Literature Common Theme Digital Poster

Beowulf Translation by Seamus Heaney

So. The Spear-Danes in days gone by And the kings who ruled them had courage and greatness. We  have  heard  of  those  princes’  heroic  campaigns. There was Shield Sheafson, scourge of many tribes, A wrecker of mead-benches, rampaging among foes. This terror of the hall-troops had come far. A foundling to start with, he would flourish later on As his powers waxed and his worth was proved. In the end each clan on the outlying coasts Beyond the whale-road had to yield to him 10 And begin to pay tribute. That was one good king. Afterwards a boy-child was born to Shield, A cub in the yard, a comfort sent By God to that nation. He knew what they had tholed, The  long  times  and  troubles  they’d  come  through Without a leader; so the Lord of Life, The glorious Almighty, made this man renowned. Shield had fathered a famous son: Beow’s  name  was  known  through  the  north. And a young prince must be prudent like that, 20 Giving freely while his father lives So that afterwards in age when fighting starts Steadfast companions will stand beside him And hold the line. Behavior  that’s  admired Is the path to power among people everywhere. Shield was still thriving when his time came And  he  crossed  over  into  the  Lord’s  keeping. His warrior band did what he bade them

When he laid down the law among the Danes: They  shouldered  him  out  to  the  sea’s  flood, 30 The chief they revered who had long ruled them. A ring-whorled prow rode in the harbour, Ice-clad, outbound, a craft for a prince. They stretched their beloved lord in his boat, Laid out by the mast, amidships, The great ring-giver. Far-fetched treasures Were piled upon him, and precious gear. I never heard before of a ship so well furbished With battle tackle, bladed weapons And coats of mail. The massed treasure 40 Was loaded on top of him: it would travel far On out into the  ocean’s  sway. They decked his body no less bountifully With offerings than those first ones did Who cast him away when he was a child And launched him alone out over the waves. And they set a gold standard up High above his head and let him drift To wind and tide, bewailing him And mourning their loss. No man can tell, 50 No wise man in hall or weathered veteran Knows for certain who salvaged that load. Then it fell to Beow to keep the forts. He was well regarded and ruled the Danes For a long time after his father took leave Of his life on earth. And then his heir, The great Halfdane, held sway For as long as he lived, their elder and warlord. He was four times a father, this fighter prince: One by one they entered the world, 60 Heorogar, Hrothgar, the good Halga And  a  daughter,  I  have  heard,  who  was  Onela’s  queen,

A balm in bed to the battle-scarred Swede. The fortunes of war favored Hrothgar. Friends and kinsmen flocked to his ranks, Young followers, a force that grew To be a mighty army. So his mind turned To hall-building: he handed down orders For men to work on a great mead-hall Meant to be a wonder of the world forever; 70 It would be his throne-room and there he would dispense His God-given goods to young and old--- But  not  the  common  land  or  people’s  lives. Far and wide through the world, I have heard, Orders for work to adorn that wall stead Were sent to many peoples. And soon it stood there, Finished and ready, in full view, The hall of halls. Heorot was the name He had settled on it, whose utterance was law. Nor did he renege, but doled out rings 80 And torques at the table. The hall towered, Its gables wide and high and awaiting A barbarous burning. That doom abided, But in time it would come: the killer instinct Unleashed among in-laws, the blood-lust rampant. Then a powerful demon, a prowler through the dark, Nursed a hard grievance. It harrowed him To hear the din of the loud banquet Every day in the hall, the harp being struck And the clear song of a skilled poet 90 Telling  with  mastery  of  man’s  beginnings, How the Almighty had made the earth A gleaming plain girdled with waters; In His splendour He set the sun and moon To  be  earth’s  lamplight,  lanterns  for  men, And filled the broad lap of the world

With branches and leaves; and quickened life In every other thing that moved. So times were pleasant for the people there Until finally one, a fiend out of Hell, 100 Began to work his evil in the world. Grendel was the name of this grim demon Haunting the marches, marauding round the heath And the desolate fens; he had dwelt for a time In misery among the banished monsters, Cain’s  clan,  whom  the  creator  had  outlawed And condemned as outcasts. For the killing of Abel The Eternal Lord had exacted a price: Cain got no good from committing that murder Because the Almighty made him anathema 110 And out of the curse of his exile there sprang Ogres and elves and evil phantoms And the giants too who strove with God Time and again until He gave them their final reward. So, after nightfall, Grendel set out For the lofty house, to see how the Ring-Danes Were settling into it after their drink, And there he came upon them, a company of the best Asleep from their feasting, insensible to pain And human sorrow. Suddenly then 120 The God-cursed brute was creating havoc: Greedy and grim, he grabbed thirty men From their resting places and rushed to his lair, Flushed up and inflamed from the raid, Blundering back with the butchered corpses. Then as dawn brightened and the day broke Grendel’s  powers  of  destruction  were  plain: Their wassail was over, they wept to heaven

And mourned under morning. Their mighty prince, The storied leader, sat stricken and helpless, 130 Humiliated by the loss of his guard, Bewildered and stunned, staring aghast And the demon’s  trail,  in  deep  distress. He was numb with grief, but got no respite For one night later the merciless Grendel Struck again with more gruesome murders. Malignant by nature, he never showed remorse. It was easy then to meet with a man Shifting himself to a safer distance To bed in the bothies, for who could be blind 140 To the evidence of his eyes, the obviousness Of that hall-watcher’s  hate?   Whoever escaped Kept a weather-eye open and moved away. So Grendel ruled in defiance of right, One against all, until the greatest house In the world stood empty, a deserted wall stead. For twelve winters, seasons of woe, The lord of the Shieldings suffered under His load of sorrow; and so, before long, The news was known over the whole world. 150 Sad lays were sung about the beset king, The vicious raids of Grendel, His long and unrelenting feud, Nothing but war; how he would never Parley or make peace with any Dane Nor stop his death-dealing nor pay the death-price. No counsellor could ever expect Fair reparation from those rabid hands. All were endangered; young and old Were hunted down by that dark death-shadow 160 Who lurked and swooped in the long nights On the misty moors; nobody knows

Where these reavers from Hell roam on their errands. So Grendel waged his lonely war, Inflicting constant cruelties on the people, Atrocious hurt. He took over Heorot, Haunted the glittering hall after dark, But the throne itself, the treasure-seat, He  was  kept  from  approaching;;  he  was  the  Lord’s  outcast. These were hard times, heart-breaking 170 For the prince of the Shieldings; powerful counselors, The highest in the land, would lend advice, Plotting how best the bold defenders Might resist and beat off sudden attacks. Sometimes at pagan shrines they vowed Offering to idols, swore oaths That the killer of souls might come to their aid And save the people. That was their way, Their heathenish hope; deep in their hearts They remembered Hell. The Almighty Judge 180 Of good deeds and bad, the Lord God, Head of the Heavens and High King of the World, Was unknown to them. Oh, cursed is he Who in time of trouble had to thrust his soul In  the  fire’s  embrace,  forfeiting help; He has nowhere to turn. But blessed is he Who after death can approach the Lord And  find  friendship  in  the  Father’s  embrace. So that troubled time continued, woe That never stopped, steady affliction 190 For  Halfdane’s  son,  too hard an ordeal. There was panic after dark, people endured Raids in the night, riven by terror.

When  he  heard  about  Grendel,  Hygelac’s  thane Was on home ground, over in Geatland. There was no one else like him alive. In his day, he was the mightiest man on earth, High-born and powerful. He ordered a boat That would ply the waves. He announced his plan: To  sail  the  swan’s  roads  and  search  out  that  king, 200 The famous prince who needed defenders. Nobody tried to keep him from going, No elder denied him, dear as he was to them. Instead, they inspected omens and spurred His ambition to go, whilst he moved about Like the leader he was, enlisting men, The best he could find; with fourteen others The warrior boarded the boat as captain, A canny pilot along coast and currents. Time went by, the boat was on water, 210 In close under the cliffs. Men climbed eagerly up the gangplank, Sand churned in surf, shining war-gear In  the  vessel’s  hold,  then  heaved  out, Away with a will in their wood-wreathed ship. Over the waves, with the wind behind her And foam at her neck, she flew like a bird Until her curved prow had covered the distance And on the following day, at the due hour, 220 Those seafarers sighted land, Sunlit cliffs, sheer crags And looming headlands, the landfall they sought. It was the end of their voyage and the Geats vaulted Over the side, out on to the sand, And moored their ship. There was a clash of mail And a thresh of gear. They thanked God For that easy crossing on a calm sea.

When  the  watchman  on  the  wall,  the  Shieldings’  lookout Whose job it was to guard the sea-cliffs, 230 Saw shields glittering on the gangplank And battle-equipment being unloaded He had to find out who and what The arrivals were. So he rode to the shore, This  horseman  of  Hrothgar’s,  and  challenged  them In formal terms, flourishing his spear: “What  kind  of  men  are  you  who  arrive Rigged out for combat in coats of mail, Sailing here over the sea lanes In your steep-hulled boat? I have been stationed 240 As lookout on this coast for a long time. My job is to watch the waves for raiders, And danger to the Danish shore. Never before has a force under arms Disembarked so openly---not bothering to ask If the sentries allowed them safe passage Or the clan had consented. Nor have I seen A mightier man-at-arms on this earth Than the one standing here: unless I am mistaken, He is truly noble. This is no mere 250 Hanger-on  in  a  hero’s  armour. So now, before you fare inland As interlopers, I have to be informed About who you are and where you hail from. Outsiders from across the water, I say it again: the sooner you tell Where  you  came  from  and  why,  the  better.” The leader of the troop unlocked his word-hoard; The distinguished one delivered this answer: “We  belong  by  birth  to  the  Geat  people 260 And owe allegiance to Lord Hygelac.

In my day, my father was a famous man, A noble warrior name Ecgtheow. He outlasted many a long winter And went on his way. All over the world Wise men in council continue to remember him. We come in good faith to find your lord And  nation’s  shield,  the  son  of  Halfdane. Give us the right to advise and direction. We have arrived here on a great errand 270 To the lord of the Danes, and I believe therefore There should be nothing hidden or withheld between us. So tell us if what we have heard is true About this threat, whatever it is, This danger abroad in the dark nights, This corpse-maker mongering death In  the  Shieldings’  country.   I come to proffer My wholehearted help and counsel. I can show the wise Hrothgar a way To defeat his enemy and find respite--- 280 If any respite is to reach him, ever. I can calm the turmoil and terror in his mind. Otherwise, he must endure woes And live with grief for as long as his hall Stands  at  the  horizon,  on  its  high  ground.” Undaunted, sitting astride his horse, The coast-guard  answered,  “Anyone  with  gumption And a sharp mind will take the measure Of  two  things:  what’s  said  and  what’s  done. I believe what you have told me: that you are a troop 290 Loyal to our king. So come ahead With your arms and your gear, and I will guide you. What’s  more,  I’ll  order  my  own  comrades On their word of honor to watch your boat Down there on the strand---keep her safe

In her fresh tar, until the time comes For her curved prow to preen on the waves And bear this hero back to Geatland. May one so valiant and venturesome Come  unharmed  through  the  clash  of  battle.” 300 So they went on their way. The ship rode the water, Broad-beamed, bound by its hawser And anchored fast. Boar-shapes flashed Above their cheek-guards, the brightly forged Work of goldsmiths, watching over Those stern-faced men. They marched in step, Hurrying on till the timbered hall Rose before them, radiant with gold. Nobody on earth knew of another Building like it. Majesty lodged there, 310 And its light shone over many lands. So their gallant escort guided them To that dazzling stronghold and indicated The shortest way to it; then the noble warrior Wheeled on his horse and spoke these words: “It  is  time  for  me  to  go.   May the Almighty Father keep you and in His kindness Watch over your exploits. I’m  away  to  the  sea, Back  on  alert  against  enemy  raiders.” It was a paved track, a path that kept them 320 In marching order. Their mail-shirts glinted, Hard and hand-linked; the high-gloss iron Of their armour rang. So they duly arrived In their grim war-graith and gear at the hall, And, weary from the sea, stacked wide shields Of the toughest hardwood against the wall, Then collapsed on the benches; battle-dress And weapons clashed. They collected their spears

In  a  seafarer’s  stook,  a  stand  of  grayish   Tapering ash. And the troops themselves 330 Were as good as their weapons. Then a proud warrior Questioned the men concerning their origins: “Where  do  you  come  from,  carrying  these Decorated shields and shirts of mail, These cheek-hinged helmets and javelins? I  am  Hrothgar’s  herald  and  officer. I have never seen so impressive or large An assembly of strangers. Stoutness of heart, Bravery  not  banishment,  must  have  brought  you  to  Hrothgar.” The man whose name was known for courage, 340 The Geat leader, resolute in his helmet, Answered  in  return:  “We  are  retainers From  Hygelac’s  band.   Beowulf is my name. If your lord and master, the most renowned Son of Halfdane, will hear me out And graciously allow me to greet him in person, I  am  ready  and  willing  to  report  my  errand.” Wulfgar replied, a Wendel chief Renowned as a warrior, well known for his wisdom And the temper of  his  mind:  “I  will  take  this  message, 350 In accordance with your wish, to our noble king, Our dear lord, friend of the Danes, The giver of rings. I will go and ask him About your coming here, then hurry back With  whatever  reply  it  pleases  him  to  give.” With that he turned to where Hrothgar sat, An old man among retainers; The valiant follower stood four-square In front of his king: he knew the courtesies.

Wulfgar addressed his dear lord: 360 “People  from  Geatland  have  put ashore. They have sailed far over the wide sea. They call the chief in charge of their band By the name of Beowulf. They beg, my lord, An audience with you, exchange of words And formal greeting. Most gracious Hrothgar, Do not refuse them, but grant them a reply. From their arms and appointment, they appear well-born And worthy of respect, especially the one Who  has  led  them  this  far:  he  is  formidable  indeed.” 370 Hrothgar, protector of Shieldings, replied: “I  used  to  know  him  when  I  was  a  young boy. His father before him was called Ecgtheow. Hrethel the Greath gave Ecgtheow His daughter in marriage. This man is their son, Here to follow up an old friendship. A crew of seamen who sailed for me once With a gift-cargo across to Geatland Returned with marvelous tales about him: A thane, they declared, with the strength of thirty 380 In the grip of each hand. Now Holy God Has, in His Goodness, guided him here To the West-Danes, to defend us from Grendel. This is my hope; and for his heroism I will recompense him with a rich treasure. Go immediately, bid him and the Geats He has is attendance to assemble and enter. Say, moreover, when you speak to them, That  they  are  welcome  in  Denmark.” At the door of the hall, Wulfgar duly delivered the message: 390 “My  lord,  the  conquering  king  of  the  Danes,

Bids me announce that he knows your ancestry; Also that he welcomes you here to Heorot And salutes your arrival from across the sea. You are free now to move forward To meet Hrothgar, in helmets and armor, But shields must stay here and spears be stacked Until  the  outcome  of  the  audience  is  clear.” The hero arose, surrounded closely By his powerful thanes. A party remained 400 Under orders to keep watch on the arms; The rest proceeded, lead by their prince Under  Heorot’s  roof.   And standing on the hearth In webbed links that the smith had woven, The fine-forged mesh of his gleaming mail shirt, Resolute in his helmet, Beowulf spoke: “Greetings  to  Hrothgar.   I  am  Hygelac’s  kinsman, One of his hall-troop. When I was younger, I had great triumphs. Then news of Grendel, Hard to ignore, reached me at home: 410 Sailors brought stories of the plight you suffer In this legendary hall, how it lies deserted, Empty and useless once the evening light Hides  itself  under  Heaven’s  dome. So every elder and experience councilman Among my people supported my resolve To come here to you, King Hrothgar, Because all knew of my awesome strength. They had seen me boltered in the blood of enemies When I battled and bound five beasts, 420 Raided a troll-nest and in the night-sea Slaughtered sea-brutes. I have suffered extremes And avenged the Geats (their enemies brought it Upon themselves, I devastated them). Now I mean to be a match for Grendel, Settle the outcome in a single combat.

And so, my request, O king of Bright-Danes, Dear prince pf the Shieldings, friend of the people And their ring of defense, my one request Is  that  you  won’t  refuse  me,  who  have  come  this  far, 430 The privilege of purifying Heorot, With my own men to help me, and nobody else. I have heard moreover that the monster scorns In his reckless way to use weapons; Therefore,  to  heighten  Hygelac’s  fame And gladden his heart, I hereby renounce Sword and the shelter of the broad shield, The heavy war-board: hand-to-hand Is how it will be, a life-and-death Fight with the fiend. Whichever one death fells 440 Must deem it a just judgment by God. If Grendel wins, it will be a gruesome day; He will glut himself on the Geats in the war-hall, Swoop without fear on that flower of manhood As on others before. Then  my  face  won’t  be  there To be covered in death; he will carry me away As he goes to ground, gorged and bloodied; He will run gloating with my raw corpse And feed on it alone, in a cruel frenzy, Fouling his moor-nest. No need then 450 To lament for long or lay out my body: If the battle takes me, send back This breast-webbing that Weland fashioned And Hrethel gave me, to Hygelac. Fate  goes  ever  as  fate  must.” Hrothgar, the helmet of the Shieldings, spoke: “Beowulf,  my  friend,  you  have  traveled  here To favour us with help and fight for us. There was a feud one time, begun by your father. With his own hands he had killed Heatholaf, 460

Who was a Wulfing; so war was looming And his people, in fear of it, forced him to leave. He came away then over rolling waves To the South Danes here, the sons of honor. I was then in the full flush of kingship, Establishing my sway over all the rich strongholds Of this heroic land. Heorogar, My older brother and the better man, Also  a  son  of  Halfdane’s,  had  died. Finally I healed the feud by paying: 470 I shipped a treasure-trove to the Wulfings And Ecgtheow acknowledged me with oaths of allegiance. “It  bothers  me  to  have  to  burden  anyone With all the grief Grendel has caused And the havoc he has wreaked upon us in Heorot, Our humiliations. My household-guard Are on the wane, fate sweeps them away Into  Grendel’s  clutches---but God can easily Halt these raids and harrowing attacks! “Time  and  again,  when  the  goblets  passed 480 And seasoned fighters got flushed with beer They would pledge themselves to protect Heorot And wait for Grendel with whetted swords. But when dawn broke and day crept in Over each empty, blood-spattered bench, The floor of the mead-hall where they had feasted Would be slick with slaughter. And so they died, Faithful retainers, and my following dwindled. Now take your place at the table, relish The  triumph  of  heroes  to  your  heart’s  content.” 490 Then a bench was cleared in that banquet hall So the Geats could have room to be together

And the party sat, proud in their bearing, Strong and stalwart. An attendant stood by With a decorated pitcher, pouring bright Helpings of mead. And the minstrel sang, Filling Heorot with his head-clearing voice, Gladdening that great rally of Danes and Geats. From  where  he  crouched  at  the  king’s  feet, Unferth,  a  son  of  Ecglaf’s,  spoke   500 Contrary words. Beowulf’s  coming, His sea-braving, made him sick with envy: He could not brook or abide the fact That anyone else alive under heaven Might enjoy greater regard than he did: “Are  you  the  Beowulf  who  took  on  Breca In a swimming match on the open sea, Risking the water just to prove you could win? It was sheer vanity made you venture out On the main deep. And no matter who tried, 510 Friend or foe, to deflect the pair of you, Neither would back down: the sea-test obsessed you. You waded in, embracing water, Taking its measure, mastering currents, Riding on the swell. The ocean swayed, Winter went wild in the waves, but you vied For seven nights; and then he outswam you, Came ashore the stronger contender. He was cast up safe and sound one morning Among the Heathoreams, then made his way 520 To where he belonged in Bronding country, Home again, sure of his ground In strong room and bawn. So Breca made good His boast upon you and was proved right. No matter, therefore, how you may have fared In every bout and battle until now,

This time  you’ll  be  worsted;;  no  one  has  ever Outlasted  an  entire  night  against  Grendel.” Beowulf,  Ecgtheow’s  son,  replied: “Well,  friend  Unferth,  you  have  had  your  say 530 About Breca and me. But it was mostly beer That was doing the talking. The truth is this: When the going was heavy in those high waves, I was the strongest swimmer of all. We’d  been  children  together  and  we  grew  up Daring ourselves to outdo each other, Boasting and urging each other to risk Our lives on the sea. And so it turned out. Each of us swam holding a sword, A naked, hard-proofed blade for protection 540 Against the whale-beasts. But Breca could never Move out farther or faster from me Than I could manage to move from him. Shoulder to shoulder, we struggled on For five nights, until the long flow And pitch of the waves, the perishing cold, Night falling and winds from the North Drove us apart. The deep boiled up And its wallowing sent the sea-brutes wild. My armor held me to hold out; 550 My hard-ringed chain-mail, hand-forged and linked, A fine, close-fitting filigree of gold, Kept me safe when some ocean creature Pulled me to the bottom. Pinioned fast And swathed in its grip, I was granted one Final chance: my sword plunged And the ordeal was over. Through my own hands The fury of battle had finished off the sea-beast. “Time  and  again,  foul  things  attacked  me,

Lurking and stalking, but I lashed out, 560 Gave as good as I got with my sword. My flesh was not for feasting on, There would be no monsters gnawing and gloating Over their banquet at the bottom of the sea. Instead, in the morning, mangled and sleeping The sleep of the sword, they slopped and floated Like  the  ocean’s  leavings.   From now on Sailors would the safe, the deep-sea raids Were over for good. Light came from the East, Bright guarantee of God, and the waves 570 Went quiet; I could see the headlands And buffeted cliffs. Often, for undaunted courage, Fate spares the man it has not already marked. However it had occurred, my sword had killed Nine sea monsters. Such night-dangers And hard ordeals I have never heard of Nor of a man so desolate in surging waves. But worn out as I was, I survived, Came through with my life. The ocean lifted And laid me ashore, I landed safe 580 On the coast of Finland. Now, I cannot recall any fight you entered, Unferth, That bears comparison. I  don’t  boast  when  I  say That neither you nor Breca ever were much Celebrated for swordsmanship Or for facing danger in the battlefield. You killed your own kith and kin, So for all your cleverness and quick tongue, You will suffer damnation in the pits of hell. The fact it, Unferth, if you were truly 590 As keen or courageous as you claim to be Grendel would never have got away with Such unchecked atrocity, attacks on your king,

Havoc in Heorot and horrors everywhere. But he knows he need never be in dread Of your blade making a mizzle of his blood Or of vengeance arriving ever from this quarter--- From the Victory-Shieldings, the shoulderers of the spear. He knows he can trample down you Danes To  his  heart’s  content,  humiliate  and  murder 600 Without fear of reprisal. But he will find me different. I will show him how Geats shape to kill In the heat of battle. Then whoever wants to May go bravely to morning mead, when morning light, Scarfed in sun-dazzle, shines forth from the south And brings another daybreak to the world.” Then the gray-haired treasure-giver was glad; Far-famed in battle, the prince of Bright-Danes And keeper of his people counted on Beowulf, On  the  warrior’s  steadfastness  and  his  word. 610 So the laughter started, the din got louder And the crowd was happy. Wealhtheow came in, Hrothgar’s  queen,  observing  the  courtesies. Adorned in her gold, she graciously saluted The men in the hall, then handed the cup First  to  Hrothgar,  their  homeland’s  guardian, Urging him to drink deep and enjoy it, Because he was dear to them. And he drank it down Like the warlord he was, with festive cheer. So the Helming woman went on her rounds, 620 Queenly and dignified, decked out in rings, Offering the goblet to all ranks, Treating the household and the assembled troop Until  it  was  Beowulf’s  turn  to  take  it  from  her  hand. With measured words she welcomed the Geat And thanked God for granting her wish That a deliverer she could believe in would arrive

To ease their afflictions. He accepted the cup, A daunting man, dangerous in action And eager for it always. He addressed Wealhtheow; 630 Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, said: “I  had  a  fixed  purpose  when  I  put  out  to  sea.   As I sat in the boat with my band of men, I meant to perform to the uttermost What your people wanted or perish in the attempt, In  the  fiend’s  clutches.   And I shall fulfill that purpose, Prove myself with a proud deed Or meet my death here in the mead-hall.” This formal boast by Beowulf the Geat Pleased the lady well and she went to sit 640 By Hrothgar, regal and arrayed with gold. Then it was like old times in the echoing hall, Proud talk and the people happy, Loud and excited; until soon enough Halfdane’s  heir  had  to  be  away To  his  night’s  rest.   He realized That the demon was going to descend on the hall That he had plotted all day, from dawn-light Until darkness gathered again over the world And stealthy night-shades came stealing forth 650 Under the cloud-murk. The company stood As the two leaders took leave of each other: Hrothgar wished Beowulf health and good luck, Named him hall-warden and announced as follows: “Never,  since  my  hand  could  hold  a  shield Have I entrusted or given control Of  the  Dane’s  hall  to anyone but you. Ward and guard it, for it is the greatest of houses. Be on your mettle now, keep in mind your fame,

Beware of the enemy. There’s  nothing  you  wish  for 660 That  won’t  be  yours  if  you  win  through  alive.” Hrothgar departed then with his house-guard. The lord of the Shieldings, their shelter in war, Left the mead-hall to lie with Wealhtheow, His queen and bedmate. The King of Glory (as people learned) had posted a lookout Who was a match for Grendel, a guard against monsters, Special protection to the Danish prince. And the Geat placed complete trust In  his  strength  of  limb  and  the  Lord’s  favor. 670 He began to remove his iron breast-mail, Took off the helmet and handed his attendant The patterned sword,  a  smith’s  masterpiece, Ordering him to keep the equipment guarded. And before he bedded down, Beowulf, That prince of goodness, proudly asserted: “When  it  comes  to  fighting,  I  count  myself As dangerous any day as Grendel. So  it  won’t  be  a  cutting  edge  I’ll  wield To mow him down, easily as I might. 680 He has no ideas of the arts of war, Of shield or sword-play, though he does possess A wild strength. No weapons, therefore, For either this night: unarmed he shall face me If face me he dares. And may the Divine Lord In His wisdom grant victory To  whichever  side  He  sees  fit.” Then down the brave man lay with his bolster Under his head and his whole company Of sea-rovers at rest beside him. 690 None of them expected he would ever see His homeland again or get back

To his native place and the people who reared him. They knew too well the way it was before, How often the Danes had fallen prey To death in the mead-hall. But the Lord was weaving A victory on his war-loom for the Weather-Geats. Through the strength of one they all prevailed; They would crush their enemy and come through In triumph and gladness. The truth is clear: 700 Almighty God rules over mankind And always has. Then out of the night Came the shadow-stalker, stealthy and swift; The hall-guards were slack, asleep at their posts, All except one; it was widely understood That as long as God disallowed it, The fiend could not bear them to his shadow-bourne. One man, however, was in a fighting mood, Awake and on edge, spoiling for action. In off the moors, down through the mist-bands 710 God-cursed Grendel came greedily loping. The bane of the race of men roamed forth, Hunting for a prey in the high hall. Under the cloud-murk he moved towards it Until it shone above him, a sheer keep Of fortified gold. Nor was that the first time He  had  scouted  the  grounds  of  Hrothgar’s  dwelling--- Although never in his life, before or since, Did he find harder fortune or hall-defenders. Spurned and joyless, he journeyed on ahead 720 And arrived at the bawn. The iron-braced door Turned in its hinge when his hand touched it. Then his rage boiled over, he ripped open The mouth of the building, maddening for blood, Pacing the length of the patterned floor

With his loathsome tread, while a baleful light, Flame more than light, flared from his eyes. He saw many men in the mansion, sleeping, A ranked company of kinsmen and warriors Quartered together. And his glee was demonic, 730 Picturing the mayhem: before morning He would rip life from limp and devour them, Feed on their flesh: but his fate that night Was due to change, his days of ravening Had come to an end. Mighty and canny, Hygelac’s  kinsman  was  keenly  watching For the first move the monster would make. Nor did the creature keep him waiting But struck suddenly and started in; He grabbed and mauled a man on his bench, 740 Bit into his bone-lappings, bolted down his blood And gorged on him in lumps, leaving the body Utterly lifeless, eaten up Hand and foot. Venturing closer, his talon was raised to attack Beowulf Where he lay on the bed; he was bearing in With  open  claw  when  the  alert  hero’s Comeback and armlock forestalled him utterly. The captain of evil discovered himself In a handgrip harder than anything 750 He had ever encountered in any man On the face of the earth. Every bone in his body Quailed and coiled, but he could not escape. He was desperate to flee to his den and hide With  the  devil’s  litter,  for  in  all  his  days He had never been clamped or cornered like this. Then  Hygelac’s  trusty  retainer  recalled His bedtime speech, sprang to his feet And got a firm hold. Fingers were bursting,

The monster back-tracking, the man overpowering. 760 The dread of the land was desperate to escape, To take a roundabout road and flee To his lair in the fens. The latching power In his fingers weakened; it was the worst trip The terror-monger had taken to Heorot. And now the timber trembled and sang, A hall-session that harrowed every Dane Inside the stockade: stumbling in fury, The two contenders crashed through the building. The hall clattered and hammered, but somehow 770 Survived the onslaught and kept standing: It was handsomely structured, a sturdy frame Braced  with  the  best  of  blacksmith’s  work Inside and out. The story goes That as the pair struggled, mead benches were smashed And sprung off the floor, gold fittings and all. Before then, no Shielding elder would believe There was any power or person on earth Capable of wrecking their horn-rigged hall Unless the burning embrace of fire 780 Engulf it in flame. Then an extraordinary Wail arose, and bewildering fear Came over the Danes. Everyone felt it Who heard that cry as it echoed off the wall, A God-cursed scream and strain of catastrophe, The howl of the loser, the lament of the hell-serf Keening his wound. He was overwhelmed, Manacled tight by the man who of all men Was foremost and strongest in the days of this life. But  the  earl  troop’s  leader  was  not  inclined 790 To allow his caller to depart alive: He did not consider that life of much account To anyone anywhere. Time and again,

Beowulf’s  warriors  worked  to  defend Their  lord’s  life,  laying  about  them As best they could with their ancestral blades. Stalwart in action, they kept striking out On every side, seeking to cut Straight to the soul. When they joined the struggle There was something they could have not known at the time, 800 That  not  blade  on  earth,  no  blacksmith’s  art Could ever damage their demon opponent. He had conjured the harm from the cutting edge Of every weapon. But his going away Out of the world and the days of his life Would be agony to him, and his alien spirit would  travel  far  into  fiends’  keeping. Then he who had harrowed the hearts of men With pain and affliction in former times And had given offense also to God 810 Found that his bodily powers had failed him. Hygelac’s  kinsman  kept  him  helplessly Locked in a handgrip. As long as either lived He was hateful to the other. The  monster’s  whole Body was in pain, a tremendous wound Appeared on his shoulder. Sinews split And the bone-lappings burst. Beowulf was granted The glory of winning; Grendel was driven Under the fen banks, fatally hurt, To his desolate lair. His days were numbered, 820 The end of his life was coming over him, He knew it for certain; and one bloody clash Had fulfilled the dearest wishes of the Danes. The man who had lately landed among them, Proud and sure, had purged the hall, Kept it from harm; he was happy with his night-work And the courage he had shown. The Geat captain

Had boldly fulfilled his boast to the Danes: He had healed and relieved a huge distress, Unremitting humiliations, 830 The  hard  fate  they’d  been  forced  to  undergo, No small affliction. Clear proof of this Could be seen in the hand the hero displayed High  up  near  the  roof:  the  whole  of  Grendel’s Shoulder and arm, his awesome grasp. Then morning came and many a warrior Gathered, as I have heard, around the gift-hall, Clan-chiefs flocking from far and near Down wide-ranging roads, wondering greatly At  the  monster’s  footprint.   His fatal departure 840 Was regretted by no one who witnessed his trail, The ignominious marks of his flight Where  he’d  sulked  away,  exhausted in spirit And beaten in battle, bloodying the path, Hauling  his  doom  to  the  demons’  mere. The bloodshot water wallowed and surged, There were loathsome up throws and over turnings Of waves and gore and would-slurry. With his death upon him, he had dived deep Into his marsh den, drowned out his life 850 And his heathen soul: hell claimed him there. Then away they rode, the old retainers With many a young man following after, A troop on horseback, in high spirits On their bay steeds. Beowulf’s  doings Were praised over and over again. Nowhere, they said, north or south Between the two seas or under the tall sky On the broad earth was there anyone better To raise a shield or to rule a kingdom. 860

Yet there was no laying of blame on their lord, The noble Hrothgar; he was a good king. At times the war-band broke into a gallop, Letting their chestnut horses race Wherever they found the going good On those well-known tracks. Meanwhile, a thane Of  the  king’s  household, a carrier of tales, A traditional singer deeply schooled In the lore of the past, linked a new theme To a strict metre. The man started 870 To  recite  with  skill,  rehearsing  Beowulf’s Triumphs and feats in well-fashioned lines, Entwining his words. He  told  what  he’d  heard Repeated  in  songs  of  Sigemund’s  exploits, All of those many feats and marvels, The  struggles  and  wanderings  of  Wael’s  son, Things unknown to anyone, Except Fitela, feuds and foul doings Confided from uncle to nephew when he felt The urge to speak of them: always had they been 880 Partners in the fight, friends in need. They killed giants, their conquering swords Had brought them down. After his death Sigemund’s  glory   grew and grew Because of his courage when he killed the dragon, The guardian of the hoard. Under gray stone He had dared to enter all by himself To face the worst without Fitela. But nit came to pass that his sword plunged Right through those radiant scales 890 And drove into the wall. The dragon died of it.

His daring had given him total possession Of the treasure hoard , his to dispose of However he liked. He loaded a boat: Wael’s  son   weighted her hold With dazzling spoils. The hot dragon melted. Sigemund’s  name   was known everywhere. He was utterly valiant and venturesome, A fence round his fighters and flourished therefore After King  Heremond’s   prowess declined 900 And his campaigns slowed down. The king was betrayed, Ambushed in Jutland, overpowered And done away with. The waves of his grief Had beaten him down, made him a burden, A source of anxiety to his own nobles: That expedition was often condemned To those earlier times by experienced men, Men who relied on his lordship for redress, Who presumed that the part of a prince was to thrive On  his  father’s  throne   and protect the nation, 910 The Shielding land where they lived and belonged, Its holdings and strongholds. Such was Beowulf In the affection of his friends and of everyone alive. But evil entered into Heremod. Meanwhile, the Dane kept racing their mounts Down sandy lanes. The light of day Broke and kept brightening. Bands of retainers Galloped in excitement to the gabled hall To see the marvel; and the king himself, Guardian of the ring-hoard, goodness in person, 920 Walked  in  majesty  from  the  women’s  quarters With a numerous train, attended by his queen And her crowd of maidens, across the mead-hall.

When Hrothgar arrived at the hall, he spoke, Standing on the steps, under the steep eaves, Gazing at the roofwork and Grendel’s  talon: “First  and  foremost,  let  the  Almighty  Father Be thanked for this sight. I suffered a long Harrowing by Grendel. But the Heavenly Shepherd Can work his wonders always and everywhere. 930 Not long since, it seemed I would never Be granted the slightest solace or relief From any of my burdens: the best of houses Glittered and reeked and ran with blood. This one worry outweighed all others--- A constant distress to counselors entrusted With  defending  the  people’s  forts  from  assault By monsters and demons. But now a man, With  the  Lord’s  assistance,  has  accomplished  something None of us could manage before now 940 For all our efforts. Whoever she was Who brought forth this flower of manhood, If she is still alive, that woman can say That in her labor the Lord of Ages Bestowed a grace on her. So now, Beowulf, adopt you in my heart as a dear son. Nourish and maintain this new connection, You  noblest  of  men;;  there’ll  be  nothing  you  want  for, No worldly good that  won’t  be  yours. I have often honored smaller achievements, 950 Recognized warriors not nearly as worthy, Lavished rewards on the less deserving. But you have made yourself immortal By your glorious action. May the Lord of Ages Continue  to  keep  and  requite  you  well.” Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke: “We  have  gone  through  a  glorious  endeavor

And been much favored in this fight we dared Against the unknown. Nevertheless, If you could have seen the monster himself 960 Where he lay beaten, I would have been better pleased. My plan was to pounce, pin him down In a tight grip and grapple him to death--- Have him panting for life, powerless and clasped In my bare hands, his body in thrall. But  I  couldn’t  stop  him  from  slipping my hold. The Lord allowed it, my lock on him Wasn’t  strong  enough,  he  struggled  fiercely And broke and ran. Yet he bought his freedom At a high price, for he left his hand 970 And arm and shoulder to show he had been here, A cold comfort for having come among us. And  now  he  won’t  be  long  for  this  world. He has done his worst but the wound will end him. He is hasped and hooped and hirpling with pain, Limped and looped in it. Like a man outlawed For wickedness, he mush await The  mighty  judgment  of  God  in  majesty.”   There was less tampering and big talk then From Unferth the boaster, less of his blather 980 As the hall-thanes eyed the awful proof Of  the  hero’s  prowess,  the  splayed  hand Up under the eaves. Every nail, Claw-scale and spur, every spike And welt on the hand of that heathen brute Was like barbed steel. Everybody said There was no honed iron hard enough To pierce him through, no time-proofed blade That could cut his brutal, blood-caked claw. Then the order was given for all hands 990

To help refurbish Heorot immediately: Men and women thronging the wine-hall, Getting it ready. Gold thread shone In the wall-hangings, woven scenes That  attracted  and  held  the  eye’s  attention. But iron-braced as the inside of it had been, The bright room lay in ruins now. The very doors had been dragged from their hinges. Only the roof remained unscathed By the time the guilt-fouled fiend turned tail 1000 In despair of his life. But death is not easily Escaped from by anyone: All of us with souls, earth-dwellers And children of men, must make our way To a destination already ordained Where the body, after the banqueting, Sleeps on its deathbed. Then the due time arrived For  Halfdane’s  son  to  proceed  to  the  hall. The king himself would sit down to feast. No group ever gathered in greater numbers 1010 Or better order around their ring-giver. The benches filled with famous men Who fell to with relish; round upon round Of mead was passed; those powerful kinsmen, Hrothgar and Hrothulf, were in high spirits In the raftered hall. Inside Heorot There was nothing but friendship. The Shielding nation Was not yet familiar with feud and betrayal. Then  Halfdane’s  son  presented  Beowulf With gold standards as a victory gift, 1020 An embroidered banner; also breast-mail And a helmet; and a sword carried high, That was both precious object and a token of honor. So Beowulf drank his drink, at ease;

It was hardly a shame to be showered with such gifts In front of the hall-troops. There  haven’t  been  many Moments, I am sure, when men have exchanged Four such treasures at so friendly a sitting. An embossed ring, a band lapped with wire Arched over the helmet: head-protection 1030 To keep the keen-ground cutting edge From damaging it when danger threatened And the man was battling behind his shield. Next the king ordered eight horses With gold bridles to be brought through the yard Into the hall. The harness of one Included a saddle of sumptuous design, The battle-seat where the son of Halfdane Rode when he wished to join the sword-play: Wherever the killing and carnage were the worst, 1040 He would be to the fore, fighting hard. The Danish prince, descendent of Ing, Handed over both the arms and the horses, Urging Beowulf to use them well. And so their leader, the lord and guard Of coffer and strong room, with customary grace Bestowed upon Beowulf both sets of gifts. A fair witness can see how well each one behaved. The chieftain went on to reward the others: Each man on the bench who had sailed with Beowulf 1050 And risked the voyage received a bounty, Some treasured possession. And compensation, A price in gold, was settled for the Geat Grendel had killed cruelly earlier-- As he would have killed more, had not mindful God And  one  man’s  daring  prevented  that  doom. Past  and  present,  God’s  will  prevails. Hence, understanding is always best

And a prudent mind. Whoever remains For long here in this earthly life 1060 Will enjoy and endure more than enough. They sang then and played to please the hero, Words and music for their warrior prince, Harp tunes and tales of adventure: There were high times on the hall benches And  the  king’s  poet  performed  his  part With the saga of Finn and his sons, unfolding The tale of the fierce attack in Friesland Where Hnaef, king of the Danes, met death. Hildeburh 1070 Had little cause To credit the Jutes: Son and brother, She lost them both On the battlefield. She, bereft And blameless, they Foredoomed, cut down And spear-gored. She, The woman in shock, Waylaid by grief, Hoc’s  daughter-- How could she not Lament her fate When morning came And the light broke On her murdered dears? And so farewell Delight on earth, War carried away 1080 Finn’s  troop  of  thanes,

All but a few. How then could Finn Hold the line Or fight on To the end with Hengest, How save The rump of his force From that enemy chief? So a truce was offered As follows: first Separate quarters To be cleared for the Danes, Hall and throne To be shared with the Frisians. Then, second ; Every day At the dole-out of gifts Finn, son of Focwald, Should honor the Danes, 1090 Bestow with an even Hand to Hengest And  Hengest’s  men The wrought-gold rings, Bounty to match The measure he gave His own Frisians-- To keep morale In the beer-hall high. Both sides then Sealed their agreement. With oaths to Hengest Finn swore Openly, solemnly, That the battle survivors

Would be guaranteed Honor and status. No infringement By word or deed, No provocation 1100 Would be permitted. Their own ring-giver After all Was dead and gone, They were leaderless In forced allegiance To his murderer. So if any Frisian Stirred up bad blood With insinuations Or taunts about this, The blade of the sword Will arbitrate it. A funeral pyre Was then prepared, Effulgent gold Brought out from the hoard. The pride and prince Of the Shieldings lay Awaiting the flame. 1110 Everywhere There were blood-plastered Coats of mail. The pyre was heaped With boar-shaped helmets Forged in gold, With the gashed corpses Of well-born Danes-- Many had fallen. Then Hildeburh

Ordered her own Son’s  body Be  burnt  with  Hnaef’s, The flesh on his bones To sputter and blaze Beside  his  uncle’s. The woman wailed And sang keens, The warrior went up. Carcass flame 1120 Swirled and fumed, They stood round the burial Mound and howled As heads melted, Crusted gashes Spattered and ran Bloody matter. The glutton element Flamed and consumed The dead of both sides. Their great days were gone. Warriors scattered To homes and forts All over Friesland, Fewer now, feeling Loss of friends. Hengest stayed, Lived out that whole Resentful, blood-sullen Winter with Finn, 1130 Homesick and helpless. No ring-whorled prow Could up then And away on the sea. Wind and water

Raged with storms, Wave and shingle Were shackled on ice Until another year Appeared in the yard As it does to this day, The seasons constant, The wonder of light Coming over us. Then winter was gone, Earth’s  lap  grew lovely, Longing woke In the cooped-up exile For a voyage home-- But more for vengeance, 1140 Some way of bringing Things to a head: His sword arm hankered To greet the Jutes. So he did not balk Once Hunlafing Placed on his lap Dazle-the -Duel, The best sword of all, Whose edges Jutes Knew only too well. Thus blood was spilled, The gallant Finn Slain in his home After Guthlaf and Oslaf Back from their voyage Made old accusation: The brutal ambush, The fate they had suffered, All blamed on Finn. 1150

The wildness in them Had to brim over. The hall ran red With blood of enemies. Finn was cut down, The queen brought away And everything The Shieldings could find Inside Finn’s  walls-- The  Frisian  king’s Gold collars and gemstones-- Swept off to the ship. Over sea-lanes then Back to Daneland The warrior troop Bore that lady home. The poem was over, The poet had performed, a pleasant murmur Started on the benches, stewards did the rounds 1160 With wine in splendid jugs, and Wilhtheow came to sit In her gold crown between two good men, Uncle and nephew, each of whom Still trusted the other; and the forthright Unferth, Admired by all for his mind and courage Although under a cloud for killing his brothers, Reclined near the king. The queen spoke: “Enjoy  this  drink,  my  most  generous  lord;; Raise up your goblet, entertain the Geats Duly and gently, discourse with them, 1170 Be open-handed, happy and fond. Relish their company, but recollect as well All of the boons that have been bestowed upon you. The bright court of Heorot has been cleansed And now the word is that you want to adopt

This warrior as a son. So, while you may, Bask in your fortune, then bequeath Kingdom and nation to your kith and kin, Before your decease. I am certain of Hrothulf. He is noble and will use the young ones well. 1180 He will not let you down. Should you die before him, He will treat our children truly and fairly. He will honor, I am sure, our two sons, Repay them in kind when he recollects All the good things we gave him once, The favor  and  respect  he  found  in  childhood.” She turned then to the bench where her boys sat, Hrethric  and  Hrothmond,  with  other  nobles’  sons, All the youth together; and that good man, Beowulf the Geat, sat between the brothers. 1190 The cup was carried to him, kind words Spoken in welcome and wealth of wrought gold Graciously bestowed; two arm bangles, A mail shirt and rings, and the most resplendent Torque of gold I have ever heard tell of Anywhere on earth or under heaven. There was no hoard like it since Hama snatched The  Brosings’  neck-chain and bore it away With its gems and settings to his shinning fort, Away  from  Eormenric’s  wiles  and  hatred, 1200 And thereby ensured his eternal reward. Hygelac the Geat, grandson of Swerting, Wore this neck-ring on his last raid; At bay under his banner, he defended the booty, Treasure he had won. Fate swept him away Because of his proud need to provoke A feud with the Frisians. He fell beneath his shield, In the same gem-crusted , kingly gear

He had worn when he crossed the frothing wave-vat. So the dead king fell into Frankish hands. 1210 Hey took his breast-mail, also his neck-torque, And punier warriors plundered the slain When the carnage ended; Geat corpses Covered the field. Applause filled the hall. Then Wealhtheow pronounce in the presence of the company: “Take  delight  in  this  torque,  dear  Beowulf, Wear it for luck and also wear this mail From  our  people’s  armory:  may  you  prosper  in  them! Be acclaimed or strength, for kindly guidance To these two boys, and your bounty will be sure. 1220 You have won renown: you are known to all men Far and near, now and forever. Your  sway  is  wide  and  the  wind’s  home, As the sea around cliffs. So, my prince, I  wish  you  a  lifetime’s  luck  and  blessings To enjoy this treasure. Treat my sons With tender care, be strong and kind. Here each comrade is true to the other, Loyal to lord, loving in spirit. The thanes have one purpose, the people are ready: 1230 Having  drunk  and  pledged,  the  ranks  do  as  I  bid.” She moved then to her place. Men were drinking wine At that rare feast; how could they know fate, The grim shape of things to come, The threat looming over many thanes As night approached and king Hrothgar prepared To retire to his quarters? Retainers in great numbers Were posted on guard as so often in the past. Benches were pushed back, bedding gear and bolsters Spread across the floor, and one man 1240

Lay down to his rest, already marked for death. At their heads they placed their polished timber Battle-shields; and on the bench above them, Each  man’s  kit  was  kept  to  hand: A towering war-helmet, webbed mail-shirt And great-shafted spear. It was their habit Always and everywhere to be ready for action, At home or in the camp, in whatever case And at whatever time the need arose To rally round their lord. They were a right people. 1250 They went to sleep. And one paid dearly For  his  night’s  ease, as had happened to them often, Ever since Grendel occupied the gold-hall, Committing evil until the end came, Death after his crimes. Then it became clear, Obvious to everyone once the fight was over, That an avenger lurked and was still alive, Grimly biding time. Grendel’s  mother, Monstrous hell-bride, brooded on her wrongs. She had been forced down into fearful waters, 1260 The cold depths, after Cain had killed His  father’s  son,  felled  his  own Brother with the sword. Banished an outlaw, Marked by having murdered, he moved into the wilds, Shunning company and joy. And from Cain there sprang Misbegotten spirits, among them Grendel, The banished and accursed, due to come to grips With that watcher in Heorot waiting to do battle. The monster wrenched and wrestled with him Bu Beowulf was mindful of his mighty strength, 1270 The wondrous gifts God had showered on him: He relied for help on the Lord of All, On His care and favor. So he overcame the foe, Brought down the hell-brute. Broken and bowed,

Outcast from all sweetness, the enemy of mankind Made for his death-den. But now his mother Had sallied forth on a savage journey, Grief-racked and ravenous, desperate for revenge. She came to Heorot. There, inside the hall, Danes lay asleep, earls who would soon endure 1280 A  great  reversal  once  Grendel’s  mother Attacked and entered. Her onslaught was less Only  by  as  much  as  an  Amazon  warrior’s In  less  than  an  armored  man’s When the hefted sword, its hammered edge And gleaming blade slathered in blood, Razes the sturdy boar-ridge off a helmet. Then in the hall, hard-honed swords Were grabbed from the bench, many a broad shield Lifted and braced; there was little thought of helmets 1290 Or woven mail when they woke in terror. The hell-dam was in panic, desperate to get out, In mortal terror the moment she was found. She had pounced and taken one of the retainers In a tight hold, then headed for the fen. To Hrothgar, this man was the most beloved Of the friends he trusted between the two seas. She had done away with a great warrior, Ambushed him at rest. Beowulf was elsewhere. Earlier, after the reward of the treasure, 1300 The Geat had been given another lodging. There was an uproar in Heorot. She had snatched their trophy, Grendel’s  bloodied  hand.   It was a fresh blow To the afflicted bawn. The bargain was hard, Both parties having to pay With the lives of friends. And the old lord,

The gray-haired warrior, was heartsore and weary When he heard the news: his highest-placed advisor, His dearest companion, was dead and gone. Beowulf was quickly brought to the chamber: 1310 The winner of fights, the arch-warrior, Came first-footing in with his fellow troops To where the king in his wisdom waited, Still wondering whether Almighty God Would even turn the tide of his misfortunes. So Beowulf entered with his band in attendance And the wooden floor-boards banged and rang As he advance, hurrying to address The prince of  the  Ingwins,  asking  if  he’d  rested Since the urgent summons had come as a surprise. 1320 Then  Hrothgar,  the  Shieldings’  helmet,  spoke: “Rest?  What  is  rest?   Sorrow has returned. Alas for the Danes! Aeschere is dead. He  was  Yrmenlaf’s elder brother And a soul mate to me, a true mentor, My right-hand man when the ranks clashed And our boar-crests had to take a battering In the line of action. Aechere was everything The world admires in a wise man and a friend. Then this roaming killer came in a fury 1330 And slaughtered him in Heorot. Where she is hiding, Glutting on the corpse and glorying in her escape, I cannot tell; she has taken up the feud Because of last night, when you killed Grendel, Wrestled and racked him in ruinous combat Since for too long he had terrorized us With his depredations. He died in battle, Paid with his life; and now this powerful Other one arrives, this force for evil Driven  to  avenge  her  kinsman’s  death. 1340

Or so it seems to thanes in their grief, In the anguish every thane endures At the loss of a ring-giver, now that the hand That bestowed so richly has been stilled in death. “I  have  heard  it  said  by  my  people  in  hall, Counselors who live in the upland country, That they have seen two such creatures Prowling the moors, huge marauders From some other world. One of these things, As far as anyone ever can discern, 1350 Looks like a woman; the other, warped In the shape of a man, moves beyond the pale Bigger than any man, an unnatural birth Called Grendel by country people In former days. They are fatherless creatures, And their whole ancestry is hidden in a past Of demons and ghosts. They dwell apart Among wolves on hills, on windswept crags And treacherous keshes, where cold streams Pour down the mountain and disappear 1360 Under mist and moorland. A few miles from here A frost-stiffened wood waits and keeps watch Above a mere; the overhanging bank Is a maze of tree roots mirrored in its surface. At night there, something uncanny happens: The water burns. And the mere bottom Has never been sounded by the sons of men. On its bank, the heather-stepper halts: The hart in flight from pursuing hounds Will turn to face them with firm-set horns 1370 And die in the wood rather than dive Beneath its surface. That is no good place. When the wind blows up and stormy weather

Makes clouds scud and the skies weep, Out of its depths a dirty surge Is pitched towards the heavens. Now help depends Again on you and you alone. The gap of danger where the demon waits Is still unknown to you. Seek it if you dare. I will compensate you for settling the feud 1380 As I did last time with lavish wealth, Coffers  of  coiled  gold,  if  you  come  back.” Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke: “Wise  sir,  do  not  grieve.   It is always better To avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning. For every one of us, living in this world Means waiting for our end. Let whoever can Win glory before death. When a warrior is gone, That will be his best and only bulwark. So arise, my lord, and let us immediately 1390 Set forth on the trail of this troll-dam. I guarantee you: she will not get away, Not to dens underground nor upland groves Nor the ocean floor. She’ll  have  nowhere  to  flee  to. Endure your troubles today. Bear up And  be  the  man  I  expect  you  to  be.” With that the old lord sprung to his feet And  praised  God  for  Beowulf’s  pledge. Then a bit and halter were brought for his horse With the plaited mane. The wise king mounted 1400 The royal saddle and rode out in style With a force of shield-bearers. The forest paths Were  marked  all  over  with  the  monster’s  tracks, Her trail on the ground wherever she had gone Across the dark moors, dragging away The  body  of  that  thane,  Hrothgar’s  best

Counselor and overseer of the country. So the noble prince proceeded undismayed Up fells and screes, along narrow footpaths And ways where they were forced into single file, 1410 Ledges on cliffs above lairs of water-monsters. He went in front with a few men, Good judges of the lie of the land, And suddenly discovered the dismal wood, Mountain trees growing out at an angle Above gray stones: the bloodshot water Surged underneath. It was a sore blow To all of the Danes, friends of the Shieldings, A hurt to each and every one Of that noble company when they came upon 1420 Aechere’s  head  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff. Everybody gazed as the hot gore Kept wallowing up and an urgent war-horn Repeated its notes: the whole party Sat down to watch. The water was infested With all kinds of reptiles. There were writhing sea-dragons And monsters slouching on slopes by the cliff, Serpents and wild things such as those that often Surface at dawn to roam the sail-road And doom the voyage. Down they plunged, 1430 Lashing in anger at the loud call Of the battle bugle. An arrow from the bow Of the Geat chief got one of them As he surged to the surface: the seasoned shaft Stuck deep in his flank and his freedom in the water Got less and less. It was his last swim. He was swiftly overwhelmed in the shallows, Prodded by barbed boar-spears, Cornered, beaten, pulled up on the bank, A strange lake-birth, a loathsome catch 1440

Men gazed at in awe. Beowulf got ready, Donned his war-gear, indifferent to death; His mighty, hand-forged, fine-webbed mail Would soon meet with the menace under water. It would keep the bone-cage of his body safe: No  enemy’s  clasp  could  crush  him  in  it, No vicious arm lock choke his life out. To guard his head he had a glittering helmet That was due to be muddied on the mere bottom And blurred in the up swirl. It was of beaten gold, 1450 Princely headgear hooped and hasped By a weapon-smith who had worked wonders In days gone by and adorned it with boar-shapes; Since then it had resisted every sword. And another item lent by Unferth At that moment was of no small importance: The brehon handed him a hilted weapon, A rare and ancient sword named Hrunting. The iron blade with its ill-boding patterns Had been tempered in blood. It had never failed 1460 The hand of anyone who had hefted it in battle, Anyone who had fought and faced the worst In the gap of danger. This was not the first time It had been called to perform heroic feats. When he lent that blade to the better swordsman, Unferth, the strong-built son of Ecglaf, Could hardly have remember the ranting speech He had made in his cups. He was not man enough To face the turmoil of a fight under water And the risk to his life. So there he lost 1470 fame and repute. It was different for the other Rigged out in his gear, ready to do battle.

Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke: “Wisest  of  kings,  now  that  I  have  come To the point of action, I ask you to recall What we said earlier: that you, son of Halfdane And gold-friend to retainers, that you, if I should fall And suffer death while serving your cause, Would act like a father to me afterwards. If this combat kills me, take care 1480 Of my young company, my comrades in arms. And be sure also, my beloved Hrothgar, To send Hygelac the treasures I received. Let the lord of the Geats gaze on that gold, Let  Hrethel’s  son  take  note  of  it  and  see That I found a ring-giver of rare magnificence And enjoyed the good of his generosity. And Unferth is to have what I inherited: To that far-famed man I bequeath my own Sharp-horned, wave-sheened wonder blade. 1490 With Hrunting I shall gain glory or die. After these words, the prince of the Weather-Geats Was impatient to be away and plunged suddenly: Without more ado, he dived in to the heaving Depths of the lake. It was the best part of a day Before he could see the solid bottom. Quickly the one who haunted those waters, Who had scavenged and gone her gluttonous rounds For a hundred seasons, sensed a human Observing her outlandish lair from above. 1500 So she lunged and clutched and managed to catch him In her brutal grip; but his body, for all that, Remained unscathed: the mesh of the chain-mail Saved him on the outside. Her savage talons Failed to rip the web of his war shirt. Then once she touched bottom, the wolfish swimmer

Carried the ring-mailed prince to her court So that for all his courage he could never use The weapons he carried; and a bewildering horde Came at him from the depths, droves of sea-beasts 1510 Who attacked with tusks and tore at his chain-mail In a ghastly onslaught. The gallant man Could see he had entered some hellish turn-hole And yet the water did not work against him Because the hall-roofing held off The force of the current; then he saw firelight, A gleam and flare-up, a glimmer of brightness. The hero observed that swamp-thing from hell, The tarn-hag in all her terrible strength, Then heaved his war-sword and swung his arm: 1520 The decorated blade came down ringing And singing on her head. But he soon found His battle-torch extinguished: the shinning blade Refused to bite. It spared her and failed The man in his need. It had gone through many Hand-to-hand fights, had hewed the armor And helmets of the doomed, but here at last The fabulous powers of that heirloom failed. Hygelac’s  kinsman  kept  thinking  about His name and fame: he never lost heart. 1530 Then, in fury, he flung his sword away. The keen, inlaid, worm-looped-patterned steel Was hurled to the ground: he would have to rely On the might of his arm. So must a man do Who intends to gain enduring glory In a combat. Life  doesn’t  cost  him   thought. Then the prince of War-Geats, warming to his fight With  Grendel’s  mother, gripped her shoulder And laid about him in a battle frenzy: He pitched his killer opponent to the floor 1540

But she rose quickly and retaliated, Grappled him tightly in her grim embrace. The sure-footed fight fell daunted, The strongest of warriors stumbled and fell. So she pounced upon him and pulled out A broad, whetted knife: now she could avenge Her only child. But the mesh of chain-mail On  Beowulf’s  shoulder  shielded  his  life, Turned the edge and tip of the blade. The son of Ecgtheow would surely have perished 1550 And the Geats lost their warrior under the wide earth Had the strong links and locks of his war-gear Not helped to save him: Holy God Decided the victory. It was easy for the Lord, The Ruler of Heaven, to redress the balance Once Beowulf got back up on his feet. Then he saw a blade that boded well, A sword in her armory, an ancient heirloom From the days of the giants, an ideal weapon, One that any warrior would envy, 1560 But so huge and heavy in itself Only Beowulf could wield it in battle. So  the  Shieldings’  hero,  hard-pressed and enraged, Took a firm hold of the hilt and swung The blade in an arc, a resolute blow That bit into her neck bone And severed it entirely, toppling the doomed House of her flesh; she fell to the floor. The sword dripped blood, the swordsman was elated. A light appeared and the place brightened 1570 The  way  the  sky  does  when  heaven’s  candle Is shinning clearly. He inspected the vault: With sword held high, its hilt raised

To  guard  and  threaten,  Hygelac’s  thane Scouted  by  the  wall  in  Grendel’s  wake. Now the weapon was to prove its worth. The warrior determined to take revenge For every gross act Grendel had committed-- And not only for that one occasion When  he’d  come  to  slaughter  the  sleeping  troops, 1580 Fifteen  of  Hrothgar’s  house-guards Surprised on their benches and ruthlessly devoured, And as many again carried away, A brutal plunderer. Beowulf in his fury Now settled that score: he saw the monster In his resting place, war-weary and wrecked, A lifeless corpse, a casualty Of the battle in Heorot. The body gaped At the stroke dealt to it after death: Beowulf  cut  the  corpse’s  head  off. 1590 Immediately the counselors keeping a lookout With Hrothgar, watching the lake water, Saw a heave-up and surge of waves And blood in the backwash. They bowed gray heads, Spoke in their sage, experienced way About the good warrior, how they never again Expected to see that prince returning In triumph to their king. It was clear to many That the wolf of the deep had destroyed him forever. The ninth hour of the day arrived. 1600 The brave Shieldings abandoned their cliff-top And the king went home; but sick at heart, Staring at the mere, the strangers held on. They wished, without hope, to behold their lord, Beowulf himself. Meanwhile, the sword

Began to wilt into gory icicles, To slather and thaw. It was a wonderful thing, The way it all melted as ice melts When the father eases the fetters off the frost And unravels the water-ropes. He who wields power 1610 Over time and tide: He is the true Lord. The Geat captain saw treasure in abundance But carried no spoils from those quarters Except for the head and the inlaid hilt Embossed with jewels; its blade had melted And the scrollwork on it burnt, so scalding was the blood Of the poisonous fiend who had perished there. Then away he swan, the one who had survived The fall of his enemies, flailing to the surface. The wide water, the waves and pools 1620 Were no longer infested once the wandering fiend Let go of her life and this unreliable world. The  seafarers’  leader  made  for land, Resolutely swimming, delighted with his prize, The mighty load he was lugging to the surface. His thanes advanced in a troop to meet him, Thanking God and taking great delight In seeing their prince back safe and sound. Quickly  the  hero’s  helmet  and mail-shirt Were loosed and unlaced. The lake settled, 1630 Clouds darkened above the bloodshot depths. With high hearts they headed away Along footpath and trails through the fields, Roads that they knew, each of them wrestling With the head they were carrying from the lakeside cliff, Men kingly in their courage and capable Of difficult work. It was a task for four To  hoist  Grendel’s  head  on  a  spear

And bear it under strain to the bright hall. But soon enough they neared the place, 1640 Fourteen Geats in fine fettle, Striding across the outlying ground In a delighted throng around they leader. In  he  came  then,  the  thane’s  commander, The arch-warrior, to address Hrothgar: His courage was proven, his glory was secure. Grendel’s  head  was  hauled  by  the  hair, Dragged across the floor where people were drinking, A horror for both queen and company to behold. They stared in awe. It was an astonishing sight. 1650 Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke: “So,  son  of  Halfdane,  prince  of  the  Shieldings, We are glad to bring this booty from the lake. It is a token of triumph and we tender it to you. I barely survived the battle underwater. It was hard-fought, a desperate affair That could have gone badly; if God had not helped me, The outcome would have been quick and fatal. Although Hrunting is hard-edged, I could never bring it to bear in battle. 1660 But the Lord of Men allowed me to behold-- For he often helps the unbefriended-- An ancient sword shinning on the wall, A weapon made for giants, there for the wielding. Then my moment came in the combat and I struck The dwellers in that den. Next thing the damascened Sword blade melted; it bloated and it burned In their rushing blood. I have wrested the hilt From  the  enemies’  hand,  avenged  the  evil Done to the Danes; it is what was due. 1670 And this I pledge, O prince of the Shieldings:

You can sleep secure with your company of troops In Heorot Hall. Never need you fear For a single thane of your sept or nation, Young warriors or old, that laying waste of life That  you  and  your  people  endured  of  yore.” Then the gold hilt was handed over To the old lord, a relic from long ago For the venerable ruler. That rare smith work Was passed on to the prince of the Danes 1680 When those devils perished; once death removed That murdering, guilt-steeped, God-cursed fiend, Eliminating his unholy life And  his  mother’s  as  well,  it  was  willed  that  the  king Who of all the lavish gift-lords of the north Was the best regarded between the two seas. Hrothgar spoke; he examined the hilt, That relic of old times. It was engraved all over And showed how war first came into the world And the flood destroyed the tribe of giants. 1690 They suffered a terrible severance from the Lord; The Almighty made the waters rise, Drowned them in the deluge for retribution. In pure gold inlay on the sword-guards There were rune markings correctly incised, Stating and recording for whom the sword Had been first made and ornamented With its scrollwork hilt. Then everyone hushed As the son of Halfdane spoke his wisdom. “A  protector  of  his  people,  pledged  to  uphold 1700 Truth and justice and to respect tradition, Is entitled to affirm that this man Was born to distinction. Beowulf, my friend, Your fame has gone far and wide,

You are known everywhere. In all things you are even-tempered, Prudent and resolute. So I stand firm by the promise of friendship We exchanged before. Forever you will be Your  people’s  mainstay  and  your  own  warriors’ Helping hand. Heremod was different, The  way  he  behaved  to  Ecgwala’s  sons. 1710 His rise in the world brought little joy To the Danish people, only death and destruction. He vented his rage on people he caroused with, Killed his own comrades, a pariah king Who cut himself off from his own kind, Even though God Almighty had made him Eminent and powerful and marked him from the start For a happy life. But a change happened, He grew bloodthirsty, gave no more rings To honor the Danes. He suffered in the end 1720 For having plagued his people for so long: His life lost happiness. So learn from this And understand true values. I who tell you Have wintered into wisdom. It is a great wonder How Almighty God in his magnificence Favors our race with rank and scope And the gift of wisdom; His sway is wide. Sometimes He allows the mind of a man Of distinguished birth to follow its bent, Grants him fulfillment and felicity on earth 1730 And forts to command in his own country. He permits him to lord it in many lands Until the man in his unthinkingness Forgets that it will ever end for him. He indulges his desires; illness and old age Mean nothing to him; his mind is untroubled

By envy or malice or thought of enemies With their hate-honed swords. The whole world Conforms to his will, he is kept from the worst Until an element of overweening 1740 Enters him and takes hold While  the  soul’s  guard,  its  sentry,  drowses, Grown too distracted. A killer stalks him, An archer who draws a deadly bow. And then the man is hit in the heart, The arrow flies beneath his defenses, The devious promptings of the demon start. His old possessions seem paltry to him now. He covets and resents; dishonors custom And bestows no gold; and because of good things 1750 That the Heavenly powers gave him in the past He ignores the shape of things to come. Then finally the end arrives When the body he was lent collapses and falls Prey to its death; ancestral possessions And the goods he hoarded and inherited by another Who lets them go with a liberal hand. “O  flower of warriors, beware of that trap. Choose, dear Beowulf, the better part, Eternal rewards. Do not give way to pride. 1760 For a brief while your strength is in bloom But it fades quickly; and soon there will follow Illness or the sword to lay you low, Or a sudden fire or surge of water Or jabbing blade or javelin from the air Or repellent age. Your piercing eye Will dim and darken; and death will arrive, Dear warrior, to sweep you away. “Just  so  I  ruled  the  ring-Danes’  country

For fifty years, defended them in wartime 1770 With spear and sword against constant assaults By many tribes: I came to believe My enemies had faded from the face of the earth. Still, what happened was a hard reversal From bliss to grief. Grendel struck After lying in wait. He laid waste the land And from that moment my mind was in dread Of his depredations. So I praise God In His heavenly glory that I lived to behold This head dripping blood and after such harrowing 1780 I can look upon it in triumph at last. Take your place, then, with pride and pleasure And move to the feast. Tomorrow morning Our  treasure  will  be  shared  and  showered  upon  you.” The Geat was elated and gladly obeyed The old man’s  biding;;  he  sat  on  the  bench. And soon all was restored, the same as before. Happiness came back, the hall was thronged, And a banquet set forth; black night fell And covered them in darkness. 1790 Then the company rose For the old campaigner: the gray-haired prince Was ready for bed. And a need for rest Came over the brave shield-bearing Geat. He was a weary sea-farer, far from home, So immediately a house-guard guided him out, One whose office entailed looking after Whatever a thane on the road in those days Might need or require. It was noble courtesy. That great heart rested. The hall towered, Gold-shingled and gabled, and the guest slept in it 1800 Until the black raven with raucous glee

Announced  heaven’s  joy,  and  a  hurry  of  brightness Overran the shadows. Warriors rose quickly, Impatient to be off: their own country Was beckoning the nobles; and the bold voyager Longed to be aboard his distant boat. Then that stalwart fighter ordered Hrunting To be brought to Unferth, and bade Unferth Take the sword and thanked him for lending it. He said he had found it a friend in battle 1810 And a powerful help; he put no blame On  the  blade’s  cutting edge. He was a considerate man. And there the warriors stood in their war-gear, Eager to go, while their honored lord Approached the platform where the other sat. The undaunted hero addressed Hrothgar. Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke: “Now  we  who  crossed the wide sea Have to inform you that we feel a desire To return to Hygelac. Here we have been welcomed 1820 And thoroughly entertain. You have treated us well. If there is any favor on earth I can perform Beyond deeds of arms I have done already, Anything that would merit your affections more, I shall act, my lord, with alacrity. If ever I hear from across the ocean That people on your borders are threatening battle As attackers have done from time to time, I shall land with a thousand thanes at my back To help your cause. Hygelac may be young 1830 To rule a nation, but this much I know About the king of the Geats: he will come to my aid And want to support me by word and action In your hour of need, when honor dictates That I raise a hedge of spears around you.

Then if Hrethric should think about traveling As a  king’s  son  to  the  court  of  the  Geats, He will find many friend. Foreign places Yield  more  to  one  who  is  himself  worth  meeting.” Hrothgar spoke and answered him: 1840 “The  Lord  in  his  wisdom  sent  you  those  words And they came from the heart. I have never heard So young a man make truer observations. You are strong in body and mature in mind, Impressive in speech. If it should come to pass That  Hrethel’s  descendant  dies  beneath  a  spear, If deadly battle or the sword blade or disease Fells the prince who guards your people And you are still alive, I firmly believe The  seafaring  Geats  won’t  find  a  man 1850 Worthier of acclaim as their king and defender Than you, if only you would undertake The lordship of your homeland. My liking for you Deepens with time, dear Beowulf. What you have done is to draw two peoples, The Geat nation and us neighboring Danes, Into shared peace and a pact of friendship In spite of hatreds we have harbored in the past. For as long as I rule this far-flung land Treasures will change hands and each side will treat 1860 The  other  with  gifts;;  across  the  gannet’s  bath, Over the broad sea, whorled prows will bring Presents and tokens. I know your people Are beyond reproach in every respect, Steadfast  in  the  old  way  with  friend  or  foe.” Then  the  earl’s  defender  furnished  the  hero With twelve treasures and told him to set out, Sail with those gifts safely home

To the people he loved, but to return promptly. And so the good and gray-haired Dane, 1870 That high-born king, kissed Beowulf And embraced his neck, then broke down In sudden tears. Two forebodings Disturbed him in his wisdom, but one was stronger: Nevermore would they meet each other Face to face. And such was his affection That he could not help being overcome: His fondness for the man was so deep-founded, It warmed his heart and wound the heartstrings Tight in his breast. 1880 The embrace ended And Beowulf, glorious in his gold regalia, Stepped on the green earth. Straining at anchor And ready for boarding, his boat awaited him. So  they  went  on  their  journey,  and  Hrothgar’s  generosity Was praised repeatedly. He was a peerless king Until old age sapped his strength and did him Mortal harm, as it has done so many. Down to the waves then, dressed in the web Of their chain-mail and war-shirts the young men marched In high spirits. The coast-guard spied them, 1890 Thanes setting forth, the same as before. His salute this time from the top of the cliff Was far from unmannerly; he galloped to meet them And as they took ship in their shinning gear, He said how welcome they would be in Geatland. Then the broad hull was beached on the sand To be cargoed with treasure, horses and war-gear. The curved prow motioned; the mast stood high Above  Hrothgar’s  riches  in  the  loaded  hold. The guard who had watched the boat was given 1900

A sword with gold fittings and in future days That present would make him a respected man At his place on the mead-bench. Then the keel plunged And shook in the sea; and they sailed from Denmark. Right away the mast was rigged with its sea-shawl; Sail ropes were tightened, timbers drummed And stiff winds kept the wave-crosser Skimming ahead; as she heaved forward, Her foamy neck was fleet and buoyant, A lapped prow loping over currents, 1910 Until finally the Geats caught sight of coastline And familiar cliffs. The keel reared up, Wind lifted it home, it hit on the land. The harbor guard came hurrying out To the rolling water: he had watched the offing Long and hard, on the lookout for those friends. With the anchor cables, he moored their craft Right where it had beached, in case a backwash Might catch the hull and carry it away. Then  he  ordered  the  prince’s  treasure-trove 1920 To be carried ashore. It was a short step From  there  to  where  Hrethel’s  son  and  heir, Hygelac the gold-giver, makes his home On a secure cliff, in the company of retainers. The building was magnificent, the king majestic, Ensconced in his hall; and although Hygd, his queen, Was young, a few short years at court, Her mind was thoughtful and her manners sure. Haereth’s  daughter  behaved  generously And stinted nothing when she distributed 1930 Bounty to the Geats.

Great Queen Modthryth Perpetrated terrible wrongs. If any retainer ever made bold To  look  her  in  the  face,  if  an  eye  not  her  lord’s Stared at her directly during daylight, The outcome was sealed: he was bound In hand-tightened shackles, racked, tortured Until doom was announced--death by the sword, Slash of blade, blood gush and death qualms In an evil display. Even a queen 1940 Outstanding in beauty must not overstep like that. A queen should weave peace, not punish the innocent With loss of life for imagined insults. But  Hemming’s  kinsman  put  a  halt  to  her  ways And drinkers round the table had another tale: She  was  less  of  a  bane  to  people’s  lives, Less cruel-minded, after she was married To the brave Offa, a bride arrayed In her gold finery, given away By a caring father, ferried to her young prince 1950 Over dim seas. In days to come She would grace the throne and grow famous For her good deeds and conduct of life, Her high devotion to the hero king Who was the best king, it has been said, Between the two seas or anywhere else On the face of the earth. Offa was honored Far and wide for his generous ways, His fighting spirit and his far-seeing Defense of his homeland; from him there sprang Eomer, 1960 Garmund’s  grandson,  kinsman  of  Hemming, His  warrior’s  mainstay  and  master  of  the  field. Heroic Beowulf and his band of men Crossed the wide strand, striding along

The sandy foreshore; the sun shone, The  world’s  candle  warmed  them  from  the  south As they hastened to where, as they had heard, The  young  king,  Ongentheow’s  killer And  his  people’s  protector,  was  dispensing  rings Inside his bawn. Beowulf’s  return 1970 Was reported to Hygelac as soon as possible, News that the captain was now in the enclosure, His battle-brother back from the fray Alive and well, walking back to the hall. Room  was  quickly  made,  on  the  king’s  orders, And the troops filed across the cleared floor. After Hygelac had offered greetings To his loyal thane in lofty speech, He and his kinsman, that hale survivor, Sat face to face. Haereth’s  daughter 1980 Moved about with the mead-jug in her hand, Taking care of the company, filling the cups That warriors held out. Then Hygelac began To put courteous questions to his old comrade In the high hall. He hankered to know Every tale the Sea-Geats had to tell. “How  did  you  fare  on  your  foreign  voyage, Dear Beowulf, when you abruptly decided To sail away across the salt water And fight at Heorot? Did you help Hrothgar 1990 Much in the end? Could you ease the prince Of his well-known troubles? Your undertaking Cast my spirits down, I dreaded the outcome Of your expedition and pleaded with you Long and hard to leave the killer be, Let the South-Danes settle their own Blood-feud with Grendel. So God be thanked

I  am  granted  this  sight  of  you,  safe  and  sound.” Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke: “What  happened,  lord  Hygelac,  is  hardly  a  secret 2000 Any more among men in this world-- Myself and Grendel coming to grips On the very spot where he visited destruction On the Victory-Shieldings and violated Life and limb, loses I avenged So  no  earthly  offspring  of  Grendel’s Need ever boast of that bout before dawn, No matter know long the last of his evil Family survives. When I first landed I hastened to the ring-hall and saluted Hrothgar. 2010 Once he had discovered why I had come The son of Halfdane sent me immediately To sit with his own sons on the bench. It was a happy gathering. In my whole life I have never seen mead enjoyed more In any hall on earth. Sometimes the queen Herself appeared, peace-pledge between nations, To hearten the young ones and hand out A torque to a warrior, then take her place. Sometimes  Hrothgar’s  daughter  distributed 2020 Ale to older ranks, in order on the benches: I heard the company call her Freawaru As she made her rounds, presenting men With the gem-studded bowl, young bride-to-be To the gracious Ingeld, in her gold-rimmed attire. The friend of the Shieldings favors her betrothal: The guardian of the kingdom sees good in it And hoped this woman will heal old wounds And grievous feuds. But generally the spear

Is prompt to retaliate when a prince is killed, 2030 No matter how admirable the bride may be. “Think  how  the  Heathobards  will  be  bound  to  feel, Their lord, Ingeld, and his loyal thanes, When he walks in with that woman to the feast: Danes are at the table, being entertained, Honored guest in glittering regalia, Burnished ring-mail  that  was  their  hosts’  birthright, Looted when the Heathobards could no longer wield Their weapons in the shield-clash, when they went down With their beloved comrades and forfeited their lives. 2040 Then an old spearman will speak while they are drinking, Having glimpsed some heirloom that brings alive Memories of the massacre; his mood will darken And heart-stricken, in the stress of his emotion, He will begin to test a young-man’s  temper And stir up trouble, starting like this: “Now,  my  friend,  don’t  you  recognize Your  father’s  sword,  his  favorite  weapon, Then one he wore when he went out in his war-mask To face the Danes on that final day? 2050 After Wethergeld died and his men were doomed The Shieldings quickly took the field, And  now  here’s  the  son  of  one  or  other Of those same killers coming through our hall Overbearing us, mouthing boasts, And rigged in armor that by right is yours.’ And so he keeps on, recalling and accusing, Working things up with bitter words Until  one  of  the  lady’s  retainers  lies Spattered in blood, split open 2060 On  his  father’s  account.   The killer knows The lie of the land and escaped with his life. Then on both sides the oath-bound lords

Will break the peace, a passionate hate Will build up in Ingeld and love for his bride Will falter in him as the feud rankles. I therefore suspect the good faith of the Heathobards, The truth of their friendship and the trustworthiness Of their alliance with the Danes. But now, my lord, I shall carry on with my account of Grendel, 2070 The whole story of everything that happened In the hand-to-hand fight. After  heaven’s  gem Had gone mildly to earth, that maddened spirit, The terror of those twilights, came to attack us Where we stood guard, still safe inside the hall. There deadly violence came down on Handscio And he fell as fate ordained, the first to perish, Rigged out for the combat. A comrade from our ranks Had  come  to  grief  in  Grendel’s  maw: He ate up the entire body. 2080 There was blood on his teeth, he was bloated and furious, All roused up, yet still unready To leave the hall empty-handed; Renowned for his might, he matched himself against me, Wildly reaching. He had this roomy pouch, A strange accoutrement, intricately strung And hung at the ready, a rare patchwork Of devilishly fitting dragon-skins. I had done him no wrong, yet the raging demon Wanted to cram me and many another 2090 Into this bag--but it was not to be Once I got to my feet in a blind fury. It would take too long to tell how I repaid The terror of the land for every life he took And so won credit for you, my king, And for all your people. And although he got away

To  enjoy  life’s  sweetness  for  a  while  longer, His right hand stayed behind him in Heorot, Evidence of his miserable overthrow As he dived into murk on the mere bottom. 2100 “I  got  lavish  rewards  from  the  lord  of  the  Danes For my part in the battle, beaten gold And much else, once morning came And we took our places at the banquet table. There was singing and excitement: an old reciter, A carrier of stories, recalled the early days. At times some hero made the timbered harp Tremble with sweetness, or related true And tragic happenings; at times the king Gave the proper turn to some fantastic tale, 2110 Or a battle-scarred veteran, bowed with age, Would begin to remember the martial deeds Of his youth and prime and be overcome As the past welled up in his wintry heart. “We  were  happy  there  the  whole  day  long And enjoyed our time until another night Descended upon us. Then suddenly The vehement mother avenged her son And wreaked destruction. Death had robbed her; Geats had slain Grendel, so his ghastly dam 2120 Struck back and with bare-faced defiance Laid a man low. Thus life departed From the sage Auschere, an elder wise in council. But afterwards, on the morning following, The Danes could not burn the dead body Nor lay the remains of the man they loved On his funeral pyre. She had fled with the corpse And taken refuge beneath torrents on the mountain. It was a hard blow for Hrothgar to bear,

Harder than any he had undergone before. 2130 And so the heartsore king beseeched me In your royal name to take my chances Underwater, to win glory And prove my worth. He promised me rewards. Hence, as is well known, I went to my encounter With the terror-monger at the bottom of the tarn. For a while it was hand-to-hand between us, Then blood went curdling along the currents And  I  beheaded  Grendel’s  mother  in  the  hall With a mighty sword. I barely managed 2140 To escape with my life; my time had not yet come. But  Halfdane’s  heir,  the  shelter  of  those  earls, Again endowed me with gifts in abundance. “Thus  the king acted with due custom. I was paid and recompensed completely, Given full measure and the freedom to choose From  Hrothgar’s  treasures  by  Hrothgar  himself. These, King Hygelac, I am happy to present To you as gifts. It is still upon your grace That all favor depends. I have few kinsman 2150 Who  are  close,  my  king,  except  for  your  kind  self.” Then he order the boar-framed standard to be brought, The battle-topping helmet, the mail-shirt gray as hoar-frost And the precious war-sword; and proceeded with his speech. “When  Hrothgar  presented   this war-gear to me He instructed, my lord, to give you some account Of why it signifies his special favor. He said it had belonged to his older brother, King Heorogar, who had long kept it, But that Heorogar had never bequeathed it 2160 To his son Heoroweard, that worthy scion, Loyal as he was. Enjoy  it  well.”

I heard four horses were handed over next. Beowulf bestowed four bay steeds To go with the armor, swift gallopers, All alike. So ought a kinsman act, Instead of plotting and planning in secret To bring people to grief, or conspiring to arrange The death of comrades. The warrior king Was uncle to Beowulf and honored by his nephew: 2170 Each was  concerned  for  the  other’s  good. I heard he presented Hygd with a gorget, The  priceless  torque  that  the  prince’s  daughter, Wealhtheow, had given him; and three horses, Supple creatures, brilliantly saddled. The bright necklace would be luminous on Hygd’s  breast. Thus Beowuld bore himself with valor; He was formidable in battle yet behaved with honor And took no advantage: never cut down A comrade who was drunk, kept his temper 2180 And, warrior that he was, watched and controlled His God-sent strength and his outstanding Natural powers. He had been poorly regarded For a long time, was taken by the Geats For less than he was worth: and their lord too Had never much esteemed him in the mead-hall. They firmly believed that he lacked force, That the prince was a weakling; but presently Every affront to his deserving was reversed. The battle-famed king, bulwark of his earls, 2190 Ordered a gold-chased  heirloom  of  Hrethel’s To be brought in; it was the best example Of a gem-studded sword in the Geat treasury.

This  he  laid  on  Beowulf’s  lap And then rewarded him with land as well, Seven thousand hides, and a hall and a throne. Both owned land by birth in that country, Ancestral ground; but the greater right And sway were inherited by the higher born. A lot was to happen in later days 2200 In the fury of battle. Hygelac fell And  the  shelter  of  Heardred’s  shield  proved  useless Against the fierce aggression of the Shylfings: Ruthless swordsmen, seasoned campaigners, They came against him and his conquering nation, And with cruel force cut him down So that afterwards The wide kingdom Reverted to Beowulf. He ruled it well For fifty winters, grew old and wise As warden of the land 2210 Until one began To dominate the dark, a dragon on the prowl From the steep vaults of a stone-roofed barrow Where he guarded a hoard; there was a hidden passage, Unknown to men, but someone managed To enter by it and interfere With the heathen trove. He had handled and removed A gem-studded goblet; it gained him nothing, Though  with  a  thief’s  wiles  he  had  outwitted The sleeping dragon; that drove him into rage, As the people of that country would soon discover. 2220 The  intruder  who  broached  the  dragon’s  treasure And moved him to wrath had never meant to. It was desperation on the part of a slave Fleeing the heavy hand of some master,

Guilt-ridden and on the run, Going to ground. But he soon began To  shake  with  terror…………..in  shock The  wretch……………………………. ………………………..panicked  and  ran Away  with  the  precious…………………. 2230 Metalwork. There were many other Heirlooms heaped inside the earth-house, Because long ago, with deliberate care, Somebody now forgotten Had buried the riches of a high-born race In this ancient cache. Death had come And taken them all in times gone by And the only one left to tell their tale, The last of their line, could look forward to nothing But the same fate for himself: he foresaw that his joy 2240 In the treasure would be brief. A newly constructed Barrow stood waiting, on a wide headland Close to the waves, its entryway secured. Into it the keeper of the hoard had carried All the goods and golden ware Worth preserving. His words were few: “Now,  earth,  hold  what  earls  once  held And heroes can no more; it was mined from you first By honorable men. My own people Have been ruined in war; one by one 2250 They went down to death, looked their last On sweet life in the hall. I am left with nobody To bear a sword or burnish plated goblets, Put a sheen on the cup. The companies have departed. The hard helmet, hasped with gold, Will be stripped of its hoops; and the helmet-shiner Who should polish the metal of the war-mask sleeps; The coat of mail that came through all fights,

Through shield-collapse and cut of sword, Decays with the warrior. Now may webbed mail 2260 Range  far  and  wide  on  a  warlord’s  back Beside his mustered troops. No trembling harp, No tuned timber, no tumbling hawk Swerving through the hall, no swift horse Pawing the courtyard. pillage and slaughter Have  emptied  the  earth  of  entire  peoples.” And so he mourned as he moved about the world, Deserted and alone, lamenting his unhappiness Day  and  night,  until  death’s  flood Brimmed up in his heart. 2270 Then an old harrower of the dark Happened to find the hoard open, The burning one who hunts out barrows, The slick-skinned dragon, threatening the night sky With streamers of fire. People on the farms Are in dread of him. He is driven to hunt out Hoards under ground, to guard heathen gold Through age-long vigils, though to little avail. For three centuries, this scourge of the people Had stood guard on that stoutly protected Underground treasury, until the intruder 2280 Unleashed its fury; he hurried to his lord With the gold-plated cup and made his plea To be reinstated. Then the vault was rifled, The ring-hoard robbed, and the wretched man Had his request granted. His master gazed On that find from the past for the first time. When the dragon awoke, trouble flared again. He rippled down the rock, writhing with anger When he saw the footprints of the prowler who had stolen Too close to his dreaming head. 2290 So may a man not marked by fate

Easily escape exile and woe By the grace of God. The hoard-guardian Scorched the ground as he scoured and hunted For the trespasser who had troubled his sleep. Hot and savage, he kept circling and circling The outside of the mound. No man appeared In that desert waste, but he worked himself up By  imagining  battle;;  then  back  in  he’d  go In search of the cup, only to discover 2300 Signs that someone had stumbled upon The golden treasures. The guardian of the mound, The hoard-watcher, waited for the gloaming With fierce impatience; his pent-up fury At the loss of the vessel made him long to hit back And lash out in flames. Then, to his delight, The day waned and he could wait no longer Behind the wall, but hurtled forth In a fiery blaze. The first to suffer Were the people on the land, but before long 2310 It was their treasure-giver who would come to grief. The dragon began to belch out flames And burn bright homesteads; there was a hot glow That scared everyone, for the vile sky-winger Would leave nothing alive in his wake. Everywhere the havoc he wrought was in evidence. Far and near, the Geat nation Bore the brunt of his brutal assaults And virulent hate. Then back to the hoard He would dart before daybreak, to hide in his den. 2320 He had swinged the land, swathed it in flame, In fire and burning, and now he felt secure In the vaults of his burrow; but his trust was unavailing.

Then Beowulf was given bad news, A hard truth: his own home, The best of buildings, had been burnt to a cinder, The throne-room of the Geats. It threw the hero Into deep anguish and darkened his mood: The wise man thought he must have thwarted Ancient ordinance of the eternal Lord, 2330 Broken His commandment. His mind was in turmoil, Unaccustomed anxiety and gloom Confused his brain; the fire-dragon Had rased the coastal region and reduced Forts and earthworks to dust and ashes, So the war-king planned and plotted his revenge. The  warriors’  protector,  prince  of  the  hall-troop, Ordered a marvelous all-iron shield From his smithy works. He well knew That linden boards would let him down 2340 And timber burn. After many trials, He was destined to face the end of his days In this mortal world; as was the dragon, For all his leasehold on the treasure. Yet the prince of the rings was too proud To line up with a large army Against the sky-plague. He had scant regard For the dragon as a threat, no dread at all Of its courage or strength, for he had kept going Often in the past, through perils and ordeals 2350 Of every sort, after he had purged Hrothgar’s  hall,  triumphed  in  Heorot And beaten Grendel. He outgrappled the monster And his evil kin. One of his cruelest Hand-to-hand encounters had happened When Hygelac, king of the Geats, was killed

In  Friesland:  the  people’s  friend  and  lord, Hrethel’s  son,  slaked  a  sword  blade’s Thirst for blood. But  Beowulf’s  prodigious Gifts as a swimmer guaranteed his safety: 2360 He arrived at the shore, shouldering thirty Battle-dresses, the booty he had won. There was little for the Hetware to be happy about As they shielded their faces and fighting on the ground Began in earnest. With Beowulf against them, Few could hope to return home. Across the wide sea, desolate and alone, The son of Ecgtheow swam back to his people. There Hygd offered him throne and authority As lord of the ring-hoard: with Hygelac dead, 2370 She  had  no  belief  in  her  son’s  ability To defend their homeland against foreign invaders. Yet there was no way the weakened nation Could get Beowulf to give in and agree To be elevated over Heardred as his lord Or to undertake the office of kingship. But he did provide support for the prince, Honored and minded him until he matured As the ruler of Geatland. Then over sea-roads Exiles arrived, sons of Ohthere. 2380 They had rebelled against the best of all The sea-kings in Sweden, the one who held sway In the Shylfing nation, their renowned prince, Lord of the mead-hall. That marked the end For  Hygelac’s  son:  his  hospitality Was mortally rewarded with wounds from a sword. Heardred lay slaughtered and Onela returned To the land of Sweden, leaving Beowulf To ascend the throne, to sit in majesty

And rule over the Geats. He was a good king. 2390 In days to come, he contrived to avenge The fall of his prince; he befriended Eadgils When Eadgils was friendless, aiding his cause With weapons and warriors over the wide sea, Sending him men. The feud was settled On a comfortless campaign when he killed Onela. And so the son of Ecgtheow had survived Every extreme, excelling himself In daring and in danger, until the day arrived When he had to come face to face with the dragon. 2400 The lord of the Geats took eleven comrades And went in a rage to reconnoiter. By then he had discovered the cause of the affliction Being visited on the people. The precious cup Had come to him from the hand of the finder, The one who had started all this strife And was now added as a thirteenth to their number. They press-ganged and compelled this poor creature To be their guide. Against his will He led them to the earth-vault he alone knew, 2410 An underground barrow near the sea-billows And heaving waves, heaped inside With exquisite metalwork. The one who stood guard Was dangerous and watchful, warden of that trove Buried under earth: no easy bargain Would be made in that place by any man. The veteran king sat down on the cliff-top. He wished good luck to the Geats who had shared His hearth and his gold. He was sad at heart, Unsettled yet ready, sensing his own death. 2420 His fate hovered near, unknowable but certain:

It would soon claim his coffered soul, Part life from limb. Before long The  prince’s  spirit  would  spin  free  from  his  body. Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke: “Many  a  skirmish  I  survived  when  I  was  young And many times of war; I remember them well. At seven, I was fostered out by my father, Left  in  the  charge  of  my  people’s  lord. King Hrethel kept me and took care of me, 2430 Was open-handed, behaved lie a kinsman. While I was his ward, he treated me no worse As a wean about the place than one of his own boys, Herebeald and Haethcyn, or my own Hygelac. For the eldest, Herebeald, an unexpected Deathbed  was  laid  out,  through  a  brother’s  doing, When Haethcyn bent his horn-tipped bow And loosed the arrow that destroyed his life. He shot wide and buried a shaft In the flesh and blood of his own brother. 2440 That offence was beyond redress, a wrong footing Of  the  heart’s  affections;;  for  who  could  avenge The  prince’s  life  or  pay  his  death-price? It was like the misery felt by an old man Who  has  lived  to  see  his  son’s  body Swing on the gallows. He begins to keen And weep for his boy, watching the raven Gloat where he hangs: he can be of no help. The wisdom of age is worthless to him. Morning after morning, he wakes to remember 2450 That his child is gone; he has no interest In living on until another heir Is born in the hall, now that his first-born Has  entered  death’s  dominion  forever. He  gazes  sorrowfully  at  his  son’s  dwelling,

The banquet hall bereft of all delight, The windswept hearthstone; the horsemen are sleeping, The warriors underground; what was is no more. No tunes from the harp, no cheer raised in the yard. Alone with his longing, he lies down on his bed 2460 And sings a lament; everything seems too large, The steadings and the fields. Such was the feeling Of loss endured by the lord of the Geats After  Herebeald’s  death.  He  was  hopelessly  placed To set to rights the wrong committed, Could not punish the killer in accordance of the law Of the blood-feud, although he felt no love for him. Heartsore, wearied, he turned away From  life’s  joys,  chose  God’s  light And departed, leaving buildings and lands 2470 To his sons, as a man of substance will. “Then over the wide seas Swedes and Geats Battled and feuded and fought without quarter. Hostilities broke out when Hrethel died. Ongentheow’s  sons  were  unrelenting, Refusing to make peace, campaigning violently From coast to coast, constantly setting up Terrible ambushes around Hreasnshill. My own kith and kin avenged These evil events, as everybody knows, 2480 But the price was high: one of them paid With his life. Heathcyn, lord of the Geats, Met his fate there and fell in battle. Then, as I  have  heard,  Hygelac’s  sword Was raised in the morning against Ongentheow, His  brother’s  killer.   When Eofor cleft The  old  Swede’s  helmet,  halved  it  open, He fell, death-pale: his feud-calloused hand

Could not stave off the fatal stroke. “The  treasures  that  Hygelac  lavished  on  me 2490 I paid for as I fought, as fortune allowed me, With my glittering sword. He gave me land And the security land brings, so he had no call To go looking for some lesser champion, Some mercenary among the Grifthas Or the Spear-Danes or the men of Sweden. I marched ahead of him, always there At the front of the line; and I shall fight like that For as long as I live, as long as this sword Shall last, which has stood me in good stead 2500 Late and soon, ever since I killed Dayraven the Frank in front of the two armies. He brought back no looted breastplate To the Frisian king, but fell in battle, Their standard-bearer, high-born and brave. No sword blade sent him to his death, My bare hands stilled his heartbeats And wrecked the bone-house. Now blade and hand, Sword and sword-stroke,  will  assay  the  hoard.” Beowulf spoke, made a formal boast 2510 For  the  last  time:  “I  risked  my  life Often when I was young. Now I am old, But as king of this people I shall pursue this fight For the glory of winning, if the evil one will only Abandon his earth-fort  and  face  me  in  the  open.” Then he addressed each dear companion One final time, those fighters in their helmets, Resolute and high-born:  “I  would  rather  not Use a weapon if I knew another way To grapple with the dragon and make good my boast 2520

As I did against Grendel in days gone by. But I shall be meeting molten venom In the fire he breaths, so I go forth In mail-shirt and shield. I  won’t  shift  a  foot When I meet the cave-guard: what occurs on the wall Between the two of us will turn out as fate, Overseer of men, decides. I am resolved. I scorn further words against this sky-born foe. “Men at arms, remain here on the barrow, Safe in your armor, to see which one of us 2530 Is better in the end at bearing wounds In a deadly fray. This fight is not yours, Nor is it up to any man except me To measure his strength against the monster Or to prove his worth. I shall win the gold By my courage, or else mortal combat, Doom of battle, will bear your  lord  away.” Then he drew himself up beside his shield. The fabled warrior in his war-shirt and helmet Trusted in his own strength entirely 2540 And went under the crag. No coward path. Hard by the rock-face that hale veteran, A good man who had gone repeatedly Into combat and danger and come through, Saw a stone arch and a gushing stream That burst from the barrow, blazing and wafting A deadly heat. It would be hard to survive Unscathed near the hoard, to hold firm Against the dragon in those flaming depths. Then he gave a shout. The lord of the Geats 2550 Unburdened his breast and broke out In a storm of anger. Under gray stone His voice challenged and resounded clearly.

Heat was ignited. The hoard-guard recognized A human voice, the time was over For peace and parleying. Pouring forth In a hot battle-fume, the breath of the monster Burst from the rock. There was a rumble underground. Down there in the barrow, Beowulf the warrior Lifted his shield: the outlandish thing 2560 Writhed and convulsed and viciously Turned on the king, whose keen-edged-sword, And heirloom inherited by ancient right, Was already in his hand. Roused to a fury, Each antagonist struck terror in the other. Unyielding, the lord of his people loomed By his tall shield, sure of his ground, While the serpent looped and unleashed itself. Swaddled in flames, it came gliding and flexing And racing toward its fate. Yet his shield defended 2570 The  renowned  leader’s  life  and  limb For a shorter time than he meant it to: That final day was the first time When Beowulf fought and fate denied him Glory in battle. So the king of the Geats Raised his hand and struck hard At the enameled scales, but hardly cut through: The blade flashed and slashed yet the blow Was far less powerful than the hard-pressed king Had need of at the moment. The hoard-keeper 2580 Went into a spasm and spouted deadly flames: When he felt the stroke, battle-fire Billowed and spewed. Beowulf was foiled Of a glorious victory. The glittering sword, Infallible before that day, Failed when he unsheathed it, as it never should have. For the son of Ecgtheow, it was no easy thing To have to give ground like that and go

Unwillingly to inhabit another home In a place beyond; so every man must yield 2590 The leasehold of his days. Before long The fierce contenders clashed again. The hoard-guard took heart, inhaled and swelled up And got a new wind; he who had once ruled Was furled in fire and had to face the worst. No help or backing was to be had then From his high-born comrades; that hand-picked troop Broke ranks and ran for their lives To the safety of the wood. But within one heart Sorrow welled up: in a man of worth 2600 The claims of kinship cannot be denied. His name was Wiglaf, a son  of  Weohstan’s, A well-regarded Shylfing warrior Related to Aelfhere. When he saw his lord Tormented by the heat of his scalding helmet, He remember the bountiful gifts he bestowed on him, How well he lived among the Waegmundings, The freehold he inherited from his father before him. He could not hold back: one hand brandished The yellow-timbered shield, the other drew his sword-- 2610 An ancient blade that was said to have belonged To Eanmund, the son of Ohthere, the one Weohstan had slain when he was in exile without friends. He  carried  the  arms  to  the  victim’s  kinfolk, The burnished helmet, the webbed chain-mail And that relic of the giants. But Onela retuned The weapons to him, rewarded Weohstan With  Eadmund’s  war-gear. He ignored the blood-feud, The  fact  that  Eadmund  was  his  brother’s  son.

Weohstan kept that war-gear for a lifetime, 2620 The sword and the mail-shirt,  until  it  was  the  son’s  turn To follow his father and perform his part. Then, in old age, at the end of his days Among the Weather-Geats, he bequeathed to Wiglaf Innumerable weapons. And now the youth Was to enter the line of battle with his lord, His first time to be tested as a fighter. His spirit did not break and the ancestral blade Would keep its edge, as the dragon discovered As soon as they came together in combat. 2630 Sad at heart, addressing his companions, Wiglaf spoke wise and fluent words: “I  remember  that  time  when  the  mead  was  flowing, How we pledged loyalty to our lord in the hall, Promised our ring-giver we would be worth our price, Make good the gift of the war-gear, Those swords and helmets, as and when His need required it. He picked us out From the army deliberately, honored us and judged us Fit for this action, made me these lavish gifts-- 2640 And all because he considered us the best Of his arms-bearing thanes. And now, although He  wanted  this  challenge  to  be  the  one  he’d  face By himself alone--the shepherd of our land, A man unequalled in the quest for glory And a name for daring--now the day has come When this lord we serve needs sound men To give him their support. Let us go to him, Help our leader through the hot flame And dread of the fire. As God is my witness, 2650 I would rather my body were robbed in the same Burning blaze as my gold-giver’s  body

Than go back home bearing arms. That is unthinkable, unless we have first Slain the foe and defended the life Of the prince of the Weather-Geats. I well know That things he has done for us deserve better. Should he alone be left exposed To fall in battle? We must bond together, Shield and helmet, mail-shirt  and  sword.” 2660 Then he wadded the dangerous reek and went Under arms to his lord, saying only: “Go  on,  dear  Beowulf,  do  everything You said you would when you were still young And vowed you would never let your name and fame Be dimmed while you lived. Your deeds are famous, So stay resolute, my lord, defend your life now With the whole of your strength. I  shall  stand  by  you.” After those word, a wildness rose In the dragon again and drove it to attack, 2670 Heaving up fire, hunting for enemies, The humans it loathed. Flames lapped the shield, Charred it to the boss, and the body armor On the young warrior was useless to him. But Wiglaf did well under the wide rim Beowulf shared with him once his own had shattered In sparks and ashes. Inspired again By the thought of glory, the war-king threw His whole strength behind a sword-stroke And connected with the skull. And Naegling snapped. 2680 Beowulf’s  ancient  iron-gray sword Let him down in the fight. It was never his fortune To be helped in combat by the cutting-edge Of weapons made of iron. When he yielded a sword, No matter how blooded and hard-edged the blade

His hand was too strong, the stroke he dealt (I have heard) would ruin it. He could reap no advantage. Then the bane of that people, the fire-breathing dragon, Was mad to attack for a third time. When a chance came, he caught the hero 2690 In a rush of flame and clamped sharp fangs Into his neck. Beowulf’s  body Ran wet with his life-blood: it came welling out. Next thing, they say, the noble son of Weohstan Saw the king in danger at his side And displayed his inborn bravery and strength. He left the head alone, but his fighting hand Was  burned  when  he  came  to  his  kinsman’s  aid. He lunged at the enemy lower down So that his decorated sword sank into its belly 2700 And the flames grew weaker. Once again the king Gathered his strength and drew a stabbing knife He carried on his belt, sharpened for battle. He  stuck  it  deep  into  the  dragon’s  flank. Beowulf dealt it a deadly wound. They had killed the enemy, courage quelled his life; That pair of kinsmen, partners in nobility, Had destroyed the foe. So every man should act, Be at hand when needed; but now, for the king, This would be the last of his many labors 2710 And triumphs in the world. Then the wound Dealt by the ground-burner earlier began To scald and swell; Beowulf discovered Deadly poison suppurating inside him, Surges of nausea, and so, in his wisdom, The prince realized his state and struggled

Towards a seat on the rampart. He steadied his gazed On those gigantic stones, saw how the earthwork Was braced with arches built over columns. And now that thane unequalled for goodness 2720 With his own  hands  washed  his  lord’s  wounds, Swabbed the weary prince with water, Bathed him clean, unbuckled his helmet. Beowulf spoke: in spite of his wounds, Mortal wounds, he still spoke For he well knew his days in the world Had been lived out to the end: his allotted time Was drawing to a close, death was very near. “Now  is  the  time  when  I  would  have  wanted To bestow this armor on my own son, 2730 Had it been my fortune to have fathered an heir And live on in his flesh. For fifty years I ruled this nation. No king Of any neighboring clan would dare Face me with troops, none had the power To intimidate me. I took what came, Cared for and stood by things in my keeping, Never fomented quarrels, never Swore to a lie. All this consoles me, Doomed as I am and sickening for death; 2740 Because of my right way, the Ruler of Mankind Need never blame me when the breath leaves my body For murder of kinsmen. Go now quickly, Dearest Wiglaf, under the gray stone Where the dragon is laid out, lost to his treasure; Hurry to feast your eyes on the hoard. Away you go: I want to examine That ancient gold, gaze my fill On those garnered jewels; my going will be easier

For having seen the treasure, a less troubled letting-go 2750 Of  the  life  and  lordship  I  have  long  maintained.” And so, I have heard, the son of Weohstan Quickly obeyed the command of his languishing War-weary lord; he went in his chain-mail Under the rock-piled roof of the barrow, Exulting in his triumph, and saw beyond the seat A treasure-trove of astonishing richness, Wall-hangings that were a wonder to behold, Glittering gold spread across the ground, The old dawn-scorching  serpent’s  den 2760 Packed with goblets and vessels of the past, Tarnished and corroding. Rusty helmets All eaten away. Armbands everywhere, Artfully wrought. How easily treasure Buried in the ground, gold hidden However skillfully, can escape from any man! And he saw too a standard, entirely of gold, Hanging high over the hoard, A masterpiece of filigree; it glowed with light So he could make out the ground at his feet 2770 And inspect the valuables. Of the dragon there was no Remaining sign: the sword had dispatched him. Then, the story goes, a certain man Plundered the hoard in the immemorial howe, Filled his arms with flagons and plates, Anything he wanted; and took the standard also, Most brilliant of banners. Already the blade Of  the  old  king’s  sharp  killing-sword Had done its worst: the one who had for long Minded the hoard, hovering over gold, 2780 Unleashing fire, surging forth

Midnight after midnight, had been mown down. Wiglaf went quickly, keen to get back, Excited by the treasure. Anxiety weighed On his brave heart--he was hoping he would find The leader of the Geats alive where he had left him Helpless, earlier, on the open ground. So he came to the place, carrying the treasure, And found his lord bleeding profusely, His life at an end: again he began 2790 To swab his body. The beginnings of an utterance Broke  out  from  the  king’s  breast-cage. The old lord gazed sadly at the gold. “To  the  everlasting  Lord  of  All, To the King of Glory, I give thanks That I beheld this treasure here in front of me, That I have been allowed to leave my people So well endowed on the day I die. Now that I have bartered my last breath To own this fortune, it is up to you 2800 To look after their needs. I can hold out no longer. Order my troop to construct a barrow On a headland on the coast, after my pyre has cooled. It will loom in the horizon at Hronesness And be a reminder among my people-- So that in coming times crews under sail Will  call  it  Beowulf’s barrow, as they steer Ships  across  the  wide  and  shrouded  waters.” Then the king in his great-heartedness unclasped The collar of gold from his neck and gave it 2810 To the young thane, telling him to use It and the war shirt and the gilded helmet well.

“You  are  the  last  of  us,  the  only  one  left Of the Waegmundings. Fate swept us away, Sent my whole brave high-born clan To their final doom. Now  I  must  follow  them.” That  was  the  warrior’s  last  word. He had no more to confide. The furious heat Of the pyre would assail him. His soul fled from his breast To its destined place among the steadfast ones. 2820 It was hard then on the young hero, Having to watch the one he held so dear There on the ground, going through His death agony. The dragon from underearth, His nightmarish destroyer, lay destroyed as well, Utterly without life. No longer would his snake folds Ply themselves to safeguard hidden gold. Hard-edged blades, hammered out And keenly filed, had finished him So that the sky-roamer lay there rigid, 2830 Brought low beside the treasure-lodge. Never again would he glitter and glide And show himself off in midnight air, Exulting in his riches: he fell to earth Through the battle-strength  in  Beowulf’s  arm. There were few, indeed, as far as I have heard, Big and brave as they may have been, Few who would have held out if they had had to face The outpourings of that poison-breather Or gone foraging on the ring-hall floor 2840 And found the deep barrow-dweller On guard and awake. The treasure had been won, Bought  and  paid  for  by  Beowulf’s  death. Both had reached the end of the road

Through the life they had been lent. Before long The battle-dodgers abandoned the wood, The ones who had let down their lord earlier, The tail-turners, ten of them together. When he needed them the most, they had made off. Now they were ashamed and came behind shields, 2850 In their battle-outfits, to where the old man lay. They watched Wiglaf, sitting worn out, A comrade shoulder to shoulder with his lord, Trying in vain to bring him round with water. Much as he wanted to, there was no way He  could  preserve  his  lord’s  life  on  earth Or alter in the least  the  Almighty’s  will. What God judged right would rule what happened To every man, as it does to this day. Then a stern rebuke was bound to come 2860 From the young warrior to the ones who had been cowards. Wiglaf, son of Weohstan, spoke Disdainfully and in disappointment: “Anyone  ready  to  admit  the  truth Will surely realize the lord of men Who showered you with gifts and gave you the armor You are standing in--when he would distribute Helmets and mail-shirts to men on the mead-benches, A prince treating his thanes in hall To the best he could find, far or near-- 2870 Was throwing weapons uselessly away. It would be a sad waste when the war broke out. Beowulf had little cause to brag About his armed guard; yet God who ordains Who wins or loses allowed him to strike With his own blade when bravery was needed.

There was little I could do to protect his life In the heat of the fray, yet I found new strength Welling up when I went to help him. Then my sword connected and the deadly assaults 2880 Of our foe grew weaker, the fire coursed Less strongly from his head. But when the worst happened Too few rallied around the prince. “So  it  is  goodbye  now  to  all  you  know  and  love On your home-ground, the open-handedness, The giving of war-swords. Every one of you With freeholds of land, our whole nation, Will be dispossessed, once princes from beyond Get tidings of how you turned and fled And disgraced yourselves. A warrior will sooner 2890 Die  than  live  a  life  of  shame.” Then he ordered the outcome of the fight to be reported To those camped on the ridge, that crowd of retainers Who had sat all morning, sad at heart, Shield-bearers wondering about The man they loved: would this day be his last Or would he return. He told the truth And did not balk, the rider who bore News to the cliff-top. He addressed them all: “Now  the  people’s  pride  and  love, 2900 The lord of the Geats, is laid on his deathbed, Brought down  by  the  dragon’s  attack. Beside him lies the bane of his life, Dead from knife-wounds. There was no way Beowulf could manage to get the better Of the monster with his sword. Wiglaf sits At  Beowulf’s  side,  the  son  of  Weohstan, The living warrior watching by the dead, Keeping weary vigil, holding a wake

For the loved and the loathed. 2910 Now war is looming Over our nation, soon it will be known To Franks and Frisians, far and wide, That the king is gone. Hostility has been great Among the Franks since Hygelac sailed forth At the head of a war-fleet into Friesland: There the Hetware harried and attacked And overwhelmed him with great odds. The leader in his war-gear was laid low, Fell amongst followers; that lord did not favor His company with spoils. The Merovingian king 2920 Has been an enemy to us ever since. “Nor  do  I  expect  peace  of  pact-keeping Of any sort from the Swedes. Remember: At Ravenswood, Ongentheow Slaughtered Haethcyn, Hrethel’s  son, When the Geat people in their arrogance First attacked the fierce Shylfings. The return blow was quickly struck By  Ohthere’s  father.   Old and terrible, He felled the sea-king and saved is own 2930 Aged wife, the mother of Onela And of Ohthere, bereft of her gold rings. Then he kept hard on the heels of the foe And drove them, leaderless, lucky to get away, In a desperate route to Ravenswood. His army surrounded the weary remnant Where they nursed their wounds; all through the night He howled threats at those huddled survivors, Promises to axe their bodies open When dawn broke, dangle them from gallows 2940 To feed the birds. But at first light When their spirits were lowest, relief arrived.

They heard the sound of  Hygelac’s  horn, His trumpet calling as he came to find them , The hero in pursuit, at hand with troops. “The  bloody  swathe  that  Swedes  and  Geats Cut through each other was everywhere. No one could miss their murderous feuding. Then the old man made his move, Pulled back, barred his people in: 2950 Ongentheow withdrew to higher ground. Hygelac’s  pride  and  prowess  as  a  fighter Were known to the earl; he had no confidence That he could hold out against that horde of seamen, Defend wife and the ones he loved From the shock of the attack. He retreated for shelter Behind the earth wall. Then Hygelac swooped On the Swedes at bay, his banners swarmed Into their refuge, the Geat forces Drove forward to destroy the camp. 2960 There in his gray hairs, Ongentheow Was cornered, ringed around with swords. And  it  came  to  pass  that  the  king’s  fate Was  in  Eofor’s  hands,  and  in  his  alone. Wulf, son of Wonred, went for him in anger, Split him open so that blood came spurting From under his hair. The old hero Still did not flinch, but parried fast, Hit back with a harder stroke: The king turned and took him on. 2970 Then  Wonred’s  son,  the  brave  Wulf, Could land no blow against the aged lord. Ongentheow divided his helmet So that he buckled and bowed his bloodied head And dropped to the ground. But his doom held off. Though he was cut deep, he recovered again.

“With  his  brother  down,  the  undaunted  Eofor, Hygelac’s  thane,  hefted  his  sword And smashed murderously at the massive helmet Past the lifted shield. And the king collapsed, 2980 The shepherd of people was sheared of life. “Many  then  hurried  to  help  Wulf, Bandaged and lifted him, now that they were left Masters of the blood-soaked battleground. One warrior stripped the other, Looted  Ongentheow’s  iron  mail-coat, His hard sword-hilt, his helmet too, And carried the graith to King Hygelac; He accepted the prize, promised fairly That reward would come, and kept his word. 2990 For their bravery in action, when they arrived home Eofor and Wulf were overloaded By  Hrethel’s  son,  Hygelac  the  Geat, With gifts of land and linked rings That were worth a fortune. They had won glory, So there was no gainsaying his generosity. And he gave Eofor his only daughter To bide at home with him, an honor and a bond. “So  this  bad  blood  between  us  and  the  Swedes, This vicious feud, I am convinced, 3000 Is bound to revive; they will cross our borders And attack in force once they find out That Beowulf is dead. In days gone by When our warriors fell and we were undefended He kept our coffers and our kingdoms safe. He worked for the people, but as well as that He behaved like a hero. We must hurry now

To take a last look at the king And launch him, lord and lavisher of rings, On the funeral road. His royal pyre 3010 Will melt no small amount of gold: Heaped there in the hoard, it was bought at heavy cost, And that pile of rings he paid for at the end With his own life will go up in flames, Be furled in fire: treasure no follower Will wear in his memory, nor lovely woman Link and attach as a torque around her neck-- But often, repeatedly, in the path of exile They shall walk bereft, bowed under woe, Now  that  their  leader’s  laugh  is  silenced, 3020 High spirits quenched. Many a spear Dawn-cold to the touch will be taken down And waved on high; the swept harp Won’t  waken  warriors,  but  the  raven  winging Darkly over the doomed will have news, Tidings of the eagle of how he hoked and ate, How  the  wolf  and  he  made  short  work  of  the  dead.” Such was the drift of the dire report That gallant man delivered. He got little wrong In what he told and predicted. 3030 The whole troop Rose in tears, then took their way To the uncanny scene under Earnaness. There, on the sand, where his soul had left him, They found him at rest, their ring-giver From days gone by. The great man Had breathed his last. Beowulf the King Had indeed met with a marvelous death. But what they saw first was far stranger: The serpent on the ground, gruesome and vile,

Lying facing him. The fire-dragon 3040 Was scaresomely burnt, scorched all colors. From head to tail, his entire length Was fifty feet. He had shimmered forth On the night air once, then winged back Down to his den; but death owned him now, He would never enter his earth-gallery again. Beside him stood pitchers and piled-up dishes, Silent flagons, precious swords Eaten through with rust, ranged as they had been While they waited their thousand winters underground. 3050 That huge cache, gold inherited From an ancient race, was under a spell-- Which meant no one was ever permitted To enter the king-hall unless God himself, Mankind’s  Keeper,  True  King  of  Triumphs, Allowed some person pleasing him-- And in his eyes worthy--to open the hoard. What came about brought to nothing The hopes of the one who had wrongly hidden Riches under the rock face. First the dragon slew 3060 That man among men, who in turn made fierce amends And settled the feud. Famous for his deeds A warrior may be, but it remains a mystery Where his life will end, when he may no longer Dwell in the mead-hall among his own. So it was with Beowulf, when he faced the cruelty And cunning of the mound-guard. He himself was ignorant Of how his departure from the world would happen. The high-born chiefs who had buried the treasure Declared it until doomsday so accursed 3070 That whoever robbed it would be guilty of wrong And grimly punished for their transgression, Hasped in hell-bonds in heathen shrines.

Yet  Beowulf’s  gaze  at  the  gold  treasure When he first saw it had not been selfish. Wiglaf, son of Weohstan, spoke: “Often  when  one  man  follows  his  own  will Many are hurt. This happened to us. Nothing we advised could ever convince The prince  we  loved,  our  land’s  guardian, 3080 Not to vex the custodian of the gold, Let him lie where he was long accustomed, Lurk there under the earth until the end of the world. He held to his high destiny. The hoard is laid bare, But at a grave cost; it was too cruel a fate That forced the king to that encounter. I have been inside and seen everything Amassed in the vault. I managed to enter Although no great welcome awaited me Under the earth wall. I quickly gathered up 3090 A huge pile of the priceless treasures Handpicked from the hoard and carried them here Where the king could see them. He was still himself, Alive, aware, and in spite of his weakness He had many requests. He wanted me to greet you And order the building of a barrow that would crown The site of his pyre, serve as his memorial, In a commanding position, since of all men To have lived and thrived and lorded it on earth His worth and due as a warrior were the greatest. 3100 Now let us again go quickly And feast our eyes on that amazing fortune Heaped under the wall. I will show the way And take you close to those coffers packed with rings And bars of gold. Let a bier be made And got ready quickly when we come out And then let us bring the body of our lord,

The man we loved, to where he will lodge For  a  long  time  in  the  care  of  the  Almighty.” Then  Weohstan’s  son,  stalwart  to  the  end, 3110 Had orders given to owners of dwellings, Many people of importance in the land, To fetch wood from far and wide For  the  good  man’s  pyre. “Now  shall  flame  consume Our leader in battle, the blaze darken Round him who stood his ground in the steel-hail, When the arrow-storm shot from bowstrings Pelted from the shield-wall. The shaft hit home. Feather-fledged,  it  finned  the  barb  in  flight.” Next the wise son of Weohstan 3120 Called  from  among  the  king’s  thanes A group of seven: he selected the best And entered with them, the eighth of their number, Under the God-cursed roof; one raised A lighted torch and led the way. No lots were cast for who should loot the hoard For it was obvious to them that every bit of it Lay unprotected within the vault, There for the taking. It was no trouble To hurry to work and haul out 3130 The priceless store. They pitched the dragon Over  the  cliff  top,  let  tide’s  flow And backwash take the treasure-minder. Then coiled gold was loaded on a cart In great abundance, and the gray-haired leader, The prince of his bier, born to Hronesness. The Geat people built a pyre for Beowulf, Stacked and decked it until it stood four-square,

Hung with helmets, heavy war-shields And shining armor, just as he had ordered. 3140 Then his warriors laid him in the middle of it, Mourning a lord far-famed and beloved. On a height they kindled the hugest of all Funeral fires; fumes of wood smoke Billowed darkly up, the blaze roared And drowned out their weeping, wind died down And flames wrought havoc in the hot bone-house, Burning it to the core. They were disconsolate And  wailed  aloud  for  their  lord’s  decease. A Geat woman too sang out in grief: 3150 With hair bound up, she unburdened herself Of her worst fears, a wild litany Of nightmare and lament: her nation invaded, Enemies on the rampage, bodies in piles, Slavery and abasement. Heaven swallowed the smoke. Then the Geat people began to construct A mound on a headland, high and imposing, A marker that sailors could see from far away, And in ten days they had done the work. It  was  their  hero’s  memorial;;  what  remained  from  fire 3160 They housed inside it, behind a wall As worthy of him as their workmanship could make it. And they buried torques in the barrow, and jewels And a trove of such things as trespassing men Had once dared to drag from the hoard. They let the ground keep that ancestral treasure, Gold under gravel, gone to earth, As useless to men now as it ever was. Then twelve warriors rode around the tomb, Chieftain’s  sons,  champions  in  battle, 3170 All of them distraught, chanting in dirges, Mourning his loss as a man and a king.

They extolled his heroic exploits And gave thanks for his greatness; which was the proper thing, For a man should praise a prince whom he holds dear And cherish his memory when that moment comes When he has to be convoyed from his bodily home. So the Geat people, his hearth companions, Sorrowed for the lord who had been laid low. They said that of all the kings upon the earth 3180 He was the man most gracious and fair-minded, Kindest to his people and keenest to win fame.