Gummere Translation of Beowulf - part 2
in
two parts
XXIV
BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:--
"Lo, now, this sea-booty, son of Healfdene, Lord of Scyldings,
we've lustily brought thee, sign of glory; thou seest it here.
Not lightly did I with my life escape!
In war under water this work I essayed
with endless effort; and even so
my strength had been lost had the Lord not shielded me.
Not a whit could I with Hrunting do
in work of war, though the weapon is good;
yet a sword the Sovran of Men vouchsafed me
to spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging,
old, gigantic, -- how oft He guides
the friendless wight! -- and I fought with that brand, felling in fight,
since fate was with me,
the house's wardens. That war-sword then
all burned, bright blade, when the blood gushed o'er it, battle-sweat hot;
but the hilt I brought back
from my foes. So avenged I their fiendish deeds death-fall of
Danes, as was due and right. And this is my hest, that in
Heorot now
safe thou canst sleep with thy soldier band, and every thane
of all thy folk
both old and young; no evil fear, Scyldings' lord, from that
side again,
aught ill for thy earls, as erst thou must!" Then the golden hilt, for
that gray-haired leader, hoary hero, in hand was laid,
giant-wrought, old. So owned and enjoyed it after downfall of
devils, the Danish lord, wonder-smiths' work, since the world
was rid of that grim-souled fiend, the foe of God, murder-
marked, and his mother as well.
Now it passed into power of the people's king, best of all that
the oceans bound
who have scattered their gold o'er Scandia's isle. Hrothgar spake --
the hilt he viewed,
heirloom old, where was etched the rise
of that far-off fight when the floods o'erwhelmed, raging waves, the
race of giants
(fearful their fate!), a folk estranged
from God Eternal: whence guerdon due
in that waste of waters the Wielder paid them. So on the guard
of shining gold
in runic staves it was rightly said
for whom the serpent-traced sword was wrought, best of
blades, in bygone days,
and the hilt well wound. -- The wise-one spake, son of
Healfdene; silent were all:--
"Lo, so may he say who sooth and right
follows 'mid folk, of far times mindful,
a land-warden old,[1] that this earl belongs
to the better breed! So, borne aloft,
thy fame must fly, O friend my Beowulf,
far and wide o'er folksteads many. Firmly thou shalt all
maintain,
mighty strength with mood of wisdom. Love of
mine will I assure thee,
as, awhile ago, I promised; thou shalt prove a stay in future,
in far-off years, to folk of thine,
to the heroes a help. Was not Heremod thus
to offspring of Ecgwela, Honor-Scyldings,
nor grew for their grace, but for grisly slaughter, for doom of death
to the Danishmen.
He slew, wrath-swollen, his shoulder-comrades, companions at
board! So he passed alone, chieftain haughty, from human cheer.
Though him the Maker with might endowed, delights of
power, and uplifted high above all men, yet blood-fierce
his mind,
his breast-hoard, grew, no bracelets gave he to Danes as was
due; he endured all joyless strain of struggle and stress of
woe,
long feud with his folk. Here find thy lesson! Of virtue advise
thee! This verse I have said
for thee,
wise from lapsed winters. Wondrous seems
how to sons of men Almighty God
in the strength of His spirit sendeth wisdom, estate, high
station: He swayeth all things. Whiles He letteth right lustily
fare
the heart of the hero of high-born race, -in seat ancestral
assigns him bliss,
his folk's sure fortress in fee to hold, puts in his power great
parts of the earth, empire so ample, that end of it
this wanter-of-wisdom weeneth none.
So he waxes in wealth, nowise can harm him illness or
age; no evil cares
shadow his spirit; no sword-hate threatens from ever an
enemy: all the world
wends at his will, no worse he knoweth, till all within
him obstinate pride waxes and wakes while the warden
slumbers, the spirit's sentry; sleep is too fast
which masters his might, and the murderer nears, stealthily
shooting the shafts from his bow!
[1] That is, "whoever has as wide authority as I have and can remember
so far back so many
instances of heroism, may well say, as I say, that no better hero ever
lived than Beowulf."
XXV
"UNDER harness his heart then is hit indeed
by sharpest shafts; and no shelter avails from foul behest of
the hellish fiend.[1] Him seems too little what long he
possessed. Greedy and grim, no golden rings
he gives for his pride; the promised future forgets he and
spurns, with all God has sent
him,
Wonder-Wielder, of wealth and fame.
Yet in the end it ever comes
that the frame of the body fragile yields, fated falls; and
there follows another who joyously the jewels divides,
the royal riches, nor recks of his forebear. Ban, then, such baleful
thoughts, Beowulf dearest,
best of men, and the better part choose, profit eternal;
and temper thy pride, warrior famous! The flower of thy
might lasts now a while: but erelong it shall be
that sickness or sword thy strength shall minish, or fang of fire, or
flooding billow,
or bite of blade, or brandished spear,
or odious age; or the eyes' clear beam
wax dull and darken: Death even thee
in haste shall o'erwhelm, thou hero of war! So the Ring-Danes
these half-years a hundred I
ruled,
wielded 'neath welkin, and warded them bravely from mighty-
ones many o'er middle-earth, from spear and sword, till it
seemed for me no foe could be found under fold of the sky.
Lo, sudden the shift! To me seated secure came grief for joy
when Grendel began
to harry my home, the hellish foe;
for those ruthless raids, unresting I suffered heart-sorrow
heavy. Heaven be thanked,
Lord Eternal, for life extended
that I on this head all hewn and bloody, after long evil,
with eyes may gaze!
-- Go to the bench now! Be glad at banquet, warrior
worthy! A wealth of treasure
at dawn of day, be dealt between us!" Glad was the Geats'
lord, going betimes
to seek his seat, as the Sage commanded. Afresh, as
before, for the famed-in-battle,
for the band of the hall, was a banquet dight nobly anew. The
Night-Helm darkened
dusk o'er the drinkers.
The doughty ones rose: for the
hoary-headed would hasten to rest, aged Scylding; and eager
the Geat, shield-fighter sturdy, for sleeping yearned. Him
wander-weary, warrior-guest
from far, a hall-thane heralded forth,
who by custom courtly cared for all
needs of a thane as in those old days warrior-wanderers
wont to have.
So slumbered the stout-heart. Stately the hall rose gabled and
gilt where the guest slept on till a raven black the rapture-of-
heaven[2] blithe-heart boded. Bright came flying
shine after shadow. The swordsmen hastened, athelings
all were eager homeward
forth to fare; and far from thence
the great-hearted guest would guide his keel. Bade then the
hardy-one Hrunting be brought
to the son of Ecglaf, the sword bade him take, excellent iron,
and uttered his thanks for it, quoth that he counted it keen in
battle,
"war-friend" winsome: with words he slandered not edge of the
blade: 'twas a big-hearted man!
Now eager for parting and armed at point warriors waited,
while went to his host that Darling of Danes. The doughty
atheling to high-seat hastened and Hrothgar greeted.
[1] That is, he is now undefended by conscience from the temptations
(shafts) of the devil.
[2] Kenning for the sun. -- This is a strange role for the raven. He is the
warrior's bird of battle,
exults in slaughter and carnage; his joy here is a compliment to the
sunrise.
XXVI
BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:-"Lo, we
seafarers say our will, far-come men, that we fain
would seek Hygelac now. We here have found
hosts to our heart: thou hast harbored us well. If ever on earth I
am able to win me
more of thy love, O lord of men,
aught anew, than I now have done,
for work of war I am willing still!
If it come to me ever across the seas
that neighbor foemen annoy and fright thee, -as they that hate
thee erewhile have used, -thousands then of thanes I shall
bring, heroes to help thee. Of Hygelac I know,
ward of his folk, that, though few his years, the lord of the Geats
will give me aid
by word and by work, that well I may serve thee, wielding the
war-wood to win thy triumph
and lending thee might when thou lackest men. If thy Hrethric
should come to court of Geats, a sovran's son, he will surely
there
find his friends. A far-off land
each man should visit who vaunts him brave." Him then
answering, Hrothgar spake:--
"These words of thine the wisest God
sent to thy soul! No sager counsel
from so young in years e'er yet have I heard. Thou art strong
of main and in mind art wary, art wise in words! I ween
indeed
if ever it hap that Hrethel's heir
by spear be seized, by sword-grim battle, by illness or
iron, thine elder and lord, people's leader, -- and life be
thine, -no seemlier man will the Sea-Geats find
at all to choose for their chief and king, for hoard-guard of
heroes, if hold thou wilt
thy kinsman's kingdom! Thy keen mind pleases me the longer the
better, Beowulf loved!
Thou hast brought it about that both our peoples, sons of the Geat
and Spear-Dane folk,
shall have mutual peace, and from murderous strife, such as once
they waged, from war refrain.
Long as I rule this realm so wide,
let our hoards be common, let heroes with gold each other greet o'er
the gannet's-bath,
and the ringed-prow bear o'er rolling waves tokens of
love. I trow my landfolk towards friend and foe are firmly
joined, and honor they keep in the olden way."
To him in the hall, then, Healfdene's son
gave treasures twelve, and the trust-of-earls bade him fare with
the gifts to his folk beloved, hale to his home, and in haste return.
Then kissed the king of kin renowned, Scyldings'
chieftain, that choicest thane, and fell on his neck. Fast
flowed the tears of the hoary-headed. Heavy with winters,
he had chances twain, but he clung to this,[1] -that each should look
on the other again,
and hear him in hall. Was this hero so dear to him. his breast's wild
billows he banned in vain;
safe in his soul a secret longing,
locked in his mind, for that loved man burned in his blood.
Then Beowulf strode, glad of his gold-gifts, the grass-plot
o'er, warrior blithe. The wave-roamer bode riding at
anchor, its owner awaiting.
As they hastened onward, Hrothgar's gift
they lauded at length. -- 'Twas a lord unpeered,
every way blameless, till age had broken
-- it spareth no mortal -- his splendid might.
[1] That is, he might or might not see Beowulf again. Old as he was, the
latter chance was
likely; but he clung to the former, hoping to see his young friend again
"and exchange brave
words in the hall."
XXVII
CAME now to ocean the ever-courageous
hardy henchmen, their harness bearing,
woven war-sarks. The warden marked,
trusty as ever, the earl's return.
From the height of the hill no hostile words reached the
guests as he rode to greet them; but "Welcome!" he called
to that Weder clan
as the sheen-mailed spoilers to ship marched on. Then on the
strand, with steeds and treasure and armor their roomy and ring-
dight ship
was heavily laden: high its mast
rose over Hrothgar's hoarded gems.
A sword to the boat-guard Beowulf gave, mounted with
gold; on the mead-bench since
he was better esteemed, that blade possessing, heirloom old. --
Their ocean-keel boarding, they drove through the deep, and
Daneland left. A sea-cloth was set, a sail with ropes,
firm to the mast; the flood-timbers moaned;[1]
nor did wind over billows that wave-swimmer blow across from
her course. The craft sped on, foam-necked it floated forth o'er
the waves, keel firm-bound over briny currents,
till they got them sight of the Geatish cliffs, home-known
headlands. High the boat,
stirred by winds, on the strand updrove. Helpful at
haven the harbor-guard stood, who long already for
loved companions
by the water had waited and watched afar. He bound to the
beach the broad-bosomed ship with anchor-bands, lest
ocean-billows
that trusty timber should tear away. Then Beowulf bade
them bear the treasure, gold and jewels; no journey far
was it thence to go to the giver of rings, Hygelac
Hrethling: at home he dwelt
by the sea-wall close, himself and clan. Haughty that
house, a hero the king, high the hall, and Hygd[2] right
young, wise and wary, though winters few
in those fortress walls she had found a home, Haereth's
daughter. Nor humble her ways, nor grudged she gifts to the
Geatish men,
of precious treasure. Not Thryth's pride showed she, folk-queen
famed, or that fell deceit.
Was none so daring that durst make bold (save her lord
alone) of the liegemen dear that lady full in the face to
look,
but forged fetters he found his lot,
bonds of death! And brief the respite;
soon as they seized him, his sword-doom was spoken, and the
burnished blade a baleful murder proclaimed and closed. No queenly
way
for woman to practise, though peerless she, that the weaver-
of-peace[3] from warrior dear by wrath and lying his life
should reave! But Hemming's kinsman hindered this. --
For over their ale men also told
that of these folk-horrors fewer she wrought, onslaughts of
evil, after she went, gold-decked bride, to the brave young
prince, atheling haughty, and Offa's hall
o'er the fallow flood at her father's bidding safely sought,
where since she prospered, royal, throned, rich in goods,
fain of the fair life fate had sent her, and leal in love to the
lord of warriors. He, of all heroes I heard of ever
from sea to sea, of the sons of earth,
most excellent seemed. Hence Offa was praised for his
fighting and feeing by far-off men, the spear-bold warrior;
wisely he ruled over his empire. Eomer woke to him,
help of heroes, Hemming's kinsman,
Grandson of Garmund, grim in war.
[1] With the speed of the boat.
[2] Queen to Hygelac. She is praised by contrast with the antitype,
Thryth, just as Beowulf was
praised by contrast with Heremod.
[3] Kenning for "wife."
XXVIII
HASTENED the hardy one, henchmen with him,
sandy strand of the sea to tread
and widespread ways. The world's great candle,
sun shone from south. They strode along
with sturdy steps to the spot they knew where the battle-king
young, his burg within, slayer of Ongentheow, shared the
rings, shelter-of-heroes. To Hygelac
Beowulf's coming was quickly told, --
that there in the court the clansmen's refuge, the shield-
companion sound and alive,
hale from the hero-play homeward strode. With haste in
the hall, by highest order, room for the rovers was
readily made.
By his sovran he sat, come safe from battle, kinsman by
kinsman. His kindly lord
he first had greeted in gracious form, with manly words.
The mead dispensing,
came through the high hall Haereth's daughter, winsome to
warriors, wine-cup bore
to the hands of the heroes. Hygelac then
his comrade fairly with question plied in the lofty hall,
sore longing to know what manner of sojourn the Sea-
Geats made.
"What came of thy quest, my kinsman Beowulf, when thy
yearnings suddenly swept thee yonder battle to seek o'er the
briny sea,
combat in Heorot? Hrothgar couldst thou aid at all, the
honored chief,
in his wide-known woes? With waves of care my sad
heart seethed; I sore mistrusted
my loved one's venture: long I begged thee
by no means to seek that slaughtering monster, but suffer the
South-Danes to settle their feud themselves with Grendel. Now
God be thanked that safe and sound I can see thee now!"
Beowulf spake, the bairn of Ecgtheow:--
"'Tis known and unhidden, Hygelac Lord,
to many men, that meeting of ours,
struggle grim between Grendel and me,
which we fought on the field where full too many sorrows he
wrought for the Scylding-Victors, evils unending. These all I
avenged.
No boast can be from breed of Grendel,
any on earth, for that uproar at dawn,
from the longest-lived of the loathsome race in fleshly fold!
-- But first I went Hrothgar to greet in the hall of gifts,
where Healfdene's kinsman high-renowned, soon as my
purpose was plain to him, assigned me a seat by his son
and heir.
The liegemen were lusty; my life-days never such merry men
over mead in hall
have I heard under heaven! The high-born queen, people's
peace-bringer, passed through the hall, cheered the young
clansmen, clasps of gold, ere she sought her seat, to sundry
gave.
Oft to the heroes Hrothgar's daughter,
to earls in turn, the ale-cup tendered, -she whom I heard
these hall-companions Freawaru name, when fretted gold
she proffered the warriors. Promised is she, gold-decked
maid, to the glad son of Froda. Sage this seems to the
Scylding's-friend, kingdom's-keeper: he counts it wise
the woman to wed so and ward off feud, store of slaughter.
But seldom ever
when men are slain, does the murder-spear sink but briefest
while, though the bride be fair![1]
"Nor haply will like it the Heathobard lord,
and as little each of his liegemen all,
when a thane of the Danes, in that doughty throng, goes with the
lady along their hall,
and on him the old-time heirlooms glisten
hard and ring-decked, Heathobard's treasure, weapons that
once they wielded fair
until they lost at the linden-play[2] liegeman leal and their
lives as well. Then, over the ale, on this heirloom gazing,
some ash-wielder old who has all in mind
that spear-death of men,[3] -- he is stern of mood, heavy at heart, --
in the hero young
tests the temper and tries the soul
and war-hate wakens, with words like these:-_Canst thou
not, comrade, ken that sword which to the fray thy father
carried
in his final feud, 'neath the fighting-mask, dearest of blades,
when the Danish slew him
and wielded the war-place on Withergild's fall, after havoc of
heroes, those hardy Scyldings? Now, the son of a certain
slaughtering Dane, proud of his treasure, paces this hall,
joys in the killing, and carries the jewel[4] that rightfully ought
to be owned by thee!_ Thus he urges and eggs him all the time
with keenest words, till occasion offers that Freawaru's
thane, for his father's deed,
after bite of brand in his blood must slumber, losing his life;
but that liegeman flies living away, for the land he kens.
And thus be broken on both their sides oaths of the
earls, when Ingeld's breast wells with war-hate, and
wife-love now after the care-billows cooler grows.
"So[5] I hold not high the Heathobards' faith due to the
Danes, or their during love
and pact of peace. -- But I pass from that, turning to
Grendel, O giver-of-treasure, and saying in full how the fight
resulted, hand-fray of heroes. When heaven's jewel
had fled o'er far fields, that fierce sprite came, night-foe savage, to
seek us out
where safe and sound we sentried the hall.
To Hondscio then was that harassing deadly, his fall there
was fated. He first was slain, girded warrior. Grendel on him
turned murderous mouth, on our mighty kinsman, and all of
the brave man's body devoured. Yet none the earlier, empty-
handed,
would the bloody-toothed murderer, mindful of bale, outward go
from the gold-decked hall:
but me he attacked in his terror of might,
with greedy hand grasped me. A glove hung by him[6] wide and
wondrous, wound with bands;
and in artful wise it all was wrought,
by devilish craft, of dragon-skins.
Me therein, an innocent man,
the fiendish foe was fain to thrust
with many another. He might not so,
when I all angrily upright stood.
'Twere long to relate how that land-destroyer I paid in kind
for his cruel deeds;
yet there, my prince, this people of thine got fame by my
fighting. He fled away,
and a little space his life preserved;
but there staid behind him his stronger hand left in Heorot;
heartsick thence
on the floor of the ocean that outcast fell. Me for this
struggle the Scyldings'-friend paid in plenty with plates of
gold,
with many a treasure, when morn had come and we all at
the banquet-board sat down.
Then was song and glee. The gray-haired Scylding, much tested,
told of the times of yore.
Whiles the hero his harp bestirred, wood-of-delight; now lays he
chanted
of sooth and sadness, or said aright
legends of wonder, the wide-hearted king;
or for years of his youth he would yearn at times, for strength of old
struggles, now stricken with age, hoary hero: his heart surged full
when, wise with winters, he wailed their flight. Thus in the hall the
whole of that day
at ease we feasted, till fell o'er earth another night.
Anon full ready
in greed of vengeance, Grendel's mother set forth all
doleful. Dead was her son
through war-hate of Weders; now, woman monstrous with fury
fell a foeman she slew,
avenged her offspring. From Aeschere old, loyal councillor, life
was gone;
nor might they e'en, when morning broke,
those Danish people, their death-done comrade
burn with brands, on balefire lay
the man they mourned. Under mountain stream she had
carried the corpse with cruel hands. For Hrothgar that was
the heaviest sorrow of all that had laden the lord of his folk.
The leader then, by thy life, besought me (sad was his soul)
in the sea-waves' coil to play the hero and hazard my being
for glory of prowess: my guerdon he pledged. I then in
the waters -- 'tis widely known --
that sea-floor-guardian savage found. Hand-to-hand there a
while we struggled; billows welled blood; in the briny hall
her head I hewed with a hardy blade
from Grendel's mother, -- and gained my life, though not
without danger. My doom was not yet. Then the haven-of-
heroes, Healfdene's son, gave me in guerdon great gifts of
price.
[1] Beowulf gives his uncle the king not mere gossip of his journey, but a
statesmanlike forecast
of the outcome of certain policies at the Danish court.
Talk of interpolation here is absurd. As both Beowulf and Hygelac know,
-and the folk for whom
the Beowulf was put together also knew, -- Froda was king of the
Heathobards (probably the
Langobards, once near neighbors of Angle and Saxon tribes on the
continent), and had fallen in
fight with the Danes. Hrothgar will set aside this feud by giving his
daughter as "peace-weaver"
and wife to the young king Ingeld, son of the slain Froda. But Beowulf,
on general principles and
from his observation of the particular case, foretells trouble.
[2] Play of shields, battle. A Danish warrior cuts down Froda in the
fight, and takes his sword and
armor, leaving them to a son. This son is selected to accompany his
mistress, the young princess
Freawaru, to her new home when she is Ingeld's queen. Heedlessly he
wears the sword of Froda
in hall. An old warrior points it out to Ingeld, and eggs him on to
vengeance. At his instigation the
Dane is killed; but the murderer, afraid of results, and knowing the
land, escapes. So the old feud
must break out again.
[3] That is, their disastrous battle and the slaying of their king.
[4] The sword.
[5] Beowulf returns to his forecast. Things might well go somewhat as
follows, he says; sketches
a little tragic story; and with this prophecy by illustration returns to the
tale of his adventure.
[6] Not an actual glove, but a sort of bag.
XXXI
"So held this king to the customs old,
that I wanted for nought in the wage I gained, the meed of my
might; he made me gifts, Healfdene's heir, for my own
disposal.
Now to thee, my prince, I proffer them all, gladly give
them. Thy grace alone
can find me favor. Few indeed
have I of kinsmen, save, Hygelac, thee!"
Then he bade them bear him the boar-head standard, the battle-
helm high, and breastplate gray,
the splendid sword; then spake in form:-"Me this war-
gear the wise old prince, Hrothgar, gave, and his hest
he added,
that its story be straightway said to thee. -A while it was
held by Heorogar king,
for long time lord of the land of Scyldings; yet not to his son the
sovran left it,
to daring Heoroweard, -- dear as he was to him, his harness of
battle. -- Well hold thou it all!"
And I heard that soon passed o'er the path of
this treasure,
all apple-fallow, four good steeds,
each like the others, arms and horses
he gave to the king. So should kinsmen be, not weave
one another the net of wiles, or with deep-hid treachery
death contrive
for neighbor and comrade. His nephew was ever by hardy
Hygelac held full dear,
and each kept watch o'er the other's weal.
I heard, too, the necklace to Hygd he presented,
wonder-wrought treasure, which Wealhtheow gave him
sovran's daughter: three steeds he added, slender and saddle-
gay. Since such gift
the gem gleamed bright on the breast of the queen. Thus showed
his strain the son of Ecgtheow
as a man remarked for mighty deeds
and acts of honor. At ale he slew not
comrade or kin; nor cruel his mood,
though of sons of earth his strength was greatest, a glorious
gift that God had sent
the splendid leader. Long was he spurned,
and worthless by Geatish warriors held;
him at mead the master-of-clans
failed full oft to favor at all.
Slack and shiftless the strong men deemed him, profitless prince;
but payment came,
to the warrior honored, for all his woes. -Then the bulwark-of-
earls[1] bade bring within,
hardy chieftain, Hrethel's heirloom
garnished with gold: no Geat e'er knew
in shape of a sword a statelier prize.
The brand he laid in Beowulf's lap;
and of hides assigned him seven thousand,[2] with house
and high-seat. They held in common land alike by their line
of birth, inheritance, home: but higher the king because of
his rule o'er the realm itself.
Now further it fell with the flight of years, with harryings
horrid, that Hygelac perished,[3] and Heardred, too, by hewing
of swords
under the shield-wall slaughtered lay,
when him at the van of his victor-folk
sought hardy heroes, Heatho-Scilfings,
in arms o'erwhelming Hereric's nephew.
Then Beowulf came as king this broad
realm to wield; and he ruled it well
fifty winters,[4] a wise old prince,
warding his land, until One began
in the dark of night, a Dragon, to rage.
In the grave on the hill a hoard it guarded,
in the stone-barrow steep. A strait path reached it, unknown to
mortals. Some man, however,
came by chance that cave within
to the heathen hoard.[5] In hand he took
a golden goblet, nor gave he it back,
stole with it away, while the watcher slept, by thievish
wiles: for the warden's wrath prince and people must pay
betimes!
[1] Hygelac.
[2] This is generally assumed to mean hides, though the text simply says
"seven thousand." A
hide in England meant about 120 acres, though "the size of the acre
varied."
[3] On the historical raid into Frankish territory between 512 and 520
A.D. The subsequent course
of events, as gathered from hints of this epic, is partly told in
Scandinavian legend.
[4] The chronology of this epic, as scholars have worked it out, would
make
Beowulf well over ninety years of age when he fights the dragon. But the
fifty years of his reign
need not be taken as historical fact.
[5] The text is here hopelessly illegible, and only the general drift of the
meaning can be rescued.
For one thing, we have the old myth of a dragon who guards hidden
treasure. But with this runs the
story of some noble, last of his race, who hides all his wealth within this
barrow and there chants
his farewell to life's glories. After his death the dragon takes possession
of the hoard and watches
over it. A condemned or banished man, desperate, hides in the barrow,
discovers the treasure, and
while the dragon
sleeps, makes off with a golden beaker or the like, and carries it for
propitiation to his master. The
dragon discovers the loss and exacts fearful penalty from the people
round about.
XXXII
THAT way he went with no will of his own,
in danger of life, to the dragon's hoard,
but for pressure of peril, some prince's thane. He fled in fear
the fatal scourge,
seeking shelter, a sinful man,
and entered in. At the awful sight
tottered that guest, and terror seized him; yet the wretched
fugitive rallied anon
from fright and fear ere he fled away,
and took the cup from that treasure-hoard. Of such besides
there was store enough, heirlooms old, the earth below,
which some earl forgotten, in ancient years, left the last of
his lofty race,
heedfully there had hidden away,
dearest treasure. For death of yore
had hurried all hence; and he alone
left to live, the last of the clan, weeping his friends, yet
wished to bide warding the treasure, his one delight,
though brief his respite. The barrow, new-ready, to strand and
sea-waves stood anear,
hard by the headland, hidden and closed; there laid
within it his lordly heirlooms and heaped hoard of heavy
gold
that warden of rings. Few words he spake:
"Now hold thou, earth, since heroes may not,
what earls have owned! Lo, erst from thee brave men brought
it! But battle-death seized and cruel killing my clansmen all,
robbed them of life and a liegeman's joys. None have I left to
lift the sword,
or to cleanse the carven cup of price, beaker bright. My brave
are gone.
And the helmet hard, all haughty with gold, shall part from its
plating. Polishers sleep
who could brighten and burnish the battle-mask; and those
weeds of war that were wont to brave over bicker of shields the
bite of steel
rust with their bearer. The ringed mail
fares not far with famous chieftain,
at side of hero! No harp's delight,
no glee-wood's gladness! No good hawk now flies
through the hall! Nor horses fleet
stamp in the burgstead! Battle and death the flower of
my race have reft away." Mournful of mood, thus he
moaned his woe, alone, for them all, and unblithe wept
by day and by night, till death's fell wave o'erwhelmed his
heart. His hoard-of-bliss that old ill-doer open found,
who, blazing at twilight the barrows haunteth, naked foe-
dragon flying by night
folded in fire: the folk of earth
dread him sore. 'Tis his doom to seek
hoard in the graves, and heathen gold
to watch, many-wintered: nor wins he thereby! Powerful this
plague-of-the-people thus
held the house of the hoard in earth
three hundred winters; till One aroused wrath in his
breast, to the ruler bearing that costly cup, and the king
implored
for bond of peace. So the barrow was plundered, borne off was
booty. His boon was granted that wretched man; and his ruler
saw
first time what was fashioned in far-off days. When the dragon
awoke, new woe was kindled.
O'er the stone he snuffed. The stark-heart found footprint of foe
who so far had gone
in his hidden craft by the creature's head. -So may the
undoomed easily flee
evils and exile, if only he gain
the grace of The Wielder! -- That warden of gold o'er the ground
went seeking, greedy to find the man who wrought him such
wrong in sleep. Savage and burning, the barrow he circled
all without; nor was any there,
none in the waste.... Yet war he desired, was eager for
battle. The barrow he entered, sought the cup, and
discovered soon
that some one of mortals had searched his treasure, his lordly gold.
The guardian waited
ill-enduring till evening came;
boiling with wrath was the barrow's keeper,
and fain with flame the foe to pay
for the dear cup's loss. -- Now day was fled
as the worm had wished. By its wall no more was it glad
to bide, but burning flew folded in flame: a fearful
beginning
for sons of the soil; and soon it came,
in the doom of their lord, to a dreadful end.
XXXIII
THEN the baleful fiend its fire belched out, and bright
homes burned. The blaze stood high all landsfolk frighting.
No living thing would that loathly one leave as aloft it flew.
Wide was the dragon's warring seen,
its fiendish fury far and near,
as the grim destroyer those Geatish people hated and
hounded. To hidden lair,
to its hoard it hastened at hint of dawn. Folk of the land it
had lapped in flame,
with bale and brand. In its barrow it trusted, its battling and
bulwarks: that boast was vain!
To Beowulf then the bale was told
quickly and truly: the king's own home,
of buildings the best, in brand-waves melted, that gift-throne
of Geats. To the good old man sad in heart, 'twas heaviest
sorrow.
The sage assumed that his sovran God
he had angered, breaking ancient law,
and embittered the Lord. His breast within
with black thoughts welled, as his wont was never. The folk's own
fastness that fiery dragon
with flame had destroyed, and the stronghold all washed by waves;
but the warlike king,
prince of the Weders, plotted vengeance. Warriors'-
bulwark, he bade them work all of iron -- the earl's
commander -a war-shield wondrous: well he knew
that forest-wood against fire were worthless, linden could
aid not. -- Atheling brave,
he was fated to finish this fleeting life,[1] his days on earth,
and the dragon with him,
though long it had watched o'er the wealth of the hoard! --
Shame he reckoned it, sharer-of-rings,
to follow the flyer-afar with a host,
a broad-flung band; nor the battle feared he, nor deemed he
dreadful the dragon's warring, its vigor and valor: ventures
desperate
he had passed a-plenty, and perils of war, contest-crash,
since, conqueror proud, Hrothgar's hall he had wholly
purged,
and in grapple had killed the kin of Grendel, loathsome
breed! Not least was that
of hand-to-hand fights where Hygelac fell, when the ruler of
Geats in rush of battle, lord of his folk, in the Frisian land,
son of Hrethel, by sword-draughts died,
by brands down-beaten. Thence Beowulf fled through strength of
himself and his swimming power, though alone, and his arms were
laden with thirty coats of mail, when he came to the sea!
Nor yet might Hetwaras[2] haughtily boast their craft of
contest, who carried against him shields to the fight: but few
escaped
from strife with the hero to seek their homes! Then swam over
ocean Ecgtheow's son
lonely and sorrowful, seeking his land, where Hygd made
him offer of hoard and realm, rings and royal-seat, reckoning
naught
the strength of her son to save their kingdom from hostile
hordes, after Hygelac's death. No sooner for this could the
stricken ones in any wise move that atheling's mind
over young Heardred's head as lord
and ruler of all the realm to be:
yet the hero upheld him with helpful words, aided in honor, till,
older grown,
he wielded the Weder-Geats. -- Wandering exiles sought him o'er
seas, the sons of Ohtere,
who had spurned the sway of the Scylfings'-helmet, the bravest
and best that broke the rings,
in Swedish land, of the sea-kings' line, haughty
hero.[3] Hence Heardred's end.
For shelter he gave them, sword-death came, the blade's
fell blow, to bairn of Hygelac; but the son of Ongentheow
sought again house and home when Heardred fell, leaving
Beowulf lord of Geats
and gift-seat's master. -- A good king he!
[1] Literally "loan-days," days loaned to man.
[2] Chattuarii, a tribe that dwelt along the Rhine, and took part in
repelling the raid of (Hygelac)
Chocilaicus.
[3] Onela, son of Ongentheow, who pursues his two nephews Eanmund
and
Eadgils to Heardred's court, where they have taken refuge after their
unsuccessful rebellion. In the
fighting Heardred is killed.
XXXIV
THE fall of his lord he was fain to requite
in after days; and to Eadgils he proved
friend to the friendless, and forces sent over the sea to
the son of Ohtere, weapons and warriors: well repaid he
those care-paths cold when the king he slew.[1] Thus safe
through struggles the son of Ecgtheow had passed a plenty,
through perils dire, with daring deeds, till this day was come
that doomed him now with the dragon to strive. With
comrades eleven the lord of Geats
swollen in rage went seeking the dragon.
He had heard whence all the harm arose
and the killing of clansmen; that cup of price
on the lap of the lord had been laid by the finder. In the throng was
this one thirteenth man, starter of all the strife and ill,
care-laden captive; cringing thence forced and
reluctant, he led them on till he came in ken of that
cavern-hall, the barrow delved near billowy surges,
flood of ocean. Within 'twas full
of wire-gold and jewels; a jealous warden, warrior trusty,
the treasures held, lurked in his lair. Not light the task of
entrance for any of earth-born men!
Sat on the headland the hero king,
spake words of hail to his hearth-companions, gold-friend of
Geats. All gloomy his soul, wavering, death-bound. Wyrd
full nigh
stood ready to greet the gray-haired man, to seize his
soul-hoard, sunder apart life and body. Not long would
be
the warrior's spirit enwound with flesh. Beowulf spake,
the bairn of Ecgtheow:--
"Through store of struggles I strove in youth, mighty feuds; I
mind them all.
I was seven years old when the sovran of rings,
friend-of-his-folk, from my father took me, had me, and held
me, Hrethel the king,
with food and fee, faithful in kinship.
Ne'er, while I lived there, he loathlier found me, bairn in the burg,
than his birthright sons, Herebeald and Haethcyn and Hygelac
mine.
For the eldest of these, by unmeet chance, by kinsman's
deed, was the death-bed strewn, when Haethcyn killed him
with horny bow, his own dear liege laid low with an arrow,
missed the mark and his mate shot down, one brother the
other, with bloody shaft. A feeless fight,[2] and a fearful
sin,
horror to Hrethel; yet, hard as it was, unavenged must the
atheling die!
Too awful it is for an aged man
to bide and bear, that his bairn so young rides on the
gallows. A rime he makes, sorrow-song for his son
there hanging as rapture of ravens; no rescue now
can come from the old, disabled man! Still is he minded,
as morning breaks,
of the heir gone elsewhere;[3] another he hopes not he will bide to
see his burg within
as ward for his wealth, now the one has found doom of death that
the deed incurred.
Forlorn he looks on the lodge of his son, wine-hall
waste and wind-swept chambers reft of revel. The rider
sleepeth,
the hero, far-hidden;[4] no harp resounds,
in the courts no wassail, as once was heard.
[1] That is, Beowulf supports Eadgils against Onela, who is slain by
Eadgils in revenge for the
"care-paths" of exile into which Onela forced him.
[2] That is, the king could claim no wergild, or man-price, from one son
for the killing of the
other.
[3] Usual euphemism for death.
[4] Sc. in the grave.
XXXV
"THEN he goes to his chamber, a grief-song chants alone for his
lost. Too large all seems, homestead and house. So the helmet-of-
Weders hid in his heart for Herebeald
waves of woe. No way could he take
to avenge on the slayer slaughter so foul; nor e'en could he
harass that hero at all with loathing deed, though he loved
him not. And so for the sorrow his soul endured,
men's gladness he gave up and God's light chose. Lands and cities
he left his sons
(as the wealthy do) when he went from earth. There was strife and
struggle 'twixt Swede and Geat o'er the width of waters; war arose,
hard battle-horror, when Hrethel died,
and Ongentheow's offspring grew strife-keen, bold, nor
brooked o'er the seas pact of peace, but pushed their hosts
to harass in hatred by Hreosnabeorh.
Men of my folk for that feud had vengeance,
for woful war ('tis widely known),
though one of them bought it with blood of his heart, a bargain hard:
for Haethcyn proved
fatal that fray, for the first-of-Geats. At morn, I heard,
was the murderer killed
by kinsman for kinsman,[1] with clash of sword, when
Ongentheow met Eofor there.
Wide split the war-helm: wan he fell,
hoary Scylfing; the hand that smote him
of feud was mindful, nor flinched from the death-blow.
-- "For all that he[2] gave me, my gleaming sword repaid him at war, --
such power I wielded, --
for lordly treasure: with land he entrusted me, homestead and
house. He had no need
from Swedish realm, or from Spear-Dane folk, or from men of
the Gifths, to get him help, -some warrior worse for wage to
buy!
Ever I fought in the front of all,
sole to the fore; and so shall I fight
while I bide in life and this blade shall last that early and late
hath loyal proved
since for my doughtiness Daeghrefn fell, slain by my
hand, the Hugas' champion. Nor fared he thence to the
Frisian king
with the booty back, and breast-adornments; but, slain in
struggle, that standard-bearer
fell, atheling brave. Not with blade was he slain, but his bones were
broken by brawny gripe,
his heart-waves stilled. -- The sword-edge now, hard blade and my
hand, for the hoard shall strive."
Beowulf spake, and a battle-vow made
his last of all: "I have lived through many
wars in my youth; now once again,
old folk-defender, feud will I seek, do doughty deeds,
if the dark destroyer forth from his cavern come to
fight me!" Then hailed he the helmeted heroes all,
for the last time greeting his liegemen dear, comrades of
war: "I should carry no weapon, no sword to the serpent, if
sure I knew how, with such enemy, else my vows
I could gain as I did in Grendel's day.
But fire in this fight I must fear me now,
and poisonous breath; so I bring with me breastplate and board.[3]
From the barrow's keeper no footbreadth flee I. One fight shall end
our war by the wall, as Wyrd allots,
all mankind's master. My mood is bold
but forbears to boast o'er this battling-flyer. -- Now abide by the
barrow, ye breastplate-mailed, ye heroes in harness, which of us
twain
better from battle-rush bear his wounds. Wait ye the
finish. The fight is not yours, nor meet for any but me
alone
to measure might with this monster here and play the
hero. Hardily I
shall win that wealth, or war shall seize, cruel killing, your
king and lord!"
Up stood then with shield the sturdy champion,
stayed by the strength of his single manhood, and hardy 'neath
helmet his harness bore
under cleft of the cliffs: no coward's path! Soon spied by
the wall that warrior chief, survivor of many a victory-field
where foemen fought with furious clashings, an arch of
stone; and within, a stream
that broke from the barrow. The brooklet's wave was hot with
fire. The hoard that way
he never could hope unharmed to near,
or endure those deeps,[4] for the dragon's flame. Then let from
his breast, for he burst with rage, the Weder-Geat prince a word
outgo;
stormed the stark-heart; stern went ringing
and clear his cry 'neath the cliff-rocks gray. The hoard-guard
heard a human voice;
his rage was enkindled. No respite now
for pact of peace! The poison-breath
of that foul worm first came forth from the cave, hot reek-of-fight:
the rocks resounded.
Stout by the stone-way his shield he raised, lord of the
Geats, against the loathed-one; while with courage keen
that coiled foe came seeking strife. The sturdy king
had drawn his sword, not dull of edge, heirloom old; and
each of the two
felt fear of his foe, though fierce their mood. Stoutly stood with
his shield high-raised
the warrior king, as the worm now coiled together
amain: the mailed-one waited. Now, spire by spire, fast
sped and glided
that blazing serpent. The shield protected, soul and body a
shorter while
for the hero-king than his heart desired, could his will have
wielded the welcome respite but once in his life! But Wyrd
denied it,
and victory's honors. -- His arm he lifted lord of the Geats,
the grim foe smote
with atheling's heirloom. Its edge was turned brown blade,
on the bone, and bit more feebly than its noble master had
need of then
in his baleful stress. -- Then the barrow's keeper waxed full wild
for that weighty blow,
cast deadly flames; wide drove and far
those vicious fires. No victor's glory
the Geats' lord boasted; his brand had failed, naked in battle,
as never it should, excellent iron! -- 'Twas no easy path
that Ecgtheow's honored heir must tread over the
plain to the place of the foe; for against his will he
must win a home elsewhere far, as must all men,
leaving this lapsing life! -- Not long it was ere those
champions grimly closed again.
The hoard-guard was heartened; high heaved his breast
once more; and by peril was pressed again, enfolded in
flames, the folk-commander!
Nor yet about him his band of comrades,
sons of athelings, armed stood
with warlike front: to the woods they bent them, their lives to
save. But the soul of one
with care was cumbered. Kinship true
can never be marred in a noble mind!
[1] Eofor for Wulf. -- The immediate provocation for Eofor in killing "the
hoary Scylfing,"
Ongentheow, is that the latter has just struck Wulf down; but the king,
Haethcyn, is also avenged
by the blow. See the detailed description below.
[2] Hygelac.
[3] Shield.
[4] The hollow passage.
XXXVI
WIGLAF his name was, Weohstan's son,
linden-thane loved, the lord of Scylfings, Aelfhere's
kinsman. His king he now saw with heat under helmet
hard oppressed.
He minded the prizes his prince had given him, wealthy seat
of the Waegmunding line,
and folk-rights that his father owned Not long he
lingered. The linden yellow,
his shield, he seized; the old sword he drew: -as heirloom of
Eanmund earth-dwellers knew it, who was slain by the sword-
edge, son of Ohtere, friendless exile, erst in fray
killed by Weohstan, who won for his kin brown-bright helmet,
breastplate ringed,
old sword of Eotens, Onela's gift,
weeds of war of the warrior-thane,
battle-gear brave: though a brother's child
had been felled, the feud was unfelt by Onela.[1] For winters this
war-gear Weohstan kept, breastplate and board, till his bairn had
grown earlship to earn as the old sire did:
then he gave him, mid Geats, the gear of battle, portion huge,
when he passed from life,
fared aged forth. For the first time now with his leader-
lord the liegeman young was bidden to share the
shock of battle.
Neither softened his soul, nor the sire's bequest weakened in
war.[2] So the worm found out
when once in fight the foes had met! Wiglaf spake, -- and
his words were sage; sad in spirit, he said to his
comrades:-"I remember the time, when mead we took,
what promise we made to this prince of ours
in the banquet-hall, to our breaker-of-rings, for gear of combat
to give him requital,
for hard-sword and helmet, if hap should bring stress of this
sort! Himself who chose us from all his army to aid him now,
urged us to glory, and gave these treasures, because he
counted us keen with the spear and hardy 'neath helm, though
this hero-work our leader hoped unhelped and alone
to finish for us, -- folk-defender
who hath got him glory greater than all men for daring
deeds! Now the day is come
that our noble master has need of the might of warriors
stout. Let us stride along
the hero to help while the heat is about him glowing and
grim! For God is my witness
I am far more fain the fire should seize
along with my lord these limbs of mine![3] Unsuiting it
seems our shields to bear homeward hence, save here we
essay
to fell the foe and defend the life
of the Weders' lord. I wot 'twere shame on the law of
our land if alone the king out of Geatish warriors woe
endured
and sank in the struggle! My sword and helmet, breastplate and
board, for us both shall serve!" Through slaughter-reek strode he to
succor his
chieftain,
his battle-helm bore, and brief words spake:-"Beowulf dearest, do all
bravely,
as in youthful days of yore thou vowedst
that while life should last thou wouldst let no wise thy glory droop!
Now, great in deeds,
atheling steadfast, with all thy strength shield thy life! I will
stand to help thee."
At the words the worm came once again,
murderous monster mad with rage,
with fire-billows flaming, its foes to seek, the hated men. In
heat-waves burned
that board[4] to the boss, and the breastplate failed to shelter at all the
spear-thane young.
Yet quickly under his kinsman's shield went eager the earl,
since his own was now all burned by the blaze. The bold
king again had mind of his glory: with might his glaive was
driven into the dragon's head, --
blow nerved by hate. But Naegling[5] was shivered, broken in
battle was Beowulf's sword,
old and gray. 'Twas granted him not
that ever the edge of iron at all
could help him at strife: too strong was his hand, so the tale is told,
and he tried too far
with strength of stroke all swords he wielded, though sturdy their
steel: they steaded him nought. Then for the third time thought on
its feud
that folk-destroyer, fire-dread dragon, and rushed on the
hero, where room allowed, battle-grim, burning; its bitter
teeth closed on his neck, and covered him
with waves of blood from his breast that welled.
[1] That is, although Eanmund was brother's son to Onela, the slaying of
the former by Weohstan
is not felt as cause of feud, and is rewarded by gift of the slain man's
weapons.
[2] Both Wiglaf and the sword did their duty. -- The following is one of the
classic passages for
illustrating the comitatus as the most conspicuous Germanic
institution, and its underlying sense
of duty, based partly on the idea of loyalty and partly on the practical
basis of benefits received
and repaid.
[3] Sc. "than to bide safely here," -- a common figure of incomplete
comparison.
[4] Wiglaf's wooden shield.
[5] Gering would translate "kinsman of the nail," as both are made of
iron.
XXXVII
'TWAS now, men say, in his sovran's need
that the earl made known his noble strain, craft and
keenness and courage enduring. Heedless of harm, though
his hand was burned, hardy-hearted, he helped his kinsman.
A little lower the loathsome beast
he smote with sword; his steel drove in bright and burnished;
that blaze began
to lose and lessen. At last the king wielded his wits again,
war-knife drew,
a biting blade by his breastplate hanging,
and the Weders'-helm smote that worm asunder, felled the
foe, flung forth its life.
So had they killed it, kinsmen both,
athelings twain: thus an earl should be
in danger's day! -- Of deeds of valor
this conqueror's-hour of the king was last, of his work in
the world. The wound began,
which that dragon-of-earth had erst inflicted, to swell and
smart; and soon he found
in his breast was boiling, baleful and deep, pain of poison. The
prince walked on,
wise in his thought, to the wall of rock;
then sat, and stared at the structure of giants, where arch of
stone and steadfast column upheld forever that hall in earth.
Yet here must the hand of the henchman peerless lave with
water his winsome lord,
the king and conqueror covered with blood, with struggle spent,
and unspan his helmet. Beowulf spake in spite of his hurt,
his mortal wound; full well he knew
his portion now was past and gone
of earthly bliss, and all had fled
of his file of days, and death was near: "I would fain
bestow on son of mine this gear of war, were given me
now that any heir should after me come
of my proper blood. This people I ruled fifty winters.
No folk-king was there, none at all, of the neighboring
clans
who war would wage me with 'warriors'-friends'[1] and threat me
with horrors. At home I bided what fate might come, and I cared
for mine own; feuds I sought not, nor falsely swore
ever on oath. For all these things,
though fatally wounded, fain am I!
From the Ruler-of-Man no wrath shall seize me, when life
from my frame must flee away,
for killing of kinsmen! Now quickly go
and gaze on that hoard 'neath the hoary rock, Wiglaf loved,
now the worm lies low, sleeps, heart-sore, of his spoil
bereaved. And fare in haste. I would fain behold
the gorgeous heirlooms, golden store, have joy in the
jewels and gems, lay down softlier for sight of this
splendid hoard my life and the lordship I long have held."
[1] That is, swords.
XXXVIII
I HAVE heard that swiftly the son of Weohstan
at wish and word of his wounded king, -war-sick warrior, --
woven mail-coat, battle-sark, bore 'neath the barrow's roof.
Then the clansman keen, of conquest proud, passing the
seat,[1] saw store of jewels and glistening gold the ground
along;
by the wall were marvels, and many a vessel in the den of the
dragon, the dawn-flier old: unburnished bowls of bygone
men
reft of richness; rusty helms
of the olden age; and arm-rings many wondrously
woven. -- Such wealth of gold, booty from barrow, can
burden with pride
each human wight: let him hide it who will! -His glance too
fell on a gold-wove banner high o'er the hoard, of handiwork
noblest, brilliantly broidered; so bright its gleam, all the earth-
floor he easily saw
and viewed all these vessels. No vestige now was seen of the
serpent: the sword had ta'en him.
Then, I heard, the hill of its hoard was reft,
old work of giants, by one alone;
he burdened his bosom with beakers and plate
at his own good will, and the ensign took, brightest of
beacons. -- The blade of his lord -- its edge was iron -- had
injured deep
one that guarded the golden hoard
many a year and its murder-fire
spread hot round the barrow in horror-billows at midnight
hour, till it met its doom. Hasted the herald, the hoard so
spurred him
his track to retrace; he was troubled by doubt, high-souled
hero, if haply he'd find
alive, where he left him, the lord of Weders, weakening fast by
the wall of the cave.
So he carried the load. His lord and king he found all
bleeding, famous chief
at the lapse of life. The liegeman again plashed him with
water, till point of word
broke through the breast-hoard. Beowulf spake, sage and sad,
as he stared at the gold. -"For the gold and treasure, to God
my thanks, to the Wielder-of-Wonders, with words I say, for
what I behold, to Heaven's Lord,
for the grace that I give such gifts to my folk
or ever the day of my death be run!
Now I've bartered here for booty of treasure
the last of my life, so look ye well
to the needs of my land! No longer I tarry.
A barrow bid ye the battle-fanned raise
for my ashes. 'Twill shine by the shore of the flood, to folk of mine
memorial fair
on Hrones Headland high uplifted,
that ocean-wanderers oft may hail
Beowulf's Barrow, as back from far
they drive their keels o'er the darkling wave." From his neck he
unclasped the collar of gold,
valorous king, to his vassal gave it
with bright-gold helmet, breastplate, and ring, to the youthful
thane: bade him use them in joy.
"Thou art end and remnant of all our race
the Waegmunding name. For Wyrd hath swept them, all my line,
to the land of doom,
earls in their glory: I after them go."
This word was the last which the wise old man
harbored in heart ere hot death-waves
of balefire he chose. From his bosom fled
his soul to seek the saints' reward.
[1] Where Beowulf lay.
XXXIX
IT was heavy hap for that hero young
on his lord beloved to look and find him
lying on earth with life at end,
sorrowful sight. But the slayer too,
awful earth-dragon, empty of breath,
lay felled in fight, nor, fain of its treasure, could the writhing
monster rule it more.
For edges of iron had ended its days, hard and battle-
sharp, hammers' leaving;[1] and that flier-afar had fallen
to ground hushed by its hurt, its hoard all near, no longer
lusty aloft to whirl
at midnight, making its merriment seen, proud of its
prizes: prone it sank
by the handiwork of the hero-king. Forsooth among folk
but few achieve,
-- though sturdy and strong, as stories tell me, and never so
daring in deed of valor, --
the perilous breath of a poison-foe
to brave, and to rush on the ring-board hall, whenever his watch
the warden keeps
bold in the barrow. Beowulf paid
the price of death for that precious hoard; and each of the
foes had found the end
of this fleeting life.
Befell erelong that the
laggards in war the wood had left, trothbreakers, cowards,
ten together, fearing before to flourish a spear
in the sore distress of their sovran lord. Now in their shame
their shields they carried,
armor of fight, where the old man lay; and they gazed
on Wiglaf. Wearied he sat
at his sovran's shoulder, shieldsman good,
to wake him with water.[2] Nowise it availed. Though well he
wished it, in world no more could he barrier life for that leader-
of-battles nor baffle the will of all-wielding God.
Doom of the Lord was law o'er the deeds
of every man, as it is to-day.
Grim was the answer, easy to get,
from the youth for those that had yielded to fear! Wiglaf spake, the
son of Weohstan, --
mournful he looked on those men unloved:-"Who sooth
will speak, can say indeed that the ruler who gave you
golden rings and the harness of war in which ye stand --
for he at ale-bench often-times
bestowed on hall-folk helm and breastplate, lord to
liegemen, the likeliest gear
which near of far he could find to give, -threw away and
wasted these weeds of battle, on men who failed when the
foemen came!
Not at all could the king of his comrades-in-arms venture to
vaunt, though the Victory-Wielder, God, gave him grace that he
got revenge
sole with his sword in stress and need.
To rescue his life, 'twas little that I
could serve him in struggle; yet shift I made (hopeless it
seemed) to help my kinsman.
Its strength ever waned, when with weapon I struck that fatal foe,
and the fire less strongly flowed from its head. -- Too few the
heroes
in throe of contest that thronged to our king! Now gift of
treasure and girding of sword, joy of the house and home-
delight
shall fail your folk; his freehold-land every clansman within
your kin
shall lose and leave, when lords highborn hear afar of that
flight of yours,
a fameless deed. Yea, death is better
for liegemen all than a life of shame!"
[1] What had been left or made by the hammer; well-forged. [2] Trying to
revive him.
XL
THAT battle-toil bade he at burg to announce,
at the fort on the cliff, where, full of sorrow,
all the morning earls had sat,
daring shieldsmen, in doubt of twain:
would they wail as dead, or welcome home, their lord
beloved? Little[1] kept back of the tidings new, but told
them all, the herald that up the headland rode. -"Now
the willing-giver to Weder folk
in death-bed lies; the Lord of Geats
on the slaughter-bed sleeps by the serpent's deed! And beside him
is stretched that slayer-of-men with knife-wounds sick:[2] no
sword availed
on the awesome thing in any wise
to work a wound. There Wiglaf sitteth, Weohstan's bairn, by
Beowulf's side,
the living earl by the other dead,
and heavy of heart a head-watch[3] keeps
o'er friend and foe. -- Now our folk may look for waging of
war when once unhidden
to Frisian and Frank the fall of the king is spread afar. -- The
strife began
when hot on the Hugas[4] Hygelac fell
and fared with his fleet to the Frisian land. Him there the
Hetwaras humbled in war,
plied with such prowess their power o'erwhelming that the bold-
in-battle bowed beneath it
and fell in fight. To his friends no wise could that earl give
treasure! And ever since the Merowings' favor has failed us
wholly. Nor aught expect I of peace and faith
from Swedish folk. 'Twas spread afar
how Ongentheow reft at Ravenswood
Haethcyn Hrethling of hope and life,
when the folk of Geats for the first time sought in wanton pride
the Warlike-Scylfings.
Soon the sage old sire[5] of Ohtere,
ancient and awful, gave answering blow;
the sea-king[6] he slew, and his spouse redeemed, his good wife
rescued, though robbed of her gold, mother of Ohtere and Onela.
Then he followed his foes, who fled before him sore beset and
stole their way,
bereft of a ruler, to Ravenswood.
With his host he besieged there what swords had left, the weary and
wounded; woes he threatened
the whole night through to that hard-pressed throng: some with the
morrow his sword should kill,
some should go to the gallows-tree
for rapture of ravens. But rescue came
with dawn of day for those desperate men when they heard
the horn of Hygelac sound, tones of his trumpet; the trusty
king
had followed their trail with faithful band.
[1] Nothing.
[2] Dead.
[3] Death-watch, guard of honor, "lyke-wake." [4] A name
for the Franks.
[5] Ongentheow.
[6] Haethcyn.
XLI
"THE bloody swath of Swedes and Geats
and the storm of their strife, were seen afar, how folk against
folk the fight had wakened. The ancient king with his atheling
band sought his citadel, sorrowing much: Ongentheow earl
went up to his burg.
He had tested Hygelac's hardihood,
the proud one's prowess, would prove it no longer, defied no more
those fighting-wanderers
nor hoped from the seamen to save his hoard,
his bairn and his bride: so he bent him again, old, to his earth-
walls. Yet after him came
with slaughter for Swedes the standards of Hygelac o'er peaceful
plains in pride advancing,
till Hrethelings fought in the fenced town.[1] Then Ongentheow
with edge of sword,
the hoary-bearded, was held at bay,
and the folk-king there was forced to suffer Eofor's anger.
In ire, at the king
Wulf Wonreding with weapon struck;
and the chieftain's blood, for that blow, in streams flowed 'neath his
hair. No fear felt he,
stout old Scylfing, but straightway repaid in better
bargain that bitter stroke
and faced his foe with fell intent.
Nor swift enough was the son of Wonred answer to
render the aged chief;
too soon on his head the helm was cloven; blood-
bedecked he bowed to earth,
and fell adown; not doomed was he yet,
and well he waxed, though the wound was sore. Then the
hardy Hygelac-thane,[2]
when his brother fell, with broad brand smote, giants' sword
crashing through giants'-helm across the shield-wall: sank the
king,
his folk's old herdsman, fatally hurt. There were many to
bind the brother's wounds and lift him, fast as fate allowed
his people to wield the place-of-war.
But Eofor took from Ongentheow,
earl from other, the iron-breastplate, hard sword hilted, and
helmet too,
and the hoar-chief's harness to Hygelac carried, who took the
trappings, and truly promised rich fee 'mid folk, -- and fulfilled it
so. For that grim strife gave the Geatish lord, Hrethel's offspring,
when home he came,
to Eofor and Wulf a wealth of treasure,
Each of them had a hundred thousand[3]
in land and linked rings; nor at less price reckoned mid-earth men
such mighty deeds!
And to Eofor he gave his only daughter
in pledge of grace, the pride of his home.
"Such is the feud, the foeman's rage,
death-hate of men: so I deem it sure
that the Swedish folk will seek us home
for this fall of their friends, the fighting-Scylfings, when once they learn
that our warrior leader
lifeless lies, who land and hoard
ever defended from all his foes,
furthered his folk's weal, finished his course a hardy hero.
-- Now haste is best,
that we go to gaze on our Geatish lord, and bear the
bountiful breaker-of-rings to the funeral pyre. No
fragments merely
shall burn with the warrior. Wealth of jewels, gold untold and
gained in terror,
treasure at last with his life obtained, all of that booty
the brands shall take, fire shall eat it. No earl must carry
memorial jewel. No maiden fair
shall wreathe her neck with noble ring: nay, sad in spirit
and shorn of her gold, oft shall she pass o'er paths of
exile now our lord all laughter has laid aside, all mirth
and revel. Many a spear morning-cold shall be clasped
amain, lifted aloft; nor shall lilt of harp
those warriors wake; but the wan-hued raven, fain o'er the
fallen, his feast shall praise and boast to the eagle how
bravely he ate when he and the wolf were wasting the slain."
So he told his sorrowful tidings,
and little[4] he lied, the loyal man of word or of work.
The warriors rose;
sad, they climbed to the Cliff-of-Eagles, went, welling with
tears, the wonder to view. Found on the sand there,
stretched at rest, their lifeless lord, who had lavished rings of
old upon them. Ending-day
had dawned on the doughty-one; death had seized in woful
slaughter the Weders' king.
There saw they, besides, the strangest being, loathsome, lying
their leader near,
prone on the field. The fiery dragon,
fearful fiend, with flame was scorched. Reckoned by feet, it
was fifty measures
in length as it lay. Aloft erewhile
it had revelled by night, and anon come back, seeking its
den; now in death's sure clutch
it had come to the end of its earth-hall joys. By it there stood
the stoups and jars; dishes lay there, and dear-decked swords
eaten with rust, as, on earth's lap resting, a thousand winters
they waited there.
For all that heritage huge, that gold
of bygone men, was bound by a spell,[5]
so the treasure-hall could be touched by none of human kind,
-- save that Heaven's King, God himself, might give whom
he would, Helper of Heroes, the hoard to open, -even such a
man as seemed to him meet.
[1] The line may mean: till Hrethelings stormed on the hedged shields, --
i.e.
the shield-wall or hedge of defensive war -- Hrethelings, of course, are
Geats.
[2] Eofor, brother to Wulf Wonreding.
[3] Sc. "value in" hides and the weight of the gold.
[4] Not at all.
[5] Laid on it when it was put in the barrow. This spell, or in our days
the "curse," either
prevented discovery or brought dire ills on the finder and taker.
XLII
A PERILOUS path, it proved, he[1] trod
who heinously hid, that hall within,
wealth under wall! Its watcher had killed one of a
few,[2] and the feud was avenged in woful fashion.
Wondrous seems it, what manner a man of might and
valor
oft ends his life, when the earl no longer in mead-hall
may live with loving friends. So Beowulf, when that
barrow's warden
he sought, and the struggle; himself knew not
in what wise he should wend from the world at last. For[3] princes
potent, who placed the gold,
with a curse to doomsday covered it deep, so that
marked with sin the man should be, hedged with horrors,
in hell-bonds fast,
racked with plagues, who should rob their hoard. Yet no greed
for gold, but the grace of heaven, ever the king had kept in
view.[4]
Wiglaf spake, the son of Weohstan:--
"At the mandate of one, oft warriors many sorrow must
suffer; and so must we.
The people's-shepherd showed not aught
of care for our counsel, king beloved!
That guardian of gold he should grapple not, urged we, but let him lie
where he long had been
in his earth-hall waiting the end of the world,
the hest of heaven. -- This hoard is ours
but grievously gotten; too grim the fate which thither
carried our king and lord. I was within there, and all I
viewed,
the chambered treasure, when chance allowed me (and my
path was made in no pleasant wise) under the earth-wall.
Eager, I seized
such heap from the hoard as hands could bear and hurriedly
carried it hither back
to my liege and lord. Alive was he still, still wielding his wits.
The wise old man
spake much in his sorrow, and sent you greetings and bade that
ye build, when he breathed no more, on the place of his balefire a
barrow high, memorial mighty. Of men was he
worthiest warrior wide earth o'er
the while he had joy of his jewels and burg. Let us set out
in haste now, the second time to see and search this store
of treasure,
these wall-hid wonders, -- the way I show you, -where, gathered
near, ye may gaze your fill
at broad-gold and rings. Let the bier, soon made, be all in order
when out we come,
our king and captain to carry thither
-- man beloved -- where long he shall bide
safe in the shelter of sovran God."
Then the bairn of Weohstan bade command,
hardy chief, to heroes many
that owned their homesteads, hither to bring firewood from far --
o'er the folk they ruled -for the famed-one's funeral. " Fire shall
devour and wan flames feed on the fearless warrior
who oft stood stout in the iron-shower,
when, sped from the string, a storm of arrows shot o'er the shield-
wall: the shaft held firm, featly feathered, followed the barb."
And now the sage young son of Weohstan
seven chose of the chieftain's thanes,
the best he found that band within,
and went with these warriors, one of eight, under hostile
roof. In hand one bore
a lighted torch and led the way.
No lots they cast for keeping the hoard when once the
warriors saw it in hall, altogether without a guardian,
lying there lost. And little they mourned when they had
hastily haled it out, dear-bought treasure! The dragon they
cast,
the worm, o'er the wall for the wave to take, and surges
swallowed that shepherd of gems. Then the woven gold on a
wain was laden -countless quite! -- and the king was borne,
hoary hero, to Hrones-Ness.
[1] Probably the fugitive is meant who discovered the hoard. Ten Brink
and Gering assume
that the dragon is meant. "Hid" may well mean here "took while in
hiding."
[2] That is "one and a few others." But Beowulf seems to be indicated.
[3] Ten Brink points out the strongly heathen character of this part of the
epic. Beowulf's end
came, so the old tradition ran, from his unwitting interference with
spell-bound treasure.
[4] A hard saying, variously interpreted. In any case, it is the some-
what clumsy effort of the Christian poet to tone down the heathenism of
his material by an
edifying observation.
XLIII
THEN fashioned for him the folk of Geats
firm on the earth a funeral-pile,
and hung it with helmets and harness of war
and breastplates bright, as the boon he asked; and they laid
amid it the mighty chieftain, heroes mourning their master
dear.
Then on the hill that hugest of balefires the warriors wakened.
Wood-smoke rose
black over blaze, and blent was the roar
of flame with weeping (the wind was still), till the fire had
broken the frame of bones, hot at the heart. In heavy mood
their misery moaned they, their master's death. Wailing her
woe, the widow[1] old,
her hair upbound, for Beowulf's death
sung in her sorrow, and said full oft
she dreaded the doleful days to come,
deaths enow, and doom of battle,
and shame. -- The smoke by the sky was devoured. The folk of
the Weders fashioned there
on the headland a barrow broad and high,
by ocean-farers far descried:
in ten days' time their toil had raised it,
the battle-brave's beacon. Round brands of the pyre a wall they
built, the worthiest ever
that wit could prompt in their wisest men.
They placed in the barrow that precious booty, the rounds and
the rings they had reft erewhile, hardy heroes, from hoard in
cave, --
trusting the ground with treasure of earls, gold in the
earth, where ever it lies useless to men as of yore it was.
Then about that barrow the battle-keen rode,
atheling-born, a band of twelve,
lament to make, to mourn their king,
chant their dirge, and their chieftain honor. They praised his
earlship, his acts of prowess worthily witnessed: and well it is
that men their master-friend mightily laud, heartily love, when
hence he goes
from life in the body forlorn away.
Thus made their mourning the men of Geatland, for their
hero's passing his hearth-companions: quoth that of all the
kings of earth,
of men he was mildest and most beloved,
to his kin the kindest, keenest for praise.
[1] Nothing is said of Beowulf's wife in the poem, but Bugge surmises
that Beowulf finally
accepted Hygd's offer of kingdom and hoard, and, as was usual, took her
into the bargain.
[End.]
