Gummere Translation of Beowulf
Part 1
in
two parts
The Internet Wiretap edition of
BEOWULF
From The Harvard Classics, Volume 49.
Copyright, 1910 by P.F. Collier & Son.
This text is in the public domain, released July 1993.
Prepared by Robin Katsuya-Corbet from
scanner
output provided by Internet Wiretap.
B E O W U L F
Translated by Francis B. Gummere
PRELUDE OF THE FOUNDER OF THE DANISH
HOUSE LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings of
spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes, from many a
tribe, the mead-bench tore, awing the earls. Since erst he
lay friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve, till before him
the folk, both far and near, who house by the whale-path, heard
his mandate, gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Famed was this Beowulf:[1] far flew the boast of him, son of Scyld, in
the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well with his father's
friends, by fee and gift, that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh, liegemen loyal:
by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every clan. Forth he fared at the
fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.
Then they bore him over to ocean's billow, loving
clansmen, as late he charged them, while wielded words
the winsome Scyld, the leader beloved who long had
ruled....
In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel, ice-flecked,
outbound, atheling's barge: there laid they down their darling
lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings,[2] by the mast the
mighty one. Many a treasure fetched from far was freighted with him.
No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle, with breastplate
and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating away. No less these
loaded the lordly gifts, thanes' huge treasure, than those
had done who in former time forth had sent him sole on
the seas, a suckling child.
High o'er his head they hoist the standard, a gold-wove
banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits, mournful their
mood. No man is able
to say in sooth, no son of the halls,
no hero 'neath heaven, -- who harbored that freight!
[1] Not, of course, Beowulf the Great, hero of the epic.
[2] Kenning for king or chieftain of a comitatus: he breaks off gold from
the spiral rings -- often
worn on the arm -- and so rewards his followers.
I
Now Beowulf bode in the burg of the Scyldings,
leader beloved, and long he ruled
in fame with all folk, since his father had gone
away from the world, till awoke an heir,
haughty Healfdene, who held through life, sage and
sturdy, the Scyldings glad. Then, one after one, there
woke to him,
to the chieftain of clansmen, children four: Heorogar, then
Hrothgar, then Halga brave; and I heard that -- was --'s
queen,
the Heathoscylfing's helpmate dear.
To Hrothgar was given such glory of war, such honor of
combat, that all his kin obeyed him gladly till great grew
his band of youthful comrades. It came in his mind to bid
his henchmen a hall uprear,
a master mead-house, mightier far
than ever was seen by the sons of earth, and within it,
then, to old and young
he would all allot that the Lord had sent him, save only the land
and the lives of his men. Wide, I heard, was the work
commanded,
for many a tribe this mid-earth round,
to fashion the folkstead. It fell, as he ordered, in rapid achievement
that ready it stood there, of halls the noblest: Heorot[1] he named
it whose message had might in many a land.
Not reckless of promise, the rings he dealt, treasure at banquet:
there towered the hall, high, gabled wide, the hot surge waiting
of furious flame.[2] Nor far was that day when father and
son-in-law stood in feud for warfare and hatred that woke
again.[3]
With envy and anger an evil spirit
endured the dole in his dark abode,
that he heard each day the din of revel high in the hall:
there harps rang out,
clear song of the singer. He sang who knew[4] tales of the
early time of man,
how the Almighty made the earth,
fairest fields enfolded by water,
set, triumphant, sun and moon
for a light to lighten the land-dwellers, and braided bright
the breast of earth with limbs and leaves, made life for all
of mortal beings that breathe and move.
So lived the clansmen in cheer and revel
a winsome life, till one began
to fashion evils, that field of hell. Grendel this monster grim
was called, march-riever[5] mighty, in moorland living, in
fen and fastness; fief of the giants the hapless wight a while
had kept
since the Creator his exile doomed.
On kin of Cain was the killing avenged
by sovran God for slaughtered Abel.
Ill fared his feud,[6] and far was he driven, for the slaughter's
sake, from sight of men. Of Cain awoke all that woful breed,
Etins[7] and elves and evil-spirits,
as well as the giants that warred with God
weary while: but their wage was paid them!
[1] That is, "The Hart," or "Stag," so called from decorations in the
gables that resembled the
antlers of a deer. This hall has been carefully described in a pamphlet by
Heyne. The building was
rectangular, with opposite doors -- mainly west and east -- and a hearth
in the middle of the single
room. A row of pillars down each side, at some distance from
the walls, made a space which was raised a little above the main floor,
and was furnished with
two rows of seats. On one side, usually south, was the high-seat midway
between the doors.
Opposite this, on the other raised space, was another seat of honor. At
the banquet soon to be
described, Hrothgar sat in the south or chief high-seat, and Beowulf
opposite to him. The scene for
a flying (see below, v.499) was thus very effectively set. Planks on trestles
-- the "board" of later
English literature -- formed the tables just in front of the long rows of
seats, and were taken away
after banquets, when the retainers were ready to stretch themselves out
for sleep on the benches.
[2] Fire was the usual end of these halls. See v. 781 below. One thinks of
the splendid scene at the
end of the Nibelungen, of the Nialssaga, of Saxo's story of Amlethus,
and many a less famous
instance.
[3] It is to be supposed that all hearers of this poem knew how
Hrothgar's hall was burnt, --
perhaps in the unsuccessful attack made on him by his son-in-law
Ingeld.
[4] A skilled minstrel. The Danes are heathens, as one is told presently;
but this lay of beginnings
is taken from Genesis.
[5] A disturber of the border, one who sallies from his haunt in the fen
and roams over the country
near by. This probably pagan nuisance is now
furnished with biblical credentials as a fiend or devil in good standing,
so that all Christian
Englishmen might read about him. "Grendel" may
mean one who grinds and crushes.
[6] Cain's.
[7] Giants.
II
WENT he forth to find at fall of night
that haughty house, and heed wherever
the Ring-Danes, outrevelled, to rest had gone. Found within it
the atheling band
asleep after feasting and fearless of sorrow, of human hardship.
Unhallowed wight,
grim and greedy, he grasped betimes, wrathful, reckless,
from resting-places, thirty of the thanes, and thence he
rushed fain of his fell spoil, faring homeward, laden with
slaughter, his lair to seek. Then at the dawning, as day
was breaking, the might of Grendel to men was known;
then after wassail was wail uplifted, loud moan in the
morn. The mighty chief,
atheling excellent, unblithe sat,
labored in woe for the loss of his thanes,
when once had been traced the trail of the fiend, spirit accurst: too
cruel that sorrow,
too long, too loathsome. Not late the respite; with night returning,
anew began
ruthless murder; he recked no whit,
firm in his guilt, of the feud and crime. They were easy to
find who elsewhere sought in room remote their rest at
night,
bed in the bowers,[1] when that bale was shown, was seen in
sooth, with surest token, --
the hall-thane's[2] hate. Such held themselves far and fast who
the fiend outran!
Thus ruled unrighteous and raged his fill
one against all; until empty stood
that lordly building, and long it bode so. Twelve years' tide the
trouble he bore, sovran of Scyldings, sorrows in plenty,
boundless cares. There came unhidden
tidings true to the tribes of men,
in sorrowful songs, how ceaselessly Grendel harassed
Hrothgar, what hate he bore him, what murder and
massacre, many a year, feud unfading, -- refused consent
to deal with any of Daneland's earls, make pact of peace, or
compound for gold: still less did the wise men ween to get
great fee for the feud from his fiendish hands. But the evil one
ambushed old and young death-shadow dark, and dogged them
still, lured, or lurked in the livelong night
of misty moorlands: men may say not
where the haunts of these Hell-Runes[3] be. Such heaping
of horrors the hater of men, lonely roamer, wrought
unceasing, harassings heavy. O'er Heorot he lorded, gold-
bright hall, in gloomy nights;
and ne'er could the prince[4] approach his throne, -- 'twas judgment of
God, -- or have joy in his hall. Sore was the sorrow to Scyldings'-friend,
heart-rending misery. Many nobles
sat assembled, and searched out counsel
how it were best for bold-hearted men against harassing
terror to try their hand. Whiles they vowed in their heathen
fanes altar-offerings, asked with words[5]
that the slayer-of-souls would succor give them for the pain of their
people. Their practice this, their heathen hope; 'twas Hell they
thought of in mood of their mind. Almighty they knew not,
Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord,
nor Heaven's-Helmet heeded they ever, Wielder-of-Wonder. -- Woe
for that man
who in harm and hatred hales his soul
to fiery embraces; -- nor favor nor change awaits he ever.
But well for him
that after death-day may draw to his Lord, and friendship
find in the Father's arms!
[1] The smaller buildings within the main enclosure but separate from
the hall.
[2] Grendel.
[3] "Sorcerers-of-hell."
[4] Hrothgar, who is the "Scyldings'-friend" of 170.
[5] That is, in formal or prescribed phrase.
III
THUS seethed unceasing the son of Healfdene with the
woe of these days; not wisest men assuaged his sorrow; too
sore the anguish, loathly and long, that lay on his folk,
most baneful of burdens and bales of the night.
This heard in his home Hygelac's thane,
great among Geats, of Grendel's doings.
He was the mightiest man of valor
in that same day of this our life, stalwart and stately. A
stout wave-walker
he bade make ready. Yon battle-king, said he, far o'er the
swan-road he fain would seek, the noble monarch who needed
men!
The prince's journey by prudent folk
was little blamed, though they loved him dear; they whetted the
hero, and hailed good omens. And now the bold one from
bands of Geats comrades chose, the keenest of warriors
e'er he could find; with fourteen men
the sea-wood[1] he sought, and, sailor proved, led them on to
the land's confines.
Time had now flown;[2] afloat was the ship,
boat under bluff. On board they climbed, warriors ready; waves
were churning
sea with sand; the sailors bore
on the breast of the bark their bright array, their mail and
weapons: the men pushed off, on its willing way, the well-
braced craft.
Then moved o'er the waters by might of the wind that bark like a
bird with breast of foam, till in season due, on the second day,
the curved prow such course had run
that sailors now could see the land, sea-cliffs shining, steep high
hills, headlands broad. Their haven was found,
their journey ended. Up then quickly
the Weders'[3] clansmen climbed ashore,
anchored their sea-wood, with armor clashing and gear of
battle: God they thanked
for passing in peace o'er the paths of the sea. Now saw from the
cliff a Scylding clansman,
a warden that watched the water-side,
how they bore o'er the gangway glittering shields, war-gear in
readiness; wonder seized him
to know what manner of men they were. Straight to the
strand his steed he rode, Hrothgar's henchman; with
hand of might he shook his spear, and spake in parley.
"Who are ye, then, ye armed men,
mailed folk, that yon mighty vessel have urged thus over
the ocean ways, here o'er the waters? A warden I,
sentinel set o'er the sea-march here, lest any foe to the
folk of Danes
with harrying fleet should harm the land. No aliens ever
at ease thus bore them, linden-wielders:[4] yet word-of-
leave clearly ye lack from clansmen here,
my folk's agreement. -- A greater ne'er saw I of warriors in
world than is one of you, -yon hero in harness! No henchman
he
worthied by weapons, if witness his features, his peerless
presence! I pray you, though, tell your folk and home, lest hence
ye fare suspect to wander your way as spies
in Danish land. Now, dwellers afar, ocean-travellers, take from
me
simple advice: the sooner the better
I hear of the country whence ye came."
[1] Ship.
[2] That is, since Beowulf selected his ship and led his men to the
harbor. [3] One of the auxiliary
names of the Geats.
[4] Or: Not thus openly ever came warriors hither; yet...
IV
To him the stateliest spake in answer;
the warriors' leader his word-hoard unlocked:--
"We are by kin of the clan of Geats,
and Hygelac's own hearth-fellows we.
To folk afar was my father known,
noble atheling, Ecgtheow named.
Full of winters, he fared away
aged from earth; he is honored still through width of the
world by wise men all. To thy lord and liege in loyal mood
we hasten hither, to Healfdene's son, people-protector: be
pleased to advise us! To that mighty-one come we on mickle
errand, to the lord of the Danes; nor deem I right
that aught be hidden. We hear -- thou knowest if sooth it is --
the saying of men,
that amid the Scyldings a scathing monster, dark ill-doer, in
dusky nights
shows terrific his rage unmatched,
hatred and murder. To Hrothgar I
in greatness of soul would succor bring,
so the Wise-and-Brave[1] may worst his foes, -if ever the end of
ills is fated,
of cruel contest, if cure shall follow,
and the boiling care-waves cooler grow;
else ever afterward anguish-days
he shall suffer in sorrow while stands in place high on its hill
that house unpeered!" Astride his steed, the strand-ward
answered, clansman unquailing: "The keen-souled thane must
be skilled to sever and sunder duly words and works, if he well
intends.
I gather, this band is graciously bent
to the Scyldings' master. March, then, bearing weapons and
weeds the way I show you.
I will bid my men your boat meanwhile
to guard for fear lest foemen come, --
your new-tarred ship by shore of ocean faithfully watching till
once again
it waft o'er the waters those well-loved thanes, -- winding-neck'd
wood, -- to Weders' bounds, heroes such as the hest of fate
shall succor and save from the shock of war." They bent them to
march, -- the boat lay still, fettered by cable and fast at anchor,
broad-bosomed ship. -- Then shone the boars[2] over the cheek-
guard; chased with gold,
keen and gleaming, guard it kept
o'er the man of war, as marched along
heroes in haste, till the hall they saw, broad of gable
and bright with gold:
that was the fairest, 'mid folk of earth,
of houses 'neath heaven, where Hrothgar lived, and the gleam
of it lightened o'er lands afar. The sturdy shieldsman showed
that bright burg-of-the-boldest; bade them go straightway
thither; his steed then turned, hardy hero, and hailed them
thus:--
"Tis time that I fare from you. Father Almighty in grace and
mercy guard you well,
safe in your seekings. Seaward I go,
'gainst hostile warriors hold my watch."
[1] Hrothgar.
[2] Beowulf's helmet has several boar-images on it; he is the "man of
war"; and the boar-
helmet guards him as typical representative of the marching party as a
whole. The boar was
sacred to Freyr, who was the favorite god of the Germanic tribes about
the North Sea and the
Baltic. Rude representations of warriors show the boar on the helmet
quite as large as the
helmet itself.
V
STONE-BRIGHT the street:[1] it showed the way
to the crowd of clansmen. Corselets glistened hand-forged,
hard; on their harness bright the steel ring sang, as they
strode along in mail of battle, and marched to the hall. There,
weary of ocean, the wall along
they set their bucklers, their broad shields, down, and bowed them to
bench: the breastplates clanged, war-gear of men; their weapons
stacked,
spears of the seafarers stood together, gray-tipped ash:
that iron band
was worthily weaponed! -- A warrior proud asked of the
heroes their home and kin. "Whence, now, bear ye
burnished shields, harness gray and helmets grim,
spears in multitude? Messenger, I, Hrothgar's herald!
Heroes so many
ne'er met I as strangers of mood so strong.
'Tis plain that for prowess, not plunged into exile, for high-hearted
valor, Hrothgar ye seek!"
Him the sturdy-in-war bespake with words, proud earl of
the Weders answer made, hardy 'neath helmet:--
"Hygelac's, we, fellows at board; I am Beowulf named.
I am seeking to say to the son of Healfdene this mission of
mine, to thy master-lord, the doughty prince, if he deign at
all
grace that we greet him, the good one, now." Wulfgar spake,
the Wendles' chieftain, whose might of mind to many was
known,
his courage and counsel: "The king of Danes, the Scyldings'
friend, I fain will tell,
the Breaker-of-Rings, as the boon thou askest, the famed
prince, of thy faring hither,
and, swiftly after, such answer bring
as the doughty monarch may deign to give." Hied then in
haste to where Hrothgar sat white-haired and old, his earls
about him,
till the stout thane stood at the shoulder there of the Danish king:
good courtier he!
Wulfgar spake to his winsome lord:--
"Hither have fared to thee far-come men o'er the paths of
ocean, people of Geatland; and the stateliest there by his
sturdy band is Beowulf named. This boon they seek, that
they, my master, may with thee
have speech at will: nor spurn their prayer to give them
hearing, gracious Hrothgar! In weeds of the warrior worthy
they,
methinks, of our liking; their leader most surely, a hero that
hither his henchmen has led."
[1] Either merely paved, the strata via of the Romans, or else thought of
as a sort of mosaic, an
extravagant touch like the reckless waste of gold on the walls and roofs
of a hall.
VI
HROTHGAR answered, helmet of Scyldings:--
"I knew him of yore in his youthful days; his aged father
was Ecgtheow named,
to whom, at home, gave Hrethel the Geat his only
daughter. Their offspring bold fares hither to seek the
steadfast friend. And seamen, too, have said me this, -who
carried my gifts to the Geatish court, thither for thanks, --
he has thirty men's heft of grasp in the gripe of his hand,
the bold-in-battle. Blessed God
out of his mercy this man hath sent
to Danes of the West, as I ween indeed, against horror of
Grendel. I hope to give
the good youth gold for his gallant thought. Be thou in haste,
and bid them hither,
clan of kinsmen, to come before me;
and add this word, -- they are welcome guests to folk of the
Danes."
[To the door of the hall Wulfgar
went] and the word declared:--
"To you this message my master sends, East-Danes'
king, that your kin he knows, hardy heroes, and hails you
all
welcome hither o'er waves of the sea! Ye may wend your
way in war-attire,
and under helmets Hrothgar greet;
but let here the battle-shields bide your parley, and wooden war-
shafts wait its end."
Uprose the mighty one, ringed with his men, brave band of
thanes: some bode without, battle-gear guarding, as bade the chief.
Then hied that troop where the herald led them, under Heorot's
roof: [the hero strode,]
hardy 'neath helm, till the hearth he neared. Beowulf spake, --
his breastplate gleamed, war-net woven by wit of the smith:--
"Thou Hrothgar, hail! Hygelac's I,
kinsman and follower. Fame a plenty
have I gained in youth! These Grendel-deeds I heard in
my home-land heralded clear.
Seafarers say how stands this hall,
of buildings best, for your band of thanes empty and idle,
when evening sun
in the harbor of heaven is hidden away. So my vassals
advised me well, --
brave and wise, the best of men, --
O sovran Hrothgar, to seek thee here,
for my nerve and my might they knew full well. Themselves
had seen me from slaughter come blood-flecked from foes,
where five I bound,
and that wild brood worsted. I' the waves I slew nicors[1] by night,
in need and peril
avenging the Weders,[2] whose woe they sought, -crushing the
grim ones. Grendel now,
monster cruel, be mine to quell
in single battle! So, from thee,
thou sovran of the Shining-Danes, Scyldings'-bulwark, a boon I
seek, --
and, Friend-of-the-folk, refuse it not,
O Warriors'-shield, now I've wandered far, -that I alone with
my liegemen here,
this hardy band, may Heorot purge!
More I hear, that the monster dire,
in his wanton mood, of weapons recks not; hence shall I
scorn -- so Hygelac stay, king of my kindred, kind to me!
-brand or buckler to bear in the fight,
gold-colored targe: but with gripe alone must I front the
fiend and fight for life, foe against foe. Then faith be his
in the doom of the Lord whom death shall take. Fain, I ween, if
the fight he win,
in this hall of gold my Geatish band will he fearless eat, --
as oft before, -my noblest thanes. Nor need'st thou then to
hide my head;[3] for his shall I be, dyed in gore, if death
must take me;
and my blood-covered body he'll bear as prey, ruthless devour
it, the roamer-lonely,
with my life-blood redden his lair in the fen: no further for me
need'st food prepare!
To Hygelac send, if Hild[4] should take me, best of war-weeds,
warding my breast,
armor excellent, heirloom of Hrethel
and work of Wayland.[5] Fares Wyrd[6] as she must."
[1] The nicor, says Bugge, is a hippopotamus; a walrus, says ten Brink.
But that water-goblin
who covers the space from Old Nick of jest to the Neckan and Nix of
poetry and tale, is all one
needs, and Nicor is a good name for him.
[2] His own people, the Geats.
[3] That is, cover it as with a face-cloth. "There will be no need of funeral
rites."
[4] Personification of Battle.
[5] The Germanic Vulcan.
[6] This mighty power, whom the Christian poet can still revere, has
here the general force of
"Destiny."
VII
HROTHGAR spake, the Scyldings'-helmet:--
"For fight defensive, Friend my Beowulf,
to succor and save, thou hast sought us here. Thy father's
combat[1] a feud enkindled when Heatholaf with hand he
slew
among the Wylfings; his Weder kin
for horror of fighting feared to hold him. Fleeing, he
sought our South-Dane folk, over surge of ocean the
Honor-Scyldings, when first I was ruling the folk of
Danes, wielded, youthful, this widespread realm,
this hoard-hold of heroes. Heorogar was dead,
my elder brother, had breathed his last, Healfdene's bairn:
he was better than I! Straightway the feud with fee[2] I
settled, to the Wylfings sent, o'er watery ridges, treasures
olden: oaths he[3] swore me.
Sore is my soul to say to any
of the race of man what ruth for me
in Heorot Grendel with hate hath wrought, what sudden
harryings. Hall-folk fail me, my warriors wane; for Wyrd
hath swept them into Grendel's grasp. But God is able this
deadly foe from his deeds to turn! Boasted full oft, as my
beer they drank, earls o'er the ale-cup, armed men,
that they would bide in the beer-hall here, Grendel's attack
with terror of blades. Then was this mead-house at morning
tide dyed with gore, when the daylight broke,
all the boards of the benches blood-besprinkled, gory the hall: I
had heroes the less,
doughty dear-ones that death had reft.
-- But sit to the banquet, unbind thy words, hardy hero, as
heart shall prompt thee."
Gathered together, the Geatish men
in the banquet-hall on bench assigned, sturdy-spirited, sat
them down, hardy-hearted. A henchman attended, carried
the carven cup in hand,
served the clear mead. Oft minstrels sang
blithe in Heorot. Heroes revelled,
no dearth of warriors, Weder and Dane.
[1] There is no irrelevance here. Hrothgar sees in Beowulf's mission a
heritage of duty, a return
of the good offices which the Danish king rendered to Beowulf's father in
time of dire need.
[2] Money, for wergild, or man-price.
[3] Ecgtheow, Beowulf's sire.
VIII
UNFERTH spake, the son of Ecglaf,
who sat at the feet of the Scyldings' lord,
unbound the battle-runes.[1] -- Beowulf's quest, sturdy seafarer's,
sorely galled him;
ever he envied that other men
should more achieve in middle-earth
of fame under heaven than he himself. -"Art thou that
Beowulf, Breca's rival, who emulous swam on the open
sea,
when for pride the pair of you proved the floods, and wantonly
dared in waters deep
to risk your lives? No living man,
or lief or loath, from your labor dire could you dissuade,
from swimming the main. Ocean-tides with your arms ye
covered,
with strenuous hands the sea-streets measured, swam o'er the
waters. Winter's storm
rolled the rough waves. In realm of sea
a sennight strove ye. In swimming he topped thee,
had more of main! Him at morning-tide
billows bore to the Battling Reamas,
whence he hied to his home so dear
beloved of his liegemen, to land of Brondings, fastness fair,
where his folk he ruled,
town and treasure. In triumph o'er thee Beanstan's
bairn[2] his boast achieved. So ween I for thee a worse
adventure
-- though in buffet of battle thou brave hast been, in struggle grim, --
if Grendel's approach
thou darst await through the watch of night!"
Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:--
"What a deal hast uttered, dear my Unferth, drunken with
beer, of Breca now,
told of his triumph! Truth I claim it,
that I had more of might in the sea than any man else,
more ocean-endurance. We twain had talked, in time of
youth,
and made our boast, -- we were merely boys, striplings still,
-- to stake our lives far at sea: and so we performed it.
Naked swords, as we swam along,
we held in hand, with hope to guard us against the whales.
Not a whit from me
could he float afar o'er the flood of waves, haste o'er the
billows; nor him I abandoned. Together we twain on the
tides abode
five nights full till the flood divided us, churning waves and
chillest weather, darkling night, and the northern wind
ruthless rushed on us: rough was the surge. Now the wrath
of the sea-fish rose apace; yet me 'gainst the monsters my
mailed coat, hard and hand-linked, help afforded, -battle-
sark braided my breast to ward, garnished with gold. There
grasped me firm and haled me to bottom the hated foe,
with grimmest gripe. 'Twas granted me, though, to pierce the
monster with point of sword, with blade of battle: huge beast of
the sea was whelmed by the hurly through hand of mine.
[1] "Began the fight."
[2] Breca.
IX
ME thus often the evil monsters
thronging threatened. With thrust of my sword, the darling, I
dealt them due return!
Nowise had they bliss from their booty then to devour their
victim, vengeful creatures, seated to banquet at bottom of sea;
but at break of day, by my brand sore hurt, on the edge of
ocean up they lay,
put to sleep by the sword. And since, by them on the
fathomless sea-ways sailor-folk
are never molested. -- Light from east, came bright God's
beacon; the billows sank, so that I saw the sea-cliffs high,
windy walls. For Wyrd oft saveth
earl undoomed if he doughty be!
And so it came that I killed with my sword nine of the nicors.
Of night-fought battles ne'er heard I a harder 'neath heaven's
dome, nor adrift on the deep a more desolate man! Yet I came
unharmed from that hostile clutch, though spent with
swimming. The sea upbore me, flood of the tide, on Finnish
land,
the welling waters. No wise of thee
have I heard men tell such terror of falchions, bitter battle. Breca
ne'er yet,
not one of you pair, in the play of war
such daring deed has done at all
with bloody brand, -- I boast not of it! -though thou wast the bane[1]
of thy brethren dear, thy closest kin, whence curse of hell
awaits thee, well as thy wit may serve! For I say in sooth,
thou son of Ecglaf, never had Grendel these grim deeds
wrought, monster dire, on thy master dear,
in Heorot such havoc, if heart of thine were as battle-bold
as thy boast is loud! But he has found no feud will happen;
from sword-clash dread of your Danish clan he vaunts him
safe, from the Victor-Scyldings. He forces pledges, favors none
of the land of Danes, but lustily murders, fights and feasts, nor
feud he dreads
from Spear-Dane men. But speedily now
shall I prove him the prowess and pride of the Geats, shall bid him
battle. Blithe to mead
go he that listeth, when light of dawn this morrow morning
o'er men of earth, ether-robed sun from the south shall
beam!"
Joyous then was the Jewel-giver,
hoar-haired, war-brave; help awaited
the Bright-Danes' prince, from Beowulf hearing, folk's good
shepherd, such firm resolve.
Then was laughter of liegemen loud resounding with winsome
words. Came Wealhtheow forth, queen of Hrothgar, heedful of
courtesy, gold-decked, greeting the guests in hall;
and the high-born lady handed the cup first to the East-
Danes' heir and warden, bade him be blithe at the beer-
carouse, the land's beloved one. Lustily took he banquet
and beaker, battle-famed king.
Through the hall then went the Helmings' Lady, to younger and
older everywhere
carried the cup, till come the moment
when the ring-graced queen, the royal-hearted, to Beowulf bore
the beaker of mead.
She greeted the Geats' lord, God she thanked, in wisdom's
words, that her will was granted, that at last on a hero her hope
could lean for comfort in terrors. The cup he took, hardy-in-
war, from Wealhtheow's hand,
and answer uttered the eager-for-combat. Beowulf spake,
bairn of Ecgtheow:-"This was my thought, when my
thanes and I bent to the ocean and entered our boat, that I
would work the will of your people fully, or fighting fall in
death,
in fiend's gripe fast. I am firm to do an earl's brave deed,
or end the days
of this life of mine in the mead-hall here." Well these words
to the woman seemed, Beowulf's battle-boast. -- Bright with
gold the stately dame by her spouse sat down. Again, as erst,
began in hall
warriors' wassail and words of power, the proud-band's
revel, till presently the son of Healfdene hastened to
seek rest for the night; he knew there waited
fight for the fiend in that festal hall, when the sheen of the
sun they saw no more, and dusk of night sank darkling
nigh,
and shadowy shapes came striding on,
wan under welkin. The warriors rose.
Man to man, he made harangue,
Hrothgar to Beowulf, bade him hail,
let him wield the wine hall: a word he added:-"Never to any man
erst I trusted,
since I could heave up hand and shield,
this noble Dane-Hall, till now to thee. Have now and hold
this house unpeered; remember thy glory; thy might
declare; watch for the foe! No wish shall fail thee
if thou bidest the battle with bold-won life."
[1] Murder.
X
THEN Hrothgar went with his hero-train, defence-of-
Scyldings, forth from hall;
fain would the war-lord Wealhtheow seek, couch of his
queen. The King-of-Glory against this Grendel a guard
had set, so heroes heard, a hall-defender,
who warded the monarch and watched for the monster. In truth, the
Geats' prince gladly trusted
his mettle, his might, the mercy of God! Cast off then his
corselet of iron,
helmet from head; to his henchman gave, -choicest of weapons,
-- the well-chased sword, bidding him guard the gear of battle.
Spake then his Vaunt the valiant man, Beowulf Geat, ere
the bed be sought:-"Of force in fight no feebler I count
me,
in grim war-deeds, than Grendel deems him. Not with the
sword, then, to sleep of death
his life will I give, though it lie in my power. No skill is his to
strike against me,
my shield to hew though he hardy be,
bold in battle; we both, this night,
shall spurn the sword, if he seek me here, unweaponed,
for war. Let wisest God, sacred Lord, on which side
soever
doom decree as he deemeth right."
Reclined then the chieftain, and cheek-pillows held the head of the
earl, while all about him
seamen hardy on hall-beds sank.
None of them thought that thence their steps
to the folk and fastness that fostered them, to the land they
loved, would lead them back! Full well they wist that on
warriors many battle-death seized, in the banquet-hall, of
Danish clan. But comfort and help, war-weal weaving, to
Weder folk
the Master gave, that, by might of one, over their enemy all
prevailed,
by single strength. In sooth 'tis told
that highest God o'er human kind
hath wielded ever! -- Thro' wan night striding, came the walker-
in-shadow. Warriors slept whose hest was to guard the gabled
hall, -all save one. 'Twas widely known
that against God's will the ghostly ravager
him[1] could not hurl to haunts of darkness; wakeful, ready,
with warrior's wrath,
bold he bided the battle's issue.
[1] Beowulf, -- the "one."
XI
THEN from the moorland, by misty crags, with God's wrath
laden, Grendel came.
The monster was minded of mankind now sundry to seize in
the stately house.
Under welkin he walked, till the wine-palace there, gold-hall of men,
he gladly discerned,
flashing with fretwork. Not first time, this, that he the home of
Hrothgar sought, --
yet ne'er in his life-day, late or early, such hardy heroes,
such hall-thanes, found! To the house the warrior walked
apace, parted from peace;[1] the portal opended,
though with forged bolts fast, when his fists had struck it,
and baleful he burst in his blatant rage,
the house's mouth. All hastily, then,
o'er fair-paved floor the fiend trod on, ireful he strode; there
streamed from his eyes fearful flashes, like flame to see.
He spied in hall the hero-band,
kin and clansmen clustered asleep,
hardy liegemen. Then laughed his heart;
for the monster was minded, ere morn should dawn, savage, to
sever the soul of each,
life from body, since lusty banquet
waited his will! But Wyrd forbade him
to seize any more of men on earth
after that evening. Eagerly watched
Hygelac's kinsman his cursed foe,
how he would fare in fell attack.
Not that the monster was minded to pause! Straightway
he seized a sleeping warrior
for the first, and tore him fiercely asunder, the bone-frame bit,
drank blood in streams, swallowed him piecemeal: swiftly
thus
the lifeless corse was clear devoured, e'en feet and hands.
Then farther he hied; for the hardy hero with hand he
grasped, felt for the foe with fiendish claw,
for the hero reclining, -- who clutched it boldly, prompt to answer,
propped on his arm.
Soon then saw that shepherd-of-evils
that never he met in this middle-world,
in the ways of earth, another wight
with heavier hand-gripe; at heart he feared, sorrowed in soul,
-- none the sooner escaped! Fain would he flee, his fastness
seek,
the den of devils: no doings now
such as oft he had done in days of old! Then bethought him
the hardy Hygelac-thane
of his boast at evening: up he bounded, grasped firm his foe,
whose fingers cracked.
The fiend made off, but the earl close followed. The monster
meant -- if he might at all --
to fling himself free, and far away
fly to the fens, -- knew his fingers' power
in the gripe of the grim one. Gruesome march
to Heorot this monster of harm had made! Din filled the
room; the Danes were bereft, castle-dwellers and clansmen
all,
earls, of their ale. Angry were both
those savage hall-guards: the house resounded. Wonder it was
the wine-hall firm
in the strain of their struggle stood, to earth the fair house fell not;
too fast it was within and without by its iron bands
craftily clamped; though there crashed from sill many a mead-
bench -- men have told me --
gay with gold, where the grim foes wrestled. So well had
weened the wisest Scyldings that not ever at all might any
man
that bone-decked, brave house break asunder, crush by craft,
-- unless clasp of fire
in smoke engulfed it. -- Again uprose
din redoubled. Danes of the North
with fear and frenzy were filled, each one, who from the
wall that wailing heard, God's foe sounding his grisly song,
cry of the conquered, clamorous pain from captive of hell.
Too closely held him he who of men in might was
strongest
in that same day of this our life.
[1] That is, he was a "lost soul," doomed to hell.
XII
NOT in any wise would the earls'-defence[1] suffer that
slaughterous stranger to live, useless deeming his days and years
to men on earth. Now many an earl
of Beowulf brandished blade ancestral,
fain the life of their lord to shield,
their praised prince, if power were theirs; never they knew,
-- as they neared the foe, hardy-hearted heroes of war,
aiming their swords on every side
the accursed to kill, -- no keenest blade, no farest of
falchions fashioned on earth, could harm or hurt that
hideous fiend!
He was safe, by his spells, from sword of battle, from edge of iron.
Yet his end and parting
on that same day of this our life
woful should be, and his wandering soul
far off flit to the fiends' domain.
Soon he found, who in former days,
harmful in heart and hated of God,
on many a man such murder wrought,
that the frame of his body failed him now. For him the
keen-souled kinsman of Hygelac held in hand; hateful
alive
was each to other. The outlaw dire
took mortal hurt; a mighty wound
showed on his shoulder, and sinews cracked, and the bone-
frame burst. To Beowulf now the glory was given, and
Grendel thence death-sick his den in the dark moor sought,
noisome abode: he knew too well
that here was the last of life, an end
of his days on earth. -- To all the Danes by that bloody
battle the boon had come. From ravage had rescued the
roving stranger
Hrothgar's hall; the hardy and wise one
had purged it anew. His night-work pleased him, his deed and its
honor. To Eastern Danes
had the valiant Geat his vaunt made good, all their
sorrow and ills assuaged, their bale of battle borne so
long,
and all the dole they erst endured
pain a-plenty. -- 'Twas proof of this, when the hardy-in-
fight a hand laid down, arm and shoulder, -- all, indeed,
of Grendel's gripe, -- 'neath the gabled roof
[1] Kenning for Beowulf.
XIII
MANY at morning, as men have told me, warriors gathered the
gift-hall round, folk-leaders faring from far and near,
o'er wide-stretched ways, the wonder to view, trace of the
traitor. Not troublous seemed the enemy's end to any man
who saw by the gait of the graceless foe how the weary-
hearted, away from thence, baffled in battle and banned, his
steps death-marked dragged to the devils' mere. Bloody the
billows were boiling there, turbid the tide of tumbling waves
horribly seething, with sword-blood hot,
by that doomed one dyed, who in den of the moor laid forlorn his
life adown,
his heathen soul,-and hell received it.
Home then rode the hoary clansmen
from that merry journey, and many a youth,
on horses white, the hardy warriors,
back from the mere. Then Beowulf's glory eager they
echoed, and all averred
that from sea to sea, or south or north, there was no other
in earth's domain, under vault of heaven, more valiant
found, of warriors none more worthy to rule!
(On their lord beloved they laid no slight, gracious
Hrothgar: a good king he!)
From time to time, the tried-in-battle their gray steeds set
to gallop amain, and ran a race when the road seemed fair.
From time to time, a thane of the king,
who had made many vaunts, and was mindful of verses, stored with
sagas and songs of old,
bound word to word in well-knit rime,
welded his lay; this warrior soon
of Beowulf's quest right cleverly sang,
and artfully added an excellent tale,
in well-ranged words, of the warlike deeds he had heard in
saga of Sigemund. Strange the story: he said it all, -
the Waelsing's wanderings wide, his struggles, which never
were told to tribes of men,
the feuds and the frauds, save to Fitela only, when of these
doings he deigned to speak, uncle to nephew; as ever the twain
stood side by side in stress of war,
and multitude of the monster kind
they had felled with their swords. Of Sigemund grew,
when he passed from life, no little praise; for the doughty-
in-combat a dragon killed that herded the hoard:[1] under
hoary rock the atheling dared the deed alone
fearful quest, nor was Fitela there.
Yet so it befell, his falchion pierced
that wondrous worm, -- on the wall it struck, best blade; the
dragon died in its blood. Thus had the dread-one by daring
achieved over the ring-hoard to rule at will, himself to
pleasure; a sea-boat he loaded, and bore on its bosom the
beaming gold,
son of Waels; the worm was consumed.
He had of all heroes the highest renown among races of
men, this refuge-of-warriors, for deeds of daring that decked
his name since the hand and heart of Heremod
grew slack in battle. He, swiftly banished to mingle with
monsters at mercy of foes,
to death was betrayed; for torrents of sorrow had lamed him
too long; a load of care
to earls and athelings all he proved.
Oft indeed, in earlier days,
for the warrior's wayfaring wise men mourned, who had hoped of
him help from harm and bale, and had thought their sovran's son
would thrive, follow his father, his folk protect,
the hoard and the stronghold, heroes' land, home of Scyldings. --
But here, thanes said, the kinsman of Hygelac kinder seemed
to all: the other[2] was urged to crime!
And afresh to the race,[3] the fallow roads
by swift steeds measured! The morning sun
was climbing higher. Clansmen hastened
to the high-built hall, those hardy-minded, the wonder to witness.
Warden of treasure, crowned with glory, the king himself,
with stately band from the bride-bower strode;
and with him the queen and her crowd of maidens measured the
path to the mead-house fair.
[1] "Guarded the treasure."
[2] Sc. Heremod.
[3] The singer has sung his lays, and the epic resumes its story. The
time-relations are not
altogether good in this long passage which describes the rejoicings of
"the day after"; but the
present shift from the riders on the road to the folk at the hall is not very
violent, and is of a piece
with the general style.
XIV
HROTHGAR spake, -- to the hall he went,
stood by the steps, the steep roof saw, garnished with
gold, and Grendel's hand:-"For the sight I see to the
Sovran Ruler be speedy thanks! A throng of sorrows
I have borne from Grendel; but God still works
wonder on wonder, the Warden-of-Glory.
It was but now that I never more
for woes that weighed on me waited help
long as I lived, when, laved in blood,
stood sword-gore-stained this stateliest house, -widespread woe for
wise men all,
who had no hope to hinder ever
foes infernal and fiendish sprites
from havoc in hall. This hero now,
by the Wielder's might, a work has done that not all of
us erst could ever do by wile and wisdom. Lo, well can
she say whoso of women this warrior bore
among sons of men, if still she liveth, that the God of
the ages was good to her
in the birth of her bairn. Now, Beowulf, thee, of heroes best, I
shall heartily love
as mine own, my son; preserve thou ever this kinship new:
thou shalt never lack wealth of the world that I wield as
mine! Full oft for less have I largess showered, my
precious hoard, on a punier man,
less stout in struggle. Thyself hast now
fulfilled such deeds, that thy fame shall endure through all the
ages. As ever he did,
well may the Wielder reward thee still!" Beowulf spake,
bairn of Ecgtheow:-"This work of war most willingly
we have fought, this fight, and fearlessly dared force of the foe.
Fain, too, were I
hadst thou but seen himself, what time
the fiend in his trappings tottered to fall! Swiftly, I thought,
in strongest gripe
on his bed of death to bind him down, that he in the hent of
this hand of mine should breathe his last: but he broke
away. Him I might not -- the Maker willed not -hinder from
flight, and firm enough hold the life-destroyer: too sturdy
was he,
the ruthless, in running! For rescue, however, he left behind
him his hand in pledge,
arm and shoulder; nor aught of help
could the cursed one thus procure at all. None the longer liveth
he, loathsome fiend, sunk in his sins, but sorrow holds him
tightly grasped in gripe of anguish,
in baleful bonds, where bide he must, evil outlaw, such
awful doom
as the Mighty Maker shall mete him out."
More silent seemed the son of Ecglaf[1] in boastful
speech of his battle-deeds,
since athelings all, through the earl's great prowess, beheld that hand,
on
the high roof gazing,
foeman's fingers, -- the forepart of each of the sturdy nails
to steel was likest, -heathen's "hand-spear," hostile
warrior's claw uncanny. 'Twas clear, they said,
that him no blade of the brave could touch,
how keen soever, or cut away
that battle-hand bloody from baneful foe.
[1] Unferth, Beowulf's sometime opponent in the flyting.
XV
THERE was hurry and hest in Heorot now
for hands to bedeck it, and dense was the throng
of men and women the wine-hall to cleanse,
the guest-room to garnish. Gold-gay shone the hangings
that were wove on the wall, and wonders many to delight each
mortal that looks upon them.
Though braced within by iron bands,
that building bright was broken sorely;[1] rent were its
hinges; the roof alone
held safe and sound, when, seared with crime, the fiendish foe
his flight essayed,
of life despairing. -- No light thing that, the flight for safety, --
essay it who will! Forced of fate, he shall find his way
to the refuge ready for race of man,
for soul-possessors, and sons of earth;
and there his body on bed of death
shall rest after revel.
Arrived was the hour when to
hall proceeded Healfdene's son:
the king himself would sit to banquet. Ne'er heard I of
host in haughtier throng
more graciously gathered round giver-of-rings! Bowed then to
bench those bearers-of-glory, fain of the feasting. Featly
received
many a mead-cup the mighty-in-spirit, kinsmen who sat in the
sumptuous hall, Hrothgar and Hrothulf. Heorot now
was filled with friends; the folk of Scyldings ne'er yet had tried
the traitor's deed.
To Beowulf gave the bairn of Healfdene
a gold-wove banner, guerdon of triumph,
broidered battle-flag, breastplate and helmet; and a splendid
sword was seen of many
borne to the brave one. Beowulf took
cup in hall:[2] for such costly gifts
he suffered no shame in that soldier throng. For I heard of few
heroes, in heartier mood, with four such gifts, so fashioned
with gold, on the ale-bench honoring others thus!
O'er the roof of the helmet high, a ridge, wound with
wires, kept ward o'er the head,
lest the relict-of-files[3] should fierce invade, sharp in the strife, when
that shielded hero should go to grapple against his foes.
Then the earls'-defence[4] on the floor[5] bade lead coursers eight,
with carven head-gear,
adown the hall: one horse was decked
with a saddle all shining and set in jewels; 'twas the battle-
seat of the best of kings, when to play of swords the son of
Healfdene was fain to fare. Ne'er failed his valor in the crush
of combat when corpses fell. To Beowulf over them both
then gave
the refuge-of-Ingwines right and power,
o'er war-steeds and weapons: wished him joy of them. Manfully thus
the mighty prince,
hoard-guard for heroes, that hard fight repaid with steeds and
treasures contemned by none
who is willing to say the sooth aright.
[1] There is no horrible inconsistency here such as the critics strive and
cry about. In spite of the
ruin that Grendel and Beowulf had made within the hall, the
framework and roof held firm, and
swift repairs made the interior habitable. Tapestries were hung on the
walls, and willing hands
prepared the banquet.
[2] From its formal use in other places, this phrase, to take cup in hall,
or "on the floor," would
seem to mean that Beowulf stood up to receive his gifts, drink to the
donor, and say thanks.
[3] Kenning for sword.
[4] Hrothgar. He is also the "refuge of the friends of Ing," below. Ing
belongs to myth.
[5] Horses are frequently led or ridden into the hall where folk sit at
banquet: so in Chaucer's
Squire's tale, in the ballad of King Estmere, and in the romances.
XVI
AND the lord of earls, to each that came
with Beowulf over the briny ways,
an heirloom there at the ale-bench gave,
precious gift; and the price[1] bade pay in gold for him
whom Grendel erst
murdered, -- and fain of them more had killed, had not wisest
God their Wyrd averted,
and the man's[2] brave mood. The Maker then ruled human
kind, as here and now. Therefore is insight always best,
and forethought of mind. How much awaits him of lief and of
loath, who long time here, through days of warfare this world
endures!
Then song and music mingled sounds
in the presence of Healfdene's head-of-armies[3] and harping was
heard with the hero-lay
as Hrothgar's singer the hall-joy woke
along the mead-seats, making his song
of that sudden raid on the sons of Finn.[4] Healfdene's hero,
Hnaef the Scylding,
was fated to fall in the Frisian slaughter.[5] Hildeburh needed
not hold in value
her enemies' honor![6] Innocent both
were the loved ones she lost at the linden-play, bairn and brother,
they bowed to fate, stricken by spears; 'twas a sorrowful woman!
None doubted why the daughter of Hoc
bewailed her doom when dawning came,
and under the sky she saw them lying, kinsmen murdered,
where most she had kenned
of the sweets of the world! By war were swept, too, Finn's own
liegemen, and few were left;
in the parleying-place[7] he could ply no longer weapon, nor war
could he wage on Hengest,
and rescue his remnant by right of arms from the prince's
thane. A pact he offered: another dwelling the Danes
should have, hall and high-seat, and half the power should
fall to them in Frisian land;
and at the fee-gifts, Folcwald's son
day by day the Danes should honor,
the folk of Hengest favor with rings,
even as truly, with treasure and jewels, with fretted
gold, as his Frisian kin he meant to honor in ale-hall
there. Pact of peace they plighted further
on both sides firmly. Finn to Hengest with oath, upon
honor, openly promised that woful remnant, with wise-
men's aid, nobly to govern, so none of the guests
by word or work should warp the treaty,[8] or with malice
of mind bemoan themselves
as forced to follow their fee-giver's slayer, lordless men, as
their lot ordained.
Should Frisian, moreover, with foeman's taunt, that murderous
hatred to mind recall,
then edge of the sword must seal his doom. Oaths were given,
and ancient gold
heaped from hoard. -- The hardy Scylding, battle-thane
best,[9] on his balefire lay. All on the pyre were plain to
see
the gory sark, the gilded swine-crest, boar of hard iron,
and athelings many
slain by the sword: at the slaughter they fell. It was Hildeburh's
hest, at Hnaef's own pyre the bairn of her body on brands to lay,
his bones to burn, on the balefire placed, at his uncle's side. In
sorrowful dirges bewept them the woman: great wailing
ascended.
Then wound up to welkin the wildest of death-fires, roared o'er the
hillock:[10] heads all were melted, gashes burst, and blood gushed
out
from bites[11] of the body. Balefire devoured, greediest spirit, those
spared not by war
out of either folk: their flower was gone.
[1] Man-price, wergild.
[2] Beowulf's.
[3] Hrothgar.
[4] There is no need to assume a gap in the Ms. As before about
Sigemund and Heremod, so
now, though at greater length, about Finn and his feud, a lay is chanted
or recited; and the epic
poet, counting on his readers' familiarity with the story, -- a fragment of
it still exists, -- simply
gives the headings.
[5] The exact story to which this episode refers in summary is not to be
determined, but the
following account of it is reasonable and has good support among
scholars. Finn, a Frisian
chieftain, who nevertheless has a "castle" outside the Frisian border,
marries Hildeburh, a
Danish princess; and her brother, Hnaef, with many other Danes, pays
Finn a visit. Relations
between the two peoples have been strained before. Something
starts the old feud anew; and the visitors are attacked in their quarters.
Hnaef is killed; so is a son
of Hildeburh. Many fall on both sides. Peace is patched up; a stately
funeral is held; and the
surviving visitors become in a way vassals or liegemen of Finn, going
back with him to Frisia. So
matters rest a while. Hengest is now leader of the Danes; but he is set
upon revenge for his former
lord, Hnaef. Probably he is killed in feud; but his clansmen, Guthlaf and
Oslaf, gather at their home
a force of sturdy Danes, come back to Frisia, storm Finn's stronghold,
kill him, and carry back their
kinswoman Hildeburh.
[6] The "enemies" must be the Frisians.
[7] Battlefield. -- Hengest is the "prince's thane," companion of Hnaef.
"Folcwald's son" is Finn.
[8] That is, Finn would govern in all honor the few Danish warriors who
were left, provided, of
course, that none of them tried to renew the quarrel or avenge Hnaef
their fallen lord. If, again, one
of Finn's Frisians began a quarrel, he should die by the sword.
[9] Hnaef.
[10] The high place chosen for the funeral: see description of Beowulf's
funeral-pile at the end of the
poem.
[11] Wounds.
XVII
THEN hastened those heroes their home to see,
friendless, to find the Frisian land,
houses and high burg. Hengest still
through the death-dyed winter dwelt with Finn, holding pact,
yet of home he minded,
though powerless his ring-decked prow to drive over the
waters, now waves rolled fierce lashed by the winds, or winter
locked them in icy fetters. Then fared another
year to men's dwellings, as yet they do,
the sunbright skies, that their season ever
duly await. Far off winter was driven;
fair lay earth's breast; and fain was the rover, the guest, to depart,
though more gladly he pondered on wreaking his vengeance than
roaming the deep, and how to hasten the hot encounter
where sons of the Frisians were sure to be.
So he escaped not the common doom,
when Hun with "Lafing," the light-of-battle,
best of blades, his bosom pierced:
its edge was famed with the Frisian earls.
On fierce-heart Finn there fell likewise,
on himself at home, the horrid sword-death; for Guthlaf and
Oslaf of grim attack
had sorrowing told, from sea-ways landed, mourning their
woes.[1] Finn's wavering spirit bode not in breast. The burg
was reddened with blood of foemen, and Finn was slain, king
amid clansmen; the queen was taken.
To their ship the Scylding warriors bore all the chattels
the chieftain owned, whatever they found in Finn's
domain of gems and jewels. The gentle wife
o'er paths of the deep to the Danes they bore, led to her land.
The lay was finished, the
gleeman's song. Then glad rose the revel; bench-joy brightened.
Bearers draw
from their "wonder-vats" wine. Comes Wealhtheow forth,
under gold-crown goes where the good pair sit, uncle and
nephew, true each to the other one, kindred in amity. Unferth the
spokesman
at the Scylding lord's feet sat: men had faith in his spirit,
his keenness of courage, though kinsmen had found him
unsure at the sword-play. The Scylding queen spoke: "Quaff of this cup,
my king and lord,
breaker of rings, and blithe be thou, gold-friend of men; to
the Geats here speak such words of mildness as man
should use.
Be glad with thy Geats; of those gifts be mindful, or near or far,
which now thou hast.
Men say to me, as son thou wishest
yon hero to hold. Thy Heorot purged, jewel-hall brightest,
enjoy while thou canst, with many a largess; and leave to thy
kin folk and realm when forth thou goest
to greet thy doom. For gracious I deem
my Hrothulf,[2] willing to hold and rule nobly our youths, if
thou yield up first, prince of Scyldings, thy part in the
world. I ween with good he will well requite offspring of
ours, when all he minds
that for him we did in his helpless days of gift and grace
to gain him honor!"
Then she turned to the seat where her sons were placed,
Hrethric and Hrothmund, with heroes' bairns, young men
together: the Geat, too, sat there, Beowulf brave, the brothers
between.
[1] That is, these two Danes, escaping home, had told the story of the
attack on Hnaef, the slaying
of Hengest, and all the Danish woes. Collecting a force, they return to
Frisia and kill Finn in his
home.
[2] Nephew to Hrothgar, with whom he subsequently quarrels, and elder
cousin to the two
young sons of Hrothgar and Wealhtheow, -- their natural
guardian in the event of the king's death. There is something finely
feminine in this speech of
Wealhtheow's, apart from its somewhat irregular and
irrelevant sequence of topics. Both she and her lord probably distrust
Hrothulf; but she bids the
king to be of good cheer, and, turning to the suspect, heaps affectionate
assurances on his probity.
"My own Hrothulf"
will surely not forget these favors and benefits of the past, but will repay
them to the orphaned boy.
XVIII
A CUP she gave him, with kindly greeting
and winsome words. Of wounden gold,
she offered, to honor him, arm-jewels twain,
corselet and rings, and of collars the noblest that ever I knew the
earth around.
Ne'er heard I so mighty, 'neath heaven's dome, a hoard-gem of
heroes, since Hama bore
to his bright-built burg the Brisings' necklace, jewel and gem
casket. -- Jealousy fled he, Eormenric's hate: chose help eternal.
Hygelac Geat, grandson of Swerting,
on the last of his raids this ring bore with him, under his banner the
booty defending,
the war-spoil warding; but Wyrd o'erwhelmed him what time, in
his daring, dangers he sought, feud with Frisians. Fairest of gems
he bore with him over the beaker-of-waves, sovran strong: under
shield he died.
Fell the corpse of the king into keeping of Franks, gear of the breast,
and that gorgeous ring; weaker warriors won the spoil,
after gripe of battle, from Geatland's lord,
and held the death-field.
Din rose in hall. Wealhtheow spake
amid warriors, and said:--
"This jewel enjoy in thy jocund youth,
Beowulf lov'd, these battle-weeds wear,
a royal treasure, and richly thrive!
Preserve thy strength, and these striplings here counsel in
kindness: requital be mine.
Hast done such deeds, that for days to come thou art famed
among folk both far and near, so wide as washeth the wave of
Ocean
his windy walls. Through the ways of life prosper, O prince! I
pray for thee
rich possessions. To son of mine
be helpful in deed and uphold his joys!
Here every earl to the other is true,
mild of mood, to the master loyal!
Thanes are friendly, the throng obedient, liegemen are
revelling: list and obey!"
Went then to her place. -- That was proudest of feasts;
flowed wine for the warriors. Wyrd they knew not, destiny dire,
and the doom to be seen
by many an earl when eve should come,
and Hrothgar homeward hasten away,
royal, to rest. The room was guarded
by an army of earls, as erst was done.
They bared the bench-boards; abroad they spread beds and
bolsters. -- One beer-carouser
in danger of doom lay down in the hall. -At their heads they
set their shields of war, bucklers bright; on the bench were
there over each atheling, easy to see,
the high battle-helmet, the haughty spear, the corselet of rings.
'Twas their custom so ever to be for battle prepared,
at home, or harrying, which it were,
even as oft as evil threatened
their sovran king. -- They were clansmen good.
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,
slaughter for sins. 'Twas seen and told
how an avenger survived the fiend,
as was learned afar. The livelong time after that grim fight,
Grendel's mother, monster of women, mourned her woe.
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 warded the wilds. -- There woke from him
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. 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,
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 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
when, hammer-forged, 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,[1] and shields a-many 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
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; 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
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.
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
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
had passed in peace to the prince's mind.
[1] They had laid their arms on the benches near where they slept.
XX
HROTHGAR spake, helmet-of-Scyldings:--
"Ask not of pleasure! Pain is renewed
to Danish folk. Dead is Aeschere,
of Yrmenlaf the elder brother,
my sage adviser and stay in council,
shoulder-comrade in stress of fight
when warriors clashed and we warded our heads, hewed the
helm-boars; hero famed
should be every earl as Aeschere was! But here in
Heorot a hand hath slain him
of wandering death-sprite. I wot not whither,[1] proud of the prey,
her path she took,
fain of her fill. The feud she avenged that yesternight,
unyieldingly,
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,
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. Land-dwellers here[2] and liegemen
mine,
who house by those parts, I have heard relate that such a pair
they have sometimes seen, march-stalkers mighty the
moorland haunting, wandering spirits: one of them seemed,
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, folk of the land; his father they knew
not, nor any brood that was born to him
of treacherous spirits. Untrod is their home;
by wolf-cliffs haunt they and windy headlands, fenways fearful,
where flows the stream
from mountains gliding to gloom of the rocks, underground
flood. 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.
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, harried by dogs, the horn-proud hart, this holt
should seek, 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
evil storms, and air grows dusk,
and the heavens weep. Now is help once more with thee
alone! The land thou knowst not, place of fear, where thou
findest out that sin-flecked being. Seek if thou dare! I will
reward thee, for waging this fight,
with ancient treasure, as erst I did, with winding gold, if
thou winnest back."
[1] He surmises presently where she is.
[2] 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 skillful and often effective description
of the horrors which surround
the monster's home and await the attempt of
an avenging foe.
XXI
BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:
"Sorrow not, sage! It beseems us better 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.
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! 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 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
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, narrow passes and
unknown ways,
headlands sheer, and the haunts of the Nicors. Foremost he[1]
fared, a few at his side
of the wiser men, the ways to scan,
till he found in a flash the forested hill 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,
ill for earls, when Aeschere'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,
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 morn
on the road-of-sails their ruthless quest, -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 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, 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;
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,
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. Nor was that the meanest of mighty helps which
Hrothgar's orator offered at need: "Hrunting" they named
the hilted sword,
of old-time heirlooms easily first;
iron was its edge, all etched with poison,
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 folkstead[2] of foes. Not first time this it was destined to
do a daring task.
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
as loyal liegeman. So lost he his glory,
honor of earls. With the other not so,
who girded him now for the grim encounter.
[1] Hrothgar is probably meant.
[2] Meeting place.
XXII
BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:--
"Have mind, thou honored offspring of Healfdene
gold-friend of men, now I go on this quest, sovran wise,
what once was said:
if in thy cause it came that I
should lose my life, thou wouldst loyal bide to me, though
fallen, in father's place!
Be guardian, thou, to this group of my thanes, my warrior-
friends, if War should seize me; and the goodly gifts thou
gavest me, Hrothgar beloved, to Hygelac send! Geatland's king
may ken by the gold,
Hrethel's son see, when he stares at the treasure, that I got me a
friend for goodness famed,
and joyed while I could in my jewel-bestower. And let Unferth
wield this wondrous sword, earl far-honored, this heirloom
precious, hard of edge: with Hrunting I
seek doom of glory, or Death shall take me."
After these words the Weder-Geat lord boldly hastened,
biding never
answer at all: the ocean floods
closed o'er the hero. Long while of the day fled ere he felt
the floor of the sea. Soon found the fiend who the flood-
domain sword-hungry held these hundred winters,
greedy and grim, that some guest from above, some man,
was raiding her monster-realm. She grasped out for him with
grisly claws, and the warrior seized; yet scathed she not his
body hale; the breastplate hindered, as she strove to shatter
the sark of war, the linked harness, with loathsome hand.
Then bore this brine-wolf, when bottom she touched, the lord of rings
to the lair she haunted
whiles vainly he strove, though his valor held, weapon to wield
against wondrous monsters that sore beset him; sea-beasts
many
tried with fierce tusks to tear his mail,
and swarmed on the stranger. But soon he marked he was now
in some hall, he knew not which, where water never could work
him harm,
nor through the roof could reach him ever 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
he swung his blade, and the blow withheld not. Then sang on her
head that seemly blade
its war-song wild. But the warrior found the light-of-
battle[1] was loath to bite, to harm the heart: its hard
edge failed the noble at need, yet had known of old
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,
heedful of high deeds, Hygelac's kinsman; 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
whenever in war he weens to earn him
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,
his deadly foe, that she fell to ground. 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.
On the hall-guest she hurled herself, hent her short sword,
broad and brown-edged,[2] the bairn to avenge,
the sole-born son. -- On his shoulder lay braided breast-
mail, barring death, withstanding entrance of edge or
blade. Life would have ended for Ecgtheow's son, 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.
The Lord of Heaven allowed his cause; and easily rose
the earl erect.
[1] Kenning for "sword." Hrunting is bewitched, laid under a spell of
uselessness, along with all
other swords.
[2] This brown of swords, evidently meaning burnished, bright,
continues to
be a favorite adjective in the popular ballads.
XXIII
'MID the battle-gear saw he a blade triumphant,
old-sword of Eotens, with edge of proof,
warriors' heirloom, weapon unmatched,
-- save only 'twas more than other men
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,
reckless of life, and so wrathfully smote
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. Then blazed
forth light. 'Twas bright within
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, angry and eager. That edge was
not useless 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,
when of Hrothgar's hearth-companions
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 the wrathful prince!
For now prone he saw 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,
sword-stroke savage, that severed its head. Soon,[1] 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,
hoary-haired, of the hero spake;
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. The ninth hour came. The noble
Scyldings left the headland; homeward went
the gold-friend of men.[2] But the guests sat on, stared at the
surges, sick in heart,
and wished, yet weened not, their winsome lord again to see.
Now that sword began,
from blood of the fight, in battle-droppings,[3] war-blade, to wane:
'twas a wondrous thing
that all of it melted as ice is wont
when frosty fetters the Father loosens,
unwinds the wave-bonds, wielding all
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 blazoned with
jewels: the blade had melted,
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. The clashing waters were
cleansed now,
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,
of burden brave he bore with him.
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 deftly they
doffed: now drowsed the mere, 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
carried the head from the cliff by the sea, an arduous task
for all the band,
the firm in fight, since four were needed on the shaft-of-
slaughter[4] strenuously to bear to the gold-hall Grendel's
head. So presently to the palace there
foemen fearless, fourteen Geats,
marching came. Their master-of-clan mighty amid them the
meadow-ways trod. Strode then within the sovran thane
fearless in fight, of fame renowned, 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,
a monster of marvel: the men looked on.
[1] After the killing of the monster and Grendel's decapitation. [2]
Hrothgar.
[3] The blade slowly dissolves in blood-stained drops like icicles. [4]
Spear.
