Beowulf - Delphi Poets Series

by Beowulf

  In the beer-hall, e’en he who gave us these rings,

  That we for the war-gear one while would pay,

  If unto him thislike need e’er should befall,

  For these helms and hard swords. So he chose us from host

  To this faring of war by his very own will,

  Of glories he minded us, and gave me these gems here,

  Whereas us of gar-warriors he counted for good, 2640

  And bold bearers of helms. Though our lord e’en for us

  This work of all might was of mind all alone

  Himself to be framing, the herd of the folk,

  Whereas most of all men he hath mightiness framed.

  Of deeds of all daring, yet now is the day come

  Whereon to our man-lord behoveth the main

  Of good battle-warriors; so thereunto wend we,

  And help we the host-chief, whiles that the heat be,

  The gleed-terror grim. Now of me wotteth God

  That to me is much liefer that that, my lyke-body, 2650

  With my giver of gold the gleed should engrip.

  Unmeet it methinketh that we shields should bear

  Back unto our own home, unless we may erst

  The foe fell adown and the life-days defend

  Of the king of the Weders. Well wot I hereof

  That his old deserts naught such were, that he only

  Of all doughty of Geats the grief should be bearing.

  Sink at strife. Unto us shall one sword be, one helm,

  One byrny and shield, to both of us common.

  Through the slaughter-reek waded he then, bare his war-helm 2660

  To the finding his lord, and few words he quoth:

  O Beowulf the dear, now do thee all well,

  As thou in thy youthful life quothest of yore,

  That naught wouldst thou let, while still thou wert living,

  Thy glory fade out. Now shalt thou of deeds famed,

  The atheling of single heart, with all thy main deal

  For the warding thy life, and to stay thee I will.

  Then after these words all wroth came the Worm,

  The dire guest foesome, that second of whiles

  With fire-wellings flecked, his foes to go look on, 2670

  The loath men. With flame was lightly then burnt up

  The board to the boss, and might not the byrny

  To the warrior the young frame any help yet.

  But so the young man under shield of his kinsman

  Went onward with valour, whenas his own was

  All undone with gleeds; then again the war-king

  Remember’d his glories, and smote with mainmight

  With his battle-bill, so that it stood in the head

  Need-driven by war-hate. Then asunder burst Nægling,

  Waxed weak in the war-tide, e’en Beowulf’s sword, 2680

  The old and grey-marked; to him was not given

  That to him any whit might the edges of irons

  Be helpful in battle; over-strong was the hand

  Which every of swords, by the hearsay of me,

  With its swing over-wrought, when he bare unto strife

  A wondrous hard weapon; naught it was to him better.

  Then was the folk-scather for the third of times yet,

  The fierce fire-drake, all mindful of feud;

  He rac’d on that strong one, when was room to him given,

  Hot and battle-grim; he all the halse of him gripped 2690

  With bitter-keen bones; all bebloody’d he waxed

  With the gore of his soul. Well’d in waves then the war-sweat.

  XXXVII. THEY TWO SLAY THE WORM. BEOWULF IS WOUNDED DEADLY: HE BIDDETH WIGLAF BEAR OUT THE TREASURE.

  Then heard I that at need of the high king of folk

  The upright earl made well manifest might,

  His craft and his keenness as kind was to him;

  The head there he heeded not (but the hand burned

  Of that man of high mood when he helped his kinsman),

  Whereas he now the hate-guest smote yet a deal nether,

  That warrior in war-gear, whereby the sword dived,

  The plated, of fair hue, and thereby fell the flame 2700

  To minish thereafter, and once more the king’s self

  Wielded his wit, and his slaying-sax drew out,

  The bitter and battle-sharp, borne on his byrny;

  Asunder the Weder’s helm smote the Worm midmost;

  They felled the fiend, and force drave the life out,

  And they twain together had gotten him ending,

  Those athelings sib. E’en such should a man be,

  A thane good at need. Now that to the king was

  The last victory-while, by the deeds of himself,

  Of his work of the world. Sithence fell the wound, 2710

  That the earth-drake to him had wrought but erewhile.

  To swell and to sweal; and this soon he found out,

  That down in the breast of him bale-evil welled,

  The venom withinward; then the Atheling wended,

  So that he by the wall, bethinking him wisdom.

  Sat on seat there and saw on the works of the giants,

  How that the stone-bows fast stood on pillars,

  The earth-house everlasting upheld withinward.

  Then with his hand him the sword-gory,

  That great king his thane, the good beyond measure, 2720

  His friend-lord with water washed full well,

  The sated of battle, and unspanned his war-helm.

  Forth then spake Beowulf, and over his wound said,

  His wound piteous deadly; wist he full well,

  That now of his day-whiles all had he dreed,

  Of the joy of the earth; all was shaken asunder

  The tale of his days; death without measure nigh:

  Unto my son now should I be giving

  My gear of the battle, if to me it were granted

  Any ward of the heritage after my days 2730

  To my body belonging. This folk have I holden

  Fifty winters; forsooth was never a folk-king

  Of the sitters around, no one of them soothly,

  Who me with the war-friends durst wend him to greet

  And bear down with the terror. In home have I abided

  The shapings of whiles, and held mine own well.

  No wily hates sought I; for myself swore not many

  Of oaths in unright. For all this may I,

  Sick with the life-wounds, soothly have joy.

  Therefore naught need wyte me the Wielder of men 2740

  With kin murder-bale, when breaketh asunder

  My life from my lyke. And now lightly go thou

  To look on the hoard under the hoar stone,

  Wiglaf mine lief, now that lieth the Worm

  And sleepeth sore wounded, beshorn of his treasure;

  And be hasty that I now the wealth of old time,

  The gold-having may look on, and yarely behold

  The bright cunning gems, that the softlier may I

  After the treasure-weal let go away

  My life, and the folk-ship that long I have held. 2750

  XXXVIII. BEOWULF BEHOLDETH THE TREASURE AND PASSETH AWAY.

  Then heard I that swiftly the son of that Weohstan

  After this word-say his lord the sore wounded,

  Battle-sick, there obeyed, and bare forth his ring-net,

  His battle-sark woven, in under the burg-roof;

  Saw then victory-glad as by the seat went he,

  The kindred-thane moody, sun-jewels a many,

  Much glistering gold lying down on the ground,

  Many wonders on wall, and the den of the Worm,

  The old twilight-flier; there were flagons a-standing,

  The vats of men bygone, of brighteners bereft, 2760

  And maim’d of adornment; was many an helm

  Rusty and old, and of arm-rings a many
/>
  Full cunningly twined. All lightly may treasure,

  The gold in the ground, every one of mankind

  Befool with o’erweening, hide it who will.

  Likewise he saw standing a sign there all-golden

  High over the hoard, the most of hand-wonders,

  With limb-craft belocked, whence light a ray gleamed.

  Whereby the den’s ground-plain gat he to look on,

  The fair works scan throughly. Not of the Worm there 2770

  Was aught to be seen now, but the edge had undone him.

  Heard I then that in howe of the hoard was bereaving,

  The old work of the giants, but one man alone,

  Into his barm laded beakers and dishes

  At his very own doom; and the sign eke he took,

  The brightest of beacons. But the bill of the old lord

  (The edge was of iron) erewhile it scathed

  Him who of that treasure hand-bearer was

  A long while, and fared a-bearing the flame-dread

  Before the hoard hot, and welling of fierceness 2780

  In the midnights, until that by murder he died.

  In haste was the messenger, eager of back-fare,

  Further’d with fretted gems. Him longing fordid

  To wot whether the bold man he quick there shall meet

  In that mead-stead, e’en he the king of the Weders,

  All sick of his might, whereas he erst Itft him.

  He fetching the treasure then found the king mighty,

  His own lord, yet there, and him ever all gory

  At end of his life; and he yet once again

  Fell the water to warp o’er him, till the word’s point 2790

  Brake through the breast-hoard, and Beowulf spake out.

  The aged, in grief as he gaz’d on the gold:

  Now I for these fretworks to the Lord of all thanking,

  To the King of all glory, in words am yet saying,

  To the Lord ever living, for that which I look on;

  Whereas such I might for the people of mine,

  Ere ever my death-day, get me to own.

  Now that for the treasure-hoard here have I sold

  My life and laid down the same, frame still then ever

  The folk-need, for here never longer I may be. 2800

  So bid ye the war-mighty work me a howe

  Bright after the bale-fire at the sea’s nose,

  Which for a remembrance to the people of me

  Aloft shall uplift him at Whale-ness for ever,

  That it the sea-goers sithence may hote

  Beowulf’s Howe, e’en they that the high-ships

  Over the flood-mists drive from afar.

  Did off from his halse then a ring was all golden,

  The king the great-hearted, and gave to his thane,

  To the spear-warrior young his war-helm gold-brindled, 2810

  The ring and the byrny, and bade him well brook them:

  Thou art the end-leaving of all of our kindred,

  The Wægmundings; Weird now hath swept all away

  Of my kinsmen, and unto the doom of the Maker

  The earls in their might; now after them shall I.

  That was to the aged lord youngest of words

  Of his breast-thoughts, ere ever he chose him the bale,

  The hot battle-wellings; from his heart now departed

  His soul, to seek out the doom of the soothfast.

  XXXIX. WIGLAF CASTETH SHAME ON THOSE FLEERS.

  But gone was it then with the unaged man 2820

  Full hard that there he beheld on the earth

  The liefest of friends at the ending of life,

  Of bearing most piteous. And likewise lay his bane

  The Earth-drake, the loathly fear, reft of his life,

  By bale laid undone: the ring-hoards no longer

  The Worm, the crook-bowed, ever might wield;

  For soothly the edges of the irons him bare off,

  The hard battle-sharded leavings of hammers,

  So that the wide-flier stilled with wounding

  Fell onto earth anigh to his hoard-hall, 2830

  Nor along the lift ever more playing he turned

  At middle-nights, proud of the owning of treasure,

  Show’d the face of him forth, but to earth there he fell

  Because of the host-leader’s work of the hand.

  This forsooth on the land hath thriven to few,

  Of men might and main bearing, by hearsay of mine,

  Though in each of all deeds full daring he were,

  That against venom-scather’s fell breathing he set on,

  Or the hall of his rings with hand be a-stirring,

  If so be that he waking the warder had found 2840

  Abiding in burg. By Beowulf was

  His deal of the king-treasure paid for by death;

  There either had they fared on to the end

  Of this loaned life. Long it was not until

  Those laggards of battle the holt were a-leaving,

  Unwarlike troth-liars, the ten there together,

  Who durst not e’en now with darts to be playing

  E’en in their man-lord’s most mickle need.

  But shamefully now their shields were they bearing,

  Their weed of the battle, there where lay the aged; 2850

  They gazed on Wiglaf where weary’d he sat,

  The foot-champion, hard by his very lord’s shoulder,

  And wak’d him with water: but no whit it sped him;

  Never might he on earth howsoe’er well he will’d it

  In that leader of spears hold the life any more,

  Nor the will of the Wielder change ever a whit;

  But still should God’s doom of deeds rule the rede

  For each man of men, as yet ever it doth.

  Then from out of the youngling an answer full grim

  Easy got was for him who had lost heart erewhile, 2860

  And word gave out Wiglaf, Weohstan’s son

  The sorrowful-soul’d man: on those unlief he saw:

  Lo that may he say who sooth would be saying,

  That the man-lord who dealt you the gift of those dear things,

  The gear of the war-host wherein there ye stand,

  Whereas he on the ale-bench full oft was a-giving

  Unto the hall-sitters war-helm and byrny,

  The king to his thanes, e’en such as he choicest

  Anywhere, far or near, ever might find:

  That he utterly wrongsome those weeds of the war 2870

  Had cast away, then when the war overtook him.

  Surely never the folk-king of his fellows in battle

  Had need to be boastful; howsoever God gave him,

  The Victory-wielder, that he himself wreaked him

  Alone with the edge, when to him need of might was.

  Unto him of life-warding but little might I

  Give there in the war-tide; and yet I began

  Above measure of my might my kinsman to help;

  Ever worse was the Worm then when I with sword

  Smote the life-foe, and ever the fire less strongly 2880

  Welled out from his wit. Of warders o’er little

  Throng’d about the king when him the battle befell.

  Now shall taking of treasures and giving of swords

  And all joy of your country-home fail from your kindred,

  All hope wane away; of the land-right moreover

  May each of the men of that kinsman’s burg ever

  Roam lacking; sithence that the athelings eft-soons

  From afar shall have heard of your faring in flight,

  Your gloryless deed. Yea, death shall be better

  For each of the earls than a life ever ill-fam’d. 2890

  XL. WIGLAF SENDETH TIDING TO THE HOST: THE WORDS OF THE MESSENGER.

  Then he bade them that war-work give out at the barriers

  Up over the sea-cliff,
whereas then the earl-host

  The morning-long day sat sad of their mood,

  The bearers of war-boards, in weening of both things,

  Either the end-day, or else the back-coming

  Of the lief man. Forsooth he little was silent

  Of the new-fallen tidings who over the ness rode,

  But soothly he said over all there a-sitting:

  Now is the will-giver of the folk of the Weders,

  The lord of the Geats, fast laid in the death-bed, 2900

  In the slaughter-rest wonneth he by the Worm’s doings.

  And beside him yet lieth his very life-winner

  All sick with the sax-wounds; with sword might he never

  On the monster, the fell one, in any of manners

  Work wounding at all. There yet sitteth Wiglaf,

  Weohstan’s own boy, over Beowulf king,

  One earl over the other, over him the unliving;

  With heart-honours holdeth he head-ward withal

  Over lief, over loath. But to folk is a weening

  Of war-tide as now, so soon as unhidden 2910

  To Franks and to Frisians the fall of the king

  Is become over widely. Once was the strife shapen

  Hard ‘gainst the Hugs, sithence Hygelac came

  Faring with float-host to Frisian land,

  Whereas him the Hetware vanquish’d in war,

  With might gat the gain, with o’er-mickle main;

  The warrior bebyrny’d he needs must bow down:

  He fell in the host, and no fretted war-gear

  Gave that lord to the doughty, but to us was aye sithence

  The mercy ungranted that was of the Merwing. 2920

  Nor do I from the Swede folk of peace or good faith

  Ween ever a whit. For widely ’twas wotted

  That Ongentheow erst had undone the life

  Of Hæthcyn the Hrethel’s son hard by the Raven-wood,

  Then when in their pride the Scylfings of war

  Erst gat them to seek to the folk of the Geats.

  Unto him soon the old one, the father of Ohthere,

  The ancient and fearful gave back the hand-stroke,

  Brake up the sea-wise one, rescued his bride.

  The aged his spouse erst, bereft of the gold, 2930

  Mother of Onela, yea and of Ohthere;

  And follow’d up thereon his foemen the deadly,

  Until they betook them and sorrowfully therewith

  Unto the Raven-holt, reft of their lord.

  With huge host then beset he the leaving of swords

  All weary with wounds, and woe he behight them,

  That lot of the wretched, the livelong night through;

  Quoth he that the morrow’s morn with the swords’ edges