brought from the hoard. The best warrior
lord of the War-Danes was laid upon the pyre.
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Heaped on the balefire battle-gear waited
bloodstained corselets cloven mask-helmets
gilded with boar-heads grim slaughter-guards
with too many warriors wounded to rest.
Then came Hildeburh where Hnaef lay waiting
bade that her son be swallowed by flames
next to her brother nephew by his side
at his uncle’s shoulder—she sang in her grief
a keen sorrow-song as they settled him there.
The great slaughter-fire circled to the sky
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reared to the heavens. Heads melted there
sword-woundings burst blood sprang from them
fire-bitten bodies. Flames swallowed all
greediest of spirits sucked them away
the Finns and the Danes—fled was their glory.
Frisians grew restive bereft of friends
some took winter-leave sought their blood-kin
homes and meadhalls. Hengest remained
suffering with Finn a slaughter-stained winter
dreaming of release—he longed for Denmark
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though he dared not sail on the surging waters
his ring-prowed ship. The sea howled at him
wailing with storm-wind—winter locked the waves
in icy bindings till the earth welcomed
a young new-year as it yet calls forth
the altered seasons always beckoning
glory-bright weather. Then winter was gone
fair was the earth-bosom. The exile yearned
longed to be gone. Grief and vengeance
stronger than escape seethed in his heart-blood—
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a final meeting formed in his mind
memory of malice moved him to stay.
He did not reject that gesture then
when Hunlafing bore him a bright vengeance-sword
bore to his bosom that best of warblades—
its edges were known to all around him.
Once more to Finn Frisian war-king
came anxious swordbale in his own homeland
when Guthlaf and Oslaf with grim memories
spoke of their sorrows that sea-voyage to death
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woeful winter-grief. No wavering heart
they found in Hengest. The hall grew red
with Frisian blood-wounds—Finn perished there
king with his men and his queen was taken.
To their broad ship then the Shield-Danes bore
whatever they found in Finn’s meadhall
stripped it of swords secret treasure-hoard
wondrous gemstones. On the welling sea
they ferried his wife to family in Denmark
safe with her kin.
The song was ended
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the gleeman’s tale. It was time for joy
bench-laughter brightened bearers brought forth
wine in wonder-cups. Then Wealhtheow approached
with gold-gleaming neck-ring where nephew and king
feasted in friendship yet faithful as kin.
There was Unferth the heckler at Hrothgar’s feet—
they held him in trust hailed his courage
though to his family he failed in honor
at clashing of swordedge. The queen spoke then:
“Take this cupful my king and husband
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treasure-hall’s lord. Look to happiness
gold-friend to men—to these Geats offer
welcoming words as a wise man should.
Be glad with these Geats give of that treasure
fetched to your goldhoard from far and from near.
I have heard men say you would have for a son
that hero among them. Heorot is purged
this bright wine-hall. Wield while you can
these fine riches and to family give
this land and kingdom when you leave this world
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to seek your destiny. I am sure that Hrothulf
our kind brother-son will care for our young ones
guide and hold them if you go before him
give up this world in your waning years.
He will surely repay us shelter our sons
if he well remembers how we watched over him
held him as our own gave help in everything
saw that our kin had a safe childhood.”
She turned to the benches where her boys were sitting
Hrethric and Hrothmund and a host of young ones
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the youth together—there the good one sat
Beowulf the Geat by the brothers’ side.
HAVING PUBLICLY REMINDED Hrothulf of his duty to her two young sons—as she later solicits Beowulf’s help with them—Wealhtheow turns to where they sit with Beowulf and presents him with further rewards, including a gold neck-ring compared by the Beowulf poet with the legendary Brosinga necklace in one of his briefest and most obscure allusions. Drawing upon both history and legend, we may think of Hama as having stolen this great collar or torque from Eormenric (the historic Gothic king Ermanaric) and carried it to the “bright city” where he chose “eternal glory”—probably a reference to his acceptance of Christianity. We then have the first of several references to Hygelac’s later invasion of the lower Rhine, where he is killed. Though Beowulf later presents this neck-ring to Hygd, the poet here says that Hygelac wore it on his fatal expedition.
A cup was offered in kind friendship
with terms of welcome then twisted gold
placed before him fine arm-bracelets
corselets and garments with the greatest neck-ring
of all on this earth that ever I heard of.
No tales have told of a treasure so rich
a finer hoard-ring since Hama carried
to that bright city the Brosinga necklace,
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famed gold-marvel, fled with that treasure
from Eormenric’s torment to eternal glory.
That neck-ring was worn by war-King Hygelac
Swerting’s nephew when he sailed from home
led a plunder-raid on his last voyage
fought for war-booty. Wyrd took him then
when boasting with pride he brought to them all
death among Frisians. He ferried that treasure
studded with gemstones over seething wave-rolls
fated king-warrior—he fell beneath his shield.
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To the Franks he left his lifeless body
gold-laced mailcoat and glorious neck-ring.
Then lesser warriors looted that treasure
as he lay battle-shorn lord of the Geats—
he paid for that pride.
Applause filled the hall
as Wealhtheow spoke stood before her guest:
“Have luck with this neck-ring beloved Beowulf
accept these gifts gold-gleaming treasures
and use them well—may you win always
make known your strength and save for these boys
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wise counsel-words—I’ll reward you for that.
You have earned such fame that from far and near
in this wide middle-earth men will honor you
as far as the sea circles this windyard
these high cliffwalls. Keep while you live
peace with your courage. I’ll repay you for that
with bright treasure-gifts. Be to my sons
a gentle hero with joy in your heart.
Each man at this feast is faithful to all
loyal to his lord loving in mindthoughts—
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these thanes are together good men and strong
these drunken warriors do as I bid them.”
>
She sat then to banquet the best of feasting
warmed with wine-cups—warriors rejoiced
unwary of their fate waiting for destiny
like friends before them at failing of day
when Hrothgar left them to lie in his bower
went to his rest. War-Danes guarded
the darkening meadhall as in days gone by.
They cleared the bench-planks, brought for sleeprest
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bedding and bolsters. A beer-drinker there
ready for his doom rested among them.
They set by their heads where hands could reach them
bright linden-shields—on benches above them
over sleeping warriors weapons were ready
hard mask-helmets hand-locked corselets
stout-shafted spears. They were seldom caught
unready for war waking or sleeping
at home or afield held themselves ready
for their lord’s command moments of swordplay
1250
their war-sovereign’s needs—they were worthy men.
II
They sank to their sleep. One sorely paid
for his evening slumber like others before him
since Grendel came to them greedy hall-watcher
rage in his blood till he blundered at last
death came to him. The Danes discovered
that one still living waited for that night
slouched through the shadows searching for revenge
grim murder-fiend—Grendel’s hell-mother
bereaved monster-wife mourned for her child.
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She was damned to hide in a dark water-home
cold wildwood stream since Cain murdered
his only brother-kin beat down to earth
his father’s son-child. He was sent for that
marked with murder from man’s company
banished to wasteland. Then woke from his loins
misbegotten monsters. Among them was Grendel
hate-hearted fiend who found at Heorot
a waking strength-warrior waiting in that hall.
Grendel grabbed him grappled his hand—
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but mindful of power the mercy of his strength
that bountiful gift from God’s kingdom
the warrior caught him clamped in his fingers
that great claw-hand crushed that night-killer
gripped him to death. Grendel went slinking
crossed the moorland to his cold death-cavern
exiled from mercy. Then his mother sorrowed
grieved for her child greedy for man-blood
went prowling for vengeance payment for her son.
She came then to Heorot where careless Shield-Danes
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slumbered peacefully. They soon found there
the old night-torture when in through the door
came Grendel’s mother. Her great warrior-strength
was less than her son’s as little as a woman’s
is weaker in warfare than a weaponed man’s
when bloodied swordblades smith-hammered edges
slash helmet-crowns hard over boar-crests
gold-handled swords slash against helmets.
Sleeping warriors woke to the fight
reached for swordblades raised linden-shields
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hoisted their weapons—helmets and corselets
were left by the benches in that lunging raid.
She yearned to leave them longed to be away
flee with her life when they found her there—
quickly she snared a single warrior
fastened in her claws as she fled to the moor.
That ill-fated Dane was dearest to Hrothgar
of all warriors in that wide kingdom
powerful guardian plucked from his rest
bountiful thane. Nor was Beowulf there
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who slept through the night in a separate bower
champion of the Geats with his great treasures.
Sorrow came to Heorot—she snatched from the gable
that high-hung monster-arm—horror came back then
to the wakening death-hall. It was woeful bargaining
each party to pay the price of slaughter
with a loved-one’s life.
That forlorn treasure-king,
sorrow-gripped lord, sang a mourning-song
grieved for his heart-thane hearth-friend and warrior
a king’s counselor killed in his hall.
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Quickly was Beowulf battle-weary guest
called to his bower. At breaking of day
he went with his shieldmen walked through the dawn
to the king’s rest house—that bereft throne-warden
wondered in misery if the Wielder of us all
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