Beowulf (Germany) E-book
Author: Anonymous Epic
Genre: Epic, Literature, Poetry
750 AD
BEOWULF
translated by William Ellery Leonard
WORLD LIBRARY DOCUMENT
Electronically Enhanced Text (c) Copyright 1996, World Library(R)
PREFACE
SOMETHING ABOUT THE POEM BEOWULF
-
The story of Beowulf, the Strong Man and the Helper of Mankind,
comes from pretty far away and pretty long ago. It was a story that
grew up across the seas in the fjords of Western Scandinavia and the
marshy coasts and low plains of Denmark, in the times when the
chiefs and their retainers in their halls and the farmer-folk in their
homesteads, during the long winter evenings of the north, used to
enjoy make-believe and song of the harp. It was really a collection of
stories, some of them historical traditions of Viking voyages and real
battles, but most of them stories invented by the folk-imagination,
like Jack the Giant Killer and other fairy stories about strange and
tremendous adventures. But they were invented in such a lively
manner that doubtless both the tellers and the listeners came to
half-believe them true- just as every child half-believes the story of
Jack the Giant Killer to be true.
And they were told over many times by many different storytellers;
and presumably almost every new story-teller added something new and
interesting of his own invention. The same thing happens around the
fires and in the shacks of our own lumber-camps, when the lumber-jacks
tell year after year about a gigantic strong man, like Beowulf, whom
they call Paul Bunyan. And when some of these folks from Scandinavia
and from Denmark and from the flat country on the coast south of
Denmark sailed in their crowded boats to the island of Britain, they
brought along these stories- along with their swords and shields and
cattle and language and wooden images of their gods. And the stories
continued to grow in the new island home.
Then sometime about seven hundred and fifty, a period of some
prosperity and culture, when the descendants of these old Germanic
invaders and settlers had established walled towns and green
homesteads, and built bridges and churches and monasteries and
schools, some nameless poet took these stories (perhaps preserved in
ballads) and made them into a long, stirring poem. He was not a
heathen, unlettered man; but a man who knew the Bible and perhaps some
Latin books like Vergil. Yet he loved the old stories of the days when
his ancestors were heathen and ignorant of books, and he loved them so
much and he told them so well that he ought to have left out the Bible
references and the Christian piety.
And the poet of the Beowulf-stories was a man rather clever in
putting different stories together as one larger story, clever too
in telling about one thing in a way to make us all ears to hear
about the next thing, and somehow his imagination and music puts us
into a long peculiar mood and makes us feel as if we were in
strange, mysterious realms, half hidden in mist and echoing the sounds
of gray, cold seas, in spite of the golden hall of Heorot and the
flashing of brave men's helmets and swords. His art has a massive,
weird vagueness. It is a very different art from that of the
story-tellers of old Iceland. In the younger Edda, for instance, we
read that once "Thor grasped his hammer-handle so hard that his
knuckles grew white." Homely, realistic details like this are not in
our poet's manner at all. There is a world of difference between
strange shadowy shapes and familiar vivid outlines; but each of the
two worlds of art has its own peculiar meaning and suggestion for
our imagination. And our poet has the old-time warrior's love of
battle. A terrible love was that- not ignoble, but terrible- when we
think what it has always meant in blood and pain and tears. What a
piece of work is man, after all, that so much of his great loyalty and
great honor and valor should have been spent then, and spent ever
since, on killing. But in the poem Beowulf, the foes that are killed
are chiefly Ogres and Dragons -real enemies of civilization and
human happiness (not merely members of other tribes like ourselves
whom our hatred and fear distorts into Monsters). That is why I for
one can rejoice in most of Beowulf's battle-work, though I am a
pacifist and what Theodore Roosevelt used to call a molly-coddle.
The poet of Beowulf was also a man clever in making verses- in those
days a very special craft. There were not all kinds of metres as
nowadays; there was just one. This had been developed and handed
down by poets long, long before the poet who used it in telling the
Beowulf-stories. There was for many generations this one way of making
verses, as there was for long years one way of making shields out of
linden-wood or of weaving cloth for dress. For in old times there
was less change and variety in the way folks made things. The father
taught his son, the mother her daughter, and the master his apprentice
the old devices and methods in every art and custom. So our poet had
learned an art, a special kind of verse-craft, handed down from the
past.
Perhaps the reader would like to see a sample of that old verse.
Here are two lines:
-
Gewat tha ofer waeg-holm, winde gefysed,
Flota fami-heals fugla gelicost
-
They mean:
"Then went over the billowy ocean, driven by the wind, the floater
(ship), with foamy neck (prow), very like a (wild-) fowl."
Now, if he'll pardon a somewhat twisted translation, I can put these
verses into a sort of equivalent English verse. Like this:
-
Went she over wave-seas, windy her faring,
Floater foamy-necked- fowl was she likest.
-
The observant student will notice: (1) that the lines are divided by a
pause in the middle; and (2) that the two halves of each line have
words that begin with the same sound (alliteration).
In the old days verses were not read to one's self, or even read
aloud or recited; they were sung, or half-sung, or chanted, to the
accompaniment of the harp, before a group of listeners at festivals,
feasts, or parties. So they kept time in a very marked degree. There
were four beats to each half-line. Some were very strong beats,
especially those beats that fell on the alliterating syllables. Some
were quite weak-little beats made clear by being accompanied by little
pauses. But the time was marked just as definitely by the light
beats as by the heavy ones. There is nothing mysterious about it. When
one chants
-
Sing a song of six-pence a bag full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie,
-
he marks time by both strong and weak beats- strong on 'bag' and on
'baked,' and weak on 'full' and on 'in.' The student will notice,
again, that sometimes two accents come next to each other without
any unaccented syllable between; that was a characteristic trick in
Anglo-Saxon verse, a trick sometimes made use of in the kind of modern
English verse that has carried on the old traditional way of
verse-making.
Now in my translation of the whole poem of Beowulf I've used a
verse-form like that of "Sing a song of sixpence," a form which really
developed out of this same old Anglo-Saxon verse. I am really
concerned that the reader get the music, the beats, of this verse of
mine. I think he will, by just chanting, or half-chanting, it aloud.
Let him read these lines aloud:
-
Then around the mound rode with cry and call [pause]
Bairns of the aethelings twelve of all [pause],
To mourn for their Master their sorrow to sing [pause],
Framing a word-chant, speaking mourn King [pause].
-
He will notice that there are many syllables beginning with the same
sound, as in the Anglo-Saxon, but that they are not arranged with
the same uniformity of number and position; But on the other hand he
will notice that my verses rhyme (usually, as in this sample, in
rhyme-pairs). And he will notice that, though in each first
half-line there are four beats as in the old verse, there seem to be
only three beats on each second half-line. I say "seem to be"; because
there is, as one chants the lines, a natural pause always of the
same length after each rhyme; and a boy, beating time with a stick
or his finger, would make one beat there in the air between the end of
one line and the beginning of the next. So, though my line has only
seven beats on the words, it really has eight beats as music, like the
Anglo-Saxon, if one counts, as one should, the end-pause, or rest.
(The pause in the middle is shorter, the time being kept by the
light beat plus the short pause.)
But how is it that this old poem in a dead language has been
preserved for us, so that I or any other man could read it and
translate? The Beowulf-stories were originally handed down by word
of mouth, in the same way as the stories, the legends and myths, of
the American Indians. I think myself that the poet who wove those
stories together himself wrote out his poem; even though he
delivered it from memory, chanting it to his harp. Anyway, some one
wrote it down and others afterwards copied it. They probably copied it
in the monasteries, for the monks were about the only men who were
handy with the pen, and they probably made the copies for pay "to fill
orders" from wealthy burghers or noblemen who could afford the
luxury of books, so long before the days of printing.
One copy only has come down to us. It is on parchment, and, from
the kind of handwriting and from the kind of spelling, scholars
judge it must have been made about the year 1000- that is, about one
hundred years after the death of King Alfred, or two hundred and fifty
years after the poem itself was composed. It was discovered over two
hundred years ago, and is now preserved in the British Museum at
London. Two scribes made it. The first wrote in a finer, the second in
a much coarser hand. And the second took up the task just before the
of a sentence (and of a verse). This makes me wonder if the first
scribe suddenly went blind or took sick or died right there at his
desk. Otherwise, we would have to believe the scribes worked in a very
mechanical way, with even less interest in the subject matter than
my stenographer who typed this translation of mine for the printer.
And the ink is faded, and the parchment is charred by the heat from a
fire in an old library where it used to be kept. So it's not always
easy to make out the words. Thus it is that many scholars of
England, America, Germany, and the Scandinavian countries, with
microscope and pen and paper and grammar and dictionary, have
studied it and copied it, filling in by shrewd guesses missing letters
or words, and sometimes even changing letters, when by the change they
thought they could improve the sense. And they have published their
revised and corrected texts with many explanatory notes; and their
difficult labors have given us what we call "editions of Beowulf."
There are many, I say. The last edition is that of Professor F.
Klaeber at the University of Minnesota, but it was published (Heath
and Co.) only after my version was completed. The next to the last
is that of R. W. Chambers. This is not the American R. W. Chambers
whose novels one's suburban aunt is so fond of. This R. W. C. is a
scholar at University College, London. I have translated from his text
of the poem (Cambridge University Press, 1914); but now and then I
have adopted the words with which some other editors have patched up
the ragged spots. And I haven't bothered to ask anybody's
permission, nor said anything about it in footnotes. Thus the
sympathetic reader may be sure some reviewer will call me
"unscholarly." I won't mind, so long as I help fireside lovers of
Hector and Achilles and Odysseus to love too my old Germanic hero of
the mighty grip- and so long as the teachers' conventions recommend my
little book for colleges and schools.
If one wants to follow up the subject of Beowulf- wants to know more
about this old poetry and these old legends- I suggest he look
sometime at the following books:
Chambers' Introduction to Beowulf,
Olrik's The Heroic Legends of Denmark (translated from the Danish by
my friend L. M. Hollander),
Gummere's The Oldest English Epic,
Stjerna's Essays on Questions Connected... with Beowulf (translated
from the Swedish by J. R. C. Hall).
And that he may understand my ideas about Anglo-Saxon versification,
let him read my two monographs, published in "The University of
Wisconsin Studies in Language and Literature":
Beowulf and the Niebelungen Couplet,
The Scansion of Middle English Alliterative Verse.
For information on the old life and customs around the North Sea,
let him read Williams' Social Scandinavia in the Viking Age.
THE OPENING
-
Before chanting the deeds of the Geatman Beowulf, so brave and so
strong, the 'Scop' (that is, the bard) chants the story of the
ancestry of Hrothgar, the King of Danishmen (whose grandfather
happened to be called Beowulf also), especially the strange story of
the coming and the burial of Scyld, founder of the royal line. But why
should the story of Beowulf, the Geat, begin with Hrothgar, the
Dane? The Scop will strike his harp again and again and make all
clear.
-
What ho! We've heard the glory of Spear-Danes, clansmen-kings,
Their deeds of olden story,- how fought the aethelings!
Often Scyld Scefing reft his foemen all,
Reft the tribes at wassail of bench and mead in hall.
Smote the jarls with terror; gat good recompense
For that he came a foundling, a child with no defense:
He waxed beneath the welkin, grew in honors great,
Till each and every people, of those around who sate
Off beyond the whale-road, to him was underling,
To him must tender toll-fee. That was a goodly King!
Unto him thereafter, was an heir y-born,
Within his gates a youngling, whom God that folk forlorn
For recompense was sending. He marked the grievous wrong,
How they of old had suffered, without a prince so long.
And so the Wonder-Wielder, the Lord of Life, fulfilled
For them world's weal and honor, through him, the heir of Scyld.
For famous was this Beowulf, and far and wide there came
O'er the lands of Scandia the vaunting of his name.
So shall youth achieve it, with good works before,
With bold gifts and largesse, from his father's store,
That in old age after, when the wars may come,
Willing comrades, liegemen loyal, may stand by at home.
Praiseful deed will bring good speed in what clan soe'er.
Then did Scyld betake him, when his hour was there,
The stout and staunch betook himself to his Lord's good care.
Then away they bore him to the sea-tides,- did,
They, his loving clansmen, as himself had bid,
Whilst he wielded speech-craft, he, the Scyldings' friend,
Prince so long who ruled them, dear to the end.
There in haven stood she, her prow a rounded ring,
Icy and out-bound, barge of the Aetheling.
Laid they then the dear Chief, Bracelet-Breaker of old,
Mighty King, by the mast there, within the good ship's hold.
And full many a treasure, many a shining thing,
They fetched from ways afar off, for his journeying.
Never heard I tell of keel more fairly dight
With the warrior-weapons and the weeds of fight,
With the blades and byrnies. On his bosom lay
Treasure to fare with him the o'er floods away.
Methinks not less a lading of lordly gifts they gave
Than those who sent him whilom a lone babe o'er the wave.
O'er his head they set, too, golden banner steep,
Let the billows bear him, gave him to the deep.
Theirs were souls of sorrow, theirs were hearts to weep.
And no man can say sooth,- none in halls of state,
None of battle-bold ones,- who took up that freight.
CHAPTER I
-
Hrothgar, grown to rule powerfully over wide regions, had his people
build a splendid hall which he named Heorot, or, in our speech today
'Hart,' that is, 'Stag,' perhaps from antlers adorning the gables
(though the Scop doesn't say so). Here with his retainers he feasted
in joy, but Grendel, a sullen and violent Cannibal Monster, who
haunted the swamps and moors and prowled on the outskirts of the
dwellings of men by night, was not pleased with the revel. What did
Grendel, the Man-Eater, do?
-
Ruled Beowulf, the Scylding, in burg for many a year,
Famed among the people, a folk-king dear
(His father was ta'en elsewhere, that chief from home was ta'en),
Until for him there woke a son, the high Halfdane.
And Halfdane, named the Aged and the Fierce-in-fray,
O'er the gracious Scyldings held, all his life, the sway.
And, lo, for him four children (to count them as they be)
Awoke unto the world's light: warrior-leaders three,
Heorogar, and Hrothgar, and Halga, named the good;
And daughter, queen (says story) in Sweden o'er the flood.
Now was there given to Hrothgar such valor in the van,
Such honor in the onset, that all his kin-of-clan
Eagerly obeyed him, till waxed around his throne
Host of comrade-tribesmen, warrior-youths well-grown.
It came into his mood then to bid his serfs up-raise
A hall-chamber, a mead-house, a mightier far for praise
Than sons of men e'er heard of, and then within the hall
Unto young and unto old to deal his treasures all,
Such as God had lent him, except men's lives and lands.
To many tribes (I've heard too) he gave his wide commands
Around this earth to deck it, this folkstead, with their hands.
Nor was it long thereafter, men saw its finished frame,
The greatest of hall-houses: Heorot was the name
That he whose word was mighty had fashioned for the same.
He failed not of his vaunting, he dealt the rings thereby,
The treasure at carousal. Heorot towered high,
With stag-horn on each gable ...waiting its fiery fate
The burning after battle; nor far the day when hate,
After old feuds, should waken, once more betwixt the twain-
Betwixt the daughter's father and him her wedded thane.
But now that bold Hobgoblin, who dwelt in fenways dark,
Ill bore the sullen grievance that he each day must hark
To revel loud at banquet. The noise of harp was there,
In hall clear song of singer. He spake who knew full fair
To tell mankind's beginning, how God Almighty wrought
The earth, that shining lea-land, which waters fold about;
Quoth how God set, triumphant, the sun and the moon
As lights to lighten landsfolk; how he adorned soon
With leaf and limb the fold all; and eke created birth
For every kind that moveth on ocean, air, or earth.
So lived the troop of tribesmen, in revel, wise and well,
Till One began to do misdeed- this selfsame Fiend of hell.
And that grim Hobgoblin was Grendel named by men,
Great Stalker of the marches, who held the moor and fen;
Housed with the brood of giants this joyless Wight the while,
After Lord Creator had doomed his damned exile.
(Upon Cain's kin the Eternal avenged Abel's blood.
Cain gat no mirth from murder; God banished him from good,
Afar from man, for sin's sake. Thence woke the monster-brood,
Ettins, elves, and ogres, and giants, too, that warred
So long with God, who paid them at last their fit reward.)
CHAPTER II
-
The Scop chants what it was that Grendel did. Grendel visited Heorot
as the retainers slept, and seized thirty of them and made off; and
there great woe and terror at Heorot and in the Burg (town) of
Danishmen. And for twelve years Grendel continued his visits, and
Hrothgar and his councillors were at whether he always was lucky
enough to make off with thirty, as on the first night; but we
believe there must have been many, Danishmen to have kept Grendel busy
so long at Heorot, and it seems strange that their combined strength,-
they were men, too, with such goodly spears and swords,- was not equal
to slaying Cannibal Grendel. But so it was. Perhaps he bore a
charmed life, and could be conquered only by Some One against whom the
charm was powerless. Who might that Some One be?
-
Then fared he forth, did Grendel, to seek at dead of night
The high house, how the Ring-Danes, after their beer, were dight.
The aethelings he found there, aslumber after mirth;
Naught they knew of sorrow, naught of human dearth.
The Creature of damnation, the grim, the greedy One,
The fierce One in his fury, was ready there anon;
And, where they rested, reft he thirty, thane by thane,
And thence went faring homeward, of his plunder fain,
With his fill of slaughter, to seek his lairs again.
In the dawning, at the daybreak, arose of men the wail,
A mickle morning-uproar, after their yester-ale,
When Grendel's strength in battle to sons of men was plain.
Blitheless sate the high Prince, the Aetheling so good;
That strong Heart stricken sate, o'er lost thanes abrood,
What time the court set eyes on the curse'd Monster's trail,-
Too strong that strife for Danefolk, too long the bane and bale.
Eftsoons, but one night after, was he at work once more,
With more of loathly slaughter, nor mourned a whit therefor,
A whit for feud and foul deed- in sin was he so bound!
Then might ye mark full many who somewhat further found
Resting-places elsewhere,- in outer bowers their bed,
When, by so clear a token, to them was soothly said
The hate of this new Hall-Thane. More far, more tight, all such
Did keep themselves thereafter who 'scaped that devil's clutch!
So ruled he and so ravaged, in wrong the one 'gainst all,
Till idle stood and empty that excelling hall.
Mickle long the while was: twelve winters' tide
Hrothgar dreed disaster, woes with never end,
Sorrows unbounded, he, the Scyldings' Friend.
And the mournful tidings to courts and kingdoms wide
In gleemen's ballads travelled, how Grendel's hate defied
Hrothgar forever, how for many a year
Grendel waged his warfare, strife of ceaseless fear;
Would not, by a peace-pact, set the Danemen free,
Would not with the Aethelings e'er compound for fee.
And still less might any of the Wise-men wot,
'Gainst those paws of pillage, help for Hrothgar's lot.
The grisly Wretch kept reaving youth and age of breath;
He lurked, he lured them darkly, that skulking Shade of Death;
Made, through nights eternal, misty moors his home;
Though beyond man's ken the haunts, where Hell's wizards roam.
Such a tale of terrors, such heap of hard despite
Wrought this Foe of mankind, Stalker lone by night.
Heorot Hall, the gold-bright, was his dusky den.
(Yet not his the power- God forbade him then!-
E'er to greet the gift-stool, e'er to come anear
Throne itself of Hrothgar, nor partake its cheer.)
And so soul of Hrothgar, Scylding good and great,
Long was wracked and broken. And chiefs together sate
Oft at rede, devising, what to do were best,
For such stout-hearted clansmen, against such awful guest.
Whiles at their idol-temples they vowed their offerings fair,
And conjured the Soul-Destroyer, for help in folk-despair.
Such was their devil-practice, and hope of these heathen men,
'Twas Hell in their hearts they remembered; and God was not in
their ken.
The Doomsman of Deeds, they wist not; wist not the Lord of Love;
Nor worshipped the Wielder-of-Wonders, the Helm of the Heavens
above.
Woe to the soul that perversely shall fling to the fiery pit,
Never to ween of comfort, never to change a whit;
Weal to the soul that after the day of his death is come
May seek the Lord and crave there in arms of the Father a home.
CHAPTER III
-
Off in Geatland, across the narrow seas in Southern Scandinavia,
Beowulf, the Kinsman of Hygelac, King of the Geats, heard through
mariners, or through wandering gleemen singing of Cannibal Grendel and
Heorot the Desolate, how terrible was Hrothgar's need and distress;
and he sailed forth with a chosen band of fourteen stalwart young
braves to render Hrothgar the help of his great strength. For, as
everybody knew who listened to the Scop in those days, Beowulf was the
strongest man that ever lived and the most ready to use his strength
for the good of mankind. But when they landed on the Danish Shore, the
Coast Guard challenged them, fearing they were spies and enemies.
-
And so the son of Halfdane was carked by cares which bide,
Nor might the brave and wise One the sorrow turn aside:
Too big the strife for Danefolk, too long the bale and bane,
This hugest of night-horrors, that on his people came.
Far in his home, that good man, among the Geatish breeds,
Hyglac's thane and nephew, got word of Grendel's deeds.
Of all mankind the strongest in might and main was he,
In the days of this our life here, high-born and free.
Bade make ready for him a rider-of-the-sea;
Quoth, he'd seek this War-King, o'er the swan-road, he!-
Seek this noble Chieftain, 'for that 'tis men he needs.'
The canny carls did chide him (though he to them was dear)
Little for his faring; nay, rather spake him cheer,
Him the battle-brave One, and looked for omens clear.
The Good One of the Geatfolk now picked his comrades keen:
When he sought his timbered vessel, he was one of bold fifteen;
And well he kenned the coast-marks, wise in sailor-craft.
The boat ere long they launched, under the bluffs abaft;
The ready warriors clambered over the wave-tossed side;
Against the sands the breakers were writhing with the tide;
On the breast of the bark the heroes bore their bright array,
Their battle-gear so gorgeous. They pushed the bark away,
Away on its eager voyage. The well-braced floater flew,
The foamy-necked, the bird-like, before the winds that blew,
Over the waves of the waters- till, after the risen sun
Of the next day, the curved prow her course so well had run
That these faring-men the land saw, the cliffs aglow o'er the deep,
Broad sea promontories, high hills steep.
Ocean now was o'er-wandered, now was their voyaging o'er.
Thence clomb the Weder-clansmen speedily up on the shore;
Anchored well their sea-wood, whilst their armor clanked,
Their mailed sarks of battle; God Almighty thanked
Because for them the sea-paths had not been made too hard.
Then from the wall the Watchman, the Scylding set to guard
The water-cliffs, espied them over the gangway bear
Their glittering shields of linden, their ready fighting-gear.
His wits were seized with wonder, what men were these indeed?
Down to the strand he gat him, riding on a steed;
Henchman, he, of Hrothgar,- mightily did shake
With his hands his spear-shaft, and in parley spake:
"What are ye, ye mail-clad, what armor-bearing braves,
Who lead a keel so high-prowed hither o'er the waves,
O'er the ocean causeway? I've been out-post long,
Long I've held the sea-watch, lest a pirate throng
In their fleet might sometime do our Daneland wrong.
Here have strangers never made them more at home;
Yet to you no word-of-leave from my kin hath come,
No consent from braves here. Never did I view
O'er earth a mightier jarlman, than is one of you,-
That Hero in his harness: yon Man in weapons dight,
He is no mere retainer, if tells his face aright,
His peerless port and presence! But know I must your kin,
Your home, before from hence ye (as if some spies ye bin)
Farther fare on Daneland. Ye boatmen of the brine,
Ye far-off dwellers, hear now this simple thought mine:
'T were best forthwith ye tell me whence your comings be!"
CHAPTER IV
-
Now as we sit in our banquet hall before our tankards at ease with
the thanes (our banquet hall, not infested with any Monster as was
Heorot), the Scop chants, renewing the notes of his harp, notes he has
struck before in other banquet halls. And he chants the honest reply
of Beowulf to the Coast Guard on horseback, and tells how that
friendly Coast Guard then guided Beowulf and his fourteen young
men-at-arms to King Hrothgar. And he chants the farewell words of
the Coast Guard to Beowulf, when Heorot Hall appeared shining in the
distance, and how the Coast Guard wheeled his horse around and
returned to his lookout by the sea.
-
Him answered then the eldest, the war-band Leader, he,
His chest of words unlocking: "Of Geatish kin are we,
And Hyglac's hearth-fellows. Wide was my father's fame;
The high-born Warrior-Chieftain, and Ecgtheow his name.
He tarried many winters before he fared away
From his courts, an old man; and wide o'er earth today
Him the wise remember, In faithful mood we come
Seeking the son of Halfdane, thy Folk-King at home.
Be to us good of guidance. To Danemen's monarch bold,
We have a mickle errand,- which must not lurk untold:
Thou wottest if it be so, as we have heard for sooth,
That 'mongst ye Danes some dusky Scather without ruth,
Some Doer in the dark night, is dealing spite uncouth,
Dastard shame and carnage. I can in generous mood
Teach a rede to Hrothgar, how he, the sage and good,
This Fiend may overmaster,- if e'er to be it is
That toil and teen shall alter, help come to him and his,
And seething cares grow cooler; or else forevermore
He tholeth days of sorrow, dearth so sad and sore,
Whilst there upon its high-place the best of halls shall bide."
The Watchman, doughty servitor, from his steed replied:
"Behooveth the keen shieldman, he who thinketh well,
'Twixt words and works the tokens cunningly to tell.
I hear this band is friendly unto the great Scylding:
Bear forth your weeds and weapons; I'll guide you to my King,
And bid my faithful kin-thanes 'gainst aught of foes to guard
Your boat upon the beach here, this floater newly-tarred,
Till once more, o'er the sea-streams, the curved-neck timber bear
To Weder-mark the dear men,- those to whomsoe'er
It shall be granted safely to bide the coming fray."
They gat them, then, to fare forth; at rest the floater lay,
On hawser fast at anchor, broad-breasted ship ashore.
O'er cheek-guards shone the golden body of the boar-
Flashing, fire-hardened, keeping a life-guard o'er
The battle-eager Hero. Together on they sped,
Until they saw the gold-bright high hall timbered.
Under the wide heavens, where'er men dwell, was that
The fairest of all houses wherein King Hrothgar sat;
The light whereof went streaming out o'er many lands.
Then showed their Guide that gleaming burg of battle-bands;
Bade their march be forward, thither where he show'th;
Reined around his palfrey, words thereafter quoth:
"Time for me to fare back; in his mercy may
The Almighty Father keep ye safe alway
On your voyage and venture. I will to the coast,
There to hold my sea-watch 'gainst a hostile host."
-
CHAPTER V
-
The Scop chants how Beowulf and his armed band marched up to the
walls of far-shining Heorot; how Wulfgar, King Hrothgar's Herald,
challenged them in friendly wise; how Beowulf asked him for an
audience with the King; and how Wulfgar, with eager speed, went into
the hall and told Hrothgar.
-
The street was laid with bright stones; the road led on the band;
The battle-byrnies shimmered, the hard, the linked-by-hand;
The iron-rings, the gleaming, amid their armor sang,
Whilst thither, in dread war-gear, to hall they marched alang;
The ocean-weary warriors set down their bucklers
Their shields, so hard and hardy, against that House's side;
They stacked points up, these seamen, their ash-wood, gray-tipped
spears;
And bent to bench, as clanked their byrnies, battle-gears-
An iron-troop well-weaponed! Then proud a Dane forthwith
Did of these men-at-arms there enquire the kin and kith:
"Ye bear these plated bucklers hither from what realms;
These piled shafts of onset, gray sarks, and visored helms?
The Henchman and the Herald of Hrothgar, lo, am I!
Never so many strangers I've seen of mood more high.
I ween that 't is for prowess, and not for exile far,
That 't is indeed for glory, that ye have sought Hrothgar."
The valor-famed, the proud Prince of Weders, made reply,
As, hardy under helmet, he spake his words thereby:
"We're Hyglac's board-fellows, Beowulf my name.
I would to son of Halfdane my errand here proclaim,
To the great King, thy Master, if he but thinketh meet
To grant to us that we may one so goodly greet."
Wulfgar made a speech then (Prince of the Wendels, he,
For soul of war and wisdom renowned exceedingly):
"Fain will I ask the Danes' Friend, the Lord of all Scyldings,
As to the boon thou beggest,- will ask the Breaker-of-Rings,
My ever-glorious Sovran, touching this thy quest,
And quickly fetch such answer as he, the good, deems best."
In haste he hied him thither where King Hrothgar sate,
The old man, the hoary, with his jarls in state.
He strode, the valor-famed until he stood before
The shoulders of his dear King- O he knew courtly lore!
Wulfgar made a speech then to his chief, Hrothgar:
"Hither have there ferried, coming from afar
O'er the ocean stretches, Geatfolk to our hall;
Him who is their eldest Beowulf they call.
These men-at-arms the boon beg that they, my Chief, of thee
May ask and hear a word now: O gracious Hrothgar, be
Not niggard of replyings! They in their warrior-dress
Of jarlman's fairest favor are worthy, as I guess,-
And he who led them hither is doughty prince indeed."
CHAPTER VI
-
The Scop strikes his harp again, recounting to us Hrothgar's reply
to the Herald,- how Hrothgar had known of Beowulf's lineage, as son of
Ecgtheow and grandson of Hrethel, the former King of the Geats (father
of the present King, Hygelac), and known too of Beowulf's mighty
strength, equal to thirty thanes. Surely Beowulf, said Hrothgar, has
come to save us from Grendel. So Wulfgar, the Herald, called from
the door that Beowulf and his band should enter. And Beowulf stood
before King Hrothgar in Heorot, and announced his errand, with
honest pride in his past victories over Monsters and with brave
readiness to face this new Monster, Cannibal Grendel. Though
Grendel, as he had heard, bore charmed life against all weapons of
mankind, he would trust in his own powerful grip of hand and arm.
-
Hrothgar made his speech then, Helm of the Scylding-Breed:
"I knew him as a child once; Ecgtheow his father old,
To whom, at home, Geat Hrethel, his only daughter gave;
And now is Ecgtheow's offspring, hither come, the bold,
And seeketh now the faithful friend across the wave.
Of yore those seamen told me, who bore to Geatmen's land
Thither in thanks my royal gifts, that he in grip-of-hands,
He, the keen-at-contest, had the clinch of thirty thanes.
Him holy God in mercy sent, methinks, to us West-Danes
Against the greed of Grendel. This goodly youth unto,
I trust to proffer treasure for this his derring-do.
Be speedy, bid them enter to see our banded thanes,
Say eke to them in right words they're welcome guests to Danes."
Then went to doorway Wulfgar, and spake he from within:
"My high Lord, King of East-Danes, bids say he knows your kin;
And that ye are to him all, from o'er the ocean crests,
Ye hardy-hearted seamen, hither welcome guests.
Now may ye under visors wend in warrior-gear
To see our Hrothgar, leaving your battle-bucklers here,
Your ash-woods, shafts-of-slaughter, to bide the parley's close."
Uprose the mighty Geat then; ringed around him, rose
His valiant throng of thanemen. Some remained without,
Guarding their martial trappings, as bade their chieftain stout.
They hied them in together, where the Herald led,
Under roof of Heorot. The Hero strode ahead,
The stout One under helmet, till at the hearth he stood.
Beowulf made his speech then (shone his corslet good,
A cunning net-work woven by olden wit of smith):
"Hail and health, O Hrothgar! Of Hyglac's kin and kith
Am I, who've gained in young days glories not a few.
Afar this thing of Grendel on my home-turf I knew.
Sea-farers say it standeth, this excelling hall,
Idle and empty unto each and all,
When under heaven's hollows the evening-light is hid.
So my best of henchmen, my canny carls, they did
Teach me, Sovran Hrothgar, that I should seek thee out,
For that so well they wotted this strength of mine how stout.
Themselves had they seen me from sore straits come alive,
Blood-flecked from foemen, where I'd bounden five,
Killed the kin of ettins, out upon the main
By night had smote the nicors, suffered stress and pain,
Avenged their hate of Geatmen- (they hoped to harry us!)--
And crunched and crushed those grim ones. And now with Grendel thus,
With the Grisly, this Giant, alone I'd hold debate.
So now, O Prince of Bright-Danes, thou Shelter-of-the-Great,
Of thee one boon I'm begging: O Scyldings' Bulwark-Bar,
Deny not, noble Folk-Friend, now I have come so far,
That I alone with mine here, who still would share my lot,
This throng of hardy thanemen, may purge thee Heorot.
Eke have I learned this Terror, in wanton mood and vain,
Recketh not of weapons. Therefore will I disdain
(Thus Hyglac's heart, my Master's, may it rejoice through me)
To bear or sword or broad shield, that yellow disk, to strife.
With grip I'll grasp this Grendel, and we'll contend for life,
A loather 'gainst a loather. The one whom death shall hale,
Let him believe the Lord's doom. He will, if he prevail,
Methinketh, in that war-hall, eat unfearingly
The Geatfolk, as so often the Danishmen did he.
No need for thee to hide, then, this head of mine or veil;
He'll have me, sprent with gore, if 't is I whom Death shall hale;
He'll bear his bloody quarry, he'll think to taste his prey;
He'll eat- this lonely Stalker- unmournfully away;
He'll track with me his fen-lair: the need will ne'er be thine
In death to have the care of the body which was mine.
Send Hygelac this war-coat, which wardeth now my breast
(Of all men's battle-byrnies the brightest and the best)
If that Hild should hale me- Hrethel left in trust,
And smith Weland worked it. Wyrd goeth as she must."
CHAPTER VII
-
The Scop chants Hrothgar's speech to Beowulf. Hrothgar well
remembered Beowulf's father Ecgtheow, for Ecgtheow, having slain a man
from another tribe called the Wylfings, had fled even from his own
people, the Waegmundings, southward to seek refuge with Hrothgar, long
ago when Hrothgar was first King of the Danes. And Hrothgar had
settled the trouble by sending gifts to the angry Wylfings and by
making Ecgtheow swear oaths to him (with a Promise, doubtless, make no
more trouble). Hrothgar saw in Beowulf's coming a son's gratitude
for Hrothgar's kindness to his father. Then Hrothgar went on to tell
of the fearful wrack and ruin on Heorot wrought long years by Grendel.
But hope seemed at hand. The Strong One had come. So Danes and Geats
sat together and drank the mead, and the Harper sang clear of voice in
Heorot.
-
Hrothgar made his speech then, Helm of Scylding-Breeds:
"Us hast thou sought, friend Beowulf, because of ancient deeds,
Because too of thy kindness. Thy father, when by hand
Heatholaf he slew there in the Wylfings' land,
The worst of feuds awakened. Then might his Weder-kin,
For fear of Wylfings' harryings, take not Ecgtheow in.
Thence he sought the South-Danes, over the sea-surging,
Us, the Glory-Scyldings, what time I first was King
Of Danefolk and in youth held this kingdom jeweled
This treasure-burg of heroes. For Heorogar was dead,
Yes, he, my elder brother, bairn of Halfdane high,
Was not among the living- a better man than I!
Thereafter I compounded the feud for a fee:
I sent unto the Wylfings, over the ridge of the sea,
Goodly gifts and olden, and oaths he sware to me.
Sorrow for soul of me 't is to tell to any one
What shame to me, what dread spite, in Heorot Grendel's done
With his thoughts of hatred; is my folk-on-floor.
My warrior throng of house-carls, almost no more.
Them hath away swept into Grendel's greed.
Yet can God that Scather mad turn from his deed!
Full oft across their ale-cups my men-at-arms would pledge,
When beer had roused their bosoms, to bide with fierce sword-edge,
Within these walls of wassail, Grendel's coming-on.
But then would be this mead-house, when the day would dawn,
This lordly chamber, gore-stained at the morning-tide;
Boards of all its benches with blood be-spattered wide,
With battle-blood this hall here. I had of trusty men,
Of dear and doughty, fewer- since death had taken them.
Sit thee now to banquet, the cords of speech untie,
Tell us of thy victor-vaunt, as whets thy soul thereby."
Then for Geatish tribesmen, close together all,
Was a bench made ready in the wassail-hall.
There the stout-in-spirit went to take their seat,
Proud of this their prowess. A henchman did as meet,
Mindful he to bear round the figured ale-tankard,
And pour to each the clear mead. Whiles would sing a bard,
Clear of voice in Heorot. Reveiled there the thanes-
A host of happy heroes, Wederfolk and Danes.
CHAPTER VIII
-
The Scop now chants an interlude of quarrelsome words. It seems that
Unferth (whose name meant 'Un-peace'), Hrothgar's Adviser and
Spokesman, was at once jealous of the bold Stranger. Yes, Unferth
had heard of this Beowulf- how Beowulf had been woefully beaten by
Breca in a famous swimming match of seven nights and days out on the
wild ocean along the Coast of the land we now call Scandinavia. So
it's not likely, said Unferth, that Beowulf will be of much account
against Grendel. But the Scop gives us anon Beowulf's straight-forward
reply, which told the great truth of that marvelous adventure, the
generous rivalry and the mutual aid, and the terrors of Water
Monsters.
-
Unferth made his speech then, at Hrothgar's feet who sate;
Let loose that bairn of Ecglaf his secret grudge of hate.
Beowulf's quest, bold seaman, to him was mickle spite,
Because he might not own it that any other wight
Ever in this Middle-Yard more deeds of bravery
Had done beneath the heavens than himself had he:
"Art thou, then, that Beowulf, who strove with Breca, thou,
Who on the deep contested in swimming hard enow!-
When in your pride ye twain did attempt the waters wide,
And risked in rash vain-glory your lives upon the tide?
Nor might not any man then, whether lief or loath,
From fearful voyage dissuade ye, from breasting seaward both;
There ye stretched your arms out ocean streams among,
Measured ye the mere's path, drew with your hands along,
Bounded over the billows. Flood was asurge with foam,
With the waves of winter. Ye on the water's home,
Seven nights ye swinked. He outstripped in stroke!
Had the more of might, he! Him, when morrow broke,
Surf up-cast by Heathoreams. He sought his home therewith,
He, beloved of clansmen; sought dear Bronding-kith,
And his own fair stronghold, where he had a folk,
Had a town and treasures. All his vaunt 'gainst thee
Did the son of Beanstan fulfil faithfully!
So I ween for thee now worser outcome there
(Though in battle-onset, though in grim warfare,
E'er wert thou so doughty!), if thou durst abide,
For coming-close of Grendel, one night-long tide."
Beowulf made his speech then, the son of Ecgtheow, he:
"Aplenty hast thou prated, beer-drunken as thou bel
Friend Unferth, about Breca,- his feat hast told at length.
But truth I hold it, mine was a mightier ocean-strength,
A bigger toil in the billows, than any other man's.
We twain, when still but younglings, had talked and pledged our
plans
To risk (we were but boys then) our lives far out to sea.
We did as we had vowed to! Our naked swords had we,
Our hardy swords, in hands there, on breasting seaward both,
To fend us from the whale-fish. He could no whit from me
Float o'er the sea-flood swifter- and I from him was loath.
Thus were we twain together five nights upon the wave,
Till surge and weltering waters us both asunder drave;
The coldest of all weathers, dark night and northern blast,
Blew battle-grim against us; fierce were the floods we passed;
Roused was the wrath of mere-fish; but there against the foe
My mail-coat, hard and hand-linked, helped me even so!
My braided sark-of-battle lay about my breast,
My corslet gold-adorned. Me bottom-ward did wrest
A spotted Devil-Scather- fast held the Grim his grip!
But unto me was given to pierce with swordsmanship,
Aye, with the blade-of-battle, the Monster of the brine.
The mighty Mere-Beast foundered through this hand of mine!
CHAPTER IX
-
The Scop continues to chant Beowulf's story of the outcome of the
swimming match with Breca. That was the greatest swimming ever done by
man (but not the only time that Beowulf was mighty in swimming, as
we shall hear later). 'Such prowess,' said Beowulf to Unferth, 'had
never been shown by thee; and, if thou wert as good as thy boasts,
Grendel would never have wrought such slaughter in Heorot.' And just
as Unferth had heard of Beowulf before, so Beowulf had heard of
Unferth, since rumor and story were borne in those days by sailors and
gleemen's ballads back and forth from tribe to tribe. Yes, Beowulf
could silence Unferth by reminding him that he was known to have slain
his own brothers. 'Enough of him; let the Danes trust in me,
Beowulf, the Geat.' And thus the feasting went on, and Wealhtheow, the
Queen (for the high-born ladies joined in those days the feasting of
the warriors), gave the ale-cup to the King, and to each and all,
and to Beowulf himself. And Beowulf addressed Wealhtheow, Hrothgar's
Queen, avowing his purpose once more. And, then, after the feasting,
as night was drawing on, the clan arose and Hrothgar gave over the
Watch in Heorot to Beowulf and his men. Will Unferth forgive
Beowulf, or will he wait his chances to do Beowulf a harm and thus
keep the Strong One from freeing Heorot forever of Cannibal Grendel?
The Scop will tell you all.
-
Thus the loathly lurkers pressed me sore and oft.
I served them with my dear sword in ways not soft.
For those foul devisers the hope of fill was o'er-
To eat me, to sit round a feast on ocean's floor!
But upon the morrow, wounded by the glaive,
They were lying up along the leavings of the wave,
Put to sleep by sword there- ne'er to thwart again
Sailor-folk in ferrying the fords of the main.
From the east a light rose- God's beacon bright;
The rolling seas subsided, so that see I might
Headlands and windy walls. Wyrd will often save
A jarl who is no fey man, if he be but brave.
And so to me 't was granted that with sword I slew
Nine there of the Nicors. Nay, I never knew
Under the vault of the heavens by night a fight more fierce,
Nor on the streams of the ocean a man put to it worse.
Way-weary, yet I 'scaped the clutch of monsters fell;
And the sea up-cast me, flood-tide and swell,
On the land of Finn-men. Never about thee
Such straits of strife, such terrors of sword-blades heard I tell;
Ne'er yet at war-play Breca, nor neither one of ye,
Did deed so bold with bloody brands- nor boast thereof I will-
Though thou forsooth thy brothers, thy kin-of-heart, didst kill!
(Whence curse of hell awaits thee, though good thy wit may be.)
I say to thee in sooth now, thou of Ecglaf son,
That Grendel ne'er so many gruesome things had done,
The Grisly ne'er such havoc in Heorot to thy King,
If thought of thine, if soul of thine, were grim as thy telling.
But he hath found he needeth fear or feud or stroke
Little from thy people, the Victor-Scylding folk!
He taketh the forced pledges, unsparingly he rends,
He hath his lust of slaughter, he puts to sleep, he sends,-
He recketh not of any contest with the Dane.
But speedily 't is mine now to show him might and main,
The warrior-work of Geatmen! Let him go who can
Blithe to mead tomorrow- when o'er bairns of man
Shineth from the southward, on other day begun,
Once more that light-of-morning, the sky-girt sun."
Then the Prince of Bright-Danes, the Treasure-Breaker, he,
The old-haired and war-famed, had his time of glee.
Now in help he trusted; from Beowulf he caught,
He, his people's Shepherd, the firm-resolved thought.
Then was there heroes' laughter; and rang the shout and song,
And merry speech was bandied; and then stepped forth along
Wealhtheow, Queen of Hrothgar, mindful of manners all,
And gold-bedight she greeted the guest-men in the hall.
And then the high-born Lady erst gave the cup in hand
To him who was the Warder of East-Danes' fatherland;
And him she bade be blithesome at the bout-of-beer,
Him beloved of clansmen. He took with goodly cheer
The banquet and the beaker, the King of victory-fame.
Then round the hall to each and all she stepped, the Helmings' Dame,
And gave to young and older the goblet rich-beseen,
Till came the happy moment when in hall the Queen,
Crown-bedight and high-souled, the cup to Beowulf bore.
She greeted the Geats' lord; God she thanked therefor,
Wise in her word-craft, that her wish had thriven
That she could trust some jarlman for help 'gainst horrors given.
He took the cup from Wealhtheow, a warsman fierce-to-smite;
And then he offered answer, eager for the fight.
Beowulf made his speech then, bairn of Ecgtheow, he:
"When with my troop of tribesmen, I mounted on the sea,
And sate me in my sailor-boat, I had this thought in me:
Either to work for all time thy people's will at last,
Or to fall alighting in grip of Grendel fast.
Firm am I to do my jarlman's deed withal,
Or to dree my end-of-days in this mead-hall."
Those words well pleased that woman,- the Geatman's battle-vows;
And gold-bedight she went, then, to sit beside her spouse,
Folk-Queen high-born. And once again there be
Brave words spoken, and hall-men in glee,
And uproar of victor-folk- until the King anon
Would seek his evening resting-place, Halfdane's Son.
He knew that battle waited the fiend on that high floor,
After they the sun-light could see no more,
After the dun night was over all about,
And the shapes of shadow should come aprowling out,
Wan beneath the welkin. Together rose the clan;
Then Hrothgar greeted Beowulf, man wishing luck to man,
Gave him of that wine-house the power and sway, and swore:
"Never have I trusted to any man before,-
Not since I could heave up hand and shield of me,-
This brave house of Danemen, until now to thee.
Have now and hold it- this excelling hall!
Remember thy glory,- make known thy might to all!
Watch against the Wrathful! Each wish of thine I'll do,
If with thy life thou seest this deed of daring through."
CHAPTER X
-
The Scop chants how Beowulf undid his armor in Heorot, and made
his boast ere he laid himself down upon the mead-bench that
stretched along the side wall. He again vaunted he would use no weapon
except his own main strength, for in those days to speak out frankly
one's own good opinion of one's self was not counted an unseemly
thing. Then, while the other young Geatmen slumbered, Beowulf lay on
his pillow, apparently slumbering too, but really very much awake. And
Grendel was making toward Heorot.
-
Then did Hrothgar hie him, the Scyldings' Bulwark-Bar,
Forth from the mead-hall with his band-of-war;
Wished that Warrior-Chieftain Wealhtheow for to seek,
His Queen for his bed-mate. The King-of-Glory there
Over against Grendel (so men had heard him speak)
Had set a chamber-warder; whose special task was care
Of him, the Danemen's Monarch, in keeping ogre-guard.
Truly, the Geatish Leader trusted well the Lord,
And his own proud mettle. His mail he then undid,
From his head his helmet, gave his figured sword
(That goodliest of iron-things) to his man and bid
Watch and ward his war-gear.
Then his boast he said,
Beowulf, the brave Geat, ere he clomb to bed:
"Not poorer in battle-prowess, do I reckon me,
In the works of warfare, than is Grendel, he!
So not with sword I purpose to spill his life tonight,
To put to sleep the Monster, though indeed I might.
Those goodly arts he knows not whereby to cut at me,
To hew against my buckler, though so bold he be
In the works of combat. But this eventide
To both of us behooveth leave the blade aside,
If he durst to seek out a lack-weapon fray,
And holy Lord, the wise God, thereafter either way
Let him decree the glory as him-thinketh best."
And then the Keen-in-contest laid him down to rest;
And in the pillow sank, then, that Jarlman's cheek and head;
And many a brisk one round him bent to his hall-bed-
Many an ocean-warrior. Not any of the band
Thought 't would e'er be his to seek from here his fatherland,
The dear folk, or free-burg, that fostered him and bore;
But they had heard that ere now more than many a man
Slaughter-death had taken off of the Danish clan.
But unto them the Lord gave the webs of weal-in-war,
Gave unto the Weders aid and comfort so
That, through the strength of One, they all o'ercame their foe,-
Through his might of selfhood. 'T is known that God, the Giver,
Hath wielded over mankind forever and forever.
Striding through the wan night, the Shadow-Stalker stepped;
The holders of that horned house, the shooting-men, they slept-
All, save only one there. 'T was known to men that he,
That ghostly Scather, might not, against the Lord's decree,
Draw them down to Darkness. Watching the foe to smite,
In wrath the Geatman bided the issue of the fight.
CHAPTER XI
-
The Scop strikes louder notes upon his harp and he chants with so
much fire that we in our banquet hall keep our hands fixed in the
handles of our tankards and forget to drink. For he tells how
Grendel burst the door of Heorot, greedy for man-flesh and unwitting
the welcome he would get, and how Grendel up a sleeping Geat, and how,
to his eternal sorrow, he then laid paws upon Beowulf. Fierce indeed
was that wrestling, and it was a wonder that Heorot, so battered and
shaken, did not tumble down on the heads of all. And the Danes, who
were waiting yonder on the wall of the Burg, heard the night-shrieks
of Grendel in the grip of the Strong One.
-
And now from out the moorland, under the misty slopes,
Came astalking Grendel- God's anger on his hopes.
That Scather foul was minded to snare of human kin
Some one, or sundry, that high hall within.
Under the welkin strode he, until full well he spied
The wine-house, the gold-hall, with fret-work glittering wide.
Nor was that the first time Hrothgar's home he sought.
Yet never in his life-days, late or early, aught
Like this harsh welcome found he from thanemen in the hall.
He came afooting onward to the house withal,
This warring One that ever had been from bliss out-cast;
Forthwith the door sprang open, with forged-bolts though fast,
When with his paws he pressed it; yea, then, on bale-work bent,
Swoln as he was with fury, that house's mouth he rent.
Anon the Fiend was treading the shining floor in there;
On he moved in anger; from eyes of him did glare,
Unto fire likest, a light unfair.
He saw within the chamber many a man asleep,-
Kinsman band together, of clanfolk a heap;
Laughed his mood, was minded that Hobgoblin grim,
Ere the dawn to sunder each his life from limb,
Now that fill-of-feeding he weened awaited him!
But Wyrd it was that would not longer grant him might
To seize on more of mankind after that same night.
Was watching he, the stalwart Kin of Hygelac,
How with grip the Grisly would go at his attack.
He had no thought, this Goblin, that business to put off;
But pounced upon a sleeping man, starting quick enough!
Unthwartedly he slit him, bit his bone-box, drunk
From his veins the blood of him, gulped him chunk by chunk,
Till soon, then, he had there this un-living Geat
Altogether eaten down, even to hands and feet.
Then stepped he forth and nearer, and pawed by bed to nim
The hardy-headed Hero, reaching toward him
With his claws be-deviled: with thoughts that boded harm,
Beowulf received him, propped upon an arm.
But soon he found, did Grendel,- this Herdsman-over-crimes,-
That never in this Middle-World, this earth of many climes,
He'd met a mightier hand-grip in any man than here.
Afeared in mood and spirit, small help he gat from fear!
Was bent on making-off, ho!- out to the dark would flee,
Would seek the din of devils! Not now in Heorot he
Fared as in the old-days!- And then the Bold-in-pride,
Hyglac's Thane, remembered his speech of eventide.
Up he stood and grasped him so tight the fingers cracked.
The Ettin started outward- the Jarl upon him packed.
The monstrous One was minded, whereso'er he may,
To fling himself but farther, and from thence away
To flee to boggy dingles; his fingers' power he wist
Was in the grip of Grim One. That was a sorry quest
Whereon the Scather Grendel to Heorot Hall had pressed.
The lordly room resounded; and all the Danes did quail,
Those warrior jarls of walled-town, lest ref for aye of ale.
Wroth were the ramping twain there, those warders of the house;
The chamber rang with uproar; mickle wonder 't was
How the wine-hall held out 'gainst shock of fighters there,
How adown did fall not that earthly dwelling fair.
But inside and outside it was too firmly wrought,
With the bands of iron, forged by cunning thought.
I've heard that many a mead-bench, with gold gilded o'er,
There where tugged the foemen, started from the floor.
So had weened the wise ones of the Scyldings erst
That never any man by force might asunder burst
That brave house and bone-bright, nor by craft might split-
Save that bosoming fire in flame should swallow it.
Up there rose a shriek then, strange enough o' night;
On each and every North-Dane seized a grisly fright,
On each who from the wall there heard that 'well-a-way'-
Heard this God-Forsaker chant his gruesome lay,
His song of loss-in-battle, heard bewail his wound
This Grendel, Hell's Bondsman. For held him tightly bound
That man who was of all men between the seas confessed,
In the days of this our life here, in strength the mightiest.
CHAPTER XII
-
The Scop chants how Beowulf's men hacked in vain at Grendel with
their ancestral swords, apparently forgetting in their fury and terror
what Beowulf had said, that Grendel bore a charmed life against all
weapons of mankind. But Beowulf at last tore out Grendel's arm, and
the wounded Monster fled forth into the night to die in his dark,
murky fens; and Beowulf hung the bloody trophy under the roof of
Heorot- as it would seem, on the outside just over the door.
-
The jarls' Defender would not, forsooth with a will,
Let him loose aliving- him who came to kill,
Deeming not his life-days of use to any folk.
More than once did jarlman of Beowulf try a stroke
With his father's falchion, fain the life to ward
Of the Chieftain, their great Lord.
They wist not, these warsmen, these hardy-headed few,
The while they fell asmiting and thought the while to hew
On this side, on that side, seeking soul to kill,
That best of earthly iron blades, nor never battle-bill,
This accursed Scather could hurt or harm:
For over victor-weapons he had cast a charm,
Over every sword-edge. Yet his passing-o'er,
In the days of his life here, was to be full sore;
And this alien Elf-Thing was to fare afar
To the under-places where the devils are.
For he had found, had Grendel,- this Striver against God,-
Who in such merry mood of old so oft on man had trod,
That his bulk-of-body would not help him moe,
Now Hygelac's stout Kinsman held his fore-paw so!
Was each unto the other alive a loathly thing.
A body-sore he gat there, this wretched Ogrering:
There showed upon his shoulder a cureless wound anon;
His sinews sprang asunder; from socket burst the bone.
To Beowulf was given the glory of the fray;
And Grendel was to flee hence, sick-to-death, away,-
Off under fen-slopes, off to dens of gloom.
He wist, O well he wist it, his end-of-life had come,
His full tale of days now.- The wish of Danemen all,
After that gory set-to, had come to pass withal.
He had now y-cleansed, he who came from far,
The Wise-Head and Stout-Heart, the House of high Hrothgar,
Had freed it now from fury. His night-work made him glad,
His deed of might and glory. The Geatmen's Leader had
Now before the East-Danes fulfilled his vaunting there,-
Ave, all ills amended and the carking care,
Which they had dreed aforetime, and by stress and strain
Long been doomed to suffer- more than little pain.
Of this there was a token, clear enough in proof,
When the Victor-Fighter under the gabled roof
Hung on high the fore-paw, the arm and shoulder grim-
And there ye had together all Grendel's clutching-limb!
CHAPTER XIII
-
The Scop chants how chiefs and thanes from round about rode to
Heorot, and how they then followed on their horses the bloody trail of
Grendel to the mere of the Nicors, the Water Monsters, and how they
galloped back, for another look at Grendel's paw, sometimes racing for
sheer joy and sometimes listening to the ballads sung by one of
their number along the road. Our Scop tells us that one song was
made up then and there, in praise of Beowulf's quest; and this sets us
to wondering whether Beowulf was with the party or whether, wearied by
his watch and his work in the night, he had remained at the Burg or at
Heorot to sleep a sound sleep. Our Scop then gives us the substance of
another ballad sung by the Scop in the story. This was about another
hero, Sigemund, who had slain a Dragon and rifled its gold-hoard (even
as Beowulf was himself to slay a Dragon sometime and rifle its hoard).
And this ballad reminds our Scop of an old Danish King, Heremod
(before the coming of Scyld and Hrothgar's line), who is mentioned
several times in the poem for his cruelty and feuds, especially in
contrast to such fine, generous aethelings as Sigemund and Beowulf.
But if we don't understand the allusions to such folk-characters as
Sigemund and Heremod, never mind; for some wiser heads today don't
altogether understand them either, though those who used to listen
in the old days surely understood them and liked them. For bygone
men knew many legends well that even the wisest men of today, by the
hardest study of old books in Anglo-Saxon, in Old Icelandic, or in
Mediaeval Latin, can often only partly puzzle out. Perhaps we will
do better to ask the Scop to omit such digressions and to tell us only
about Beowulf himself. Or if he won't omit them, we have a right not
to pay any attention till he comes back to the main story.
-
Then there was at morning -so I've heard the tale-
Round about the gift-hall many a man-of-mail.
Thither fared the folk-chiefs, near and far asunder,
All along the wide-ways, for to view the wonder,-
The traces of the loathed Thing. Seemed his passing-out
Not a grievous sorrow to any thereabout,
Any who were viewing now the craven's trail-
How he, weary-hearted, beaten in the bout,
Death-doomed and routed, off away from here
Made for very life his tracks to the Nicors' mere.
Yonder were the waters weltering with blood;
Mingled all with hot gore, surged the gruesome flood;
With battle-spatter rolled the deep, where the death-doomed then
Laid forlorn his body down, his heathen soul, in fen-
There did Hell receive him!
Home on horse anew
Rode the old companions, many a younger too,
Back from merry journey, bold men back from mere,
Warriors on the white steeds. Then was sounded clear
Beowulf's deed of daring: all said it o'er and o'er,
That south or north none other, from shore to farthest shore,
Betwixt the seas none other, beneath the sky's domain,
Was better man to bear shield or worthier to reign.
(Nor they by this belied not their Friend in anything,
Hrothgar, their gracious Lord- but that was goodly King!)
Whiles these doughty warsmen let leap their fallow bays,
Let run a race where fairest seemed the country-ways;
Whiles a thane of Hrothgar,- a man of boasts was he,
Stored with olden sagas, and deft at balladry,-
Found one good word for other and bound them soothfully;
So too this scop made mention right well of Beowulf's quest,
And had good speed at speaking his phrases artfullest,
Linking words together.
[He told an unknown story-
All he'd heard of Sigemund, of his deeds of glory:
The warring of the Waelsing, his wanderings so wide,
The feuds and the betrayals, whereof no men beside
Wist aught but only Fitela- when he to him would tell,
The uncle to the nephew, somewhat of what befell;
For ever stood they comrades in need against the foe,
And countless of the ettin-kin they had with sword laid low.
After his death, for Sigemund upsprang a fame not least
When he, that hardy warsman, had quelled that Serpent-Beast,
That Guardian of the gold-hoard. Under the hoary stone
Dared he, the son of aetheling, that bold deed alone-
For Fitela was with him not. Yet luck to him was given,
That this wondrous dragon so by sword was riven
That the lordly steel with point the cavern wall did pierce.
The drake he died a slaughter-death. And Sigemund, the fierce,
Had gained by prowess power to use at will the hoard;
A sea-boat he loaded; the rings he bare aboard;
He bare to the ship's bosom, this man whom Waels begot,
That gold-gleaming treasure.- But Dragon melted hot!
Chief was he of outlaws, through tribes anear and far,
For the deeds of daring, this warriors' Bulwark-Bar
(And so erewhile he prospered)- yes, chief since waned away
The battle-strength of Heremod, his force and fame in fray.
For Heremod was lured forth, when mid the Jutes was he,
Into the power of foemen, and sent off speedily.
Too long the waves of sorrow had lamed this man of strife;
To jarls, to all the aethelings, he'd been a care for life.
And often in the old days, the wanderings of their chief
Had been to his sage vassals a weary thing of grief,-
To many a one who'd trusted he'd be a help from harm,
Prosper as a king's bairn, achieve his father's arm,
And folk and hoard and stronghold guard from hostile band-
This kingdom of the heroes, the Scyldings' fatherland.
Therein the Kin of Hygelac a fairer virtue showed
To all, to friends, to all mankind- than crime-curst Heremod.]
So homeward, oft aracing, these warriors old and young
With swift horses followed the paths along.
Now was the sun-of-morning urged higher up the skies;
Went many a bold retainer to see the wondrous prize
At the high hall Heorot. The King himself no less,
The Warder of the ring-hoard, famed for worthiness,
From out the wedding-bowers strode in royal sheen,
Girt by many clansmen; and, lo, with him the Queen
With troop of maidens measured the mead-path to the scene.
CHAPTER XIV
-
The Scop chants on, for he knows his harp and his story well,
without sheet of music or page of books; and he chants now the
speech of Hrothgar to Beowulf, before the Hall of Heorot where hung
Grendel's arm and paw for Queen Wealhtheow and Spokesman Unferth and
all to see. And Hrothgar adopted Beowulf as his own son. Then the Scop
chants Beowulf's answer to Hrothgar. It was a manly answer; yet we are
disappointed that Beowulf did not thank Hrothgar for praising and
adopting him. Perhaps Beowulf was so full of the fight that he could
think of nothing else.
-
Hrothgar made a speech then; he walked unto the hall;
Stood upon the fore-steps; looked at roof so tall,
So garnished with gold-work; at Grendel's paw looked he:
"'Thanks to the All-Wielder at once for what I see!
From Grendel have I suffered such gruesome plight and plunder:
But ever God he worketh wonder upon wonder-
He is the King-of-Glory! It was but now that I
Weened no boot for sorrows for me until I die,
When stood this best of houses battle-sprent with gore,
A sorrow spread so widely for every councillor
Who weened they might not ever save from Fiends-of-murk,
From ogres and from demons, this great folk-work.
Now hath a thane by Lord's might a deed put through
That we for all our cunning erewhile could never do.
Well can she say, that woman (if yet she be on earth)
Who gave, among the tribes of men, to such an off spring birth,
That olden God was kindly to her in child-bearing.
Now Beowulf, best of battlers, to my heart's fostering
For mine own son I'll take thee. Guard it well from now,
This our new-born kinship! Never lack shalt thou
For aught of world's desires whereover I have power.
Full oft did I for less deed of old a largesse shower,
Rewards from out my treasure, upon a punier swain,
A slacker one at slaughter. By thine own might and main
Thou hast thyself achieved that thy name shall live
Forever unto ages. May the All-Wielder give
Reward of good unto thee, as ever he hath done."
Beowulf made a speech then, who was of Ecgtheow son:
"We wrought that work of warfare, that fight, with goodly will;
Boldly we dared the might of that mystic Thing-of-ill.
O I would the rather that thou his very self
Hadst seen in his trappings, that weary, wavering Elf!
Swift I thought to pin him with my clutches firm
Down upon a bed of death, that he in vain should squirm,
Dying under hand-grip- unless his body fled.
That flight I could not hinder- God willed him free instead.
To him, this Life-Destroyer, I clave not well enough-
He was too strong at foot-work, this Fiend in making-off!
To save his life, however, he left his fingers back,
His arm and his shoulder, as witness of his track!
Yet by this the creature not any comfort wins;
None the longer lives he, harried by his sins.
But him his sore hath bounden fast by bonds of bale,
In a gripe of anguish. There abide he shall,
Outlawed by evil, the day of doom so grim,
Waiting how the shining Judge wills to sentence him!"
Then Unferth, son of Ecglaf, he was less noisy wight,
In brag of works of battle, when, thanks to this man's might,
The aethelings were gazing that high roof along
At paw and foeman's fingers- and foreward there they hung,
Each of the claws in place there, unto steel most like
That heathen creature's hand-spur, that warrior's eery spike.
The gazers vowed no brave man's good old blade soever
Might touch him, might the Monster's bloody fight-paw sever.
CHAPTER XV
-
The Scop chants how men with busy women-folk set Heorot Hall to
rights and gloriously decked it for another feast. Feasting and song
and battle and sleep,- the ale-cup, the harp, the good sword, the
pillow,- seem to have taken up all the time of these high-born
Danishmen. But no, not all the time; for there was always time too for
the giving of presents and for the making of speeches. Here the Scop
tells us of Hrothgar's rich gifts to Beowulf, the gleaming war-gear
and the caparisoned horses, which were brought before the Hero right
then and there in Heorot Hall. All were merry, and Hrothulf,
Hrothgar's nephew, was still friendly, though the people who used to
listen to the story knew that later he slew Hrethric, Hrothgar's
son; and, knowing this, they could feel a sense of doom, like a
shadow, over the bright scene. Our Scop likes to touch the joys of men
with shadows,- likes to remind us of the ironies of fate that dog,
unseen, the footsteps of our mirth.
-
Then quick the hest was given. Within was Heorot then
By many hands bedecked. Of women and of men
Aye, full many were there who did make ready all
That wine-house and guest-room. Gleamed on every wall
Woven hangings, gold-gay- of wondrous sights so much,
For each and every mortal of those who gaze at such.
It had been greatly battered, that building brave and bright,
Though all within-ward bounden by bands of iron tight;
And the door-hinges rended; the roof alone held out
Sound all-together, when Grendel turned about,
That Ogre in his fleeing, outlawed by deeds of ill,
And of his life in wanhope. Ah, let each try who will,
It is not over-easy to flee away from death!
But each of bairns of mankind, each who beareth breath,
Each who dwelleth on the ground, shall seek, as fate shall force,
The place made ready for him, where his body-corse
Shall sleep upon its resting-bed, when the feasting's done.
'T was time and tide when hall-ward hied Halfdane's son;
The King himself, this Hrothgar, would in the revel share.
Ne'er heard I tell of tribesmen themselves who better bare
Around their treasure-giver, in a goodlier press.
They bent them to the benches, owners of success!
Merrily they feasted; took again, again,
Cheerily the mead-cup. And kinsmen still withal
Were both of those stout-hearted ones in that high hall-
Hrothgar and Hrothulf. Within was Heorot then
Filled alone with friends all- never in those times
Had the folk of Scyldings wrought the traitor-crimes.
Then the bairn of Halfdane, to Beowulf he gave
A banneret of gold-work, broidered on a stave,
A helmet and a byrnie, as meed of victory.
And a glorious jewelled sword many there did see
Borne unto the Hero. Standing forth on floor,
Beowulf received the cup; that warrior-band before,
He needed not to suffer shame for these gifts of price.
I have not known many to give in friendlier wise
To others on the ale-bench golden treasures four!
Across the crown of the helmet, a ridge outside there rose,
Of wires interwoven, to guard the head from blows,
Lest the files'-remainders, the battle-hardened glaive,
Too fiercely might scathe it, what time the brave
Behind his shield should hie him forth against his foes.
Bade then the jarlmen's Bulwark bring adown the hall
Horses eight, with golden plate upon the cheeks of all.
On one a saddle rested with jewel-work replete,
Shining with deft devices- that was the battle-seat
Of Hrothgar, the high King, when Halfdane's son would fare
Forth unto the sword-play; and in the vanward ne'er
Failed his famous valor, while round him fell the slain!
And then the Lord of Ingwines to Beowulf gave the twain,
The horses and the weapons, as his to have and hold-
Bade him well enjoy them! Hrothgar, the bold,
The Hoard-Guard of heroes, so manfully paid back,
With horses and with treasures, Beowulf's attack,
That none who'll speak the truth aright can blame for any lack.
CHAPTER XVI
-
The Scop chants how Hrothgar gave gifts also to all Beowulf's
fourteen companions, and then makes some pious remarks, as he often
does in the course of his story. He then tells us that the Harper in
the Hall sang a lay- which may be called "The Woe of Hildeburh." He
doesn't give, as in the case of the story of Sigemund, merely the gist
of it; but be seems to be repeating the Harper's song word for word.
It is quite a story by itself; and not very clear to us today- all
about a feud between Danes and Frisians and Jutes, broken faith,
battle in a Hall, vengeance, funeral pyres, and a sad-hearted Queen.
Many wise men of today have striven to puzzle it out- and each
thinks he has succeeded, but they don't all agree, with one another
and they despise one another grievously for their differences of
opinion. Now, in the best interests of good-breeding and toleration
for one another, I suggest that we don't listen to "The Woe of
Hildeburh" at all -lest we too fall to quarreling over its meaning.
But do listen to the spirited ballad some other Scop majde on a part
of the story, the fight at the doors of the Hall.
-
Then, too, the Lord of jarlmen at mead-bench bestowed
On each who had with Beowulf taken the ocean-road
Some treasure, some heirloom, and bade with gold requite
The death of him whom Grendel had foully slain that night-
As more of them he fain had slain, except that God, the good,
And the man's own courage, for them that wyrd withstood.
The Judge then ruled all races even as he doth yet-
So best is always insight, and forethought of wit.
How much of lief and loathly shall fall to each man's life
Who long makes earth his dwelling here in these days of strife!
Now was there chant and music, together linked as one,
Before the Army-Chieftain, Halfdane's Son.
The merry harp was fingered, the lay was lilted free,
As Hrothgar's bard by mead-bench sang in hall his glee.
THE WOE OF HILDEBURH
-
[The Hero of the Halfdanes, Hnaef of Scylding-folk,
In the Frisian struggle fell by fatal stroke
At the hands of sons of Finn when they in terror woke.
Little cause had Hildeburh to praise the Jutemen's troth:
Blameless bereaved was she of her dear ones both-
Her bairn and her brother, at the linden-play.
Wounded by the lances, to doom dropped they.
That was a grieving Princess, and she, the daughter of Hoc,
Had good cause to mourn her fate when the morning broke,
And under the skies she set her eyes on murder-bale of kin,-
There, O where in all the world her greatest joys had been.
The fray took off the thanes of Finn, all but only few;
He might not in the parley-place 'gainst Hengest battle do,
Nor save by fight from Prince's Wight the remnants of his crew.
And so did they, the Frisians, a truce with Danemen call:
They'd yield another floor to them, a high-seat and hall,
And Danes with bairns of Jutemen should each rule half of all;
And Finn, the son of Folcwald, should, with gifts of pay,
Do the Danemen honor each and every day;
Should, with his ring-giving, favor Hengest's men,-
With costly boon of fretted gold, as much as Hengest then
In beer-hall should cheer all the folk of Frisian kin.
Then did they swear a peace-pact, unalterable for both;
Finn did unto Hengest vow, without all strife, on oath:
That, with his Witan's counsel, he'd use Hnaef's remnant right;
That no man there, by word or work, should break the pact they
plight,
Nor Frisians e'er should speak thereof, by any evil sleight,
Though Danes, bereft of ruler, in their need now were
Followers of the man that slew Hnaef, their Ring-Giver;
And if then any Frisian should by the taunt
Of old hate and slaughter to the Danemen vaunt,
Straight should it be settled then by the edge of sword.
The oath was sworn, the costly gold uplifted from the hoard,
The best of braves of War-Danes, Hnaef, on the pile lay stark;
Upon that pyre was plain to sight the gore-bespattered sark,
His swine all golden,- the boar-crest iron-strong,-
And aethelings, by wounds dead,- for they had fallen, a throng.
And Hildeburh behested that at Hnaef's own pyre
The bairn of her own body be given unto the fire,
His bone and brawn be burned there and laid upon the pile,
By the uncle's shoulder. The lady wept the while;
Bemoaning in dirges. Her warrior-son they raise.
There wound unto the welkin a huge bale's blaze,
And crackled at the grave-mound. Heads did melt asunder;
Gashes burst and blood sprang from death-wounds under.
Flame, of spirits greediest, did all of those devour,
Of either folk, whom war had ta'en. Gone was their flower.]
CHAPTER XVII
-
Our Scop brings the Harper's story of "The Woe of Hildeburh" to an
end. And he goes on to tell how Wealhtheow, Hrothgar's Queen,
addressed her Consort, making a hopeful allusion to Hrothulf in
Hrothulf's very presence. She could not know that in the future
Hrothulf was going to slay her son Hrethric, though she may have
felt some anxiety that sometime all might not be well. And Beowulf was
seated between Hrethric and his brother Hrothmund, being now himself
their brother by adoption. And Unferth, the quarrelsome and jealous,
was happy too, seated, as was his wont, at the feet of the King; but
perhaps it was none other than he who later stirred up the trouble
between Hrothgar and Hrothulf that resulted in the slaying of
Hrethric.
-
[Then wended the warriors, bereft of friends, away;
Back unto their dwellings in Frisland wended they,
To homes of theirs and high-burg. But Hengest made his inn,
Still through winter grim and wan, peacefully with Finn.
His thoughts were of his home-land, although he might not drive
Over the sea his ringed prow. Waves with wind did strive;
With storm rolled the ocean; with ice-fetters fast
Winter locked the billows,- till there came at last
Another year to homes of men, as still it doth today-
The glory-gleaming weather that keeps its times alway.
Then was gone the winter and fair was earth's breast;
Forth did fare the rover,- from Finn's courts, the guest;
But he was thinking rather of wreaking wrath for wrong,
Than of ocean-voyage: how he might be strong
To bring to pass a battle-parle, in the which he would
O not all unmindful be of the Jutemen's brood!
Thus did he refuse not what is world's behest,
When the son of Hunlaf had laid upon his breast
The blade hight Battle-Flame, of all bills the best-
Whose edges to the Jutemen were known too well.
Likewise to the fierce-heart Finn in turn befell
The sword-bale bitter at his very home,
When Guthlaf and Oslaf o'er the sea did roam,
Bemoaning the sorrow, the onslaught so grim,
And for a deal of trouble blaming only him,-
Nor might they in their bold hearts restrain their restive mood.
Then the hall was reddened with the foemen's blood;
And King Finn was slaughtered, 'mid his body-corps,
And the queen was taken. The Scylding bowmen bore
All the wealth in household of the king of earth-
Whatsoe'er at Finn's home they could find of worth,
Of gems and wrought jewels- to their ships away.
On sea-voyage to the Danefolk the royal wife they bore;
Led her back to kinsmen."]
Sung was now the lay,
The harp-chant of gleeman. Mirth arose once more,
Loud rang the bench-joy. Cup-bearers did pour
Wine from jars-of-wonder. Forth came there,
Walking under golden crown, to where the friendly pair,
The nephew and the uncle, sate: then was their kinship still at one,
Each unto the other true: And Spokesman Unferth, Ecglaf's son,
Sate at the feet of Scyldings' King. Both trusted still his spirit
bold,
That he was man of courage keen; though he unto his kin of old
Were not at sword-play merciful.
And then the Dame of Scyldings spake:
"Breaker-of-Rings and Free-Lord mine, now this beaker take;
Be thou blithe of spirit, thou Gold-Friend in hall;
Bespeak the Geats in happy words, such as behooves withal;
Be gladsome to the Geatmen, and not forgetful be
Of good gifts anear or far which now thou havest free.
'T was told me, this warrior thou 'dst take for son to thee.
This bright ring-chamber, this Heorot, is restored;
Use, while still thou mayest, thy times for fair reward;
And leave unto thy kinsmen the folk and the state,
When 't is thine to fare forth, to greet eternal fate.
I know my gladsome Hrothulf- that 't is his will to be
Gracious to these boys of ours, if earlier thou than he,
O thou Friend of Scyldings, leavest the world behind.
I ween, with goodness he'll requite the offspring of us two,
If he all that remembers that you and I did do
For him when erst a youngling, with gifts and honors kind."
Thereat to bench she turned her where her lads were then,
Hrethric and Hrothmund, with bairns of fighting men-
The youth all together. There sate the doughty Thane,
Beowulf, the Geatman, between the brothers twain.
CHAPTER XVIII
-
The Scop chants how Wealhtheow too gave presents to Beowulf, and how
one of these presents was a collar which years thereafter Beowulf's
Uncle, King Hygelac, wore as he fell in a famous raid down the Frisian
Coast. (That was a real raid, historians of the Teutonic tribes assure
us; and Hygelac was a real historical personage who lived in the sixth
century. Perhaps Beowulf once really lived too; yet I for one doubt if
he really did all the big things our Scop tells about him- though it
is pleasant and good for us to make-believe he did.) And after
Wealhtheow's gifting and speaking, Hrothgar and others, Beowulf and
the Queen too, left the Hall for their rest, leaving behind many
jarlmen. These jarlmen took down the feasting boards that had stood on
moveable supports in front of the benches along the walls, and made
ready for sleep, unwitting that new terror and woe lurked outside in
the night.
-
To him she bare the goblet, and friendly words spake she,
And armlets twain of twisted gold she proffered graciously,
And rings and a war-coat, and best of collars too
That ever on earth I heard of.
[Nay, I never knew
Under heaven a hero's treasure goodly more
Since Hama to his bright burg the Brisings' necklace bore,
With clasp and costly setting. (He fled the wily mood
Of Eormenric, that angry King, and chose eternal good.)
This was the very collar that Hygelac had on,
The Geatman, scion of Swerting, his last of raids upon,
When he beneath his banner was fending booty won,
And spoils of war was warding. Wyrd took him at a stroke,
When in his pride he trouble sought and feud with Frisian folk.
Yea, he, the mighty Chieftain, these precious stones had ta'en,
These fair adornments, with him across the bowl-of-the-main;
And now that he had fallen beneath his shield at last,
His corpse, his mail and collar, unto the Frankmen passed.
The weaker host was reaving the spoils of warriors dead
After this battle-hewing; and this slaughter-stead
The Geatish men were holding.]
The hall rang out in glee;
Wealhtheow made a speech then; before the band spake she:
"Have joy of this collar, with weal, beloved Youth!
This war-coat use, my Beowulf- a royal gift in sooth-
Thrive thou well and show thee ever strong and free,
And unto these my boys here kind in counsels be:
For that will I be mindful of recompense to thee!
Thou hast done so doughtily that for many a year
Men shall do thee honor both from far and near,
As widely as the sea-waves wash each windy wall;
As long as ever thou livest to thee may good befall!
I wish thee well with treasures! Unto this my boy
In deeds of thine be helpful, guarding him his joy!
Here is each jarl to other true and mild of mood,
Faithful to his Overlord; all the thanes are good,
The folk at one and ready, the revelling fighters free.
Do thou as I bid thee."
Unto her seat went she.
Here was the best of feastings; here drank of wine the bold;
They wist not Wyrd was walking, this grim Fate of old,
Forth for many a jarl there. When the eve had come
And Hrothgar had hied him unto his own home-
Unto his rest, the Chieftain- then did guard the floor
A goodly count of jarlmen as oft they did before.
The bench-boards they bare off; and through the hall did strew
The beddings and the bolsters. And of that boisterous crew
Was one to rest who laid him- ne'er to wake anew.
At heads they set their bucklers their war-wood bright.
On bench above each aetheling there was plain to sight
The steep battle-helmets, the byrnies of rings,
The spear-shafts sturdy. For these aethelings
Were wont to be full often ready for the fray
At home or on a harrying,- be whichever it may,-
Even on such of seasons as when befell some stroke
Against their Lord and Master. That was a doughty folk
CHAPTER XIX
-
The Scop chants how Grendel's Mother came that night to the
Gold-Hall Heorot, and bare off a Danishmen and the paw of her dead son
Grendel, and how on the morrow King Hrothgar grieved anew, just as
Beowulf, who knew not what had passed, had wended to the King's
House to wish Hrothgar a courteous good morning.
-
Sank they to sleep then; was one who purchased sore
His rest there of evening- as oft had chanced before,
Ever since this Grendel made Gold-Hall his home,
And wrought there at wrong deeds till his end did come-
His death after sinnings. And now 't was seen by men,
And far and wide reported, that an Avenger then
Yet survived the Monster,- that all the time Another
Survived this battle-sorrow: Grendel's own Mother,
The She-Thing, the Witch-Wife, her pang was mourning near,
She who needs must make her home in grisly mere,
In the cold sea-currents- after the times when Cain
An only brother, his father's son, with the sword had slain.
Outlaw, marked for murder, he fled the joys of folk,
Haunted the wildernesses. So from him awoke
The breed of fated goblins; of these was Grendel kin,
That Horror, that Outcast- who Heorot Hall within
Had found that watchful Human, awaiting the fight.
There the Ogre gripped him, but of his strength of might
Beowulf was mindful- to him God's precious gift-
And trusted the Almighty for grace and cheer and shift.
Thereby he overcame the Foe; this Troll of Hell he strook,
Who slunk off acringing, of his joys forsook,
For to see his death-place- this Foe of mankind.
And now his greedy, gloomy Mother was of mind
To go on quest of sorrow, to wreak the death of her son.
She came then to Heorot, where around the floor
The Ring-Danes were sleeping. Then came to jarls anon
Return of olden evils, when athrough the door
Burst the Mother of Grendel! But this was a terror less,
Less by as much as less is a woman's war-prowess,
The battling might of maidens, than a man in fighting dress
(Whenever his falchion, banded, anvil-beat by the sledge,
His sword with blood bestained, cleaves with its doughty edge
Down through the foeman's boar-crest, over the helmet's crown).
Then in the hall of Hrothgar, many a blade was drawn,
Swords from over the benches; many a buckler tall
Was lifted tight in the hand there! Never a man in hall
Thought of his helm or corslet- on whom that fear did fall.
Hers was a sudden hasting- hers was a turning about
To save her life in the open, knowing herself found out.
But speedily the Ogress had seized tightly then
One of the Danish house-carls, as off she fled to fen;
Hrothgar's dearest Hero in vassal's rank was he,
A mighty shield-warrior, between the sea and sea,
A fighter of a sure renown whom in his rest killed she.
And Beowulf was absent,- for to the Geatman bold
Another lodge allotted was after the gifts of gold.
Uproar was in Heorot. Away with her she bore
The famous paw of Grendel, dripping with its gore.
Sorrow was renewed within their homes once more.
'T was an exchange right grievous, where either side must pay
With the lives of loved ones.
Then that Warsman gray,
Old King Hrothgar, had a heart of pain,
Knowing this Prince was lifeless, dead this dearest Thane.
Speedily to bower was Beowulf fetched away,
The victory-blessed Hero. And just at dawn of day
He wended with his jarlmen, this champion Aetheling,
Himself with his comrades, to where abode the King,
Waiting if All-Wielder might ever will to show
To him a turn-for-better after the spell of woe.
Strode along the floor, then, this Man, the brave-in-brawl,
With his hand-companions, whilst sounded planks in hall,
To greet with words the Wise One, and ask the Ingwines' Sire
If he had slept a quiet night after his desire.
CHAPTER XX
-
The Scop chants how Hrothgar then told Beowulf of the new woe in
Heorot wrought by Grendel's Mother, and of the wild regions of frosted
forest and dark pool where the trollkin dwelt, and of his hope that
Beowulf would be again the Mighty Helper.
-
Hrothgar made a speech then, Helm of the Scylding-Brood:
"Nay, ask not after joyance! Sorrow is renewed
Unto the folk of Daneland. Dead is now another-
Aescher, of Yrmenlaf who was the elder brother,
My councillor, my wise-man, and comrade at my right
Whenever our heads we warded amidst of the fight,
As clashed the foot-foemen, and rang the boar-crest-
A jarl should be like Aescher, an aetheling the best.
Him hath the hand in Heorot of roving Death-Sprite slain,
And I wot not whither its backward-ways 't has ta'en,
In its prey exulting, of its feasting fain.
She hath the feud avenged whereby on yester-night
Thou slewest so grimly Grendel by gripping him so tight-
Because he rent and ravaged too long my folk in strife.
He fell at last in battle, paying with his life;
And now hath come another Scather lorn and lewd,
Who would avenge her offspring- and farther bears the feud:
So that indeed it seemeth unto many a thane,
Who weepeth for his Ring-Giver, a hard heart-bane;
Low lies the hand that wrought ye your every wish so well.
I've heard my land-dwellers, my folk's householders, tell
They'd seen a pair of such ones, alien Sprites obscure,
Mickle Border-Stalkers, haunting the moor.
And of these the One was- as far as guess they might-
The likeness of a woman; the other wretched Wight
Trod his tracks of exile in a man's own mien,
Save that he was bigger than man hath ever been-
Whom the landfolk named Grendel of yore.
Knew they not the father- whether theretofore
Ever he'd begotten any troll-kin more.
Their haunts are secret places, the wolf-slopes dim,
The headlands windy, the fen-ways grim,
Where the mountain waterfall downward away
Floweth under crag-head, under mists of spray.
And the mere it standeth off some mile or more:
Over it there hangeth a forest frosted hoar;
A wood, fast-rooted, the water over-hoods;
Each night is seen a wonder weird- a fire on the floods!
There lives no man so wise on earth whoso its bottom sounds:
Though the heath-ranger, harried by the hounds,
The hart, strong of antlers, hunted far in flight,
May seek this woodsy thicket, he'll rather yield his sprite,
His life upon the brink there, than plunge for safety in.
A spot uncanny is it; whence wan to welkin spin
Welter of foam and waters, when the winds begin
Astirring the foul weather- till the air is murk,
And the heaven weepeth.
Again we wait thy work,
Thine and thine only! That land not yet thou know'st,
The fearsome spot whereunder thou'lt find that damned Ghost-
Seek it, if thou darest! For this fight to thee
I'll give, as even erst I did, twisted gold in fee,
Aye, mine olden treasure, if back thou com'st to me."
CHAPTER XXI
-
The Scop chants Beowulf's confident reply and the journey of
Hrothgar, Beowulf, and the band along the trail of the Witch-Wife on
to the bleak regions, till of a sudden along the cliff they came
upon the head of the retainer the Witch-Wife had slaughtered and
eaten. And he chants how the waters below were alive with Nicors and
Sea-Serpents, and how Beowulf shot one of the dead with arrow, and how
Beowulf then donned his armor and received from Unferth, who was now a
staunch believer in Beowulf, the loan of Unferth's famous sword called
Hrunting. (For a sword in those days was so near and dear to a man
that it often bore a personal personal name, like a trusted servant.)
-
Beowulf made a speech then, son of Ecgtheow, he:
"Sorrow not, thou Sage One,- for each it better be
That his friend he wreaketh than bemourn him late.
Our end of life in world here we must all await;
Let who is able win him glory ere his death;
In after-years for warrior dead that chiefly profiteth.
Arise thou Kingdom's Warden! Speedily let us hie
Of this Kin of Grendel the trail for to spy.
This to thee I promise: She'll refuge in no rest-
Neither in earth's bosom nor in hill-forest,
Nor in sea-bottom, wheresoe'er she go!
For this day have patience in thine every woe,
As I ween thou wilt have."
Upleapt the Graybeard now;
Thanked the Lord Almighty for what this man did vow.
Then Hrothgar's horse was bridled, his steed with braided mane;
Stately rode the royal Sage; and afoot his train
Of shield-bearers was stepping. Wide was there to see
Her tracks across the wood-ways, her trail along the lea,
Whither fared she forward over the murky moor,
And with her bare the dead man, the best of kin-thanes sure
Of all who once with Hrothgar warded well the home.
Then the Son of aethelings now did over-roam
The narrow-passes, the steep cliff-stone,
The close defiles and the paths unknown,
The beetling cragheads, the Nicors' den.
All ahead he hastened with a few wise men
For to view the region, till a sudden he
Found the joyless forest, found the mountain tree,
Leaning o'er the hoar cliff. Under the wood,
Blood-stained and troubled, there the waters stood.
Unto the friends of Scyldings, unto every Dane,
It was a thing of sorrow, a burden of heart's pain,
Aye, to many a clansman a grief it was and dread,
When, upon the sea-cliff, they met with Aescher's head!
The flood with blood was boiling, yes, with the hot gore;
The folk saw down upon it; the horn was singing o'er
Its battle-blast of onset. The band all sate;
They watched along the water the sea-worms great,
Monsters of the dragon-breed, trying there the sea,
And on the foreland ledges Nicors lying free
(Who're wont at early morning their grievous quest to take
Out upon the sail-road)- and wild-beast and snake.
Bitter and puffed with anger, they hastened away-
They had heard that clangor, the war-horn's lay.
One did the Geatish Leader with arrow-bow from shore
Berob of life forever and of the waves' uproar.
The warrior-shaft, the hardy, unto his heart went home-
He whom death had taken swam more sluggish on the foam!
Speedily on the billows with barbed boar-spears
They pressed him so sorely, they harried him so fierce,
And dragged him up the ledges, this wave-tossing Ranger.
The marvelling warriors looked upon the grim and grisly Stranger.
Girded himself, did Beowulf, with his jarlman's weeds;
Naught for his life he mourned. His coat of mail must needs,
Bright with deft devices, be trying the sea-quest-
This hand-woven byrnie big, that girt his bony-chest,
So never a grip-in-battle might do his bosom scath,
Nor life be hurt by vengeful grasp of this Thing-of-Wrath.
The head of him was guarded by the helmet white
That soon must seek the sounding surge and stir the deeps below:
With lordly bands 't was bounden, with treasure-work 't was dight,
As the weapon-smith had wrought it in days of long ago,
And wondrously had decked it and set with shapes of boar,
That brand nor blade of battle might bite it nevermore.
Nor was that the smallest of helps to mighty deed
Which Spokesman of Hrothgar had loaned him in his need:
A good sword hafted, and Hrunting its name,
Of all old heirlooms the first it was in fame.
The edge of it was iron, etched with twig and spray,
Hardened by the battle-blood; ne'er did it betray
Any man that clasped it with hand amid the fray,-
Any man that dared to go on war-paths away,
To folk-stead of foemen. Nor this the first time now
That Hrunting-sword of Unferth in mighty works should dow.
In sooth the bairn of Ecglaf, great though his prowess be,
Remembered not his speech of late when drunk with wine was he,-
Now as he lent his weapon to a stouter swordsman here.
Himself he durst not hazard his own life in the mere,
Nor dree a warrior's duty. And thus he lost the fame,
The glory of a doughty deed. For the Other 't was not so,
When he himself had girded for battle with the Foe.
CHAPTER XXII
-
The Scop chants Beowulf's parting speech to Hrothgar, in which
Beowulf now acknowledges gratefully Hrothgar's adoption of him as
son and repays Unferth's generosity for the loan of Hrunting by
willing Unferth his own sword, should he not return alive from
battle with Grendel's Dam. The Scop chants Beowulf's descent under the
sea and the perilous beginning of the fight, and how Beowulf soon
found himself in a deep-sea hall where no water was; how Hrunting
failed him at the stroke, and how Beowulf, relying again on sheer
strength, stumbled and fell so that the Mere-Woman squatted upon him
and drew her dirk. The Scop chants that Beowulf's stout armor and
God's good help saved him awhile. Did they save him to the end?
-
Beowulf made his speech then, bairn of Ecgtheow, he:
"Bethink thee now, thou mighty son of Halfdane's name,
Gold-Friend of house-carls, Sovran wise and free,
Bethink thee, now I'm girt for quest, what we twain spake before:
If for thy need, O Hrothgar, my life I should give o'er,
That thou to me wouldst ever be, when I'm no longer here,
Still in the place of a father; every trusty fere,
Each of these my kin-thanes, do thou as guardian tend,
If once the battle take me; and likewise, O my Friend,
These treasures that thou gavest me unto my Master send.
Then Hyglac, son of Hrethel, may ken from all this gold,
Aye, see, when he beholdeth these giftings rich and old,
That I indeed had found me a Treasure-Giver bright,
And had my joy in him and his so long as still I might.
And let thou, too, thy Unferth, that far-famed soul,
Have the olden heirloom, the sword with wavy scroll,
Hard of edge and jewelled. In Hrunting will I trust
To work my doom of glory- or I die the death I must."
After these his words the Geat, Beowulf, in pride
Hastened in his valor. No answer would he bide.
The billows took the Battle-Man. 'T was a while of the day
Ere he arrived the sea-floor where the Monster lay.
And soon this grim and greedy She-Thing ravin-fierce,
That held the stretches of the floods a hundred half-years,
Found that there some one of men from up above had sought
The dwelling-place of eldritch-wights. Against him then she caught,
With grisly claws she gripped him. His warrior-body sound
Thereby no whit she scathed. His mail did shield him round
So that reach she might not, with loathly fingers stark,
Athrough his army-corslet, his linked battle-sark.
Then as she to the bottom came, this She-Wolf of the sea,
She bore unto her own home the Chieftain-of-the-Rings,
In such a wise he might not, albeit so wroth was he,
Ever wield his weapons. And many monstrous Things
Mauled him in the maelstrom, many a sea-beast tried,
With its battling tushes, to burst his sark aside,
And swarmed upon their Troubler. Then was the Jarl aware
That he was in some hall of hate- he knew not what or where-
In which not any water could scathe him at all,
Nor floods in onrush touch him because of roofed hall;
And he saw a light of fire, a brightly flashing flare.
And Beowulf had a look then upon this deep-sea Troll,
This mighty Mere-Woman. Then up with sword and soul
He made a sudden onset, nor hand delayed the stroke,
And on her head the ringed blade its greedy war-song woke.
But, lo, the Stranger found then his flasher-in-the-fray
Would bite not, would scathe not the life it sought today,
For Hrunting's edge was failing the Chief in his distress,
Though often in the old days it had endured the press,
And cloven many a helmet, and war-coat of the fey:
This was the first of all times that low its glory lay.
Again had he but one thought,- nor courage did he lack,-
Still mindful of valor, this Kin of Hygelac!
In wrath the Champion hurled the fretted blade away,
Bound on hilt with ring-work, till there on earth it lay,
That stout sword and steel-edged; and on main strength relied,
The might of his old hand-grip. So must a man of pride,
Whenever he bethinks him to win in battle-strife
Praises everlasting, nor careth for his life.
The Chieftain of the Geatfolk,- who mourned not at the feud,-
Grasped by her mane of hair Grendel's Mother lewd.
This hardy son of battle,- so did his anger swell,-
Flung the deadly She-Wolf till to ground she fell.
Speedily thereafter, with her grip so grim,
She gave him goodly payment and laid her hold on him.
And then with heart aweary, this Fighter fierce and lone
Stumbled in his footing, that there he tumbled prone.
Then on the Stranger in her hall The Mother squatted down,
And forth she drew her dagger, broad of blade and brown.
She would wreak her bairn now, her only child this day;
But on the Geatman's shoulders the woven breast-mail lay,
And that withstood the inthrust of point and edge at last.
For then the son of Ecgtheow to under-earth had passed,
Had not his battle-byrnie, his war-mesh stout and broad,
To him its help y-given, and had not holy God,
The Ruler, he, of Heaven, justly swayed the fight-
The wise Lord with his award- when Beowulf stood upright.
CHAPTER XXIII
-
The Scop twangs his harp to words more stirring still, chanting
how Beowulf found an old sword in the hall of the Mere-Wife and
smote her dead on the neck-bone, and how there by a mysterious
sudden light he saw Grendel's cadaver and cut off Grendel's head and
how the blade melted; how then Hrothgar and the Danes on the cliffs
above saw the waters all bloody and thought Beowulf must have perished
and so went home, while still Beowulf's little band remained
gloomily behind; how Beowulf swam up to the surface with the hilt of
the sword and with Grendel's head; and how Beowulf with his little
band of Geatmen marched in triumph back to Heorot with Grendel's
head dangling by hair from a spear-shaft borne on the shoulders of
four.
-
For saw he 'mongst the war-gear one victorious bill,
An old sword of ettins, with edges doughty still,
The pick and choice of weapons, a warsman's prize indeed;
But more than any other man might bear in battle-need-
Good and brave to look on, the giants' handicraft.
The Bold One of the Scyldings he seized its belted haft;
And, battle-grim and savage, the ringed blade he drew;
And, of his life all hopeless, in fury smote so true
That it gripped her sorely unto the neck, oho!
And brake in twain its bone-rings. The sword was keen to go
Athrough her doomed body. She crumpled in the murk.
The old sword was bloody. The Hero liked his work.
And the gleam out-blazed, within there stood a light,
As from heaven shineth the sky's Candle bright.
He looked about the dwelling, he turned him to the wall,
He heaved by hilt the weapon, this hardiest sword of all;
Wroth and with but one thought, the Thane of Hygelac-
With its edge not useless for such a man's attack!-
Speedily was of a will to pay that Grendel back
For his many onslaughts made on folk West-Dane,
Mickle more than one time, when asleep he'd slain
Hrothgar's hearth-fellows, and slumbering eat with jaws
Fifteen of Danish folk and fifteen borne in claws
Outward, his ghastly prey. For Beowulf, the dread,
Paid him his award for that, where he beheld on bed
Grendel, the battle-weary, lying lorn of life,
Ev'n by scathe he'd gotten in Heorot at the strife.
The corse did spring asunder; it dreed a blow, though dead,
Oho, a swinging war-stroke,- and off was carved the head!
The wise carls that with Hrothgar sate peering at the flood
Soon saw the surges swirling, the sea all stained with blood.
The white-haired ones together about the brave Man speak:
Saying they ween the Aetheling no more will come to seek,
In the pride of victory, their glorious Overlord,
Since him it seemed to many the Sea-Wolf had devoured.
Then came the day's ninth hour; the Scyldings left the ness;
The Gold-Friend of clansman, Hrothgar, hied him home;
Only the Geatish strangers sate in their distress,
Sick at heart with longing, and stared upon the foam.
They wished but never weened to see their dear Lord's self again.
Then the sword, the war-bill, 'gan wondrously to wane
In icicles of battle, by goblin-gore accurst:
Likest to ice it melted, when God, the Father, first
The bands of frost doth loosen, unfettering stream and pool,-
He's Lord of times and seasons, and very sooth his rule!
The Chieftain of the Weder-Geats he took not from the lair
Not any goods of treasure (though saw he many there),
Except the head of Grendel and hilt so bravely dight:
The fretted blade had burnt away, the sword had melted quite-
So hot had been the blood of her, so poison-fierce withal
Had been this eldritch Ogress that died there in the hall.
But he who in the combat did bide the demon-slaughter
Soon was at his swimming, up-diving through the water.
Cleansed were surge and stretches wide, where the grim Mere-Wife
Had left this fleeting world of ours and her days of life.
The sea-farer's Safe-guard, this Stout-Heart of toil,
Came striking out to landward, fain of his sea-spoil,
Fain of his booty-burden. Wen |
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