stem this heart-sickness sweep it away.
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Often my hall-thanes hearts strong with beer
bold in their ale-cups boasted in firelight
that they would linger lie here in waiting
for Grendel’s ravaging ready with swordswings.
Then was this meadhall at morning’s raven-call
dark with their doom as the day shoved forth,
benches and bolsters black with battle-gore
hall-rafters trembling. Heorot grew cold then
stronghearted warriors were snatched into night.
But sit now to banquet bear us good news
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tell us good tidings in time as you wish.”
Benches were bared the beer-hall made roomy
Geats were gathered together with all.
There the stern-hearted settled by the fire
welcome and ready. The warden of ale-cups
brought to their hands the bright hall-drink
taught them greetings. At times the minstrel
touched his harpstrings. They were happy together
a great band of them Geats with the Danes.
UNFERTH (meaning “discord” or “nonsense”) is a complex character who is twice called a thyle (“orator” or “jester”) and sits at Hrothgar’s feet, a position of counselors or jesters or poets. Here he is the traditional “court challenger,” enabling Beowulf to establish his credentials as a monster killer and giving him license to insult both Unferth and the Danes with impunity. Beowulf calls him a fratricide who will suffer either “in hell” or “in the hall,” depending on how the manuscript is interpreted, and it is later said that he was “not honorable towards his kin in swordplay.” This may mean that he found himself serving one lord and his brothers another, or he may have refused to support his brothers in battle. In any case, Unferth is well tolerated by the Danes and lends his respected sword to a grateful Beowulf.
Before and after the killing of Grendel, Hrothgar leaves Heorot to sleep in his “bower,” an outbuilding within the palisade compound characteristic of many Anglo-Saxon “burgs.”
Then up spoke Unferth Ecglaf’s swordson
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held to his station at Hrothgar’s feet
unbound battle-runes. Beowulf’s errand
boasting of sea-strength burned in his heart—
never would he grant greater adventures
on land or sea to sailors or hall-thanes
than he had survived, hale sword-champion:
“Are you that Beowulf who with Breca swam
on the broad sea-swell struggling together
proud wave-wrestlers wagering your lives
with reckless boasting risking for praise
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deep water-death? Not one counselor
friend or enemy could force you to cancel
that sorrowful swim—shipless wanderers
rowing with your hands reaching for salt-swells
measuring the sea-road with stroking arms
embracing the ocean broad water-fields
wintry with waves. You worked at your folly
for seven nightfalls—he outswam you there
stronger than you. The sea at dawning
heaved him ashore on Heatho-Raemas’ ground.
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He found his way then fared to his home
beloved country land of the Brondingas
proud timber-hall where his people waited.
That son of Beanstan beat you at swimming
bettered your boasting brave sea-warrior.
Now I expect, proud though you swagger,
brave at battle-rush bragging as you go,
a grimmer contest with Grendel here
if you dare sleep now in this darkened hall.”
Beowulf spoke then son of Ecgtheow:
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“Unferth my friend you find much to say
eased with beer-cups all about Breca
his seafaring ways. I say to you now
I was greater in swim-strength gliding through waves
longer with arm-strokes than my lagging friend.
We boasted together—boys eagering
young in judgment yearning for renown
game for water-wolves—that we would gamble
lives against the sea loud ocean winds.
With naked swords we slashed through the waves
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ready with warblades for wandering whales
dark sea-monsters. No swifter than me
could Breca swim there—I stayed beside him
unwilling to leave him alone against all.
Through five nightfalls we floated and swam
on the ice-hard waves till an angry sea-flood
broke out above us—blackening sky
and freezing northwinds forced us apart
towering salt-swells struck between us.
Strange sea-creatures surfaced around me—
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the mailcoat I wore woven with gold
hard and hand-locked held me from death
laced by wonder-smiths linked against carnage.
To the deep sea-floor something pulled me
hard gripfingers hauled me to sand
with grappling-tight claws—it was granted to me
to reach this devil rush him to sleep
with sharp sword-point—swift blade-slashing
strong in my hand haled him deathwards.
Then more came at me many a water-sprite
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seagoing demons—I served them all
with quick sword-thrusts sent them to hell.
They missed their supper sea-bottom banquet
squatting on the sand serving their hunger
with my tasty corpse cold ocean-feast.
By gray dawnlight lapped with salt-foam
rolled by tidewaves they rested on land
sleepened by swordswings—the sailpath was cleared
sun-bright waterways washed of their blood.
Light from the East lifted the storm-clouds
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God’s bright beacon burnished the sea—
looming headlands leaned high above,
wind-scoured cliffwalls. Wyrd often spares
an undoomed man when his mind-strength prevails.
With sword’s edges I sent into death
nine sea-monsters. I have not yet heard
of a harder struggle under heaven’s archway
a riskier night in narrow ocean-streams.
From dark water-death waves bore me up
weary of swimming—the sea lifted me
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led me to shore in the land of Finns.
I have never heard tell tales of yourself
strong with swordplay swimming through nightwaves
with gnashing sea-demons. Never has Breca
fought through darkness in deep waterways—
and you were never known for such deeds
nothing to brag of renowned as you are
for killing your brothers bringing them down,
your own blood-kin. You’ll answer for that
wandering in hell though your wit be strong.
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I’ll say one thing son of Ecglaf—
never would Grendel grieve all of you
mangle your hearts with murder in Heorot
torture your lord in this tame meadhall
if your courage held strong as you claim it does.
Grendel has learned through long winters—
no need to bother with brave Shield-Danes
no interruptions of his nightly visits.
He takes what he needs no one stopping him
finds no contest with cowering Danes
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snares and slashes safe in Heorot
owning you all. But I’ll show him
sooner than he knows a new kind of battle
with men of the Geats. On the morning after
when southern sunlight shines on this hall
we will lift our meadcups to merciful peace
bright bench-laughter banishing your grief.”
Grief-heavy Hrothgar murder-stunned king
heard in those words hard promises
news of deliverance from long heartbreak
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found in Beowulf fair morning-thoughts.
Laughter and song leapt to the rafters
warm welcome-words. Then Wealhtheow came forth
folk-queen of the Danes daughter of Helmingas
Hrothgar’s bedmate. She hailed all of them
spoke her peace-words stepped to the gift-throne
fetched to her king the first ale-cup
warmed his mind-chill wished darkness away
from the tall high-seat—he took from her hands
the gleaming cupful gave her his thanks.
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Through the high meadhall went Hrothgar’s queen
offering hall-joy to old and to young
with rich treasure-cups till time brought her
where Beowulf sat. She bore him a cup
with gold-gleaming hands held it before him
graciously greeted the Geats’ warleader
gave thanks to God for granting her will
sending her mercy a man to believe in
hope from abroad. He held the meadcup
high in his hands hailed the queen there
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brought to Wealhtheow battle-strong words.
Beowulf spoke son of Ecgtheow:
“I swore to myself when I sailed from home
mounted my ship with my men around me
that I alone would ease your heartgrief
settle this feud here or fall deathwards
in Grendel’s grasp. I’ll give you his lifeblood
deliver his fiend-soul or finish my days
here in Heorot high treasure-hall.”
His words were welcome to Wealhtheow’s heart
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that bountiful boast—then back with her lord
the proud folk-queen found her station.
Cheers from the benches chased night-shadows
strong warrior-songs soared through the hall
rose to the rafters till ready for sleep
Healfdene’s son heavy with thane-grief
yearned for evening-rest. Years had taught him
that Grendel roamed raging with envy
Heorot on his mind from the moment that sunrise
flushed towards the sky till final nightshades
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dark with shadow-shapes shoved across the meadows
wound around Heorot. Hall-feasters rose.
Their weary war-king wished for Beowulf
luck in the night left him the gift-throne
that great meadhall gave him farewell:
“Never have I offered to any other man,
from the first moment I found shield-strength,
this hall of the Danes house of our nation.
Have now and hold these havoc-stained walls
remember your strength stand against darkness
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with luck and courage. You will lack for nothing
if you risk this nightfall and rise with the sun.”
He left the hall then Healfdene’s son
lord of the Shield-Danes beloved treasure-king
went to his bedrest Wealhtheow beside him
to comfort his sleep. The King of glory
granted for that night a guard against helldeath
a strong hall-warden holding in darkness
a keen house-watch for the king of Heorot.
The Geats’ champion gathered his men
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matched against evil the Measurer’s strength.
He stripped off his armor steel-meshed mailcoat
gilded mask-helmet gold-handled sword
set them aside to serve him elsewhere
rich war-weapons wonder-smiths’ handwork.
He kindled their courage with keen boastwords
as they bent to bedrest in that best of halls:
“No meaner am I in mortal combat
grim hand-wrestling than Grendel himself.
I will not send him to sleep with my blade
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carve out his life though I could easily.
He has learned nothing of linden-shield play
fighting with armor fearless though he be
in dark thane-murder—on this dangerous night
we’ll have no swordplay if he seeks me here
no clear weapon-fight—then the wise Deemer
will show his mercy the Shaper of all
will measure us both, bring judgment here.”
He bent to his bolster Beowulf the Geat
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