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Beowulf - Delphi Poets Series

Page 20

by Beowulf


  The evil fordoers in swallowing me down,

  Sitting round at the feast nigh the ground of the sea.

  Yea rather, a morning-tide, mangled by sword-edge

  Along the waves’ leaving up there did they lie

  Lull’d asleep with the sword, so that never sithence

  About the deep floods for the farers o’er ocean

  The way have they letted. Came the light from the eastward,

  The bright beacon of God, and grew the seas calm, 570

  So that the sea-nesses now might I look on,

  The windy walls. Thuswise Weird oft will be saving

  The earl that is unfey, when his valour availeth.

  Whatever, it happ’d me that I with the sword slew

  Nicors nine. Never heard I of fighting a night-tide

  ‘Neath the vault of the heavens was harder than that,

  Nor yet on the sea-streams of woefuller wight.

  Whatever, forth won I with life from the foes’ clutch

  All of wayfaring weary. But me the sea upbore,

  The flood downlong the tide with the weltering of waters, 580

  All onto the Finnland. No whit of thee ever

  Mid such strife of the battle-gear have I heard say,

  Such terrors of bills. Nor never yet Breca

  In the play of the battle, nor both you, nor either,

  So dearly the deeds have framed forsooth

  With the bright flashing swords; though of this naught I boast me.

  But thou of thy brethren the banesman becamest,

  Yea thine head-kin forsooth, for which in hell shalt thou

  Dree weird of damnation, though doughty thy wit be;

  For unto thee say I forsooth, son of Ecglaf, 590

  That so many deeds never Grendel had done,

  That monster the loathly, against thine own lord,

  The shaming in Hart-hall, if suchwise thy mind were,

  And thy soul e’en as battle-fierce, such as thou sayest.

  But he, he hath fram’d it that the feud he may heed not,

  The fearful edge-onset that is of thy folk,

  Nor sore need be fearful of the Victory-Scyldings.

  The need-pledges taketh he, no man he spareth

  Of the folk of the Danes, driveth war as he lusteth,

  Slayeth and feasteth unweening of strife 600

  With them of the Spear-Danes. But I, I shall show it,

  The Geats’ wightness and might ere the time weareth old,

  Shall bide him in war-tide. Then let him go who may go

  High-hearted to mead, sithence when the morn-light

  O’er the children of men of the second day hence,

  The sun clad in heaven’s air, shines from the southward.

  Then merry of heart was the meter of treasures,

  The hoary-man’d war-renown’d, help now he trow’d in;

  The lord of the Bright-Danes on Beowulf hearken’d,

  The folk-shepherd knew him, his fast-ready mind. 610

  There was laughter of heroes, and high the din rang

  And winsome the words were. Went Wealhtheow forth,

  The Queen she of Hrothgar, of courtesies mindful,

  The gold-array’d greeted the grooms in the hall,

  The free and frank woman the beaker there wended,

  And first to the East-Dane-folk’s fatherland’s warder,

  And bade him be blithe at the drinking of beer,

  To his people beloved, and lustily took he

  The feast and the hall-cup, that victory-fam’d King.

  Then round about went she, the Dame of the Helmings, 620

  And to doughty and youngsome, each deal of the folk there,

  Gave cups of the treasure, till now it betid

  That to Beowulf duly the Queen the ring-dighted,

  Of mind high uplifted, the mead-beaker bare.

  Then she greeted the Geat-lord, and gave God the thank,

  She, the wisefast In words, that the will had wax’d in her

  In one man of the earls to have trusting and troth

  For comfort from crimes. But the cup then he took,

  The slaughter-fierce warrior, from Wealhtheow the Queen.

  And then rim’d he the word, making ready for war, 630

  And Beowulf spake forth, the Ecgtheow’s bairn:

  E’en that in mind had I when up on holm strode I,

  And in sea-boat sat down with a band of my men,

  That for once and for all the will of your people

  Would I set me to work, or on slaughter-field cringe

  Fast in grip of the fiend; yea and now shall I frame

  The valour of earl-folk, or else be abiding

  The day of mine end, here down in the mead-hall.

  To the wife those his words well liking they were,

  The big word of the Geat; and the gold-adorn’d wended, 640

  The frank and free Queen to sit by her lord.

  And thereafter within the high hall was as erst

  The proud word outspoken and bliss on the people,

  Was the sound of the victory-folk, till on a sudden

  The Healfdene’s son would now be a-seeking

  His rest of the even: wotted he for the Evil

  Within the high hall was the Hild-play bedight,

  Sithence that the sun-light no more should they see,

  When night should be darkening, and down over all

  The shapes of the shadow-helms should be a-striding 650

  Wan under the welkin. Uprose then all war-folk;

  Then greeted the glad-minded one man the other,

  Hrothgar to Beowulf, bidding him hail,

  And the wine-hall to wield, and withal quoth the word:

  Never to any man erst have I given,

  Since the hand and the shield’s round aloft might I heave,

  This high hall of the Dane-folk, save now unto thee.

  Have now and hold the best of all houses,

  Mind thee of fame, show the might of thy valour!

  Wake the wroth one: no lack shall there be to thy willing 660

  If that wight work thou win and life therewithal.

  XI. NOW IS BEOWULF LEFT IN THE HALL ALONE WITH HIS MEN.

  Then wended him Hrothgar with the band of his warriors,

  The high-ward of the Scyldings from out of the hall,

  For then would the war-lord go seek unto Wealhtheow

  The Queen for a bed-mate. The glory of king-folk

  Against Grendel had set, as men have heard say,

  A hall-ward who held him a service apart

  In the house of the Dane-lord, for eoten-ward held he.

  Forsooth he, the Geat-lord, full gladly he trowed

  In the might of his mood and the grace of the Maker. 670

  Therewith he did off him his byrny of iron

  And the helm from his head, and his dighted sword gave,

  The best of all irons, to the thane that abode him,

  And bade him to hold that harness of battle.

  Bespake then the good one, a big word he gave out,

  Beowulf the Geat, ere on the bed strode he:

  Nowise in war I deem me more lowly

  In the works of the battle than Grendel, I ween;

  So not with the sword shall I lull him to slumber,

  Or take his life thuswise, though to me were it easy; 680

  Of that good wise he wots not, to get the stroke on me,

  To hew on my shield, for as stark as he shall be

  In the works of the foeman. So we twain a night-tide

  Shall forgo the sword, if he dare yet to seek

  The war without weapons. Sithence the wise God,

  The Lord that is holy, on which hand soever

  The glory may doom as due to him seemeth.

  Bowed down then the war-deer, the cheek-bolster took

  The face of the earl; and about him a many

  Of sea-warriors bold to their hall-sl
umber bow’d them; 690

  No one of them thought that thence away should he

  Seek ever again to his home the beloved,

  His folk or his free burg, where erst he was fed;

  For of men had they learn’d that o’er mickle a many

  In that wine-hall aforetime the fell death had gotten

  Of the folk of the Danes; but the Lord to them gave it,

  To the folk of the Weders, the web of war-speeding,

  Help fair and good comfort, e’en so that their foeman

  Through the craft of one man all they overcame,

  By the self-might of one. So is manifest truth 700

  That God the Almighty the kindred of men

  Hath wielded wide ever. Now by wan night there came,

  There strode in the shade-goer; slept there the shooters,

  They who that horn-house should be a-holding,

  All men but one man: to men was that known,

  That them indeed might not, since will’d not the Maker,

  The scather unceasing drag off ‘neath the shadow;

  But he ever watching in wrath ‘gainst the wroth one

  Mood-swollen abided the battle-mote ever.

  XII. GRENDEL COMETH INTO HART: OF THE STRIFE BETWIXT HIM AND BEOWULF.

  Came then from the moor-land, all under the mist-bents, 710

  Grendel a-going there, bearing God’s anger.

  The scather the ill one was minded of mankind

  To have one in his toils from the high hall aloft.

  ‘Neath the welkin he waded, to the place whence the wine-house,

  The gold-hall of men, most yarely he wist

  With gold-plates fair coloured; nor was it the first time

  That he unto Hrothgar’s high home had betook him.

  Never he in his life-days, either erst or thereafter,

  Of warriors more hardy or hall-thanes had found.

  Came then to the house the wight on his ways, 720

  Of all joys bereft; and soon sprang the door open,

  With fire-bands made fast, when with hand he had touch’d it;

  Brake the bale-heedy, he with wrath bollen,

  The mouth of the house there, and early thereafter

  On the shiny-fleck’d floor thereof trod forth the fiend;

  On went he then mood-wroth, and out from his eyes stood

  Likest to fire-flame light full unfair.

  In the high house beheld he a many of warriors,

  A host of men sib all sleeping together,

  Of man-warriors a heap; then laugh’d out his mood; 730

  In mind deem’d he to sunder, or ever came day,

  The monster, the fell one, from each of the men there

  The life from the body; for befell him a boding

  Of fulfilment of feeding: but weird now it was not

  That he any more of mankind thenceforward

  Should eat, that night over. Huge evil beheld then

  The Hygelac’s kinsman, and how the foul scather

  All with his fear-grips would fare there before him;

  How never the monster was minded to tarry,

  For speedily gat he, and at the first stour, 740

  A warrior a-sleeping, and unaware slit him,

  Bit his bone-coffer, drank blood a-streaming,

  Great gobbets swallow’d in; thenceforth soon had he

  Of the unliving one every whit eaten

  To hands and feet even: then forth strode he nigher,

  And took hold with his hand upon him the highhearted.

  The warrior a-resting; reach’d out to himwards

  The fiend with his hand, gat fast on him rathely

  With thought of all evil, and besat him his arm.

  Then swiftly was finding the herdsman of fouldeeds 750

  That forsooth he had met not in Middle-garth ever,

  In the parts of the earth, in any man else

  A hand-grip more mighty; then wax’d he of mood

  Heart-fearful, but none the more outward might he;

  Hence-eager his heart was to the darkness to hie him,

  And the devil-dray seek: not there was his service

  E’en such as he found in his life-days before.

  Then to heart laid the good one, the Hygelac’s kinsman,

  His speech of the even-tide; uplong he stood

  And fast with him grappled, till bursted his fingers. 760

  The eoten was out-fain, but on strode the earl.

  The mighty fiend minded was, whereso he might,

  To wind him about more widely away thence,

  And flee fenwards; he found then the might of his fingers

  In the grip of the fierce one; sorry faring was that

  Which he, the harm-scather, had taken to Hart.

  The warrior-hall dinn’d now; unto all Danes there waxed,

  To the castle-abiders, to each of the keen ones,

  To all earls, as an ale-dearth. Now angry were both

  Of the fierce mighty warriors, far rang out the hall-house; 770

  Then mickle the wonder it was that the wine-hall

  Withstood the two war-deer, nor welter’d to earth

  The fair earthly dwelling; but all fast was it builded

  Within and without with the banding of iron

  By crafty thought smithy’d. But there from the sill bow’d

  Fell many a mead-bench, by hearsay of mine,

  With gold well adorned, where strove they the wrothful.

  Hereof never ween’d they, the wise of the Scyldings,

  That ever with might should any of men

  The excellent, bone-dight, break into pieces, 780

  Or unlock with cunning, save the light fire’s embracing

  In smoke should it swallow. So uprose the roar

  New and enough; now fell on the North-Danes

  Ill fear and the terror, on each and on all men,

  Of them who from wall-top hearken’d the weeping,

  Even God’s foeman singing the fear-lay,

  The triumphless song, and the wound-bewailing

  Of the thrall of the Hell; for there now fast held him

  He who of men of main was the mightiest

  In that day which is told of, the day of this life. 790

  XIII. BEOWULF HATH THE VICTORY: GRENDEL IS HURT DEADLY AND LEAVETH HAND AND ARM IN THE HALL.

  Naught would the earls’ help for anything thenceforth

  That murder-comer yet quick let loose of,

  Nor his life-days forsooth to any of folk

  Told he for useful. Out then drew full many

  Of Beowult’s earls the heir-loom of old days,

  For their lord and their master’s fair life would hey ward,

  That mighty of princes, if so might they do it.

  For this did they know not when they the strife dreed,

  Those hardy-minded men of the battle,

  And on every half there thought to be hewing, 800

  And search out his soul, that the ceaseless scather

  Not any on earth of the choice of all irons,

  Not one of the war-bills, would greet home for ever.

  For he had forsworn him from victory-weapons,

  And each one of edges. But his sundering of soul

  In the days that we tell of, the day of this life,

  Should be weary and woeful, the ghost wending elsewhere

  To the wielding of fiends to wend him afar.

  Then found he out this, he who mickle erst made

  Out of mirth of his mood unto children of men 810

  And had fram’d many crimes, he the foeman of God,

  That the body of him would not bide to avail him,

  But the hardy of mood, even Hygelac’s kinsman,

  Had him fast by the hand: now was each to the other

  All loathly while living: his body-sore bided

  The monster: was manifest now on his shoulder

  The unceasing wound, sprang the sinews
asunder,

  The bone-lockers bursted. To Beowulf now

  Was the battle-fame given; should Grendel thenceforth

  Flee life-sick awayward and under the fen-bents 820

  Seek his unmerry stead: now wist he more surely

  That ended his life was, and gone over for ever,

  His day-tale told out. But was for all Dane-folk

  After that slaughter-race all their will done.

  Then had he cleans’d for them, he the far-comer,

  Wise and stout-hearted, the high hall of Hrothgar,

  And say’d it from war. So the night-work he joy’d in

  And his doughty deed done. Yea, but he for the East-Danes

  That lord of the Geat-folk his boast’s end had gotten,

  Withal their woes bygone all had he booted, 830

  And the sorrow hate-fashion’d that afore they had dreed,

  And the hard need and bitter that erst they must bear,

  The sorrow unlittle. Sithence was clear token

  When the deer of the battle laid down there the hand

  The arm and the shoulder, and all there together

  Of the grip of that Grendel ‘neath the great roof upbuilded.

  XIV. THE DANES REJOICE; THEY GO TO LOOK ON THE SLOT OF GRENDEL, AND COME BACK TO HART, AND ON THE WAY MAKE MERRY WITH RACING AND THE TELLING OF TALES.

  There was then on the morning, as I have heard tell it,

  Round the gift-hall a many of men of the warriors:

  Were faring folk-leaders from far and from near

  O’er the wide-away roads the wonder to look on, 840

  The track of the loathly: his life-sundering nowise

  Was deem’d for a sorrow to any of men there

  Who gaz’d on the track of the gloryless wight;

  How he all a-weary of mood thence awayward,

  Brought to naught in the battle, to the mere of the nicors,

  Now fey and forth-fleeing, his life-steps had flitted.

  There all in the blood was the sea-brim a-welling,

  The dread swing of the waves was washing all mingled

  With hot blood; with the gore of the sword was it welling;

  The death-doom’d had dyed it, sithence he unmerry 850

  In his fen-hold had laid down the last of his life,

  His soul of the heathen, and hell gat hold on him.

  Thence back again far’d they those fellows of old,

  With many a young one, from their wayfaring merry,

  Full proud from the mere-side on mares there a-riding

  The warriors on white steeds. There then was of Beowulf

  Set forth the might mighty; oft quoth it a many

 

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