Beowulf - Delphi Poets Series

by Beowulf

  E’en that which should mingle with ground of the mere,

  And seek the sound-welter, with treasure beworthy’d, 1450

  All girt with the lordly chains, as in days gone by

  The weapon-smith wrought it most wondrously done,

  Beset with the swine-shapes, so that sithence

  The brand or the battle-blades never might bite it.

  Nor forsooth was that littlest of all of his mainstays,

  Which to him in his need lent the spokesman of Hrothgar,

  E’en the battle-sword hafted that had to name Hrunting,

  That in fore days was one of the treasures of old,

  The edges of iron with the poison twigs o’er-stain’d,

  With battle-sweat harden’d; in the brunt never fail’d he 1460

  Any one of the warriors whose hand wound about him,

  Who in grisly wayfarings durst ever to wend him

  To the folk-stead of foemen. Not the first of times was it

  That battle-work doughty it had to be doing.

  Forsooth naught remember’d that son there of Ecglaf,

  The crafty in mighty deeds, what ere he quoth

  All drunken with wine, when the weapon he lent

  To a doughtier sword-wolf: himself naught he durst it

  Under war of the waves there his life to adventure

  And warrior-ship work. So forwent he the glory, 1470

  The fair fame of valour. Naught far’d so the other

  Syth he to the war-tide had gear’d him to wend.

  XXIII. BEOWULF REACHETH THE MERE-BOTTOM IN A DAY’S WHILE, AND CONTENDS WITH GRENDEL’S DAM.

  Out then spake Beowulf, Ecgtheow’s bairn:

  Forsooth be thou mindful, O great son of Healfdene,

  O praise of the princes, now way-fain am I,

  O gold-friend of men, what we twain spake aforetime:

  If to me for thy need it might so befall

  That I cease from my life-days, thou shouldest be ever

  To me, forth away wended, in the stead of a father.

  Do thou then bear in hand these thanes of my kindred, 1480

  My hand-fellows, if so be battle shall have me;

  Those same treasures withal, which thou gavest me erst,

  O Hrothgar the lief, unto Hygelac send thou;

  By that gold then shall wot the lord of the Geat-folk,

  Shall Hrethel’s son see, when he stares on the treasure,

  That I in fair man-deeds a good one have found me,

  A ring-giver; while I might, joy made I thereof.

  And let thou then Unferth the ancient loom have,

  The wave-sword adorned, that man kenned widely,

  The blade of hard edges; for I now with Hrunting 1490

  Will work me the glory, or else shall death get me.

  So after these words the Weder-Geats’ chieftain

  With might of heart hasten’d; nor for answer then would he

  Aught tarry; the sea-welter straightway took hold on

  The warrior of men: wore the while of a daytide

  Or ever the ground-plain might he set eyes on.

  Soon did she find, she who the flood-ring

  Sword-ravening had held for an hundred of seasons,

  Greedy and grim, that there one man of grooms

  The abode of the alien-wights sought from above; 1500

  Then toward him she grasp’d and gat hold on the warrior

  With fell clutch, but no sooner she scathed withinward

  The hale body; rings from without-ward it warded,

  That she could in no wise the war-skin clutch through,

  The fast locked limb-sark, with fingers all loathly.

  So bare then that sea-wolf when she came unto bottom

  The king of the rings to the court-hall adown

  In such wise that he might not, though hard-moody was he,

  Be wielding of weapons. But a many of wonders

  In sea-swimming swink’d him, and many a sea-deer 1510

  With his war-tusks was breaking his sark of the battle;

  The fell wights him follow’d. ’Twas then the earl found it

  That in foe-hall there was he, I wot not of which,

  Where never the water might scathe him a whit,

  Nor because of the roof-hall might reach to him there

  The fear-grip of the flood. Now fire-light he saw,

  The bleak beam forsooth all brightly a-shining.

  Then the good one, he saw the wolf of the ground,

  The mere-wife the mighty, and main onset made he

  With his battle-bill; never his hand withheld sword-swing 1520

  So that there on her head sang the ring-sword forsooth

  The song of war greedy. But then found the guest

  That the beam of the battle would bite not therewith,

  Or scathe life at all, but there failed the edge

  The king in his need. It had ere thol’d a many

  Of meetings of hand; oft it sheared the helm,

  The host-rail of the fey one; and then was the first time

  For that treasure dear lov’d that its might lay a-low.

  But therewithal steadfast, naught sluggish of valour,

  All mindful of high deeds was Hygelac’s kinsman. 1530

  Cast then the wounden blade bound with the gem-stones

  The warrior all angry, that it lay on the earth there,

  Stiff-wrought and steel-edged. In strength now he trusted,

  The hard hand-grip of might and main; so shall a man do

  When he in the war-tide yet looketh to winning

  The praise that is longsome, nor aught for life careth.

  Then fast by the shoulder, of the feud nothing recking,

  The lord of the War-Geats clutch’d Grendel’s mother,

  Cast down the battle-hard, bollen with anger,

  That foe of the life, till she bow’d to the floor; 1540

  But swiftly to him gave she back the hand-guerdon

  With hand-graspings grim, and griped against him;

  Then mood-weary stumbled the strongest of warriors,

  The foot-kemp, until that adown there he fell.

  Then she sat on the hall-guest and tugg’d out her sax,

  The broad and brown-edged, to wreak her her son,

  Her offspring her own. But lay yet on his shoulder

  The breast-net well braided, the berg of his life,

  That ‘gainst point and ‘gainst edge the entrance withstood.

  Gone amiss then forsooth had been Ecgtheow’s son 1550

  Underneath the wide ground there, the kemp of the Geats,

  Save to him his war-byrny had fram’d him a help,

  The hard host-net; and save that the Lord God the Holy

  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 1560

  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, 1570

/>   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 1580

  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. 1590

  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, 1600

  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 1610

  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, 1620

  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, 1630

  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, 1640

  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. 1650

  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; 1660

  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. 1670

  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,

  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, 1680

  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 1690

  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,

  A
nd 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 1700

  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; 1710

  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 1720

  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, 1730

  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.