That lord threw away his war-trappings and trust,
For they proved useless when the battle broke out, 2870
And the great worm wanted to take his life.
The people’s king had no need to boast
Of the good courage of such battle-companions.
Yet the Ruler of victories shaped the strife
So that Beowulf alone might slay the worm, 2875
Destroy the dragon, wield vengeance with a sword
In his time of need. I had little power to protect him
But was able to help beyond my means.
The deadly dragon grew steadily weaker
After I struck him with my sword. The fierce fire 2880
That flamed from his head died down.
No crowd of defenders came to the king’s aid
In his darkest hour. Now your inheritance
Of ancient treasure and homeland joy,
The giving of swords, receiving of rings— 2885
Your future has fled with your lost courage.
You and your kin must lose your land rights
When neighboring nobles hear of your flight.
Your hall-joy is gone—your glory is buried.
Death is better for you than a life of shame.” 2890
Then Wiglaf commanded the battle-outcome
Proclaimed in the camp over the sea-cliffs
To the band of sad-hearted shield-warriors
Who’d waited the long morning to discover
If their dear lord was alive or dead. 2895
The messenger galloped off with harrowing news,
Held back nothing from the people’s hearing:
“Now the joy-giver and hall-guardian,
The lord of the Geats, sleeps in his death-bed,
With a blanket of slaughter wrought by the worm, 2900
The ancient serpent who lies beside him,
The dragon struck down by his deadly dagger.
His sword could not slice through worm-scales.
Wiglaf son of Weohstan sits beside Beowulf,
The living warrior keeping his heart-weary 2905
Watch over the dead, keening for his lost lord,
Guarding them both—the loved and the loathed.
Now the Geats are in for a terrible time,
The sure threat of war from the Franks and Frisians,
When the neighboring nations hear the news 2910
Of Beowulf’s death, the fall of the king.
The old strife between us is no great secret.
Our feud with them began when Hygelac
Sailed to their shores with a seafaring army,
Where the enemy assailed him, attacked quickly 2915
With a stronger force, made the man of the Geats
Bow down in his mail-coat, clutching the ground.
That king gave no more gifts in the hall,
Trust and treasure to his loyal retainers.
The King of the Franks was never our friend. 2920
And let’s not expect any peace from the Swedes,
Any keeping of promises from old enemies.
Everyone knows how Ongentheow their king
Robbed Hæthcyn of his life near Hrefnawudu,
The son of Hrethel, when the Geats in their pride, 2925
Their battle-arrogance, attacked the Swedes.
Ohthere’s father, Ongentheow the king,
Old but terrible, fiercely struck back,
Killing Hæthcyn, the sea-raiders’ king,
Rescuing his wife whom the Geat had seized, 2930
The old queen bereft of her family gold,
Mother of Onela and Ohthere, her sons.
Ongentheow followed his deadly foes,
Who fled leaderless to the refuge of Hrefnawudu.
The Swedes laid siege to the war-weary Geats, 2935
The remnant of the sword-fight, threatening them
Throughout the night with savage vows,
Saying they intended to slice them with swords,
Greet them with slaughter when morning came,
Hang them on gallows for the ravens to eat, 2940
A breakfast for birds. Relief for the grieving
Came at dawn when the Geats gratefully heard
Hygelac’s horn trumpeting that help was coming,
The sign of an army advancing on the road.
The Swedes and Geats left a trail of blood 2945
In that rush to slaughter. Everyone saw
The tracks of blood, stoking the feud.
Ongentheow the brave began to back off,
Weary with his kinsmen, to his own stronghold.
He had heard the horn sound a warrior’s warning, 2950
Knew the power of the proud Geatish prince,
His strength and savvy in waging war.
He doubted his weary troops could resist
The new onslaught of savage sea-warriors
And worried for the safety of his wife and sons, 2955
So he pulled his war-troops back to a shelter,
An old king holing up behind an earth-wall.
The Geats gave pursuit, dogging the heels
Of the Swedes, overrunning the camp,
Raising the standard of Hygelac over the field. 2960
Then the grizzled Ongentheow was laid low
By the sword of Eofor, son of Wonred,
After being wounded by Wulf, Eofor’s brother,
Who struck him first with his hard sword
So that blood-streams surged from his head, 2965
From under his hair. The old Swede was not afraid,
But paid Wulf back with a harder battle-blow,
When the king gave Wulf his sword’s greeting.
Wulf, son of Wonred, daring destruction
Could not answer Ongentheow with a counter-blow 2970
Because the king had cut through his helmet,
Hacking his head. He was streaming with blood
And had to lie down. He fell on the earth.
He was not doomed to die but fated to recover
From the Swedish wound. When Wulf swooned, 2975
His brother Eofor, Hygelac’s thane,
Lifted his broad sword, an old blade of giants,
Slashing the helmet of the giant Ongentheow
Across the shield-wall. The king fell,
Guardian of the Swedes, his life severed. 2980
Then many of the Geats gathered Wulf up
When fate turned the battle in their favor
With a slaughter of Swedes and a field of corpses.
Eofor then plundered Ongentheow’s body,
Stripping the king of his war-corselet, 2985
Hard-hilted sword, and huge helmet.
He brought that war-gear back to Hygelac.
The Geatish king accepted his trust and treasure,
Promising him rich rewards among the warriors.
The lord of the Geats, the son of Hrethel, 2990
Gave Wulf and Eofor, when they came home,
Untold treasures for their battle-prowess—
A hundred thousand in land and rings,
In gifts and gold. No man on middle-earth
Could fault the rewards that the brothers reaped 2995
For their battle-deeds. And the king gave Eofor
His only daughter as a marriage-pledge,
A peace-weaver to grace his home.
That’s the history of hatred and hostility,
Of savagery and feud, between Swedes and Geats, 3000
That will spur their shield-warriors to seek us out,
Once they learn that our lord is lifeless,
Who guarded our kingdom, land, and treasure
Against all enemies, keeping us safe
As a hero should, protecting his people. 3005
Now we must hasten to see our king,
Bring back the ruler who gave us rings,
Tokens of trust
, carry our lord
To his resting place on the funeral pyre.
Let’s not begrudge him gold, offer only 3010
Some small share to melt with the brave man,
For we have here a dragon’s hoard,
An untold treasure, dearly bought,
Grimly paid for with our lord’s life.
The fire shall devour this gold, these rings, 3015
A web of flame embrace the giver.
No man may wear these rings in remembrance—
No woman can wrap her neck in this collar,
These links of gold. Sad-hearted, the Geats
Must now wander new worlds, 3020
Stripped of inheritance in strange countries,
Now that their leader has laid down laughter.
Now our hands must wake to morning spears
And battle-beasts, not sweet harp music.
The dark raven shall sing its feasting song, 3025
Tell the ravenous eagle how men tasted
When he and the hungry wolf plundered corpses.”
So the messenger brought back dire news,
A hateful speech. He didn’t hold back
About their past or future. Tearfully the troop 3030
Of cowards rose up, walked without hope
To Earnaness, the high headland,
Where they gazed in wonder on the strange sight.
They saw on the sand their lifeless lord,
A gift-giver lying in endless bed-rest. 3035
That was the last day of Beowulf their lord,
Battle-warrior, king of the Geats.
His death was awesome, uncanny.
What was stranger was the serpent with him,
The worm at his side, a loathsome mate. 3040
The grim fire-dragon was glazed by flame,
Coated in colors, fifty feet long.
Sometimes he’d soared in the joyful wind,
Sometimes dived down to his secret lair,
The last of his earth-caves where he met death. 3045
Beside him lay piles of cups and pitchers,
Swords and dishes, gnawed by rust,
As if blighted by a thousand years
In the earth’s embrace. The ancient treasure,
Heritage of the hoard, was sheathed in a spell— 3050
So that no man might enter the ring-hall,
Touch the treasure through time,
Except through God’s gift, the King of victories,
Who is man’s protector. Only He could choose
The man who could open the hoard at last. 3055
It’s clear that the one who unrightly hid
The glittering treasure, rings and riches,
Gold in the ground, got nothing from it.
The scaly hoard-guardian slew the warrior,
The rarest of heroes who avenged that feud. 3060
No one knows how or where or when
A glorious warrior will meet his end,
No longer dwell in the meadhall with his kin.
So it was with Beowulf when he sought strife
And the barrow-guard, not knowing 3065
He was lifting his sword on his last day.
The great princes who first buried the hoard
Laid on that treasure a timeless curse
That any man who dug it up before Doomsday
Would be guilty of sin, chained in hell, 3070
Tormented by demons at their heathen shrines,
Unless he saw more readily than before,
The grace of the owner’s charmed gift—
Gazed at the giving instead of the gold.
Wiglaf spoke, son of Weohstan: 3075
“Often many must suffer for the will of one,
As we do now. Nothing we said
Could persuade our prince, defender of our kingdom,
Not to seek the dragon, the guardian of gold,
But to let him live, lie where he was, 3080
In his old barrow till the end of time.
He held to his high destiny with the dragon.
The hoard is here, grimly gained.
The fierce fate that drew our king here
Against our counsel was too strong. 3085
I’ve been in the barrow, seen the serpent’s
Beautiful gems under the earth-wall,
When the way was opened uneasily to me.
I seized as much as a man could carry
Of that burden of gold in my hands and arms, 3090
Bore them beyond the cave to my king,
Who was still alive, conscious and alert.
He spoke out of sorrow, out of old age,
Asked me to greet you. The king commanded us
To build a high barrow in the place of his pyre, 3095
To honor our hero and his glorious deeds—
A grand monument like the man himself.
He was the most worthy of men in this world
As long as he lived in the wealth of hall-joy.
Let’s go see the treasure again, the serpent’s hoard 3100
Of gold and gems, jewels and heirlooms,
In the heart of the cave. I’ll lead the way
So you can see the precious rings and stones,
Bright trappings and broad gold.
Let Beowulf’s bier be quickly built, 3105
So when we come out, we can carry our king,
Our beloved prince to a place of peace
Where he can rest in the protection of the Lord.”
Then the brave warrior, Weohstan’s son,
Ordered warriors to announce the message 3110
That powerful men, leaders and land-owners,
Should bring firewood from far forests
For Beowulf’s pyre. Wiglaf spoke:
“Now darkening flames must devour the prince
Of warriors who long withstood war-storm, 3115
Iron-rain, the sharp wind of arrows shot
Over shield-walls, driven by bow-strings,
When shaft served barb, death-feathers whistling.”
Then Wiglaf, wise son of Weohstan,
Summoned seven warriors from the troop, 3120
Collected the best to enter the cave,
Under the earth-wall, the evil roof,
Following the torch-bearer to the treasure.
No lots needed to be drawn to loot the hoard—
They all rushed to plunder the treasure-cave 3125
When they saw it unguarded, unused,
Wasting away. No man mourned
The loss of that treasure. They plundered the hoard
And pushed the dragon over the sea-wall,
Plunging the worm to a watery grave, 3130
So the sea could embrace the body of the serpent,
The fiery dragon in the clutch of waves.
They loaded the twisted gold on their wagons,
Untold treasure of every kind,
And bore their king to Hronesness, 3135
The old battle-warrior. The Geats prepared
His funeral pyre, a splendid hoard
Hung with helmets, battle-shields,
Bright mail-coats, as Beowulf had asked.
In the middle they laid their battle-lord, 3140
Lamenting their leader, mourning the man.
There on the barrow they woke the flame,
The greatest of funeral fires, stoking the pyre.
The wood-smoke rose to the sound of wailing
In the curling fire. The blaze was fierce, 3145
Its fury twisted with the sound of keening.
The wind died down—the fire had ravaged
Beowulf’s bone-house, hot at the heart.
Sad in spirit, they mourned their prince;
Likewise a lonely old woman of the Geats, 3150
With her hair bound up, wove a sad lament
For her fallen lord, sang often of old feuds
Bound to fester,
a fearful strife,
The invasion of enemies, the slaughter of troops,
Slavery and shame. Heaven swallowed the smoke. 3155
Then the Geats built a barrow, broad and high,
On the sea-cliff to be seen by seafarers.
It took ten days to build that beacon,
A hero’s monument. The pyre’s remains,
The fire’s offering of ashes and dust, 3160
They wrapped in walls for the great warrior,
As beautiful as craftsmen knew how to build.
In that best of barrows, the Geats buried
Rings and gems, ornaments and heirlooms,
All they had hauled from the worm’s hoard. 3165
They returned to earth its ancient treasure,
The gifts of men now gold in the ground,
Where it still lies useless, unloved, unliving.
Then around Beowulf’s barrow twelve
Battle-warriors rode, mourning their prince, 3170
Keening for the king, shaping their praise
For a precious man. They spoke of sorrow,
They sang of courage, of great words and deeds,
Weaving glory with a weft of power.
When a lord’s life lifts from its body-home, 3175
It’s only fitting to mourn and remember,
To lament and praise. So the Geats recalled
His great heart and lamented his fall,
Keening and claiming that of all the kings,
He was the kindest of men, most generous and just, 3180
Most desiring of praise, most deserving of fame.
JUDITH
The beginning of Judith is lost, though how much exactly is lost is the subject of some debate. The poem is based on the book of Judith in the Latin Vulgate Bible, where the story is longer and more complicated (with a number of minor characters) and where Judith plays the role of the potential seductress to win access to Holofernes. The poetic version here is focused on the climactic scene of Judith’s righteous slaying of the Assyrian leader with God’s aid and the subsequent rout of the heathen army by the Hebrew troops. Some editors believe that because the poem only deals with the end of the biblical story, a significant portion of the text has been lost, but Huppé, in his edition, argues that “the Old English poet characteristically dealt with biblical narratives selectively” (1970, 137). The emphasis on the central action heightens the drama and focuses on the role of the heroine as both a Germanic woman-warrior and a Christian soldier-saint. Fulk and Cain point out that “the poet polarizes the characters, drawing a sharp contrast between the licentious Holofernes and the virtuous Judith, who is cast as a kind of miles Dei, saint-like in her faith that God will deliver her people” (117). Chickering argues that the poem’s “confident exuberance takes many forms … all of which stabilize and reinforce the poem’s simple central themes of Judith’s wisdom and faith, and God’s mercy and grace towards His faithful” (42). Orchard notes that in the Vulgate, Judith is described as “a loyal ‘widow’ (vidua), and it is her chastity which is stressed … [while] in Judith itself, by contrast, her chastity or widowhood are scarcely mentioned, and instead we are invited to consider her beauty, courage, and wisdom” (1985, 9).
The Complete Old English Poems Page 79
