Beowulf - Delphi Poets Series

by Beowulf

  2 Usually this means that “he died”; but Bugge, translating “he went into God’s refuge,” and relying on a late form of the legend, thinks we are to understand that Hama retired from the world into a monastery.

  3 The poet now tells the fate of this gift of Wealhtheow. Beowulf gives it to his lord Hygelac, who wears it on his fated raid into Frisian lands, — the historical event which took place between 512 and 520 A.D. Theudebert, grandson of Clovis the Frankish king, surprised and slew Hygelac, captured his fleet and the booty, and took many prisoners. — See also vv. 2355, 2914.

  4 Tradition told of Hygelac’s enormous size and strength. A certain Liber Monstrorum, perhaps of the seventh century, cites rex Hugilaicus, who ruled the Getae and was killed by the Franks, as one whom no horse could carry since he was twelve years old, and whose enormous skeleton was still on an island near the mouth of the Rhine. Moreover, this friendly account would attribute the defeat to surprise by an overwhelmingly superior force. — Quite in accord with the usual construction of epic narrative in old English verse, and with the same structure in little as shown by the parallels and variations of the sentence or period, the poet returns to the scene in the hall. “Din rose in the hall” has been emended to “din ceased,” or “warriors listened,” but vainly; the usual applause goes up as the gifts are handed to the hero, and then silence falls as the queen speaks.

  5 Or, perhaps, “thou art heartily welcome to these treasures I have given thee,” as Gering translates.

  6 Literally, “Do as I bid.”

  7 Litotes for “all.” The fatal stroke hovered over them all, though only one was actually stricken.

  8 Literally, “ready to go [sc. to death], and fey,” on the verge of death, and a marked man.

  9 The Gnomic poetry of the Exeter Ms., 178 ff., describes. In what may be stanzaic verse, how clansmen or comites ought to live in fellowship, and especially that they should sleep under one roof, remaining a united band by night as well as by day:

  Ever must heroes in harmony live,

  in the same place sleeping;

  So that never shall man of man speak ill

  till death undo them!

  Compare vv. 1228 ff., above. For the matter of the stanzaic form see Signy’s Lament, translated below in the introduction to Deor’s Song.

  XIX

  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,

  1255 slaughter for sins. ’Twas seen and told

  how an avenger survived the fiend,

  as was learned afar. The livelong time1

  after that grim fight, Grendel’s mother,

  monster of women, mourned her woe.

  1260 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,

  1265 warded the wilds. — There woke from him2

  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.

  1270 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,

  1275 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

  1280 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

  1285 when, hammer-forgéd, 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,3 and shields a-many

  1290 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

  1295 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;

  1300 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

  1305 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.

  1310 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

  1315 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

  1320 had passed in peace to the prince’s mind.

  Footnotes

  1 Müllenhoff so punctuates, and explains that though only twenty-four hours had passed from the time of Grendel’s discomfiture to her quest of revenge, the interval seemed interminable to the waiting monster. Moreover, by this reading no gap in the Ms. is assumed.

  2 See v. 107, above.— “From him are descended,” etc. This repetition certainly seems vain, and this way of narrative is not our way.

  3 They had laid their arms on the benches near where they slept; v. 1242.

  XX

  Hrothgar spake, helmet-of-Scyldings: —

  “Ask not of pleasure! Pain is renewed

  to Danish folk. Dead is Æschere,

  of Yrmenlaf the elder brother,

  1325 my sage adviser and stay in council,

  shoulder-comrade1 in stress of fight

  when warriors clashed and we warded our heads,

  hewed the helm-boars: hero famed

  should be every earl as Æschere was!

  1330 But here in Heorot a hand hath slain him

  of wandering death-sprite. I wot not whither,2

  proud of the prey, her path she took,

  fain of her fill. The feud she avenged

  that yesternight, unyieldingly,

  1335 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,

  1340 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.

  1345 Land-dwellers here3 and liegemen mine,

  who ho
use by those parts,4 I have heard relate

  that such a pair they have sometimes seen,

  march-stalkers mighty the moorland haunting,

  wandering spirits: one of them seemed,

  1350 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,

  1355 folk of the land; his father they knew not,

  nor any brood that was born to him

  of treacherous spirits. Untrod is their home;5

  by wolf-cliffs haunt they and windy headlands,

  fenways fearful, where flows the stream

  1360 from mountains gliding to gloom of the rocks,

  underground flood.6 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.

  1365 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,7 harried by dogs,

  the horn-proud hart, this holt should seek,

  1370 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

  1375 evil storms, and air grows dusk,

  and the heavens weep. Now is help once more

  with thee alone! The land thou knowst not,8

  place of fear, where thou findest out

  that sin-flecked being. Seek if thou dare!

  1380 I will reward thee, for waging this fight,

  with ancient treasure, as erst I did,

  with winding gold, if thou winnest back.”

  Footnotes

  1 Eaxl-gestealla, “shoulder-comrade,” here refers to the line of battle; but it might include the other qualities of advice and counsel. Dan Michel in his fourteenth century translation or paraphrase, Ayenbite of Inwyt, calls a councillor bezide-zittere, “beside-sitter.”

  2 He surmises presently where she is.

  3 The connection is not difficult. The words of mourning, of acute grief, are said; and according to Germanic sequence of thought, inexorable here, the next and only topic is revenge. But is it possible? Hrothgar leads up to his appeal and promise with a skilful and often effective description of the horrors which surround the monster’s home and await the attempt of an avenging foe. This account is not the thing of shreds and patches which Müllenhoff and ten Brink would make it out.

  4 Following Gering’s suggestion.

  5 R. Morris pointed out what seems an imitation of this passage in the Blickling Homilies.

  6 Compare Kubla Khan: —

  “Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

  Through caverns measureless to man,

  Down to a sunless sea.”

  It is worth while to compare with this passage another deliberate nature-description in Anglo-Saxon verse, and its Latin model as well. One sees how it is modified, enlarged, and really improved. It is the opening of a little poem on Doomsday paraphrased from Latin verses attributed to Beda, — and also to Alcuin.

  Alone I sat in the shade of a grove,

  in the deeps of the holt, bedecked with shadows,

  there where the waterbrooks wavered and ran

  in the midst of the place, — so I make my song, —

  and winsome blooms there waxed and blossomed,

  all massed amid a meadow peerless.

  And the trees of the forest trembled and murmured

  for a horror of winds, and the welkin was stirred,

  and my heavy heart was harassed amain.

  Then I suddenly, sad and fearful,

  set me to sing this sorrowful verse. . . .

  This represents five lines of Latin: —

  Inter fiorigeras fecundi cespitis herbas,

  flamine ventorum resonantibus undique ramis,

  arboris umbriferae maestus sub tegmine solus

  dum sedi, subito planctu turbatus amaro,

  carmina prae tristi cecini haec lugubria mente. . . .

  It is no long stride hence to the conventional dream-poets, and such openings as are offered by the beginning of the Piers Plowman vision.

  7 Bugge has shown how popular the stag or hart was among the northern folk for names of persons and places — so Hrothgar’s own hall Heorot, or “The Hart” — and for comparisons and the like. — There is a curious note by André Chénier, made in preparation for one of his poems (Œuvres Poétiques, II, 107), about a white animal that prefers to be torn to pieces rather than soil itself by rescue in a miry swamp. But the strength of the present suggestion lies in its uncompromising contrast of terrors, one with the other.

  8Has been emended to read: “the land now thou knowst,” that is, “I have described the place: go thither if you dare.” By the text one understands: “Here is land unknown to you and horrible. If you dare, etc.”

  XXI

  Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:

  “Sorrow not, sage! It beseems us better

  1385 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.

  1390 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!

  1395 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

  1400 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

  1405 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,

  1410 narrow passes and unknown ways,

  headlands sheer, and the haunts of the Nicors.

  Foremost he1 fared, a few at his side

  of the wiser men, the ways to scan,

  till he found in a flash the forested hill

  1415 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,

  1420 ill for earls, when Æschere’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,

  1425 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 morn2

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

  1430 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

  1435 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,

  1440 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;

  1445 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,

  1450 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.

  1455 Nor was that the meanest of mighty helps

  which Hrothgar’s orator3 offered at need:

  “Hrunting” they named the hilted sword,

  of old-time heirlooms easily first;

  iron was its edge, all etched with poison,

  1460 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 folkstead4 of foes. Not first time this

  it was destined to do a daring task.

  1465 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

  1470 as loyal liegeman. So lost he his glory,

  honor of earls. With the other not so,

  who girded him now for the grim encounter.

  Footnotes

  1 Hrothgar is probably meant.

  2 Noon? “Mittagsstunde, Geisterstunde.”

  3 Unferth is the thyle (spokesman?) of the king. Naming a sword furnished the least of its personal attributes in Germanic days. It had its moods and tenses; “refused” often “to bite” (1523, 2578), or else, on appeal, did miraculous service. It spoke, sang, chided its inactive owner, spurred even to his duty, as in a fine Danish ballad. It had its own name, — Hrunting, Nægling. It had kennings in plenty, — such as the “warrior’s friend” or “friend of war,” vv. 1810, 2735. It gave out a light, which is not always to be euhemerized into the sparks that flew from it in battle. The reference in 1459 is to the hardening process of dipping it in poison, snake’s blood, or the like. “Blood of battle” was especially efficacious for this purpose. On the other side of the account, it could be made harmless by certain magic forms. So Beowulf finds, even with this Hrunting or “thruster”; see v. 1522.