Beowulf
Page 11
What he long has held too little contents him
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greed grapples him he gives no longer
gold-patterned rings reckons no ending
of borrowed treasure-years bright earth-fortune
granted by God the great Measurer.
The last of splendor slips into darkness
that loaned king-body cracks upon the pyre
swirls away in smoke—soon another one
steps to the gift-throne shares his goldhoard
turns that treachery to trust and reward.
Guard against life-bale beloved Beowulf
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best of warriors and win for your soul
eternal counsel—do not care for pride
great shield-champion! The glory of your strength
lasts for a while but not long after
sickness or spear-point will sever you from life
or the fire’s embrace or the flood’s welling
or the file-hard sword or the flight of a spear
or bane-bearing age—the brightness of your eye
will dim and darken. Destiny is waiting
and death will take you down into the earth.
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I have held the Shield-Danes for half a century
ruled them under heaven harbored them from war
against many a people on this proud earthyard—
no enemy to peace asking for bloodshed
spearshaft or swordedge for settlement of feuds.
Then in my homeland happiness departed
joy turned to sorrow when jealous-mad Grendel
careless murderer came into my hall—
through long winters I leaned on my sorrow
a breaking of mind. To the bright Measurer
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thanks for deliverance from long heartache,
for this swordstruck head severed from that murderer
this grim death-trophy through the Deemer’s mercy.
But sit now to banquet songs and ale-cups
with your hearth-companions. By peaceful morninglight
goldgifts will travel from my treasure to you.”
Beowulf was gladdened by those bountiful words
sat by the gift-throne with his Geats around him.
Bright bench-laughter bore to the rafters
sounds of victory servants brought ale-cups
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to Geats and to Danes. Then dark night-shadows
loomed above the hall. Hrothgar rose then
king of the Spear-Danes called for night-sleep
for silence and peace. Soon then Beowulf
yearning for bedrest bent to his hall-bench
sank gratefully to slumber in Heorot
once more a night-guest in that mighty hallroom.
The Danes’ thane-servant thoughtful of their needs
spread bench-covers bore final cupfuls
readied the meadhall for rest in the night.
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The great-hearted slept in that steep-gabled hall
tall and gold-trimmed—Geats rested there
till the black-shining raven raised morning-gray
a lifting of darkness. Dawnlight came shoving
bright above Heorot banishing night-creatures.
Hygelac’s thanes hailed the sunrise
yearned for the sea a sail to carry them
to that known headland the hall of their king.
Their hero commanded Hrunting to be borne
returned to Unferth old Ecglaf’s son
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urged him to take it—he told well of it
thanked him for the loan of that long-famed warblade
shining warrior-steel sharp helmet-bane
when good men gather to gamble their lives.
Then sea-ready warriors with their strong weapons
yearned to be gone. Their good sail-skipper
stepped to the gift-throne stood before the king—
gladman Hrothgar hailed him once more.
Beowulf spoke son of Ecgtheow:
“Now we Geat-thanes guests across the sea
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are set for sailing over steep wave-rolls
home to Hygelac. Here you welcomed us
opened your goldhoard granted us treasures.
If ever on this earth I may earn your love
help you in sorrow sickness or defeat
save you from slaughter my ship will return.
If news comes to me across the seaswell
that scurrilous neighbors scheme for your life
trap you in Heorot like those hell-spawned demons
I will sail back to you bring you an army
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thousands of linden-shields. My lord Hygelac
king of the Geats kin and battle-friend
still young in winters stands behind me—
he will back me well when I bring help to you
a forest of spears file-sharp warblades
a navy of shieldmen when your need is great.
If Hrethric travels to the home of the Geats
I promise you now, proud treasure-king,
he will find friends there. Fortune abroad
comes to the sailor who himself prevails.”
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Hrothgar answered helm of the Danes:
“These stronghearted words were sent down to you
from the high Wielder. I have heard no man
so young in winters so wealthy in thought.
You are strong in body bold in mind-courage
wise within your words. I will wager you now
if it comes to the Geats that cold battle-death
a whining spearshaft or sharp battle-blade
sends from this earth that son of Hrethel—
if age or steel strikes down your uncle
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leads your dear king from these loaned earth-days
and you live after him beloved Beowulf—
Geats will not find a greater hall-thane
to raise to their gift-throne. Your good mindthoughts
bring more pleasure the more you stay with us.
You’ve brought to us all to both our people
to men of the Geats and these good Spear-Danes
peace between us no time for warplay
anger and hatred as in earlier days.
As long as I wield this wide kingdom
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gifts will take ship from shore to shore
gold will bring greetings to Götland from Denmark
the ring-prowed ship will shove across the waves
gifts and love-tokens. We will live in friendship
forged against enemies fast in loyalty
your people and mine proud blood-brothers.”
Then Hrothgar gave to his good heart-son
twelve treasure-gifts to that tall champion
bade him go then to greet Hygelac
sail there in safety with his strong prowship.
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Then the old battle-king embraced his hero
clasped him in his arms kissed him farewell
with tears of regret for that time of parting
sweet sorrow-thoughts. It seemed to them both
the old wiseman and the warrior from Götland
that no more in that life loaned by the Measurer
would they share hearth-words. To the Shield-Danes’ king
that young sea-warrior was so strongly beloved
it swelled in his heart surged with regret
that this son of Ecgtheow would sail far from him
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back towards his home. Then Beowulf left
gold-proud warrior gladdened with treasure
measured the sea-path. His sail was waiting
riding on anchor ready for the sea.
The bountiful gifts of that good Dane-lord
were praised by the men. That proud hall-king
was blameless in all best of warriors
till age wearied him withered his strength.
They came to the sea sailors from abroad
a band of warriors bearing ring-corselets
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linked armor-mail. The landwarden watched
as their burnished weapons winked in the sun—
from the high cliff-top he hailed all of them,
no challenge in his heart but cheerful greeting,
rode to meet them made them welcome
in their bright armor back to their keel-ship.
The sand-bound vessel soon was gift-laden
its broad board-deck burdened with gold
horses and treasures—the high mast towered
over Hrothgar’s bounty bright with rewards.
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To the good beach-guard Beowulf gave then
a gold-wound sword a gift to honor him
on the benches of Heorot bettered by that weapon
sword for a champion.
The ship took wind
drove across the waves from the Danish cliff-coast.
The sail grew taut tugged by ocean-winds
mast-ropes trembled tight sail-anchors—
piling seaswells pounded clinker-boards
bound for Götland—the good wave-cutter
plunged into the foam flew with sail-wing
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followed the swan-road skimmed across the sea
till headlands of home hovered above them
the known seacliffs—nudged by the wind
the keel carried them to calm shore-sand.
The coastguard came riding ready for beaching—
through long watch-days he waited for their mast
gazed at the skyline for signs of homecoming.
They roped to shore-sand the ring-prowed ship
lashed to its anchor the lean wave-plow
safe from surf-crashing surging water-throngs.
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Treasures were borne from the broad ship-bosom
war-gear and horses. The high meadhall
lifted its gables by the looming seawall
where Hygelac waited wise Hrethel’s son
good treasure-king with his Geats around him.
The hall towered there high above the sea
where Hygd the fair one Haereth’s daughter-child
waited with her king wise and generous
though young in winters worthy folk-queen
made for a kingdom—no miser was she
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with gifts to her Geats gold and weapons
treasure from her hands.
AT THIS POINT a nameless woman is abruptly introduced as a contrast to Hygd and a puzzle to Beowulf scholars. A vicious torturer and man-killer before marriage, she is sent “overseas” by her father to marry King Offa, who tames her into a model queen, her progression thus being the opposite of Heremod’s. The abruptness of this allusion and obscurity of her name, also the elaborate praise of Offa, have caused much speculation about the possible spuriousness of this passage, and since two historic kings were named Offa—the first a Continental king of the Angles in the fourth century and the second an English king of the Mercians in the eighth—it is impossible to determine what the Beowulf poet had in mind, if indeed it is not an interpolation in honor of the Mercian king, in whose reign some critics have suggested that the poem may have been composed. Garmund is the father of the Continental Offa, Eomer is Offa’s son, and Hemming is their kin.
Beowulf then predicts trouble between Danes and Heathobards, which will eventually lead to the burning of Heorot foreshadowed earlier in the poem. Hoping to settle an old feud, Hrothgar has betrothed his daughter Freawaru to Ingeld, son of King Froda of the Heathobards, who was slain by Danes in battle. Beowulf, in his report to Hygelac, then imagines that an old Heathobard warrior, incensed by a young member of Freawaru’s retinue who struts about wearing the sword of a slain Heathobard warrior, will urge the son of the slain warrior to take revenge, after which Ingeld will be forced to renew hostilities.
Beowulf’s unpromising youth is a common folktale motif also found in a Latin life of Offa the Angle. Beowulf is granted a large landholding by Hygelac—“seven thousand,” the poet says, without further specification—but in any case it is nearly half of the Geatish kingdom, though somewhat less than Hygelac’s holding.
She tortured and murdered
powerful princess proud king’s daughter—
not one hall-thane hero or servant
save the fond father of that fearsome maid
dared look at her by the light of day—
his hands would be locked lashed with death-bonds
no hope for his life—that harmless crime
would soon be settled with a slashing blade
swift swordbites would sever from life
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that pitiful wretch. No peaceful lady
would torture her thanes truss them for death
condemn to the blade dear retainers
for imaginary insults to her maiden honor.
Hemming’s kinsman calmed that slaughter-maid—
ale-drinkers say that she softened hate-moments