by Beowulf
Ongeat þā se gōda grund-wyrgenne,
1520 mere-wīf mihtig; mægen-rǣs forgeaf
fangs of the flood. Firelight he saw,
beams of a blaze that brightly shone.
Then the warrior was ware of that wolf-of-the-deep,
mere-wife monstrous. For mighty stroke
1520 he swung his blade, and the blow withheld not.
hilde-bille, hond swenge ne oftēah,
þæt hire on hafelan hring-mǣl āgōl
grǣdig gūð-lēoð. Þā se gist onfand,
þæt se beado-lēoma bītan nolde,
1525 aldre sceððan, ac sēo ecg geswāc
Then sang on her head that seemly blade
its war-song wild. But the warrior found
the light-of-battle was loath to bite,
to harm the heart: its hard edge failed
1525 the noble at need, yet had known of old
þēodne æt þearfe: þolode ǣr fela
hond-gemōta, helm oft gescær,
fǣges fyrd-hrægl: þæt wæs forma sīð
dēorum māðme, þæt his dōm ālæg.
1530 Eft wæs ān-rǣd, nalas elnes læt,
strife hand to hand, and had helmets cloven,
doomed men’s fighting-gear. First time, this,
for the gleaming blade that its glory fell.
Firm still stood, nor failed in valor,
1530 heedful of high deeds, Hygelac’s kinsman;
mǣrða gemyndig mǣg Hygelāces;
wearp þā wunden-mǣl wrǣttum gebunden
yrre ōretta, þæt hit on eorðan læg,
stīð and sty¯l-ecg; strenge getruwode,
1535 mund-gripe mægenes. Swā sceal man dōn,
flung away fretted sword, featly jewelled,
the angry earl; on earth it lay
steel-edged and stiff. His strength he trusted,
hand-gripe of might. So man shall do
1535 whenever in war he weens to earn him
þonne hē æt gūðe gegān þenceð
longsumne lof, nā ymb his līf cearað.
Gefēng þā be eaxle (nalas for fǣhðe mearn)
Gūð-Gēata lēod Grendles mōdor;
1540 brægd þā beadwe heard, þā hē gebolgen wæs,
lasting fame, nor fears for his life!
Seized then by shoulder, shrank not from combat,
the Geatish war-prince Grendel’s mother.
Flung then the fierce one, filled with wrath,
1540 his deadly foe, that she fell to ground.
feorh-genīðlan, þæt hēo on flet gebēah.
Hēo him eft hraðe and-lēan forgeald
grimman grāpum and him tōgēanes fēng;
oferwearp þā wērig-mōd wigena strengest,
1545 fēðe-cempa, þæt hē on fylle wearð.
Swift on her part she paid him back
with grisly grasp, and grappled with him.
Spent with struggle, stumbled the warrior,
fiercest of fighting-men, fell adown.
1545 On the hall-guest she hurled herself, hent her short sword,
Ofsæt þā þone sele-gyst and hyre seaxe getēah,
brād and brūn-ecg wolde hire bearn wrecan,
āngan eaferan. Him on eaxle læg
brēost-net brōden; þæt gebearh fēore,
1550 wið ord and wið ecge ingang forstōd.
broad and brown-edged, the bairn to avenge,
the sole-born son. — On his shoulder lay
braided breast-mail, barring death,
withstanding entrance of edge or blade.
1550 Life would have ended for Ecgtheow’s son,
Hæfde þā forsīðod sunu Ecgþēowes
under gynne grund, Gēata cempa,
nemne him heaðo-byrne helpe gefremede,
here-net hearde, and hālig god
1555 gewēold wīg-sigor, wītig drihten;
under wide earth for that earl of Geats,
had his armor of war not aided him,
battle-net hard, and holy God
wielded the victory, wisest Maker.
1555 The Lord of Heaven allowed his cause;
rodera rǣdend hit on ryht gescēd,
y¯ðelīce syððan hē eft āstōd.
and easily rose the earl erect.
XXIV. BĒOWULF SLAYS THE SPRITE.
Geseah þā on searwum sige-ēadig bil,
eald sweord eotenisc ecgum þy¯htig,
1560 wigena weorð-mynd: þæt wæs wǣpna cyst,
‘Mid the battle-gear saw he a blade triumphant,
old-sword of Eotens, with edge of proof,
warriors’ heirloom, weapon unmatched,
1560 — save only ’twas more than other men
būton hit wæs māre þonne ǣnig mon ōðer
tō beadu-lāce ætberan meahte
gōd and geatolīc gīganta geweorc.
Hē gefēng þā fetel-hilt, freca Scildinga,
1565 hrēoh and heoro-grim hring-mǣl gebrægd,
to bandy-of-battle could bear at all —
as the giants had wrought it, ready and keen.
Seized then its chain-hilt the Scyldings’ chieftain,
bold and battle-grim, brandished the sword,
1565 reckless of life, and so wrathfully smote
aldres orwēna, yrringa slōh,
þæt hire wið halse heard grāpode,
bān-hringas bræc, bil eal þurh-wōd
fǣgne flǣsc-homan, hēo on flet gecrong;
1570 sweord wæs swātig, secg weorce gefeh.
that it gripped her neck and grasped her hard,
her bone-rings breaking: the blade pierced through
that fated-one’s flesh: to floor she sank.
Bloody the blade: he was blithe of his deed.
1570 Then blazed forth light. ’Twas bright within
Līxte se lēoma, lēoht inne stōd,
efne swā of hefene hādre scīneð
rodores candel. Hē æfter recede wlāt,
hwearf þā be wealle, wǣpen hafenade
1575 heard be hiltum Higelāces þegn,
as when from the sky there shines unclouded
heaven’s candle. The hall he scanned.
By the wall then went he; his weapon raised
high by its hilts the Hygelac-thane,
1575 angry and eager. That edge was not useless
yrre and ān-rǣd. Næs sēo ecg fracod
hilde-rince, ac hē hraðe wolde
Grendle forgyldan gūð-rǣsa fela
þāra þe hē geworhte tō West-Denum
1580 oftor micle þonne on ǣnne sīð,
to the warrior now. He wished with speed
Grendel to guerdon for grim raids many,
for the war he waged on Western-Danes
oftener far than an only time,
1580 when of Hrothgar’s hearth-companions
þonne hē Hrōðgāres heorð-genēatas
slōh on sweofote, slǣpende fræt
folces Denigea fy¯f-ty¯ne men
and ōðer swylc ūt of-ferede,
1585 lāðlīcu lāc. Hē him þæs lēan forgeald,
he slew in slumber, in sleep devoured,
fifteen men of the folk of Danes,
and as many others outward bore,
his horrible prey. Well paid for that
1585 the wrathful prince! For now prone he saw
rēðe cempa, tō þæs þe hē on ræste geseah
gūð-wērigne Grendel licgan,
aldor-lēasne, swā him ǣr gescōd
hild æt Heorote; hrā wīde sprong,
1590 syððan hē æfter dēaðe drepe þrowade,
Grendel stretched there, spent with war,
spoiled of life, so scathed had left him
Heorot’s battle. The body sprang far
when after death it endured the blow,
1590 sword-stroke savage, that severed its head.
heoro-sweng heardne, and hine þā hēafde becearf,<
br />
Sōna þæt gesāwon snottre ceorlas,
þā þe mid Hrōðgāre on holm wliton,
þæt wæs y¯ð-geblond eal gemenged,
1595 brim blōde fāh: blonden-feaxe
Soon, then, saw the sage companions
who waited with Hrothgar, watching the flood,
that the tossing waters turbid grew,
blood-stained the mere. Old men together,
1595 hoary-haired, of the hero spake;
gomele ymb gōdne ongeador sprǣcon,
þæt hig þæs æðelinges eft ne wēndon,
þæt hē sige-hrēðig sēcean cōme
mǣrne þēoden; þā þæs monige gewearð,
1600 þæt hine sēo brim-wylf ābroten hæfde.
the warrior would not, they weened, again,
proud of conquest, come to seek
their mighty master. To many it seemed
the wolf-of-the-waves had won his life.
1600 The ninth hour came. The noble Scyldings
Þā cōm nōn dæges. Næs ofgēafon
hwate Scyldingas; gewāt him hām þonon
gold-wine gumena. Gistas sētan,
mōdes sēoce, and on mere staredon,
1605 wiston and ne wēndon, þæt hīe heora wine-drihten
left the headland; homeward went
the gold-friend of men. But the guests sat on,
stared at the surges, sick in heart,
and wished, yet weened not, their winsome lord
1605 again to see.
selfne gesāwon. Þā þæt sweord ongan
æfter heaðo-swāte hilde-gicelum
wīg-bil wanian; þæt wæs wundra sum,
þæt hit eal gemealt īse gelīcost,
1610 þonne forstes bend fæder onlǣteð,
Now that sword began,
from blood of the fight, in battle-droppings,
war-blade, to wane: ’twas a wondrous thing
that all of it melted as ice is wont
when frosty fetters the Father loosens,
1610 unwinds the wave-bonds, wielding all
onwindeð wæl-rāpas, sē þe geweald hafað
sǣla and mǣla; þæt is sōð metod.
Ne nom hē in þǣm wīcum, Weder-Gēata lēod,
māðm-ǣhta mā, þēh hē þǣr monige geseah,
1615 būton þone hafelan and þā hilt somod,
seasons and times: the true God he!
Nor took from that dwelling the duke of the Geats
precious things, though a plenty he saw,
save only the head and that hilt withal
1615 blazoned with jewels: the blade had melted,
since fāge; sweord ǣr gemealt,
forbarn brōden mǣl: wæs þæt blōd tō þæs hāt,
ǣttren ellor-gǣst, sē þǣr inne swealt.
Sōna wæs on sunde, sē þe ǣr æt sæcce gebād
1620 wīg-hryre wrāðra, wæter up þurh-dēaf;
burned was the bright sword, her blood was so hot,
so poisoned the hell-sprite who perished within there.
Soon he was swimming who safe saw in combat
downfall of demons; up-dove through the flood.
1620 The clashing waters were cleanséd now,
wǣron y¯ð-gebland eal gefǣlsod,
ēacne eardas, þā se ellor-gāst
oflēt līf-dagas and þās lǣnan gesceaft.
Cōm þā tō lande lid-manna helm
1625 swīð-mōd swymman, sǣ-lāce gefeah,
waste of waves, where the wandering fiend
her life-days left and this lapsing world.
Swam then to strand the sailors’-refuge,
sturdy-in-spirit, of sea-booty glad,
1625 of burden brave he bore with him.
mægen-byrðenne þāra þe hē him mid hæfde.
Ēodon him þā tōgēanes, gode þancodon,
þry¯ðlīc þegna hēap, þēodnes gefēgon,
þæs þe hī hyne gesundne gesēon mōston.
1630 Þā wæs of þǣm hrōran helm and byrne
Went then to greet him, and God they thanked,
the thane-band choice of their chieftain blithe,
that safe and sound they could see him again.
Soon from the hardy one helmet and armor
1630 deftly they doffed: now drowsed the mere,
lungre āly¯sed: lagu drūsade,
wæter under wolcnum, wæl-drēore fāg.
Fērdon forð þonon fēðe-lāstum
ferhðum fægne, fold-weg mǣton,
1635 cūðe strǣte; cyning-balde men
water ‘neath welkin, with war-blood stained.
Forth they fared by the footpaths thence,
merry at heart the highways measured,
well-known roads. Courageous men
1635 carried the head from the cliff by the sea,
from þǣm holm-clife hafelan bǣron
earfoðlīce heora ǣghwæðrum
fela-mōdigra: fēower scoldon
on ðæm wæl-stenge weorcum geferian
1640 tō þǣm gold-sele Grendles hēafod,
an arduous task for all the band,
the firm in fight, since four were needed
on the shaft-of-slaughter strenuously
to bear to the gold-hall Grendel’s head.
1640 So presently to the palace there
oð þæt semninga tō sele cōmon
frome fyrd-hwate fēower-ty¯ne
Gēata gongan; gum-dryhten mid
mōdig on gemonge meodo-wongas træd.
1645 Þā cōm in gān ealdor þegna,
foemen fearless, fourteen Geats,
marching came. Their master-of-clan
mighty amid them the meadow-ways trod.
Strode then within the sovran thane
1645 fearless in fight, of fame renowned,
dǣd-cēne mon dōme gewurðad,
hæle hilde-dēor. Hrōðgār grētan:
Þā wæs be feaxe on flet boren
Grendles hēafod, þǣr guman druncon,
1650 egeslīc for eorlum and þǣre idese mid: wlite-sēon wrǣtlīc weras onsāwon.
hardy hero, Hrothgar to greet.
And next by the hair into hall was borne
Grendel’s head, where the henchmen were drinking,
an awe to clan and queen alike,
1650 a monster of marvel: the men looked on.
XXV. HROTHGAR’S GRATITUDE: HE DISCOURSES.
Bēowulf maðelode, bearn Ecgþēowes:
“Hwæt! wē þē þās sǣ-lāc, sunu Healfdenes,
“lēod Scyldinga, lustum brōhton,
1655 “tīres tō tācne, þē þū hēr tō lōcast.
Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: —
“Lo, now, this sea-booty, son of Healfdene,
Lord of Scyldings, we’ve lustily brought thee,
sign of glory; thou seest it here.
1655 Not lightly did I with my life escape!
“Ic þæt unsōfte ealdre gedīgde:
“wigge under wætere weorc genēðde
“earfoðlīce, æt-rihte wæs
“gūð getwǣfed, nymðe mec god scylde.
1660 “Ne meahte ic æt hilde mid Hruntinge
In war under water this work I essayed
with endless effort; and even so
my strength had been lost had the Lord not shielded me.
Not a whit could I with Hrunting do
1660 in work of war, though the weapon is good;
“wiht gewyrcan, þēah þæt wǣpen duge,
“ac mē geūðe ylda waldend,
“þæt ic on wāge geseah wlitig hangian
“eald sweord ēacen (oftost wīsode
1665 “winigea lēasum) þæt ic þy¯ wǣpne gebrǣ.
yet a sword the Sovran of Men vouchsafed me
to spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging,
old, gigantic, — how oft He guides
the friendless wight! — and I fought with that brand,
<
br /> 1665 felling in fight, since fate was with me,
“Ofslōh þā æt þǣre sæcce (þā mē sǣl āgeald)
“hūses hyrdas. Þā þæt hilde-bil
“forbarn, brogden mǣl, swā þæt blōd gesprang,
“hātost heaðo-swāta: ic þæt hilt þanan
1670 “fēondum ætferede; fyren-dǣda wræc,
the house’s wardens. That war-sword then
all burned, bright blade, when the blood gushed o’er it,
battle-sweat hot; but the hilt I brought back
from my foes. So avenged I their fiendish deeds,
1670 death-fall of Danes, as was due and right.
“dēað-cwealm Denigea, swā hit gedēfe wæs.
“Ic hit þē þonne gehāte, þæt þū on Heorote mōst
“sorh-lēas swefan mid þīnra secga gedryht,
“and þegna gehwylc þīnra lēoda,
1675 “duguðe and iogoðe, þæt þū him ondrǣdan ne þearft,
And this is my hest, that in Heorot now
safe thou canst sleep with thy soldier band,
and every thane of all thy folk
both old and young; no evil fear,
1675 Scyldings’ lord, from that side again,
“þēoden Scyldinga, on þā healfe,
“aldor-bealu eorlum, swā þū ǣr dydest.”
Þā wæs gylden hilt gamelum rince.
hārum hild-fruman, on hand gyfen,
1680 enta ǣr-geweorc, hit on ǣht gehwearf
aught ill for thy earls, as erst thou must!”
Then the golden hilt, for that gray-haired leader,
hoary hero, in hand was laid,
giant-wrought, old. So owned and enjoyed it
1680 after downfall of devils, the Danish lord,
æfter dēofla hryre Denigea frēan,
wundor-smiða geweorc, and þā þās worold ofgeaf
grom-heort guma, godes andsaca,
morðres scyldig, and his mōdor ēac;
1685 on geweald gehwearf worold-cyninga
wonder-smiths’ work, since the world was rid
of that grim-souled fiend, the foe of God,
murder-marked, and his mother as well.
Now it passed into power of the people’s king,
1685 best of all that the oceans bound
þǣm sēlestan be sǣm twēonum
þāra þe on Sceden-igge sceattas dǣlde.
Hrōðgār maðelode, hylt scēawode,
ealde lāfe, on þǣm wæs ōr writen
1690 fyrn-gewinnes: syððan flōd ofslōh,
who have scattered their gold o’er Scandia’s isle.
Hrothgar spake — the hilt he viewed,
heirloom old, where was etched the rise
of that far-off fight when the floods o’erwhelmed,
1690 raging waves, the race of giants
gifen gēotende, gīganta cyn,
frēcne gefērdon: þæt wæs fremde þēod