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  with strong warriors—no serpent’s fire-blast

  bothered his heartstrength no hot-searing flames

  brought fear to that warrior who had wagered before

  2350

  crushed sea-monsters on the swelling waves

  sailed on to Heorot hall of the Spear-Danes

  salvaged Hrothgar from hell’s murderer

  grappled with Grendel and his grim mother-fiend

  returned with his life.

  Not the least of battles

  was the meeting of hands where Hygelac died

  king of the Geats who came to his death-fight

  in the land of Frisians far from his home—

  Hrethel’s warrior-son won his death there

  battered by swordswings. Beowulf escaped

  2360

  by the might of his hands hard grappling-strength—

  he hauled to the shore helmets and corselets

  of thirty warriors from the throng of battle

  when he turned towards the sea. Seldom did warriors

  of the Hetware race have reason to boast

  of fierce spear-battle—few clung to life

  to seek their homeland after hard swordbites.

  Then Ecgtheow’s son only survivor

  sailed heart-heavy to the home of the Geats.

  There Hygd offered him hoard and kingdom

  2370

  did not trust her boy to take the gift-throne

  defend it strongly against slaughtering guests

  harbor it from harm after Hygelac’s death-day.

  None the sooner for that could sorrowing Geatfolk

  beg Beowulf to borrow their throne

  take loan of the gift-hall from beloved Heardred

  child-king of Hygelac chosen by his blood—

  he hailed him as lord held him in friendship

  counseled him kindly till he came to manhood

  and the Geats’ gift-throne.

  Grim fugitives

  2380

  sons of Ohthere sought his help there—

  they fled from Onela uncle and throne-thief

  greatest of sea-kings Swedes’ warrior-lord

  who seized the gift-hall from his good brother-sons.

  Heardred paid there for hosting his friends—

  Hygelac’s child-king chose a life-wound

  when throne-hungry Onela Ongentheow’s son

  followed his nephews felled young Eanmund

  then fled to his homeland when Heardred lay dead—

  left the gift-hall the Geats’ kingdom

  2390

  in Beowulf’s care. He was kind to his people.

  He remembered that day dark murder-time

  gave then to Eadgils good warrior-help

  backed him in sorrow—with swordmen and horses

  he sent that young one beyond the lake-waters,

  Ohthere’s son, who settled that feud

  mindful of slaughter, stepped to the throne

  of the Swedish kingdom.

  Then King Beowulf

  Ecgtheow’s son-child suffered and triumphed

  burnishing his name with bright gift-years

  2400

  till that fearful twilight when the fire-dragon soared.

  He marched then to battle one man among twelve

  lord of the Geatfolk to look at that monster.

  He had seen before then the source of that feud

  cause of that torment—it came to his hand

  precious treasure-cup through that poor fugitive

  who had angered the dragon entered his gold-barrow—

  that thief-slave was now the thirteenth among them

  unwilling guide-servant guiltily led them

  to the sleeping serpent. He stepped fearfully

  2410

  to the old earth-hall ancient stonebarrow

  under the seacliff set into the rock

  near the swirling waves. In its walls were gathered

  gems and goldwork. The guard of that treasure

  monstrous fire-warrior minded his booty

  held it under earth—not easily bought

  was that glittering gold not given away.

  He sat by the cliffside keeper of the Geats

  hailed his men then hearth-companions

  wished them good luck. His wavering heart-thoughts

  2420

  wandered towards death—wyrd was close then

  ready to receive that solemn warrior-king

  seek out his soulhoard sunder it from breath

  spirit from body-flesh—the center of his life

  would soon be delivered from its locked flesh-home.

  Beowulf spoke son of Ecgtheow:

  “Fierce spear-charges I fought in my youth

  moments of shieldclash—I remember it all.

  In my seventh life-year I was sent from my father

  given for training to that good folk-king

  2430

  Hrethel of the Geats who gave me father-love

  measured my childhood mindful of our kinship.

  No less was I loved in those long growth-days

  than the sons of that king kind uncle-friends

  Herebeald and Haethcyn and Hygelac my lord.

  The oldest of his sons by sorrowful chance

  slept in a murder-bed through a sibling’s error

  when Haethcyn was shamed shot from a horn-bow

  wounded Herebeald with a wandering arrow

  missed his target murdered his elder

  2440

  his blood-loyal brother with a baleful point.

  No payment was made for that pitiful crime

  but aching heartwounds were offered to Hrethel—

  no vengeance followed the fall of that prince.

  Same is the sorrow of a solemn hall-lord

  sharp soul-torture when his son rides hanging

  young upon the gallows. Then he gropes for mercy

  sings a horror-song as his son dangles there

  food for the raven—he can find no help

  no mercy or revenge for his mourning heart.

  2450

  Each morning his mind measures that deathfall

  his son’s departure—no patience soothes him

  to wait through the years for young followers

  heirs to his treasure when his only prince

  has spoken his last left him for darkness.

  He stares in sorrow at his son’s life-home

  the wasted wine-hall by winds emptied

  bereft of bench-joy—riders are sleeping now

  silent in their graves—no sound of the harp

  warms the meadhall where men once gathered.

  2460

  He stays in his bed sings his heartsongs

  no longer does he roam—too roomy they seem

  fields and homestead. So Hrethel in his way

  grieved for Herebeald heavy with bloodgrief

  wandering in pain—no way could he find

  to bring his slayer to settle for that death

  nor could he hate Haethcyn his blood-son

  or love him still for that loathsome deed.

  His grief was too great too grim for living—

  he gave up his hall-joy for God’s comfort.

  2470

  To his kin he gave as a king should do

  his land and homestead when he left this earthyard.

  Then trouble began between Geats and Battle-Swedes

  across the lakelands as they clashed in shield-war

  hard killing-times after Hrethel’s deathday

  when sons of Ongentheow sought out the Geats

  with angry armies not eager for peace

  held them to sword-play at Hreosnabeorh’s mound

  struck against their shields with sharp blade-edges.

  Later in that kind my kinsmen answered them

  2480

  took then their blood-pay as the tale is known

  though
one paid there with his precious life-breath

  a hard bargain—Haethcyn fell deathwards

  king of the Geats killed in spear-battle.

  On the morrow, I heard, a man took vengeance

  with swift sword-anger slew that king-killer

  when Eofor quenched there Ongentheow’s life

  mindful of hall-gifts remembered his lord

  did not spare his swordswing split through the helmet—

  the battle-bleak Swede bent down to death.

  2490

  I repaid lord Hygelac in proud battle-play

  for the treasure he gave times of the gift-throne,

  served him with my sword. He soon gave me land

  homestead and meadhall. He had no reason

  to search among Gifthas or good Spear-Danes

  or the Swedish kingdom for servants to his throne

  to lavish rewards on a lesser warrior—

  always at swordtime I stood before them all

  guided my spearmen in strong war-clashing

  and still I am ready while this sword endures

  2500

  this treasured Naegling that I took from death

  on that sorrowful day when I slew Daeghrefn

  killed him with my hands Hugas’ sword-champion—

  no time did he have to take corpse-plunder

  fetch breast-corselets to the Frisian leader

  but gave up his life guardian of the banner

  stronghearted warrior. No sword killed him

  but my clenched handgrip crushed his bone-house

  the springs of his heart. Now this sword I won there

  finest of smith-blades will fight for that hoard.”

  2510

  Beowulf spoke then boastwords to fight by

  a last venture-speech: “I lived in my youth

  through hard war-moments—now I am ready,

  weary with loan-days worn down with years,

  for final glory-time if that grim hall-burner

  will come to meet me from his mound of gold.”

  He greeted them then the Geats around him

  good helmet-men gave them farewell

  his final boastwords: “I would bear no sword

  no shield or helmet if my hands could win

  2520

  settle this fire-fight with this fuming monster

  grapple him deathwards as with Grendel I did—

  but here I expect hot flame-blasting

  life-searing breath—better then for this

  are war-shield and corselet. Not one footstep

  will I move from this stone this smoking barrow.

  Wyrd will decide the way of this meeting

  and man’s Measurer. My mind is strong

  no more will I boast of monsters of the past.

  Wait in these woods in your webbed corselets

  2530

  with shields and spears to see which of us

  will manage to survive vicious war-wounds

  or kneel here to death. This is not your fight

  nor the measure of anyone but only myself

  to meet this monster match death with him

  reach for his life. If luck moves with me

  I will gather this gold or give my life here

  if cold deathbale carries me away.”

  Beowulf rose then with his round iron-shield

  war-helmet gleaming went with his years

  2540

  under the stone-cliff—in his strength he trusted

  one against all no way for a coward!

  His tread was still young after years of warclash

  at borders of his land when boar-banners rushed

  with a sounding of horns. He saw by the cliffwall

  a stonebarrow standing—a stream broke from it

  burst from the wall bright with fire-flash

  blistering the sand—he could step no closer

  unburned by that breath nor bear that dragon-heat

  standing so close as his shield grew hotter.

  2550

  Then from his breast bolstered with anger

  the lord of the Geats loosened a wordblast

  stormed stouthearted—under steep graystone

  his battle-stout voice boomed to the mound.

  Hate was awakened the hoard-guardian knew

  the sound of that leader—there was little time then

  to settle for peace. From the stone treasure-cave

  burning breath-flame burst in a flash

  old anger-fire—the earth trembled.

  The strong hall-king hefted his shield then

  2560

  sought some relief from that singeing blast—

  that ringed serpent was ready for combat