled
By the stroke of a sword, the shadow of justice, 1935
The wail of slaughter, the blood of sorrow.
That was not a queen’s proper custom—
A precious woman should be a peace-weaver,
Knitting trust not terror. She should not steal
A man’s life with a trumped-up insult. 1940
Marriage to Offa put an end to that.
Men shared her story at the mead-benches,
Said she caused less harm, cursed fewer lives,
After she was offered, sheathed in gold,
To the young warrior, a prince to his people, 1945
When she sought Offa’s hall with her father’s blessing,
Followed his counsel across the waves,
Found a wedding in her husband’s wielding.
There on the throne of Offa’s hall,
Her fate turned—she enjoyed a better life. 1950
She was generous, glorious and good,
Useful to all, kind and loving
To her husband the king, the lord of warriors
And prince of men—the best, I believe,
Between the seas, of all mankind. 1955
Offa was honored far and wide
For his keen courage and generous giving.
He was sharp in battle, wise in ruling.
He held his homeland till Eomer was born,
Grandson of Garmund, kinsman of Hemming, 1960
Mighty in battle, a comfort to men.
Then the brave Beowulf with his band of warriors
Walked along the shore, strode across the sand.
The world-candle shone, the sun rising high
In the southern sky. The warriors went eagerly 1965
To the hall of Hygelac, protector of men,
Slayer of Ongentheow in the Swedish feud,
A young battle-king, generous with rings.
Hygelac heard of Beowulf’s coming:
Men said there in his homestead near the sea 1970
That the guardian of warriors, his shield-companion,
Had come back alive to the Geatish court,
Safe from the strife and sport of battle.
The hall was prepared with a place for the men.
The battle-survivor and the proud king, 1975
Kinsmen together, traded talk,
Both formal greetings and shared stories.
Queen Hygd, Hæreth’s daughter,
Moved with mead-cups through the hall,
Carrying kindness—she loved the people— 1980
Offering spirits to the outstretched hands
In the high hall. Hygelac was curious—
He began to question his brave companion,
Wondering what marvels the Sea-Geats had met:
“How was your journey, beloved Beowulf, 1985
As you swiftly resolved to ride the seas,
Stalking battle over salt water
In the hall of Heorot? Did you bring a remedy
For Hrothgar’s woe, his well-known grief?
My heart welled up with care and sorrow— 1990
My spirit quailed at your dangerous quest.
I urged you to leave that slaughter-fiend alone,
Let the Danes do battle with the monster Grendel,
Deal with the dread of their own demon.
I thank God you survived, came home sound.” 1995
Beowulf spoke, son of Ecgtheow:
“It’s no secret, my lord Hygelac,
What happened at that monster-meeting,
The clash and combat of two
mighty creatures.
I grappled with that grim beast Grendel 2000
Who had long torn Heorot apart with terror,
Tormenting the Scyldings, devouring the Danes.
I avenged them all, finished that feud,
So that Grendel’s kin, any savage creatures
Who may stalk the earth to the end of time, 2005
Snared in sin, will have no reason
To boast of that battle, that clash at dawn.
I traveled to Heorot to greet Hrothgar
In his ring-hall to make known my mission.
When the son of Healfdene heard my purpose, 2010
He gave me a seat with his own sons.
The hall-troop was happy—I never saw more
Joyful mead-drinkers under one roof.
Sometimes Wealhtheow, the wondrous queen,
The peace-weaver of peoples, walked the hall, 2015
Cheering up warriors, offering the gift of rings
To young retainers before she sat down.
Sometimes Freawaru, Hrothgar’s daughter,
Carried an ale-cup or gold-rimmed horn
Around to retainers, offering a drink 2020
From the jeweled vessel, the communal cup.
Draped in gold, she is promised to Ingeld,
Son of Froda, prince of the Heathobards,
Enemies of the Danes. This peace-weaving plan
Is Hrothgar’s hope to settle the feud 2025
And buy off strife with the gift of his daughter,
But princes perish and slaughter sneaks back
In the slayer’s spear, even if the bride is good.
It may irk Ingeld, lord of the Heathobards,
And his proud thanes, when he enters the hall 2030
With his foreign bride, that her retinue of Danes,
Aliens and enemies, rejoices at the feast.
They’ll see Scyldings bearing their ancestral heirlooms—
Bright treasures, battle-gear, sharp swords.
At one time their fathers wielded these weapons 2035
Until bitter sword-swing and shield-play
Led to death and the loss of heirloom treasures.
An old warrior will remember, while drinking beer
With a fierce heart, his ancestor’s hilt-ring,
And the slaughter of Heathobards, his close kin, 2040
At the hands of the Danes. His heart is grim.
He unlocks sorrow, unpacks hatred,
Tests the resolve of a fierce young warrior,
Stirs up savage strife with these words:
‘I wonder if you recognize your father’s sword, 2045
That dear family blade he bore into battle
His last time in armor, when the Danes slew him,
Fierce Scyldings seized the battlefield,
And Withergyld lay dead among Heathobards.
Now some slayer’s son sits in our hall, 2050
Drinking our mead, boasting of that battle,
His mouth full of murder, bearing your treasure,
The family honor which you rightly own.’
He rakes up the past with proud, bitter words,
Pricking his conscience over family killing, 2055
Till the time comes when the queen’s retainer,
Who is wearing that sword of stolen honor,
Lies sleeping in death-rest, slain by the sword,
Drenched in blood for his father’s deeds.
The avenger escapes—he knows his homeland. 2060
Then the oath will be broken, the promise of peace,
And Ingeld’s love for his wife will be cooled
By seething sorrow. Some deceit bedevils
The tenuous trust between Heathobard and Dane.
Theirs is not a friendship or a marriage to last. 2065
Only the bond of bitterness will hold true.
But I was speaking of Grendel. You should know,
Great Hrothgar, my giver of treasures,
What became of the hard hand-fight of heroes.
After heaven’s gem, the glorious sun, 2070
Had slipped past earth, the night-stalker came,
The savage spirit seeking Hrothgar’s hall
And its heap of yet unscathed warriors.
Hondscio was fated to be the first hall-guard
Nearest the door, a monster’s dinner. 2075
Grendel was mouth-slayer to that armored thane—
He swallowed the life of that dear man.
But the bone-biter, tooth-slayer, flesh-eater,
Had no intention of leaving the gold-hall
Empty-handed. He paid me a visit 2080
With his fierce hand-grip, a clutch of claws.
He had a pouch like a great glove to put me in—
It was made of devil’s craft and dragon skin.
The demon beast exulting in dark deeds
Intended to stuff my flesh and innocence in, 2085
Pile me up with a pack of warriors in his pouch.
He found this impossible when I stood up.
I stopped his stuffing, filled with fury,
Driven by rage. It would take too long
To recount the battle, tell how I repaid 2090
The people’s bane, the enemy of mankind.
There with my works I honored the Geats
And all of our people, my glorious prince.
He slipped away, enjoying his life
For a little while, but he left a gift, 2095
His right hand, a token of the terror
He found in Heorot that horrible night.
The miserable wretch left for his lair,
Sinking to the lake-bottom like a stone.
For that slaughter-rush, the king of the Scyldings 2100
Gave me plated gold, a good reward,
A trust of treasures, when morning came,
And we shared together both talk and table.
There was song and story, a hall rejoicing;
A wise old warrior unlocked his word-hoard, 2105
Sometimes singing with hands on harp-wood
Songs of truth and sorrow, sometimes shaping
Strange stories. The great-hearted king,
A battle-warrior bound in years, began to recall
The strength of his youth. His heart surged 2110
As his mind reached back over many winters.
We were happy in the hall, sharing pleasures
All day long till the dim night drew down.
Then the slaughter-ghost, the grief-slinger,
Grendel’s mother came to the death-hall 2115
Where her son was slain, where the boy-beast
Discovered the battle-grip of the Geats.
That monstrous wife, that horrid hag,
Avenged her son, ate Æschere whole,
A wise counselor—his life departed. 2120
There was no body to burn on the pyre
When morning came, no death-bed fire
To ease his rest. She had borne his body
In her fiendish arms, her evil embrace,
Beneath the brackish mountain streams, 2125
Back home to her lair under a loathly lake.
That was for Hrothgar the greatest of griefs.
He implored me out of loyalty to you
And deep-hearted grief to do a warrior’s work,
Risking life and limb in the tumult of waves, 2130
To finish the feud and find glory.
He promised the Geats a great reward.
I swam to the slaughter—that’s widely known—
Discovered the cave-guard under deep waters.
We locked arms—the lake boiled with blood. 2135
In the grim hall of Grendel’s mother,
I severed her head with a great sword.
I barely managed to escape with my life,
But fate was with me. The lord of the Danes
Gave me many r
ewards, magnificent treasures. 2140
So King Hrothgar kept proper customs,
Held nothing back in the way of riches.
The son of Healfdene opened his hoard,
Gave me treasures of my own choosing,
A generous meed for my fierce might. 2145
I offer them to you, my warrior-king;
I count on your kindness—I’ve few kinsmen left.”
Then Beowulf ordered his rewards brought in—
A war-standard with a boar’s head,
A battle-helmet with a beautiful, high crest, 2150
A gray iron mail-coat, a great battle-sword.
He also offered this gift of words:
“Hrothgar gave me this battle-gear—
The wise king counseled me to convey to you
Both treasure and story, to recall their history. 2155
He said that Heorogar, his elder brother
Who was king before Hrothgar, held this armor,
Treasured it so highly that he firmly refused
To give it up to his own son Heoroweard,
Though he was loyal and loved. Use it well.” 2160
I’ve heard there were four horses,
Swift and similar, apple-fallow,
Brought in next. Beowulf gave his gifts,
Steeds and goods, to his beloved king,
As a kinsman should do—not weave a web 2165
Of greed and malice, craft and cunning,
A gift of death to comrades and king.
Hygelac’s nephew was loyal to him;
In hard battles each helped the other.
I’ve heard that he gave the neck-ring to Hygd, 2170
The gold-wrought treasure from Queen Wealhtheow.
He gave the king’s daughter three fine horses,
Supple and saddle-bright. Hygd wore the necklace,
A gift of gold, gleaming on her breast.
Beowulf was brave in battle, honorable to all— 2175
His glory was woven of good deeds.
He killed no kinsmen, no hearth-companions
In feuds or drunken fits. His heart was fierce
But not savage—his strength was God’s gift,
The greatest of mankind. He was slow to start, 2180
So the Geats never thought him great as a boy,
Nor would the lord honor him with gifts
In the meadhall. He seemed unstrong.
No one knew how to take his measure.
But the Geats were wrong—his time came. 2185
Fate often turns, offers the unexpected—
He found fame and glory after an unsung youth.
Then the guardian of earls, Hygelac the king,
Ordered in the heirloom of Hrethel his father,
A glorious sword adorned with gold. 2190
No blade was more treasured among the Geats.
He laid the sword in Beowulf’s lap
And gave him also a grant of land,
The Complete Old English Poems Page 76