Beowulf Page 3

  icy and eager armed for a king.

  They braced him then, once bright with laughter

  shaper of hall-songs, on the ship’s middle-board

  hard by the mast. From hills and valleys

  rings and bracelets were borne to the shore.

  No words have sung of a wealthier grave-ship

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  bright with war-weapons ballasted with gold

  swords and ring-mail rich for drifting

  through the foaming tide far from that land.

  Their lord was laden for long sailpaths

  with love and sorrow splendid with gifts

  for those who had ferried him far through the mist

  once sent them a sailor strange treasure-child.

  At last they hung high upon the mast

  a golden banner then gave him to the sea

  to the mounding waves. Their mindgrief was great

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  dark with mourning. Men cannot know

  cannot truthfully say—singers of tales

  sailors or gleemen—who gathered him in.

  Then Beaw held them banished war-ravens

  sailed through the summers strengthening peace

  like his father before him known far abroad

  a king to contend with. Time brought a son

  high-minded Healfdene who held in his turn

  through long glory-years the life-line of Scyld.

  Then four strong ones came forth from his queen

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  woke to the world warmed the gift-hall—

  Heorogar and Hrothgar Halga the good

  Yrse the fair one Onela’s hall-queen

  that battle-wise Swede’s bed-companion.

  Hrothgar was beckoned born for a kingdom

  shaped as a lord loved by his hall-thanes

  who bore him high as boys became men

  and men grew mighty. His mind told him

  to raise a throne-house rarest in Denmark

  mightiest meadhall in measure and strength

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  that the oldest among them ever had beheld

  to give freely what God had provided

  share his wealth there shape borderlands

  love and lead them in light against darkness.

  Then, as I heard, help came crowding

  from hills and glens hewers of timber

  trimmers and weavers. It towered at last

  highest of them all—Heorot he named it

  who with words wielded the world of the Danes.

  Hrothgar was king kept his promise

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  gave from his gift-throne goldgifts and peace.

  Gables were crossed capped with horn-beams,

  waiting for hate-fire high anger-flames.

  It was yet too soon for swordswings to clash

  not yet the day for dark throne-battle

  a blood-minded son and his bride’s father.

  Then an alien creature cold wanderer

  could no longer endure from his dark exile

  bright bench-laughter borne to the rafters

  each night in that hall. The harp sounded

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  the poet’s clear song. He sang what he knew

  of man’s creation the Measurer’s work:

  “He shaped the earth opened the heavens

  rounded the land locked it in water

  then set skyward the sun and the moon

  lights to brighten the broad earthyard

  beckoned the ground to bear gardens

  of limbs and leaves—life He created

  of every kind that quickens the earth.”

  They lived brightly on the benches of Heorot

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  caught up in laughter till a creature brought them

  fear in the night an infernal hall-guest.

  Grendel circled sounds of the harp

  prowled the marshes moors and ice-streams

  forests and fens. He found his home

  with misshapen monsters in misery and greed.

  The Shaper banished him unshriven away

  with the kin of Cain killer of his blood.

  The Measurer fashioned a fitting revenge

  for the death of Abel drove his slayer

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  far from mankind and far from His grace.

  Cain sired evil cunning man-killers

  banished from heartlove born in hatred

  giants and fiends jealous man-eaters

  long without penance. God paid them for that.

  Then Grendel prowled, palled in darkness,

  the sleep-warm hall to see how the Danes

  after beer and feasting bedded down for rest.

  He found inside slumbering warriors

  unready for murder. Bereft of remorse

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  from love exiled lost and graceless

  he growled with envy glared above them

  towering with rage. From their rest he snared

  thirty hall-thanes loped howling away

  gloating with corpses galloping the moors

  back to his cavern for a cold banquet.

  At dawning of day when darkness lifted

  Grendel’s ravage rose with the sun.

  The waking Danes wailed to the heavens

  a great mourning-song. Their mighty ruler

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  lord of a death-hall leaned on his grief

  stooped in shadows stunned with thane-sorrow

  bent to the tracks of his baneful houseguest

  no signs of mercy. His mind was too dark

  nightfall in his heart. There was no need to wait

  when the sun swung low for he slaughtered again

  murdered and feasted fled through dawnmist

  damned to darkness doomed with a curse.

  It was easy to find those who elsewhere slept

  sought distant rest reached for night-cover

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  found beds with others when the bad news came

  the lifeless messages left by that caller

  murderous hall-thane. Men still walking

  kept from the shadows no shame in their hearts.

  Now a lone rage-ruler reigned through the night

  one against all till empty and still

  stood the long meadhall. Too long it stood

  twelve cold winters wound in despair—

  the lord of the Danes dreamed of his lost ones

  watched for a sign. Then it widely was known

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  in dark Denmark that death lived with them

  when weeping heartsongs wailed of Grendel

  Hrothgar’s hall-monster hell’s banquet-guest—

  lashed by hunger he longed for nightfall

  with no pause or pity, poison in his heart.

  No plans for payment passed through that mind

  money or goldgifts remorse for slaughter—

  no somber mourners sued for revenge

  death-settlement from that demon’s hands.

  He raged at them all envious hell-fiend

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  in dark death-shadow doomed young and old

  trapped and snared them trailed in nightshade

  cloud-misted moors—no man can follow

  where God’s enemies glide through the fog.

  Dawn brought to them blood-signs of rage—

  outcast from grace Grendel went prowling

  the empty hall-benches. Heorot received him

  in cold darkness damned to his rule.

  Yet he never could greet the peaceful gift-throne

  love and bounty life-joy and gold

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  for the old betrayal outlawed him there.

  It was long despair for the lord of the Danes

  a breaking of mind. Many a counselor

  gathered to whisper groped for messages

  ways to escape those woeful night-visits.

  Some made promises prayed to idols

  swore to
honor them asked them for help

  safety from murder. Such was their custom

  the hope of heathens hell-thoughts in mind.

  They ignored the Measurer Maker of heaven

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  Shaper of glory shamed by terror

  unable to praise or pray to the Father

  wish for his guidance. Woe unto those

  with ill in their hearts hopeless and doomed

  forcing their souls to the fire’s welcome

  praying to names that will never help them

  praise without hope. Happier are they

  who seek after deathday the Deemer of men

  free their soul-bonds to the Father’s embrace.

  With sinking heart the son of Healfdene

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  endlessly waited wept for an answer

  no hope for relief. Too long and merciless

  slaughter and greed seemed to his people

  narrow and endless nightbale and tears.

  In the home of the Geats Hygelac’s thane

  gathered the stories of Grendel’s torment

  a good man and strong strongest of all

  in that broad kingdom born for deliverance

  shaped for that hour. He ordered a boat,

  lithe wave-cutter, loudly proclaimed

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  he would seek the Battle-Danes sail the wave-swells

  hail their king there kindle their hearts.

  Though they loved him life-seasoned elders

  answered his courage urged him onwards

  gazed at the weather wished for the sun.

  With care this champion chose his spearmen

  culled from the Geats their keenest fighters

  good men and faithful. Fifteen in all

  they sought their seacraft strode to the cliffs

  followed their chief to the fallow waves.

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  Fast by the headland their hard-keeled boat

  waited for westering. Winding in swirls

  the sea met the sand. They stored their weapons

  bright shields gleaming spears and helmets

  strong war-weapons. Shoved through the breakers

  the stout-bound wood slid from the land.

  They flew on the water fast by the wind blown

  sail flecked with foam skimmed the waverolls

  through day and darkness. Dawn grayed the sky

  and the hour grew near when over the wave-tops

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  the coiled bowsprit brought them a sign.

  A rising of land reached towards the sun

  shining seacliffs steep rock-pillars

  stood before them. The sail grew limp

  shallows lapped at them shore-sand received them.

  The Weather-Geats waded walked their ship up

  lashed it to land. Linked steel-corselets

  clinked and glistened. They gave thanks then

  to the God of them all for guiding them safely.

  Watching above them the warden of the shores

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  glimpsed from the cliff-top a glinting of armor

  as they bore from their boat bright shields and spears

  rich with war-weapons. He wrenched his thoughts

  groped within his mind who these men might be.

  He roused his horse then rode to the seashore—

  Hrothgar’s cliff-guardian heaved up his spear

  shook it to the sky shouted his challenge:

  “Who might you be in your burnished mailcoats

  strutting with weapons? Who steered this warboat

  deep-running keel across the wave-swells

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  here against this shore? I assure you now

  I’ve held this guard-post hard against sailors

  watched over Denmark down through the years

  that no hateful shipband might harbor unfought.

  Never have boatmen beached more openly

  shield-bearing thanes unsure of your welcome

  hoisting no signal to hail peace-tokens

  friendship to the Danes. I doubt that I’ve challenged

  a loftier shieldman than your leader there

  hale in his war-gear—no hall-lounger that

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  worthied with weapons—may his wit not belie

  so handsome a swordman. I will hear quickly

  first where you came from before you move on

  you possible pirates pushing further

  into Danish land. Now let me advise you

  horseless sailors hear my counsel

  my heartfelt words: Haste will be best