XXX Beowulf Forebodes Ill From the Wedding of Freawaru: He Tells of Grendel and His Dam
Ill-liking this may be to the lord of the Heathobards,
And to each of the thanes of that same people.
When he with fair bride on the floor of hall wendeth,
That the Dane’s noble bairn his doughty should wait on,
As on him glisten there the heirlooms of the aged,
Hard and with rings bedight, Heathobards’ treasure,
Whileas the weapons yet they might wield;
Till astray did they lead there at the lind-play
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Their own fellows belov’d and their very own lives.
For then saith at the beer, he who seeth the ring,
An ancient ash-warrior who mindeth of all
The spear-death of men; grim is he of mind;
Sad of mood he beginneth to tell the young champion.
Through the thought of his heart his mind there to try,
The war-bale to waken, and sayeth this word:
Mayest thou, friend mine, wot of the war-sword,
That which thy father bore in the fight
Under the war-mask e’en on the last time,
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That the dear iron, whereas the Danes slew him,
Wielded the death-field, since Withergyld lay,
After fall of the heroes, the keen-hearted Scyldings?
Now here of those banesmen the son, whoseso he be,
All merry in fretwork forth on floor fareth;
Of the murder he boasteth, and that jewel he beareth,
E’en that which of right thou shouldest arede.
Thus he mindeth and maketh word every of times,
With sore words he telleth, until the time cometh
That the thane of the fair bride for the deeds of his father
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After bite of the bill sleepeth all blood-stain’d,
All forfeit of life; but thenceforth the other
Escapeth alive; the land well he kenneth;
Then will be broken on both sides forsooth
The oath-swearing of earls, whenas unto Ingeld
Well up the death-hatreds, and the wife-loves of him
Because of the care-wellings cooler become.
Therefore the Heathobards’ faith I account not,
Their deal of the folk-peace, unguileful to Danes,
Their fast-bounden friendship. Henceforth must I speak on
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Again about Grendel, that thou get well to know it,
O treasure-out-dealer, how sithence betided
The hand-race of heroes: sithence heaven’s gem
All over the grounds glided, came the wroth guest,
The dire night-angry one us to go look on,
Whereas we all sound were warding the hall.
There then for Handshoe was battle abiding,
Life-bale to the fey; he first lay alow,
The war-champion girded; unto him became Grendel,
To the great thane of kindreds, a banesman of mouth,
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Of the man well-beloved the body he swallow’d;
Nor the sooner therefor out empty-handed
The bloody-tooth’d banesman, of bales all bemindful,
Out from that gold-hall yet would he get him;
But he, mighty of main, made trial of me,
And gripp’d ready-handed. His glove hung aloft,
Wondrous and wide, in wily bands fast,
With cunning wiles was it begeared forsooth,
With crafts of the devils and fells of the dragons;
He me withinwards there, me the unsinning,
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The doer of big deeds would do me to be
As one of the many; but naught so it might be,
Sithence in mine anger upright I stood.
’Tis over-long telling how I to the folkscather
For each one of evils out paid the hand-gild.
There I, O my lord king, them thy leal people
Worthy’d with works: but away he gat loosed
Out thence for a little while, brooked yet life-joys;
But his right hand held ward of his track howsoever,
High upon Hart-hall, and thence away humble
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He sad of his mood to the mere-ground fell downward.
Me for that slaughter-race the friend of the Scyldings
With gold that beplated was mickle deal paid,
With a many of treasures, sithence came the morning,
And we to the feast-tide had sat us adown;
Song was and glee there; the elder of Scyldings,
Asking of many things, told of things o’erpast;
Whiles hath the battle-deer there the harp’s joy,
The wood of mirth greeted; whiles the lay said he
Soothfast and sorrowful; whiles a spell seldom told
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Told he by right, the king roomy-hearted;
Whiles began afterward he by eld bounden,
The aged hoar warrior, of his youth to bewail him,
Its might of the battle; his breast well’d within him,
When he, wont in winters, of many now minded.
So we there withinward the livelong day’s wearing
Took pleasure amongst us, till came upon men
Another of nights; then eftsoons again
Was yare for the harm-wreak the mother of Grendel:
All sorry she wended, for her son death had taken,
The war-hate of the Weders: that monster of women
Awreaked her bairn, and quelled a warrior
In manner all mighty. Then was there from Aeschere,
The wise man of old, life waning away;
Nor him might they even when come was the morning,
That death-weary wight, the folk of the Danes
Burn up with the brand, nor lade on the bale
The man well-belov’d, for his body she bare off
In her fathom the fiendly all under the fell-stream.
That was unto Hrothgar of sorrows the heaviest
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Of them which the folk-chieftain long had befallen.
Then me did the lord king, and e’en by thy life,
Mood-heavy beseech me that I in the holm-throng
Should do after earlship, my life to adventure,
And frame me main-greatness, and meed he behight me.
Then I of the welling flood, which is well kenned,
The grim and the grisly ground-herder did find.
There to us for a while was the blending of hands;
The holm welled with gore, and the head I becarved
In that hall of the ground from the Mother of Grendel
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With the all-eked edges; unsoftly out thence
My life forth I ferry’d, for not yet was I fey.
But the earls’ burg to me was giving thereafter
Much sort of the treasures, e’en Healfdene’s son.
XXXI. BEOWULF GIVES HROTHGAR’S GIFTS TO HYGELAC, AND BY HIM IS REWARDED. OF THE DEATH OF HYGELAC AND OF HEARDRED HIS SON, AND HOW BEOWULF IS KING OF THE GEATS: THE WORM IS FIRST TOLD OF.
So therewith the folk-king far’d, living full seemly;
By those wages forsooth ne’er a whit had I lost,
By the meed of my main, but to me treasure gave he,
The Healfdene’s son, to the doom of myself;
Which to thee, king of bold ones, will I be a-bringing,
And gladly will give thee; for of thee is all gotten
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Of favours along, and but little have I
Of head-kinsmen forsooth, saving, Hygelac, thee.
Then he bade them bear in the boar-shape, the head-sign,
The battle-steep war-helm, the byrny all hoary,
The sword stately-good, and spell after he said:
This raiment of war Hrothgar gave to my hand,
The wise of the kings, and therewithal bade me,
That I first of all of his favour should flit thee;
He quoth that first had it King Heorogar of old,
The king of the Scyldings, a long while of time;
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But no sooner would he give it unto his son,
Heoroward the well-whet, though kind to him were he,
This weed of the breast. Do thou brook it full well.
On these fretworks, so heard I, four horses therewith,
All alike, close followed after the track,
Steeds apple-fallow. Fair grace he gave him
Of horses and treasures. E’en thus shall do kinsman,
And nowise a wile-net shall weave for another
With craft of the darkness, or do unto death
His very hand-fellow. But now unto Hygelac
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The bold in the battle was his nephew full faithful,
And either to other of good deeds was mindful.
I heard that the neck-ring to Hygd did he give,
E’en the wonder-gem well-wrought, that Wealh-theow gave him,
The king’s daughter; gave he three steeds therewithal
Slender, and saddle-bright; sithence to her was,
After the ring-gift, the breast well beworthy’d.
Thus boldly he bore him, the Ecgtheow’s bairn,
The groom kenned in battle, in good deeds a-doing;
After due doom he did, and ne’er slew he the drunken
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Hearth-fellows of him: naught rough was his heart;
But of all men of mankind with the greatest of might
The gift fully and fast set, which had God to him given,
That war-deer did hold. Long was he contemned,
While the bairns of the Geats naught told him for good,
Nor him on the mead-bench worthy of mickle
The lord of the war-hosts would be a-making.
Weened they strongly that he were but slack then,
An atheling unkeen; then came about change
To the fame-happy man for every foul harm.
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Bade then the earls’ burg in to be bringing,
The king battle-famed, the leaving of Hrethel,
All geared with gold; was not ’mid the Geats then
A treasure-gem better of them of the sword-kind,
That which then on Beowulf’s harm there he laid;
And gave to him there seven thousand in gift,
A built house and king-stool; to both them together
Was in that folkship land that was kindly,
Father-right, home; to the other one rather
A wide realm, to him who was there the better.
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But thereafter it went so in days later worn
Through the din of the battle, sithence Hygelac lay low
And unto Heardred swords of the battle
Under the war-board were for a bane;
When fell on him midst of this victory-folk
The hard battle-wolves, the Scyldings of war,
And by war overwhelmed the nephew of Hereric;
That sithence unto Beowulf turned the broad realm
All into his hand. Well then did he hold it
For a fifty of winters; then was he an old king,
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An old fatherland’s warder; until one began
Through the dark of the night-tide, a drake, to hold sway.
In a howe high aloft watched over an hoard,
A stone-burg full steep; thereunder a path sty’d
Unknown unto men, and therewithin wended
Who of men do I know not; for his lust there took he,
From the hoard of the heathen his hand took away
A hall-bowl gem-flecked, nowise back did he give it
Though the herd of the hoard him sleeping beguil’d he
With thief-craft; and this then found out the king,
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The best of folk-heroes, that wrath-bollen was he.
XXXII. How the Worm Came to the Howe, and How He Was Robbed of a Cup; and How He Fell on the Folk
Not at all with self-wielding the craft of the worm-hoards
He sought of his own will, who sore himself harmed;
But for threat of oppression a thrall, of I wot not
Which bairn of mankind, from blows wrathful fled,
House-needy forsooth, and hied him therein,
A man by guilt troubled. Then soon it betided
That therein to the guest there stood grisly terror;
However the wretched, of every hope waning
The ill-shapen wight, whenas the fear gat him,
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The treasure-vat saw; of such there was a many
Up in that earth-house of treasures of old,
As them in the yore-days, though what man I know not,
The huge leavings and loom of a kindred of high ones,
Well thinking of thoughts there had hidden away.
Dear treasures. But all them had death borne away
In the times of erewhile; and the one at the last
Of the doughty of that folk that there longest lived,
There waxed he friend-sad, yet ween’d he to tarry,
That he for a little those treasures the longsome
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Might brook for himself. But a burg now all ready
Wonn’d on the plain nigh the waves of the water,
New by a ness, by narrow-crafts fasten’d;
Within there then bare of the treasures of earls
That herd of the rings a deal hard to carry,
Of gold fair beplated, and few words he quoth:
Hold thou, O earth, now, since heroes may hold not,
The owning of earls. What! it erst within thee
Good men did get to them; now war-death hath gotten,
Life-bale the fearful, each man and every
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Of my folk; e’en of them who forwent the life:
The hall-joy had they seen. No man to wear sword
I own, none to brighten the beaker beplated,
The dear drink-vat; the doughty have sought to else-whither.
Now shall the hard war-helm bedight with the gold
Be bereft of its plating; its polishers sleep,
They that the battle-mask erewhile should burnish:
Likewise the war-byrny, which abode in the battle
O’er break of the war-boards the bite of the irons,
Crumbles after the warrior; nor may the ring’d byrny
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After the war-leader fare wide afield
On behalf of the heroes: nor joy of the harp is,
No game of the glee-wood; no goodly hawk now
Through the hall swingeth; no more the swift horse
Beateth the burg-stead. Now hath bale-quelling
A many of life-kin forth away sent.
Suchwise sad-moody moaned in sorrow
One after all, unblithely bemoaning
By day and by night, till the welling of death
Touch’d at his heart. The old twilight-scather
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Found the hoard’s joyance standing all open,
E’en he that, burning, seeketh to burgs,
The evil drake, naked, that flieth a night-tide,
With fire encompass’d; of him the earth-dwellers
Are strongly adrad; wont is he to seek to The hoard in the earth, where he the gold heathen
Winter-old wardeth; nor a whit him it betters.
So then the folk-scather for three hundred winters
Held in the earth a one of hoard-houses
All-eked of craft, until him there anger’d
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A man in his mood, who bare to his man-lord
A beaker beplated, and bade him peace-warding
Of his lord: then was lightly the hoard searched over,
And the ring-hoard off borne; and the boon it was granted
To that wretched-wrought man. There then the lord saw
That work of men foregone the first time of times.
Then awaken’d the Worm, and anew the strife was;
Along the stone stank he, the stout-hearted found
The foot-track of the foe; he had stept forth o’er-far
With dark craft, over-nigh to the head of the drake.
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So may the man unfey full easily outlive
The woe and the wrack-journey, he whom the Wielder’s
Own grace is holding. Now sought the hoard-warden
Eager over the ground; for the groom he would find
Who unto him sleeping had wrought out the sore:
Hot and rough-moody oft he turn’d round the howe
All on the outward; but never was any man
On the waste; but however in war he rejoiced,
In battle-work. Whiles he turn’d back to his howe
And sought to his treasure-vat; soon he found this,
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That one of the grooms had proven the gold,
The high treasures; then the hoard-warden abided,
But hardly forsooth, until come was the even,
And all anger-bollen was then the burg-warden,
And full much would the loath one with the fire-flame pay back
For his drink-vat the dear. Then day was departed
E’en at will to the Worm, and within wall no longer
Would he bide, but awayward with burning he fared,
All dight with the fire: it was fearful beginning
To the folk in the land, and all swiftly it fell
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On their giver of treasure full grievously ended.
XXXIII. The Worm Burns Beowulf’s House, and Beowulf Gets Ready to Go Against Him. Beowulf’s Early Deeds in Battle With the Hetware Told Of
Began then the guest to spew forth of gleeds,
The bright dwellings to burn; stood the beam of the burning
For a mischief to menfolk; now nothing that quick was The loathly lift-flier would leave there forsooth;
The war of the Worm was wide to be seen there,
The narrowing foe’s hatred anigh and afar,
How he, the fight-scather, the folk of the Geats
Hated and harm’d; shot he back to the hoard,
His dark lordly hall, ere yet was the day’s while;
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The land-dwellers had he in the light low encompass’d
With bale and with brand; in his burg yet he trusted,
His war-might and his wall: but his weening bewray’d him.
Then Beowulf was done to wit of the terror
Full swiftly forsooth, that the house of himself,
Best of buildings, was molten in wellings of fire,
The gift-stool of the Geats. To the good one was that
A grief unto heart; of mind-sorrows the greatest.
Weened the wise one, that Him, e’en the Wielder,
The Lord everlasting, against the old rights
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He had bitterly anger’d; the breast boil’d within him
With dark thoughts, that to him were naught duly wonted.
Now had the fire-drake the own fastness of folk,
The water-land outward, that ward of the earth,
With gleeds to ground wasted; so therefore the war-king,
The lord of the Weder-folk, learned him vengeance.
Then he bade be work’d for him, that fence of the warriors,
And that all of iron, the lord of the earls,
A war-board all glorious, for wissed he yarely
That the holt-wood hereto might help him no whit,
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The linden ’gainst fire-flame. Of fleeting days now
The Atheling exceeding good end should abide,
The end of the world’s life, and the Worm with him also,
Though long he had holden the weal of the hoard.
Forsooth scorned then the lord of the rings
That he that wide-flier with war-band should seek,
With a wide host; he fear’d not that war for himself,
Nor for himself the Worm’s war accounted one whit,
His might and his valour, for that he erst a many
Strait-daring of battles had bided, and liv’d,
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Clashings huge of the battle, sithence he of Hrothgar,
He, the man victory-happy, had cleansed the hall,
And in war-tide had gripped the kindred of Grendel,
The loathly of kindreds; nor was that the least
Of hand-meetings, wherein erst was Hygelac slain,
Sithence the Geats’ king in the onrush of battle,
The lord-friend of the folks, down away in the Frieslands,
The offspring of Hrethel, died, drunken of sword-drinks,
All beaten of bill. Thence Beowulf came forth
By his own craft forsooth, dreed the work of the swimming;
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He had on his arm, he all alone, thirty
Of war-gears, when he to the holm went adown.
Then nowise the Hetware needed to joy them
Over the foot-war, wherein forth against him
They bore the war-linden: few went back again
From that wolf of the battle to wend to their homes.
O’erswam then the waters’ round Ecgtheow’s son,
Came all wretched and byrd-alone back to his people,
Whereas offer’d him Hygd then the kingdom and hoard,
The rings and the king-stool: trowed naught in the child,
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That he ’gainst folks outland the fatherland-seats
Might can how to hold, now was Hygelac dead:
Yet no sooner therefor might the poor folk prevail
To gain from the Atheling in any of ways
That he unto Heardred would be for a lord,
Or eke that that kingdom henceforward should choose;
Yet him midst of the folk with friend-lore he held,
All kindly with honour till older he waxed
And wielded the Weder-Geats. To him men-waifs thereafter
Sought from over the sea, the sons they of Ohthere,
For they erst had withstood the helm of the Scylfings,
E’en him that was best of the kings of the sea,
Of them that in Swede-realm dealt out the treasure,
The mighty of princes. Unto him ’twas a life-mark;
To him without food there was fated the life-wound,
That Hygelac’s son, by the swinging of swords;
And him back departed Ongentheow’s bairn,
To go seek to his house, sithence Heardred lay dead,
And let Beowulf hold the high seat of the king
And wield there the Geats. Yea, good was that king.