Beowulf Read online

  mellowed murder-thoughts measured her commands

  since first she was given, gold-endowed princess,

  to that young champion chosen for his queen

  sent across the waves by her sorrowing father

  1950

  to Offa the king come to his meadhall

  to share the gift-throne. She soon bent to him

  welcomed hall-thanes hailed peace-offerings

  used her wealth there for young and for old.

  With high love-thoughts she held to her king

  who of all mankind, as men have told me,

  was strongest of throne-men from sandshore to sandshore

  on the earth’s broadland—Offa was spear-keen

  tall thane-master in thronging of war

  generous gift-king great with gold-treasures

  1960

  strength for his homeland. His son was Eomer

  hall-worthy king-child Hemming’s kinsman

  Garmund’s grandson good warrior-prince.

  Over the shore-sand with his shoal of warriors

  Beowulf went marching measured the sea-rim

  wide cliff-beaches. The world-candle shone

  southward to the sea. They stepped to the path

  mounted the sea-wall where their mighty lord

  Ongentheow’s bane bountiful hall-king

  helm of the Geats held his gift-throne

  1970

  shared his gold-hoard. Good news-tidings

  of Beowulf’s beaching were borne to Hygelac—

  strong and treasure-proud sailors were landsafe

  home with their lives—linden-shield thanes

  stepped to the hall hailed their people-king.

  Soon were benches bared to receive them

  the roomy wine-hall ready for feasting.

  The beloved sailor sat by his king

  nephew by his uncle urged by welcome-words

  glad hearth-greetings from Hrethel’s son

  1980

  hearthlord of the Geats. The good peace-queen

  moved throughout the hall Haereth’s daughter-child

  bore among the benches bright ale-vessels

  served them with her hands. Then Hygelac spoke

  asked for news-words from his nephew beside him

  eager for tidings of that trip to Denmark

  Sea-Geats sailing to that sorrowful hall:

  “What luck did you have beloved Beowulf

  when you foolishly left on that long sea-sail

  seeking adventure over salty water

  1990

  monsters in Heorot? Did you help the Danes

  win for Hrothgar a healthier meadhall

  for that thane-deprived king? My thoughts troubled me

  seethed with sorrow for that senseless voyage

  a bad bargain. I begged you to stay

  ignore that fiend foul murder-guest

  to let the Shield-Danes look to their feud

  deal with Grendel. To God I give thanks

  that I see you now sound and war-proud.”

  Beowulf spoke son of Ecgtheow:

  2000

  “That great struggle, good Hygelac,

  is no secret now how I snared Grendel

  a grim grip-battle in that great meadhall

  home of the Spear-Danes where that hell’s demon

  ruled in darkness with death and thane-grief

  through long sorrow-years. I stopped that murder

  so that no other creature of the kin of Grendel

  on this broad earthyard may boast of that fight—

  there were dawn-sounds of victory vengeance in Heorot

  for greed and murder. I greeted Hrothgar

  2010

  when I first entered that ill-fated hall.

  Soon that wise one war-son of Healfdene

  was healed from mourning found hope in my words

  made room by his sons a seat by the gift-throne.

  Joy was sung there—seldom have I known

  hall-thanes happier under heaven’s arch-vault

  such great mead-laughter. Then the good folk-queen

  weaver of peace-thoughts walked through the hall

  greeted the young ones gave arm-bracelets

  to cheerful warriors as she went to her seat.

  2020

  At times in the hall Hrothgar’s daughter-child

  offered ale-vessels to the old counselors—

  hall-thanes thanked her hailed her by name

  fair Freawaru as she fetched the hall-drink,

  passed among the benches. She is promised, I hear,

  gold-worthy maiden, to great Froda’s son.

  The helm of the Danes hopes for peace now

  bargains with Heathobards a bride for a truce

  buys with his daughter, his dear girl-child,

  a settlement of strife. Seldom it happens

  2030

  after spilling of blood that swords will relax

  blood-spears stay idle though the bride prevail.

  Then the young hall-king Heathobards’ leader

  and his thanes around him may think sorrow-thoughts

  when he walks with his queen in the wide meadhall—

  a Danish warrior walks in their company

  wears at his girdle a great treasure-sword

  gold-hilted warblade wonder-smith’s heirloom

  Heathobard weapon, worn to that battle

  on that sorrowful day when their spear-king fell

  2040

  laid down his life with his loved ones around him.

  Then an old battle-thane can bear it no more

  stares at that Sword-Dane as he struts past him

  remembers with mourning morning-cold death

  grim spear-slaughter, speaks to a young one

  reminds him of honor urges him on

  wakening war-thoughts with words of revenge:

  ‘Do you see, young friend, the sword on that Dane

  that weapon your father wore to his death

  on his last earth-day, that old treasure-sword

  2050

  he bore to the field when he fell to Shield-Danes

  who won that war-day after Withergyld lay

  sank with his sword on that sorrowful meadow?

  Now this man-child of a murdering Dane

  walks beneath this roof wearing that battle-blade

  that is yours by birth, boasting of murder

  proud of that heirloom pilfered from your kin.’

  He whispers and urges whips him with words

  with mourning messages memories of tears

  till the queen’s hall-thane is quiet at last

  2060

  stilled by a swordbite sleeps forever

  stripped of his life—his slayer escapes

  slips through the night to the known woodland.

  Then the truce is broken battle is renewed

  oathwords forgotten. Ingeld remembers

  longs for his father—love for his wife

  is cooled by that longing for kin and companions.

  I have small hope now for Heathobards’ friendship

  peace with the Danes in the days to come

  truce through marriage.

  I will tell you more

  2070

  of my fight with Grendel give you my story

  describe clearly for my king and friend

  that hard hand-battle. When heaven’s gem

  glided under earth came an angry guest

  blood-minded monster to that mighty wine-hall

  where we all waited wardens of the night.

  He seized Hondscioh slaughtered him there

  our doomed companion—he died quickly

  good soldier-friend—Grendel murdered him

  crunched him greedily gulped all of him

  2080

  crammed into his mouth that doom-marked warrior.

  None the sooner for that would he stop his murdering

  b
loody-toothed killer baleful visitor—

  not yet was he ready to run from that hall

  but sure of his strength he seized my fingers

  in his great claw-hand. A glove hung on him

  wide and deep-fingered woven by elf-smiths

  death-bloodied trap trimmed skillfully

  with hides of dragons hell’s murder-work.

  He hoped to stuff me in that huge corpse-bag

  2090

  cram me inside carry me from Heorot

  one more victim—I waited no longer

  stood to greet him grappled his hand.

  It’s too long to tell how I tamed that monster

  gave him revenge with my good handgrip—

  in that high meadhall Hygelac my lord

  I memoried your name. He managed to escape

  held to life-breath for a little more time

  left behind him high beneath the gable

  his hand on the wall wandered in sorrow

  2100

  to that foul fen-mere fell to his death.

  For that grim battle-rush the guardian of the Danes

  heaped me with heirlooms horses and armor

  many a goldgift when morning-sun rose

  and benches brightened with banquet in Heorot.

  There was song and laughter—the Spear-Danes’ king

  stretched his memory for stories of childhood.

  At times the old one touched his harpstrings

  strummed the songwood sang of the past

  moments of heartgrief high victories

  2110

  remnants of his youth from reaches of his mind.

  At times he brooded bound by his years

  an old sword-warrior sorrowing for friends

  worn with winters welling with memories

  yearning for dead ones young hearth-fellows.

  In that high meadhall we held to our feasting

  drank from treasure-cups till dark shadow-pall

  sank through the light. Then sorrow came calling

  greedy for thane-blood Grendel’s hell-mother

  from her cold moor-cavern mourning for her son

  2120

  dead forest-fiend. That dark-minded she-wolf

  avenged her monster-child vile fen-stalker

  killed for her offspring. It was kind Aeschere

  counselor for kings cold with slaughter-death.

  Nor could they find him when night-shadows paled

  bear up his body for burning on high

  lift him to the pyre beloved companion

  for funeral flames. She fetched his corpse

  through the dark forest-track to her deep water-den.

  That was for Hrothgar the hardest of griefs

  2130

  sorrows he suffered through slow winters.

  Then the king asked me for kindness once more

  begged me to plunge through that poisonous water

  search for the source of his soul’s misery

  pay for that loss. He promised me treasures.

  I swam to the bottom of that bloodstained pond

  dived past hell-demons to that deep monster-home

  where that devil’s she-wolf dragged me inside.

  For a while we wrestled raged through that cavern—

  the mere welled with gore from Grendel’s mother

  2140

  as I carved her head off in that cavern of death

  with a huge giant-sword—from hell’s earth-cave

  I rose with my life unready for death.

  Then that son of Healfdene in his hall once more

  brought marvelous treasures to mark my victory.

  That king of the Danes kept his promises—

  I lost no reward for my work that day,

  gold for my strength, for he gave me victory-gifts,

  Healfdene’s offspring, to my own desire.

  I bring them to you best of hall-kings

  2150

  give them with pleasure—my place is in Götland

  my life at your service—little do I have

  of kin in this earthyard closer than my lord.”

  He bore to his guardian the golden boar-banner

  bright-burnished helmet hand-linked mailcoat

  gold-handled sword. The Geat-champion spoke:

  “Hrothgar gave to me this great treasure-sword

  a warleader’s weapon—words come with it

  borne from the king with this best of heirlooms.

  He said that Heorogar held it for his own,

  2160

  lord of the Shield-Danes, for long battle-years.

  Nor would he give it to his good male-child,

  beloved Heoroweard, though his heart was strong.