The Complete Old English Poems

by Craig Williamson

Greet them with gold over the sea-bird’s bath.

  The ring-necked ships will carry this sharing

  Of gifts as tokens of honor and friendship. 1860

  I know our peoples will act honorably

  In the old way toward friend and foe.”

  Then king Hrothgar, Healfdene’s son,

  Protector of thanes, gave twelve treasures

  To Beowulf in the hall, bade him go safely home 1865

  To his own people and come back again.

  Then the king from a long Danish line,

  Lord of the Scyldings, old and wise,

  Kissed and embraced that best of thanes,

  Holding his head while the tears ran down 1870

  His grizzled face. He was of two minds,

  But it seemed unlikely he would ever greet

  This Geat again or keep his counsel.

  So dear was Beowulf, his mood was keening—

  He could not hold back the heart’s surges, 1875

  The waves of sorrow, the spirit’s longing

  Deep in his breast for this beloved man—

  It burned in his blood. Then Beowulf left,

  Glorious with gold, strode over the green,

  Proud of his gifts. The wave-walking ship 1880

  Waited for its owner, tethered on its anchor.

  On that sea-journey, the gifts of Hrothgar

  Were hailed by all. He was a blameless king

  Until old age sapped his strength,

  Stole his joy as it does with so many. 1885

  Then young warriors walked to the shore,

  Bearing mail-coats, ring-locked battle-shirts,

  Woven steel. The coast-guard met them again.

  He offered no taunts from the top of the cliff

  But rode down to greet them, glorious guests— 1890

  Said that their return would be richly welcomed

  At home by the Geats when the men in bright armor

  Disembarked from their boat. Then on the strand,

  The sea-bellied ship was loaded with armor,

  The ring-prowed craft with horses and treasure. 1895

  The mast towered up over the gathering of gifts,

  From Hrothgar’s hoard. Beowulf gave the boat-guard

  A sword wound with gold—he was always honored

  Afterward in the meadhall for that heirloom gift.

  The ship sailed out, plowing deep water, 1900

  Leaving Danish lands. The mast was rigged

  With a swath of sail, a great sea-cape,

  Bound by ropes. The sea-wood groaned,

  Timbers creaked; the wave-winds did not hinder

  That sea-craft from its course. The foamy-necked floater 1905

  Rode the swells, walked over waves—

  The boat with the bound prow crossed deep water

  Until seafarers could see the cliffs of the Geats.

  The ship sprang forward, driven by wind,

  Strode for the sand, stood up on the shore. 1910

  The Geats’ coast-guard who gazed at the sea,

  Watching for warriors to welcome them home,

  Hurried down to the shore, eager to greet them.

  They moored the wide-bellied ship to the shore

  With an anchor-rope, so the surging waves 1915

  Would not bring wrack and ruin to the wood.

  Beowulf ordered the prince’s treasure—

  Armor, trappings, gems, and gold—

  Borne from the ship. Soon they saw Hygelac,

  Son of Hrethel, their own gift-giver, 1920

  Whose hall of thanes nestled near the sea-wall,

  A beautiful building. The king sat proudly

  On his high throne. His young queen Hygd,

  Wise and well-taught, courteous and accomplished,

  Hæreth’s daughter, had dwelled in his hall 1925

  Only a few years. She was generous to the Geats,

  Not grasping of gifts or hoarding of hall-treasures.

  She was not like Fremu, the queen of crime,

  Who served up terror. No one except her lord

  Dared look at her directly in the light of day. 1930

  Whoever stared received the sword’s edge—

  Whoever gazed got seized and shackled—

  Whoever looked had a shortened life.

  After any arrest, the case was soon settled

  By the stroke of a sword, the shadow of justice, 1935

  The wail of slaughter, the blood of sorrow.

  That was not a queen’s proper custom—

  A precious woman should be a peace-weaver,

  Knitting trust not terror. She should not steal

  A man’s life with a trumped-up insult. 1940

  Marriage to Offa put an end to that.

  Men shared her story at the mead-benches,

  Said she caused less harm, cursed fewer lives,

  After she was offered, sheathed in gold,

  To the young warrior, a prince to his people, 1945

  When she sought Offa’s hall with her father’s blessing,

  Followed his counsel across the waves,

  Found a wedding in her husband’s wielding.

  There on the throne of Offa’s hall,

  Her fate turned—she enjoyed a better life. 1950

  She was generous, glorious and good,

  Useful to all, kind and loving

  To her husband the king, the lord of warriors

  And prince of men—the best, I believe,

  Between the seas, of all mankind. 1955

  Offa was honored far and wide

  For his keen courage and generous giving.

  He was sharp in battle, wise in ruling.

  He held his homeland till Eomer was born,

  Grandson of Garmund, kinsman of Hemming, 1960

  Mighty in battle, a comfort to men.

  Then the brave Beowulf with his band of warriors

  Walked along the shore, strode across the sand.

  The world-candle shone, the sun rising high

  In the southern sky. The warriors went eagerly 1965

  To the hall of Hygelac, protector of men,

  Slayer of Ongentheow in the Swedish feud,

  A young battle-king, generous with rings.

  Hygelac heard of Beowulf’s coming:

  Men said there in his homestead near the sea 1970

  That the guardian of warriors, his shield-companion,

  Had come back alive to the Geatish court,

  Safe from the strife and sport of battle.

  The hall was prepared with a place for the men.

  The battle-survivor and the proud king, 1975

  Kinsmen together, traded talk,

  Both formal greetings and shared stories.

  Queen Hygd, Hæreth’s daughter,

  Moved with mead-cups through the hall,

  Carrying kindness—she loved the people— 1980

  Offering spirits to the outstretched hands

  In the high hall. Hygelac was curious—

  He began to question his brave companion,

  Wondering what marvels the Sea-Geats had met:

  “How was your journey, beloved Beowulf, 1985

  As you swiftly resolved to ride the seas,

  Stalking battle over salt water

  In the hall of Heorot? Did you bring a remedy

  For Hrothgar’s woe, his well-known grief?

  My heart welled up with care and sorrow— 1990

  My spirit quailed at your dangerous quest.

  I urged you to leave that slaughter-fiend alone,

  Let the Danes do battle with the monster Grendel,

  Deal with the dread of their own demon.

  I thank God you survived, came home sound.” 1995

  Beowulf spoke, son of Ecgtheow:

  “It’s no secret, my lord Hygelac,

  What happened at that monster-meeting,

  The clash and combat of two
mighty creatures.

  I grappled with that grim beast Grendel 2000

  Who had long torn Heorot apart with terror,

  Tormenting the Scyldings, devouring the Danes.

  I avenged them all, finished that feud,

  So that Grendel’s kin, any savage creatures

  Who may stalk the earth to the end of time, 2005

  Snared in sin, will have no reason

  To boast of that battle, that clash at dawn.

  I traveled to Heorot to greet Hrothgar

  In his ring-hall to make known my mission.

  When the son of Healfdene heard my purpose, 2010

  He gave me a seat with his own sons.

  The hall-troop was happy—I never saw more

  Joyful mead-drinkers under one roof.

  Sometimes Wealhtheow, the wondrous queen,

  The peace-weaver of peoples, walked the hall, 2015

  Cheering up warriors, offering the gift of rings

  To young retainers before she sat down.

  Sometimes Freawaru, Hrothgar’s daughter,

  Carried an ale-cup or gold-rimmed horn

  Around to retainers, offering a drink 2020

  From the jeweled vessel, the communal cup.

  Draped in gold, she is promised to Ingeld,

  Son of Froda, prince of the Heathobards,

  Enemies of the Danes. This peace-weaving plan

  Is Hrothgar’s hope to settle the feud 2025

  And buy off strife with the gift of his daughter,

  But princes perish and slaughter sneaks back

  In the slayer’s spear, even if the bride is good.

  It may irk Ingeld, lord of the Heathobards,

  And his proud thanes, when he enters the hall 2030

  With his foreign bride, that her retinue of Danes,

  Aliens and enemies, rejoices at the feast.

  They’ll see Scyldings bearing their ancestral heirlooms—

  Bright treasures, battle-gear, sharp swords.

  At one time their fathers wielded these weapons 2035

  Until bitter sword-swing and shield-play

  Led to death and the loss of heirloom treasures.

  An old warrior will remember, while drinking beer

  With a fierce heart, his ancestor’s hilt-ring,

  And the slaughter of Heathobards, his close kin, 2040

  At the hands of the Danes. His heart is grim.

  He unlocks sorrow, unpacks hatred,

  Tests the resolve of a fierce young warrior,

  Stirs up savage strife with these words:

  ‘I wonder if you recognize your father’s sword, 2045

  That dear family blade he bore into battle

  His last time in armor, when the Danes slew him,

  Fierce Scyldings seized the battlefield,

  And Withergyld lay dead among Heathobards.

  Now some slayer’s son sits in our hall, 2050

  Drinking our mead, boasting of that battle,

  His mouth full of murder, bearing your treasure,

  The family honor which you rightly own.’

  He rakes up the past with proud, bitter words,

  Pricking his conscience over family killing, 2055

  Till the time comes when the queen’s retainer,

  Who is wearing that sword of stolen honor,

  Lies sleeping in death-rest, slain by the sword,

  Drenched in blood for his father’s deeds.

  The avenger escapes—he knows his homeland. 2060

  Then the oath will be broken, the promise of peace,

  And Ingeld’s love for his wife will be cooled

  By seething sorrow. Some deceit bedevils

  The tenuous trust between Heathobard and Dane.

  Theirs is not a friendship or a marriage to last. 2065

  Only the bond of bitterness will hold true.

  But I was speaking of Grendel. You should know,

  Great Hrothgar, my giver of treasures,

  What became of the hard hand-fight of heroes.

  After heaven’s gem, the glorious sun, 2070

  Had slipped past earth, the night-stalker came,

  The savage spirit seeking Hrothgar’s hall

  And its heap of yet unscathed warriors.

  Hondscio was fated to be the first hall-guard

  Nearest the door, a monster’s dinner. 2075

  Grendel was mouth-slayer to that armored thane—

  He swallowed the life of that dear man.

  But the bone-biter, tooth-slayer, flesh-eater,

  Had no intention of leaving the gold-hall

  Empty-handed. He paid me a visit 2080

  With his fierce hand-grip, a clutch of claws.

  He had a pouch like a great glove to put me in—

  It was made of devil’s craft and dragon skin.

  The demon beast exulting in dark deeds

  Intended to stuff my flesh and innocence in, 2085

  Pile me up with a pack of warriors in his pouch.

  He found this impossible when I stood up.

  I stopped his stuffing, filled with fury,

  Driven by rage. It would take too long

  To recount the battle, tell how I repaid 2090

  The people’s bane, the enemy of mankind.

  There with my works I honored the Geats

  And all of our people, my glorious prince.

  He slipped away, enjoying his life

  For a little while, but he left a gift, 2095

  His right hand, a token of the terror

  He found in Heorot that horrible night.

  The miserable wretch left for his lair,

  Sinking to the lake-bottom like a stone.

  For that slaughter-rush, the king of the Scyldings 2100

  Gave me plated gold, a good reward,

  A trust of treasures, when morning came,

  And we shared together both talk and table.

  There was song and story, a hall rejoicing;

  A wise old warrior unlocked his word-hoard, 2105

  Sometimes singing with hands on harp-wood

  Songs of truth and sorrow, sometimes shaping

  Strange stories. The great-hearted king,

  A battle-warrior bound in years, began to recall

  The strength of his youth. His heart surged 2110

  As his mind reached back over many winters.

  We were happy in the hall, sharing pleasures

  All day long till the dim night drew down.

  Then the slaughter-ghost, the grief-slinger,

  Grendel’s mother came to the death-hall 2115

  Where her son was slain, where the boy-beast

  Discovered the battle-grip of the Geats.

  That monstrous wife, that horrid hag,

  Avenged her son, ate Æschere whole,

  A wise counselor—his life departed. 2120

  There was no body to burn on the pyre

  When morning came, no death-bed fire

  To ease his rest. She had borne his body

  In her fiendish arms, her evil embrace,

  Beneath the brackish mountain streams, 2125

  Back home to her lair under a loathly lake.

  That was for Hrothgar the greatest of griefs.

  He implored me out of loyalty to you

  And deep-hearted grief to do a warrior’s work,

  Risking life and limb in the tumult of waves, 2130

  To finish the feud and find glory.

  He promised the Geats a great reward.

  I swam to the slaughter—that’s widely known—

  Discovered the cave-guard under deep waters.

  We locked arms—the lake boiled with blood. 2135

  In the grim hall of Grendel’s mother,

  I severed her head with a great sword.

  I barely managed to escape with my life,

  But fate was with me. The lord of the Danes

  Gave me many r
ewards, magnificent treasures. 2140

  So King Hrothgar kept proper customs,

  Held nothing back in the way of riches.

  The son of Healfdene opened his hoard,

  Gave me treasures of my own choosing,

  A generous meed for my fierce might. 2145

  I offer them to you, my warrior-king;

  I count on your kindness—I’ve few kinsmen left.”

  Then Beowulf ordered his rewards brought in—

  A war-standard with a boar’s head,

  A battle-helmet with a beautiful, high crest, 2150

  A gray iron mail-coat, a great battle-sword.

  He also offered this gift of words:

  “Hrothgar gave me this battle-gear—

  The wise king counseled me to convey to you

  Both treasure and story, to recall their history. 2155

  He said that Heorogar, his elder brother

  Who was king before Hrothgar, held this armor,

  Treasured it so highly that he firmly refused

  To give it up to his own son Heoroweard,

  Though he was loyal and loved. Use it well.” 2160

  I’ve heard there were four horses,

  Swift and similar, apple-fallow,

  Brought in next. Beowulf gave his gifts,

  Steeds and goods, to his beloved king,

  As a kinsman should do—not weave a web 2165

  Of greed and malice, craft and cunning,

  A gift of death to comrades and king.

  Hygelac’s nephew was loyal to him;

  In hard battles each helped the other.

  I’ve heard that he gave the neck-ring to Hygd, 2170

  The gold-wrought treasure from Queen Wealhtheow.

  He gave the king’s daughter three fine horses,

  Supple and saddle-bright. Hygd wore the necklace,

  A gift of gold, gleaming on her breast.

  Beowulf was brave in battle, honorable to all— 2175

  His glory was woven of good deeds.

  He killed no kinsmen, no hearth-companions

  In feuds or drunken fits. His heart was fierce

  But not savage—his strength was God’s gift,

  The greatest of mankind. He was slow to start, 2180

  So the Geats never thought him great as a boy,

  Nor would the lord honor him with gifts

  In the meadhall. He seemed unstrong.

  No one knew how to take his measure.

  But the Geats were wrong—his time came. 2185

  Fate often turns, offers the unexpected—

  He found fame and glory after an unsung youth.

  Then the guardian of earls, Hygelac the king,

  Ordered in the heirloom of Hrethel his father,

  A glorious sword adorned with gold. 2190

  No blade was more treasured among the Geats.

  He laid the sword in Beowulf’s lap

  And gave him also a grant of land,