BEOWULF

One of the primary criterion for a good poem is that it stick to the subject. The poet can not introduce material off the subject without damaging the poem's structure and reputation. The writer of Beowulf stuck to his subject, but other reciters of the poem did not; They added references to other families, other battles, other countries, and as a result have confused the understanding of the basic poem. Stripping away these other references as best we can gives us access to the original poem, a clean and coherent poem about the hero Beowulf. Here is my attempt to reveal the original poem.

 
So. The Spear-Danes in days gone by
and the kings who ruled them had courage and greatness.
We have heard of those princes’ heroic campaigns.
 
There was Shield Sheafson, scourge of many tribes,
a wrecker of mead-benches, rampaging among foes.
This terror of the hall-troops had come far.
A foundling to start with, he would flourish later on
as his powers waxed and his worth was proved.
In the end each clan on the outlying coasts
(10)beyond the whale road had to yield to him
and begin to pay tribute. That was one good king.
 
Afterwards a boy-child was born to Shield,
a cub in the yard, a comfort sent
by God to that nation. He knew what they had tholed,
the long times and troubles they’d come through
without a leader; so the Lord of Life,
the glorious Almighty, made this man renowned.
Shield had fathered a famous son:
Beow’s name was known through the north.
(20)And a young prince must be prudent like that,
giving freely while his father lives
so that afterwards in age when fighting starts
steadfast companions will stand by him
and hold the line. Behavior that’s admired
is the path to power among people everywhere.
 
Shield was still thriving when his time came
and he crossed over into the lord’s keeping.
His warrior band did what he bade them
when he laid down the law among the Danes:
(30)they shouldered him out to the sea’s flood,
the chief they revered who had long ruled them.
A ring-whorled prow rode in the harbor,
ice-clad, outbound, a craft for a prince.
They stretched their beloved lord in his boat,
laid out by the mast, amidships,
the great ring-giver. Far-fetched treasures
were piled upon him, and precious gear.
I never heard before of a ship so well furbished
with battle tackle, bladed weapons
(40)and coats of mail. The massed treasure
was loaded on top of him: it would travel far
on out into the ocean’s sway.
They decked his body no less bountifully
with offerings than those first ones did
who cast him away when he was a child
and launched him alone out over the waves.
And they set a gold standard up
high above his head and let him drift
to wind and tide, bewailing him
(50)and mourning their loss. No man can tell,
no wise man in hall or weathered veteran
knows for certain who salvaged that load.
 
Then it fell to Beow to keep the forts.
He was well regarded and ruled the Danes
for a long time after his father took leave
of his life on earth. And then his heir,
the great Halfdane, held sway
for as long as he lived, their elder and warlord.
He was four times a father, this fighter prince:
(60)one by one they entered the world,
Heorogar, Hrothgar, the good Halga
and a daughter, I have heard, who was Onela’s queen,
a balm in the bed to the battle scarred Swede.
 
The fortunes of war favored Hrothgar.
Friends and kinsmen flocked to his ranks,
young followers, a force that grew
to be a mighty army. So his mind turned
to hall-building: he handed down orders
for men to work on a great mead-hall
(70)meant to be a wonder of the world forever;
it would be his throne-room and there he would dispense
his God-given goods to young and old—
but not the common land or people’s lives.
Far and wide through the world, I have heard,
orders for work to adorn that wallstead
were sent to many peoples. And soon it stood there,
finished and ready, in full view,
the hall of halls. Heorot was the name
he had settled on it, whose utterance was law.
(80)Nor did he renege, but doled out rings
and torques at the table.
 
Then a powerful demon, a prowler through the dark,
nursed a hard grievance. It harrowed him
to hear the din of the loud banquet
every day in the hall, the harp being struck
(90)and the clear song of the skilled poet
telling with mastery of man’s beginnings,
how the Almighty had made the earth
a gleaming plain girdled with waters;
in His splendor He set the sun and the moon
to be earth’s lamplight, lanterns for men,
and filled the broad lap of the world
with branches and leaves; and quickened life
in every other thing that moved.
 
So times were pleasant for the people there
(100)until finally one, a fiend out of hell,
began to work his evil in the world.
Grendel was the name of this grim demon
haunting the marshes, marauding around the heath
and the desolate fens; he had dwelt for a time
in misery among the banished monsters,
Cain’s clan, whom the Creator had outlawed
and condemned as outcasts. For the killing of Abel
the Eternal Lord had exacted a price:
Cain got no good from committing that murder
(110)because the Almighty made him anathema
and out of the curse of his exile there sprang
ogres and elves and evil phantoms
and the giants too who strove with God
time and again until He gave them their reward.
 
So, after nightfall, Grendel set out
for the lofty house, to see how the Ring-Danes
were settling into it after their drink,
and there he came upon them, a company of the best
asleep from their feasting, insensible to pain
(120)and human sorrow. Suddenly then
the God-cursed brute was creating havoc:
greedy and grim, he grabbed thirty men
from their resting places and rushed to his lair,
flushed up and inflamed from the raid,
blundering back with the butchered corpses.
 
Then as dawn brightened and the day broke
Grendel’s powers of destruction were plain:
their wassail was over, they wept to heaven
and mourned under morning. Their mighty prince,
(130)the storied leader, sat stricken and helpless,
humiliated by the loss of his guard,
bewildered and stunned, staring aghast
at the demon’s trail, in deep distress.
He was numb with grief, but got no respite
for one night later merciless Grendel
struck again with more gruesome murders.
Malignant by nature he never showed remorse.
It was easy then to meet with a man
shifting himself to a safer distance
(140)to bed in the bothies, for who could be blind
to the evidence of his eyes, the obviousness
of that hall-watcher’s hate? Whoever escaped
kept a weather-eye open and moved away.
 
So Grendel ruled in defiance of right,
one against all, until the greatest house
in the world stood empty, a deserted wallstead.
For twelve winters, seasons of woe,
the lord of the Shieldings suffered under
his load of sorrow; and so, before long,
(150)the news was known over the whole world.
Sad lays were sung about the beset king,
the vicious raids and ravages of Grendel,
His long and unrelenting feud,
nothing but war; how he would never
parley or make peace with any Dane
nor stop his death dealing nor pay the death-price.
No counsellor could ever expect
fair reparation from those rabid hands.
All were endangered; young and old
(160)were hunted down by that dark death-shadow
who lurked and swooped in the long nights
on the misty moors; nobody knows
where these reavers from hell roam on their errands.
 
So Grendel waged his lonely war,
inflicting constant cruelties on the people,
atrocious hurt. He took over Heorot,
haunted the glittering hall after dark,
but the throne itself, the treasure seat,
he was kept from approaching; he was the Lord’s outcast.
 
(170)These were hard times, heart-breaking
for the prince of Shieldings; powerful counsellors,
the highest in the land, would lend advice,
plotting how best the bold defenders
might resist and beat off sudden attacks.
Sometimes at pagan shrines they vowed
offerings to idols, swore oaths
that the killer of souls might come to their aid
and save the people. That was their way,
their heathenish hope; deep in their hearts
(180)they remembered hell. The Almighty Judge
of good deeds and bad, the lord God,
Head of the Heavens and High King of the World,
was unknown to them. Oh, cursed is he
who in time of trouble has to trust his soul
in the fire’s embrace, forfeiting help;
he has nowhere to turn. But blessed is he
who after death can approach the Lord
and find friendship in the Father’s embrace.
 
So that troubled time continued, woe
(190)that never stopped, steady affliction
for Halfdane’s son, too hard an ordeal.
There was panic after dark, people endured
raids in the night, riven by the terror.
 
When he heard about Grendel, Hygelac’s thane
was on home ground, over in Geatland.
There was no one else like him alive.
In his day, he was the mightiest man on earth,
high-born and powerful. He ordered a boat
that would ply the waves. He announced his plan:
(200)to sail the swan’s road and search out that king,
the famous prince who needed defenders.
Nobody tried to keep him from going,
no elder denied him, dear as he was to them.
Instead, they inspected omens and spurred
his ambition to go, whilst he moved about
like the leader he was, enlisting men,
the best he could find; with fourteen others
the warrior boarded the boat as captain,
a canny pilot along coast and currents.
(200)Time went by, the boat was on water,
in close under the cliffs.
Men climbed eagerly up the gangplank,
sand churned in surf, warriors loaded
a cargo of weapons, shining war gear
in the vessel’s hold, then heaved out,
away with a will in their wood-wreathed ship.
Over the waves, with the wind behind her
and foam at her neck, she flew like a bird
until her curved prow had covered the distance
(220)and on the following day, at the due hour,
those seafarers sighted land,
sunlit cliffs, sheer crags
and looming headlands, the landfall they sought.
It was the end of their voyage and the Geats vaulted
over the side, out on the sand,
and moored their ship. There was a clash of mail
and a thresh of gear. They thanked God
for that easy crossing on a calm sea.
 
When the watchmen on the wall, the Shielding’s lookout
(230)whose job it was to guard the sea-cliffs,
saw shields glittering on the gangplank
and battle equipment being unloaded
he had to find out who and what
the arrivals were. So he rode to the shore,
this horseman of Hrothgar’s, and challenged them
in formal terms, flourishing his spear:
 
“What kind of men are you who arrive
rigged out for combat in coats of mail,
sailing here over the sea-lanes
(240)in your steep-hulled boat? I have been stationed
as lookout on this coast for a long time.
My job is to watch the waves for raiders,
any danger to the Danish shore.
Never before has a force under arms
disembarked so openly- not bothering to ask
if the sentries allowed them safe passage
or the clan had consented. Nor have I seen
a mightier man-at-arms on this earth
than the one standing here: unless I am mistaken,
(250)he is truly noble. This is no mere
hanger-on in a hero’s armour.
So now, before you fare inland
as interlopers, I have to be informed
about who you are and where you hail from.
Outsiders from across the water,
I say it again: the sooner you tell
where you come from and why, the better.”
 
The leader of the troop unlocked his word-hoard;
the distinguished one delivered this answer:
(260)“We belong by birth to the Geat people
and owe allegiance to Lord Hygelac.
In his day, my father was a famous man,
a noble warrior-lord named Ecgtheow.
He outlasted many a long winter
and went on his way. All over the world
men wise in counsel continue to remember him.
We come in good faith to find your lord
and nation’s shield, the son of Halfdane.
Give us the right advice and direction.
(270)We have arrived here on a great errand
to the lord of the Danes, and I believe therefore
there should be nothing hidden or withheld between us.
So tell us if what we have heard is true
about this threat, whatever it is,
this danger abroad in the dark nights,
this corpse-maker mongering death
in the Shielding‘s country. I come to proffer
my wholehearted help and counsel.
I can show the wise Hrothgar a way
(280)to defeat his enemy and find respite-
if any respite is to reach him, ever.
I can calm the turmoil and terror in his mind.
Otherwise, he must endure woes
and live with grief for as long as his hall
stands at the horizon, on its high ground.”
 
Undaunted, sitting astride his horse,
 the coast-guard answered, “ Anyone with gumption
and a sharp mind will take the measure
of two things: what’s said and what’s done.
(290)I believe what you have told me: that you are a troop
loyal to our king. So come ahead
with your arms and your gear, and I will guide you.
What’s more, I’ll order my own comrades
on their word of honour to watch your boat
down there on the strand- keep her safe
in her fresh tar, until the time comes
for her curved prow to preen on the waves
and bear this hero back to Geatland.
May one so valiant and venturesome
(300)come unharmed through the clash of battle.”
 
So they went their way. The ship rode the water,
broad beamed, bound by its hawser
and anchored fast. Boar-shapes flashed
above their cheek-guards, the brightly forged
work of goldsmiths, watching over
those stern-faced men. They marched in step,
hurrying on til the timbered hall
rose before them, radiant with gold.
Nobody on earth knew of another
(310) building like it. Majesty lodged there,
its light shone over many lands.
So their gallant escort guided them
to that dazzling stronghold and indicated
the shortest way to it; then the noble warrior
wheeled on his horse and spoke these words:
“ It is time for me to go. May the Almighty
Father keep you and in His kindness
\watch over your exploits. I’m away to the sea,
back on alert against enemy raiders.”
 
(320)It was a paved track, a path that kept them
in marching order. Their mail-shirts glinted,
hard and hand-linked; the high-gloss iron
of their armour rang. So they duly arrived
in their grim war-graith and gear at the hall,
and, weary from the sea, stacked wide shields
of the toughest hardwood against the wall,
then collapsed on the benches; battle-dress
and weapons clashed. They collected their spears
in a seafarers’ stook, a stand of grayish
(330) tapering ash. And the troops themselves
were as good as their weapons.
 
                         Then a proud warrior
questioned the men concerning their origins:
“Where do you come from, carrying these
decorated shields and shirts of mail,
these cheek–hinged helmets and javelins?
I am Hrothgar’s herald and officer.
I have never seen so impressive or large
an assembly of strangers. Stoutness of heart,
bravery not banishment, must have brought you to
Hrothgar.”
 
(340)The man whose name was known for courage,
the Geat leader, resolute in his helmet,
answered in return: “ We are retainers
from Hygelac’s band. Beowulf is my name.
If your lord and master, the most renowned
son of Halfdane, will hear me out
and graciously allow me to greet him in person,
I am ready and willing to report my errand.”
 
Wulfgar replied, a Wendel chief
renowned as a warrior, well known for his wisdom
(350)and the temper of his mind: “I will take the message,
in accordance with your wish, to our noble king,
our dear lord, friend of the Danes,
the giver of rings. I will go and ask him
about your coming here, then hurry back
with whatever reply it pleases him to give.”
 
With that he turned to where Hrothgar sat,
an old man among retainers;
the valiant follower stood four-square
in front of his king: he knew the courtesies.
(360)Wulfgar addressed his dear lord:
“People from Geatland have put ashore.
They have sailed far over the wide sea.
They call the chief in charge of their band
by the name of Beowulf. They beg, my lord,
an audience with you, exchange of words
and formal greeting. Most gracious Hrothgar,
do not refuse them, but grant them a reply.
From their arms and appointment, they appear well born
and worthy of respect, especially the one
(370) who has led them this far: he is formidable indeed.”
 
Hrothgar, protector of Shieldings, replied:
“ I used to know him when he was a boy.
His father before him was called Ecgtheow.
Hretel the Geat gave Ecgtheow
his daughter in marriage. This man is their son,
here to follow up an old friendship.
A crew of seamen who sailed for me once
with a gift-cargo across to Geatland
returned with marvelous tales about him:
(380)a thane, they declared, with the strength of thirty
in the grip of each hand. Now Holy God
has, in His goodness, guided him here
to the West-Danes, to defend us from Grendel.
This is my hope; and for his heroism
I will recompense him with a rich treasure.
Go immediately, bid him and the Geats
he has in attendance to assemble and enter.
Say, moreover, when you speak to them,
they are welcome to Denmark.”
 
                        At the door of the hall,
(390)Wulfgar duly delivered the message:
“My lord, the conquering king of the Danes,
bids me announce that he knows your ancestry;
also that he welcomes you here to Heorot
and salutes your arrival from across the sea.
You are free now to move forward
to meet Hrothgar, in helmet and armour,
but shields must stay here and spears be stacked
until the outcome of the audience is clear.”
 
The hero arose, surrounded closely
(400)by his powerful thanes. A party remained
under orders to keep watch on the arms;
the rest proceeded, led by their prince
under Heorot’s roof. And standing on the hearth
in webbed links that the smith had woven,
the fine-forged mesh of his gleaming mail-shirt,
resolute in his helmet, Beowulf spoke:
“Greetings to Hrothgar. I am Hygelac’s kinsman,
one of his hall-troop. When I was younger,
I had great triumphs. Then news of Grendel,
(410)hard to ignore, reached me at home:
sailors brought stories of the plight you suffer
in this legendary hall, how it lies deserted,
empty and useless once the evening light
hides itself under heaven’s dome.
So every elderly and experienced councilman
among my people supported my resolve
to come here to you, King Hrothgar,
because all knew of my awesome strength.
They had seen me boltered in the blood of enemies
(420)when I battled and bound five beasts,
raided a troll-nest in the night-sea
slaughtered sea brutes. I have suffered extremes
and avenged the Geats (their enemies brought it
upon themselves, I devastated them).
Now I mean to be a match for Grendel,
settle the outcome in single combat.
And so my request, oh King of Bright-Danes,
dear prince of the Shieldings, friend of the people
and their ring of defense, my one request
(430)is that you won’t refuse me, who have come this far,
the privilege of purifying Heorot,
with my own men to help me, and nobody else.
I have heard moreover that the monster scorns
in his reckless way to use weapons;
therefore, to heighten Hygelac’s fame
and gladden his heart, I hereby renounce
sword and the shelter of the broad shield,
the heavy war-board: hand-to-hand
is how it will be, a life-and-death
(440)fight with the fiend. Whichever one death fells
must deem it a just judgement by God.
If Grendel wins, it will be a gruesome day;
he will glut himself on the Geats in the war-hall,
swoop without fear on that flower of manhood
as on others before. Then my face won’t be there
to be covered in death: he will carry me away
as he goes to ground, gorged and bloodied;
he will run gloating with my raw corpse
and feed on it alone, in a cruel frenzy,
(450)fouling his moor-nest. No need then
to lament for long or lay out my body:
if the battle takes me, send back
this breast-webbing that Weland fashioned
and Hretel gave me, to Lord Hygelac.
Fate goes ever as fate must.”
 
Hrothgar, the helmet of Shieldings, spoke:
“Beowulf, my friend, you have traveled here
to favor us with help and to fight for us.
There was a feud one time, begun by your father.
(460)With his own hands he had killed Heatholaf,
who was a Wulfing; so war was looming
and his people, in  fear of it, forced him to leave.
He came away then over rolling waves
to the South-Danes here, the sons of honour.
I was then in the first flush of kingship,
establishing my sway over all the rich strongholds
of this heroic land. Heorogar,
my older brother and the better man,
also a son of Halfdane’s, had died.
(470)Finally I healed the feud by paying:
I shipped a treasure-trove to the Wulfings
and Ecgtheow acknowledged me with oaths of allegiance.
 
“It bothers me to have to burden anyone
with all the grief Grendel has caused
and the havoc he has wreaked upon us in Heorot,
our humiliations. My household-guard
are on the wane, fate sweeps them away
into Grendel’s clutches---
                            but God can easily
halt these raids and harrowing attacks!
 
(480)“Time and again, when the goblets passed
and seasoned fighters got flushed with beer
they would pledge themselves to protect Heorot
and wait for Grendel with whetted swords.
But when dawn broke and day crept in
over each empty, blood spattered bench,
the floor of the mead-hall where they had feasted
would be slick with slaughter. And so they died,
faithful retainers, and my following dwindled.
Now take your place at the table, relish
(490)the triumph of heroes to your heart’s content.”
 
Then a bench was cleared in that banquet hall
so the Geats could have room to be together
and the party sat, proud in their bearing,
strong and stalwart. An attendant stood by
with a decorated pitcher, pouring bright
helpings of mead. And the minstrel sang,
filling Heorot with his head-clearing voice,
gladdening that great rally of Geats and Danes.
 
From where he crouched at the king’s feet,
(500)Unferth, a son of Eglaf’s, spoke
contrary words. Beowulf’s coming,
his sea-braving made him sick with envy:
he could not brook or abide the fact
that anyone else alive under heaven
might enjoy greater regard than he did:
“Are you the Beowulf who took on Brecca
in a swimming match on the open sea,
risking the water just to prove that you could win?
It was sheer vanity that made you venture out
(510)on the main deep. And no matter who tried,
friend or foe, to deflect the pair of you,
neither would back down: the sea test obsessed you.
You waded in, embracing water,
taking its measure, mastering currents,
riding on the swell. The ocean swayed,
winter went wild in the waves, but you vied
for seven nights; and then he outswam you,
came ashore the stronger contender.
He was cast up safe and sound one morning
(520)among the Heathoreams, then made his way
to where he belonged in Bronding country,
home again, sure of his ground
in stronghold and bawn. So Brecca made good
his boast upon you and was proved right.
No matter, therefore, how you may have fared
in every bout and battle until now,
this time you’ll be worsted; no on has ever
outlasted an entire night against Grendel.”
 
Beowulf, Ecgtheow’s son replied:
(530)“Well, friend Unferth, you have had your say
about Brecca and me. But it was mostly beer
that was doing the talking. The truth is this:
when the going was heavy in those high waves,
 I was the strongest swimmer of all.
We’d been children together and we grew up
daring ourselves to outdo each other,
boasting and urging each other to risk
our lives on the sea. And so it turned out.
Each of us swam holding a sword,
(540)a naked, hard-proofed blade for protection
against the whale beasts. But Brecca could never
move out further or faster from me
than I could manage to move from him.
Shoulder to shoulder, we struggled on
for five nights, until the long flow
and pitch of the waves, the perishing cold,
night falling and winds from the north
drove us apart. The deep boiled up
and its wallowing sent the sea-brutes wild.
(550)My armour helped me to hold out;
my hard-ringed chain-mail, hand-forged and linked,
a fine close-fitting filigree of gold,
kept me safe when some ocean creature
pulled me to the bottom. Pinioned fast
and swathed in its grip, I was granted one
final chance; my sword plunged
and the ordeal was over. Through my own hands,
the fury of battle had finished off the sea-beast.
 
“Time and again foul things attacked me,
(560)lurking and stalking, but I lashed out,
gave as good as I got with my sword.
My flesh was not for feasting on,
there would be no monsters gnawing and gloating
over their banquet at the bottom of the sea.
Instead, in the morning, mangled and sleeping
the sleep of the sword, they slopped and floated
like the ocean’s leavings. From now on
sailors would be safe, the deep-sea raids
were over for good. Light came from the east
(570)bright guarantee of God, and the waves
went quiet; I could see headlands and buffeted cliffs.
Often, for undaunted courage,
fate spares the man it has not already marked.
However it occurred, my sword had killed
nine sea-monsters. Such night-dangers
and hard ordeals I have never heard of
nor of a man more desolate in surging waves.
But worn out as I was, I survived,
came through with my life. The ocean lifted
(580)and laid me ashore, I landed safe
on the coast of Finland.
                           Now I cannot recall
any fight you entered, Unferth,
that bears comparison. I don’t boast when I say
that neither you nor Brecca were ever much
celebrated for swordsmanship
or for facing danger on the field of battle.
You killed your own kith and kin,
so for all your cleverness and quick tongue,
you will suffer damnation in the depths of hell.
(590)The fact is, Unferth, if you were truly
as keen or courageous as you claim to be
Grendel would have never gotten away with
such unchecked atrocity, attacks on your king,
havoc in Heorot and horrors everywhere.
But he knows he need never be in dread
of your blade making a  mizzle of his blood
or of vengeance arriving ever from this quarter—
from the Victory-Shieldings, the shoulderers of the spear.
He knows he can trample down you Danes
(600)to his heart’s content, humiliate and murder
without fear of reprisal. But he will find me different.
I will show him how Geats shape to kill
in the heat of battle. Then whoever wants to
may go bravely to mead, when morning light,
scarfed in sun-dazzle, shines forth from the south
and brings another daybreak to the world.”(a year)
 
Then the gray-haired treasure-giver was glad;
far-famed in battle, the prince of Bright-Danes
and keeper of his people counted on Beowulf,
(610)on the warrior’s steadfastness and his word.
So the laughter started, the din got louder
 and the crowd was happy. Wealhtheow came in,
Hrothgar’s queen, observing the courtesies.
Adorned in her gold, she graciously saluted
the men in the hall, then handed the cup
first to Hrothgar, their homeland’s guardian,
urged him to drink deep and enjoy it
because he was dear to them. And he drank it down
like the warlord he was, with festive cheer.
(620)So the Helming woman went on her rounds,
queenly and dignified, decked out in rings,
 offering the goblet to all ranks,
treating the household and the assembled troop
until it was Beowulf’s turn to take it from her hand.
With measured words she welcomed the Geat
and thanked God for granting her wish
that a deliverer she could believe in would arrive
to ease their afflictions. He accepted the cup,
 a daunting man, dangerous in action
(630)and eager for it always. He addressed Wealhtheow;
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow said:
 
“I had a fixed purpose when I put to sea.
As I sat in the boat with my band of men,
I meant to perform to the uttermost
what your people wanted or perish in the attempt,
in the fiend’s clutches. And I shall fulfill that purpose,
prove myself with a proud deed
or meet my death here in the mead-hall.”
 
This formal boast by Beowulf the Geat
(640)pleased the lady well and she went to sit
by Hrothgar, regal and arrayed with gold.
 
Then it was like old times in the echoing hall,
proud talk and the people happy,
loud and excited; until soon enough
Halfdane’s heir had to be away
to his night’s rest. He realized
that the demon was going to descend on the hall,
that he had plotted all day, from dawn-light
until darkness gathered again over the world
(650)and stealthy night-shapes came stealing forth
under the cloud-murk. The company stood
as the two leaders took leave of each other:
Hrothgar wished Beowulf health and good luck,
named him hall-warden and announced as follows:
“Never, since my hand could hold a shield
have I entrusted or given control
of the Danes’ to anyone but you.
Ward and guard it, for it is the greatest of houses.
Be on your mettle now, keep in mind your fame,
(660)beware of the enemy. There is nothing you wish for
that won’t be yours if you win through alive.”
 
Hrothgar departed then with his house-guard.
The lord of the Shieldings, their shelter in war,
left the mead-hall to lie with Wealtheow,
his queen and bedmate. The King of Glory
(as people learned) had posted a lookout
who was a match for Grendel, a guard against monsters,
special protection to the Danish prince.
And the Geat placed complete trust
(670)in his strength of limb and the Lord’s favor.
He began to remove his iron breast-mail,
took off the helmet and handed his attendant
the patterned sword, a smith’s masterpiece,
ordering him to keep the equipment guarded.
And before he bedded down, Beowulf
that prince of goodness, proudly asserted:
“When it comes to fighting I count myself
as dangerous any day as Grendel.
So it won’t be a cutting edge I’ll wield
(680)to mow him down, easily as I might.
He has no idea of the arts of war,
of shield or sword-play, although he does possess
a wild strength. No weapons, therefore,
for either this night: unarmed he shall face me
if face me he dares. And may the Divine Lord
in His Wisdom grant the glory of victory
to whichever side he sees fit.”
 
Then down the brave man lay with his bolster
under his head and his whole company
(690)of sea-rovers at rest beside him.
None of them expected he would ever see
his homeland again, or get back
to his native place and the people who reared him.
They knew too well the way it was before,
how often the Danes had fallen prey
to death in the mead-hall. But the Lord was weaving
a victory on His war-loom for the Weather-Geats.
Through the strength of one they all prevailed;
they would crush their enemy and come through
(700)in triumph and gladness. The truth is clear:
all mighty God rules over mankind
and always has.
 
                          Then out of the night
came the shadow-stalker, stealthy and swift;
the hall-guards were slack, asleep at their posts,
all except one; it was widely understood
that as long as God disallowed it,
the fiend could not bear them to his shadow-bourne.
One man, however, was in fighting mood,
awake and on edge, spoiling for action.
 
(710)In off the moors, down through the mist bands           
God-cursed Grendel came greedily loping.
The bane of the race of men roamed forth,
hunting for a prey in the high hall.
Under the cloud-murk he moved towards it
until it shone above him, a sheer keep
of fortified gold.  Nor was that the first time
he had scouted the grounds of Hrothgar’s dwelling-
although never in his life, before or since,
did he find harder fortune or hall-defenders.
(720)Spurned and joyless, he journeyed on ahead
and arrived at the bawn.  The iron-braced door
turned on its hinge when his hands touched it.
Then his rage boiled over, he ripped open
the mouth of the building, maddening for blood,
pacing the length of the patterned floor
with his loathsome tread, while a baleful light,
flame more than light, flared from his eyes.
He saw many men in the mansion, sleeping,
a ranked company of kinsmen and warriors
(730)quartered together.  And his glee was demonic,
picturing the mayhem: before morning
he would rip life from limb and devour them,
feed on their flesh; but his fate that night
 was due to change, his days of ravening
had come to an end.
                                    Mighty and canny,
Hygelac’s kinsman was keenly watching
for the first move the monster would make.
Nor did the creature keep him waiting
but struck suddenly and started in;
(740)he grabbed and mauled a man on his bench,
bit into his bone-lappings, bolted down his blood
and gorged on him in lumps, leaving the body
utterly lifeless, eaten up
hand and foot.  Venturing closer,
his talon was raised to attack Beowulf
where he lay on the bed; he was bearing in
with open claw when the alert hero’s
comeback and armlock forestalled him utterly.
The captain of evil discovered himself
(750)in a handgrip harder than anything
he had ever encountered in any man
on the face of the earth.  Every bone in his body
quailed and recoiled, but he could not escape.
He was desperate to flee to his den and hide
with the devil’s litter, for in all his days
he had never been clamped or cornered like this.
Then Hygelac’s trusty retainer recalled
his bedtime speech, sprang to his feet
and got a firm hold.  Fingers were bursting,
(760)the monster back-tracking, the man overpowering.
The dread of the land was desperate to escape,
to take a roundabout road and flee
to his lair in the fens.  The latching power
 in his fingers weakened; it was the worst trip
the terror-monger had taken to Heorot.
And now the timbers trembled and sang,
a hall-session that harrowed every Dane
inside the stockade: stumbling in fury,
the two contenders crashed through the building.
(770)The hall clattered and hammered, but somehow
survived the onslaught and kept standing:
it was handsomely structured, a sturdy frame
braced with the best of blacksmith’s work
inside and out.  The story goes
that as the pair struggled, mead-benches were smashed
and sprung off the floor, gold fittings and all.
Before then, no Shielding elder would believe
there was any power or person upon the earth
capable of wrecking their horn-rigged hall
(780)
 Then an extraordinary
wail arose, and bewildering fear
came over the Danes.  Everyone felt it
who heard that cry as it echoed off the wall,
a God-cursed scream and strain of catastrophe,
the howl of the loser, the lament of the hell-serf
keening his wound.  He was overwhelmed,
manacled tight by the man who of all men
was foremost and strongest in the days of this life.
 
(790)But the earl-troop’s leader was not inclined
to allow his caller to depart alive:
he did not consider that life of much account
to anyone anywhere.  Time and again,
Beowulf’s warriors worked to defend
their lord’s life, laying about them
as best they could with their ancestral blades.
Stalwart in action, they kept striking out
on every side, seeking to cut
straight to the soul.  When they joined the struggle
(800)there was something they could not have known at the
   time,
that no blade on earth, no blacksmith’s art
could ever damage their demon opponent.
He had conjured the harm from the cutting edge
of every weapon.  But his going away
out of this world and the days of his life
would be agony to him, and his alien spirit
would travel far into fiends’ keeping.
 
Then he who had harrowed the hearts of men
with pain and affliction in former times
(810)and had given offence also to God
found that his bodily powers failed him.
Hygelac’s kinsman kept him helplessly
locked in a handgrip.  As long as either lived,
he was hateful to the other.  The monster’s whole
body was in pain, a tremendous wound
appeared on his shoulder.  Sinews split
and the bone-lappings burst.  Beowulf was granted
the glory of winning; Grendel was driven
under the fen-banks, fatally hurt,
(820)to his desolate lair.  His days were numbered,
the end of his life was coming over him,
he knew it for certain; and one bloody clash
had fulfilled the dearest wishes of the Danes.
The man who had lately landed among them,
proud and sure, had purged the hall,
kept it from harm; he was happy with his nightwork
and the courage he had shown.  The Geat captain
had boldly fulfilled his boast to the Danes:
he had healed and relieved a huge distress,
(830)unremitting humiliations,
the hard fate they’d been forced to undergo,
no small affliction.  Clear proof of this
could be seen in the hand the hero displayed
high up near the roof; the whole of Grendel’s
shoulder and arm, his awesome grasp.
  
Then morning came and many a warrior
gathered, as I’ve heard, around the gift-hall,
clan-chiefs flocking from far and near
down wide-ranging roads, wondering greatly
(840)at the monster’s footprints.  His fatal departure
was regretted by no-one who witnessed his trail,
the ignominious marks of his flight
where he’d skulked away, exhausted in spirit
and beaten in battle, bloodying the path,
hauling his doom to the demons’ mere.
The bloodshot water wallowed and surged,
there were loathsome upthrows and overturnings
of waves and gore and wound-slurry.
With his death upon him, he had dived deep
(850)into his marsh-den, drowned out his life
and his heathen soul: hell claimed him there.
 
Then away they rode, the old retainers
with many a young man following after,
a troop on horseback, in high spirits
on their bay steeds.  Beowulf’s doings
were praised over and over again.
Nowhere, they said, north or south
between the two seas or under the tall sky
on the broad earth was there anyone better
(860)to raise a shield or to rule a kingdom.
Yet there was no laying of blame on their lord,
the noble Hrothgar; he was a good king.
 
At times the war-band broke into a gallop,
letting their chestnut horses race
 wherever they found the going good
 on those well-known tracks.  Meanwhile, a thane
of the king’s household, a carrier of tales,
a traditional singer deeply schooled
in the lore of the past, linked a new theme
(870)to a strict metre.  The man started
to recite with skill, rehearsing Beowulf’s
triumphs and feats in well-fashioned lines,
entwining his words. 
 
(Sigemund and the Dragon)

Meanwhile the Danes kept racing their mounts
down sandy lanes. The light of day
broke and kept brightening. Bands of retainers
galloped in excitement to the gabled hall
to see the marvel; and the king himself,
(920)guardian of the ring-hoard, goodness in person,
walked in majesty from the women’s quarters
with a numerous train, attended by his queen
and her crowd of maidens, across to the mead-hall.
 
When Hrothgar arrived at the hall, he spoke,
standing on the steps, under the steep eaves,
gazing at the roofwork and Grendel’s talon:
“First and foremost let the Almighty Father
be thanked for this sight. I suffered long
harrowing by Grendel. But the Heavenly Shepherd
(930)can work His wonders always and everywhere.
Not long since, it seemed I would never
be granted the slightest solace or relief
from any of my burdens: the best of houses
glittered and reeked and ran with blood.
This one worry outweighed all others-
a constant distress to counsellors entrusted
with defending the people’s forts from assault
 by monsters and demons. But now a man,
with the Lord’s assistance, has accomplished something
(940)none of us could manage before now
for all our efforts. Whoever she was
who brought forth this flower of manhood,
if she is still alive, that woman can say
that in her labor the Lord of Ages
bestowed a grace on her. So now, Beowulf,
 I adopt you in my heart as a dear son.
Nourish and maintain this new connection,
you noblest of men; there’ll be nothing you’ll want for,
no worldly goods that won’t be yours.
(950)I have often honoured smaller achievements,
recognized warriors not nearly as worthy,
lavished rewards on the less deserving.
But you have made yourself immortal
by your glorious action. May the God of Ages
continue to keep and requite you well.”
 
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke:
“We have gone through with a glorious endeavor
and been much favoured in this fight we dared
against the unknown. Nevertheless,
(960)if you could have seen the monster himself
where he lay beaten, I would have been better pleased.
My plan was to pounce, pin him down
in a tight grip and grapple him to death-
have him panting for life, powerless and clasped
in my bare hands, his body in thrall.
But I couldn’t stop him from slipping my hold.
The Lord allowed it, my lock on him
wasn’t strong enough, he struggled fiercely
and broke and ran. Yet he bought his freedom
(970)at a high price, for he left his hand
and arm and shoulder to show that he had been here,
 a cold comfort for having come among us.
And now he won’t be long for this world.
He has done his worst but the wound will end him.
He is hasped and hooped and hurpling with pain,
limping and looped in it. Like a man outlawed
for wickedness, he must await
the mighty judgment of God in majesty.”
 
There was less tampering and big talk then
(980)from Unferth the boaster, less of his blather
as the hall-thanes eyed the awful proof
of the hero’s prowess, the splayed hand
up under the eaves. Every nail,
claw-scale and spur, every spike
and welt on the hand of that heathen brute
was like barbed steel. Everybody said
there was no honed iron hard enough
to pierce him through, no time-proofed blade
that could cut his brutal, blood caked claw.
 
(990)Then the order was given for all hands
to help refurbish Heorot immediately:
men and women thronged the wine-hall,
getting it ready. Gold thread shone
in the wall-hangings, woven scenes
that attracted and held the eye’s attention.
But iron-braced as the inside of it had been,
that bright room lay in ruins now.
The very doors had been dragged from their hinges.
Only the roof remained unscathed
(1000)by the time the guilt-fouled fiend turned tail
in despair of his life. But death is not easily
escaped from by anyone:
all of us with souls, earth-dwellers
and children of men, must make our way
to a destination already ordained
where the body, after the banqueting,
sleeps on its deathbed.
 
                              Then the time arrived
for Halfdane’s son to proceed to the hall.
The king himself would sit down to feast.
(1010)No group ever gathered in greater numbers
or better order around the ring-giver.
The benches filled with famous men
who fell to with relish; round upon round
of mead was passed; those powerful kinsmen,
Hrothgar and Hrothulf, were in high spirits
in the raftered hall. Inside Heorot
there was nothing but friendship..
Then Halfdane’s son presented Beowulf
(1020)with a gold standard as a victory gift,
an embroidered banner; also breast mail
and a helmet; and a sword carried high,
that was both precious object and token of honour.
So Beowulf drank his drink, at ease;
it is hardly a shame to be showered with such gifts
in front of the hall-troops. There haven’t been many
moments, I am sure, when men exchanged
four such treasures at so friendly a sitting.
An embossed ridge, a band lapped with wire
(1030)arched over the helmet: head protection
to keep the keen-ground cutting edge
from damaging it when danger threatened
and the man was battling behind his shield.
Next the king ordered eight horses
With gold bridles to be brought through the yard
into the hall. The harness of one
included a saddle of sumptuous design,
the battle-seat where the son of Halfdane
rode when he wished to join the sword-play:
(1040)wherever the killing and the carnage were the worst,
he would be to the fore, fighting hard.
Then the Danish prince, descendent of Ing
handed over both arms and horses,
urging Beowulf to use them well.
And so their leader, the lord and guard
of coffer and strongroom, with customary grace
bestowed upon Beowulf both sets of gifts.
A fair witness can see how well each one behaved.
 
The chieftain went on to reward the others:
(1050)each man on the bench who had sailed with Beowulf
and risked the voyage received a bounty,
some treasured possession. And compensation,
a price in gold, was settled for the Geat
Grendel had cruelly killed earlier-
as he would have killed more, had not mindful God
and one man’s daring prevented that doom.
Past and present, God’s will prevails.
Hence, understanding is always best
and a prudent mind. Whoever remains
(1060)for long here in this earthly life
will enjoy and endure more than enough.
 
They sang and played to please the hero,
words and music for their warrior prince,
harp tunes and tales of adventure:
There were high times on the hall benches
and the king’s poet performed his part
with the saga of Finn and his sons, unfolding
the tale of the fierce attack in Friesland
where Hnaef, king of the Danes, met death.
 
(Hildeburgh and the fight at Finn’s Hall)
 
                          The poem was over,
the poet had performed, a pleasant murmur
(1160)started on the benches, stewards did the rounds
with wine in splendid jugs, and Wealtheow came to sit
in her gold crown between two good men,
uncle and nephew,  and the forthright Unferth,
admired by all for his mind and courage
although under a cloud for killing his brothers,
reclined near the king. and that good man,
(1190)Beowulf the Geat, sat between the brothers.
 
The cup was carried to him, kind words
spoken in welcome and a wreath of wrought gold
graciously bestowed: two arm bangles,
a mail-shirt and rings, and the most resplendent
torque of gold I ever heard tell of
anywhere on earth or under heaven.
 
                             Applause filled the hall.
Men were drinking wine
at that rare feast, how could they know fate,
the grim shape of things to come,
the threat looming over many thanes
as night approached and King Hrothgar prepared
to retire to his quarters. Retainers in great numbers
were posted on guard as so often in the past.
Benches were pushed back, bedding gear and bolsters
(1240)spread across the floor, and one man
lay down to his rest, already marked for death.
At their heads they placed the polished timber
battle-shields: and on the bench above them,
each man’s kit was kept to hand:
a towering war-helmet, webbed mail-shirt
and great shafted spear. It was their habit
always and everywhere to be ready for action,
at home or in camp, in whatever case
and at whatever time the need arose
(1250)to rally around their lord. They were a right people.
 
They went to sleep.  And one paid dearly
for his night’s ease, as had happened to them often,
ever since Grendel occupied the gold-hall,
committing evil until the end came,
death after his crimes.  Then it became clear,
obvious to everyone once the fight was over,
that an avenger lurked and was still alive,
grimly biding time.  Grendel’s mother,
monstrous hell-bride, brooded on her wrongs.
(1260)She had been forced down into fearful waters,
the cold depths, after Cain had killed
his father’s son, felled his own
brother with a sword.  Branded an outlaw,
marked by having murdered, he moved into the wilds,
shunned company and joy.  And from Cain there sprang
misbegotten spirits, among them Grendel,
the banished and accursed, due to come to grips
with that watcher in Heorot waiting to do battle.
The monster wrenched and wrestled with him
(1270)but Beowulf was mindful of his mighty strength,
the wondrous gifts God had showered on him:
he relied for help on the Lord of All,
on His care and favour.  So he overcame the foe,
brought down the hell-brute.  Broken and bowed,
outcast from all sweetness, the enemy of mankind
made for his death-den.  But now his mother
had sallied forth on a savage journey,
grief-racked and ravenous, desperate for revenge.
 
She came to Heorot.  There, inside the hall,
(1280)Danes lay asleep, earls who would soon endure
a great reversal, once Grendel’s mother
attacked and entered.   Her onslaught was less
only by as much as an amazon warrior’s
strength is less than an armed man’s
when the hefted sword, its hammered edge
and gleaming blade slathered in blood,
razes the sturdy boar-ridge off a helmet.
Then in the hall, hard-honed swords
were grabbed from the bench, many a broad shield
(1290)lifted and braced; there was little thought of helmets
or woven mail when they woke in terror.
 
The hell-dam was in panic, desperate to get out,
in mortal terror the moment she was found.
She had pounced and taken one of the retainers
in a tight hold, then headed for the fen.
To Hrothgar, this man was the most beloved
of the friends he trusted between the two seas.
She had done away with a great warrior,
ambushed him at rest.
                                      Beowulf was elsewhere.
(1300)Earlier, after the award of the treasure,
the Geat had been given another lodging.
There was uproar in Heorot.  She had snatched their
    trophy,
Grendel’s bloodied hand.  It was a fresh blow
to the afflicted bawn.  The bargain was hard,
both parties having to pay
with the lives of friends.  And the old lord,
the grey-haired warrior, was heartsore and weary
when he heard the news: his highest-placed adviser,
his dearest companion, was dead and gone.
 
(1310)Beowulf was quickly brought to the chamber:
the winner of fights, the arch-warrior,
came first-footing in with his fellow troops
to where the king in his wisdom waited,
still wondering whether Almighty God
would ever turn the tide of his misfortunes.
So Beowulf entered with his band in attendance
and the wooden floor-boards banged and rang
as he advanced, hurrying to address
the prince of the Ingwins, asking if he’d rested
(1320)since the urgent summons had come as a surprise.
 
Then Hrothgar, the Shieldings’ helmet, spoke:
“Rest?  What is rest?  Sorrow has returned.
Alas for the Danes!  Aeschere is dead.
He was Yrmenlaf’s elder brother
and a soul-mate to me, a true mentor,
my right-hand man when the ranks clashed
and our boar-crest had to take a battering
in the line of action.  Aeschere was everything
the world admires in a wise man and a friend.
(1330)Then this roaming killer came in a fury
and slaughtered him in Heorot.  Where she is hiding,
glutting on the corpse and glorying in her escape,
I cannot tell; she had taken up the feud
because of last night, when you killed Grendel,
wrestled and racked him in ruinous combat
since for too long he had terrorized us
with his depredations.   He died in battle,
paid with his life; and now this powerful
other one arrives, this force for evil
(1340)driven to avenge her kinsman’s death.
Or so it seems to thanes in their grief,
in the anguish every thane endures
at the loss of a ring-giver, now that the hand
that bestowed so richly has been stilled in death.
 
“I have heard it said by my people in hall,
counselors who live in the upland country,
that they have seen two such creatures
prowling the moors, huge marauders
from some other world.  One of these things,
(1350)as far as anyone can discern,
looks like a woman; the other, warped
in the shape of a man, moves beyond the pale
bigger than any man, an unnatural birth
called Grendel by country people
in former days.  They are fatherless creatures,
and their whole ancestry is hidden in a past
of demons and  ghosts.  They dwell apart
among  wolves on the hills, on windswept crags
and treacherous keshes, where cold streams
(1360)pour down the mountain and disappear
under mist and moorland.
                                          A few miles from here
a frost-stiffened wood waits and keeps watch
above a mere; the overhanging bank
is a maze of tree-roots mirrored in its surface.
At night there, something uncanny happens:
the water burns.  And the mere bottom
has never been sounded by the sons of men.
On its bank, the heather-stepper halts:
the hart in flight from pursuing hounds
(1370) turn to face them with firm-set horns
and die in the wood rather than dive
beneath its surface.  That is no good place.
When wind blows up and stormy weather
makes clouds scud and the skies weep,
out of its depths a dirty surge
is pitched towards the heavens.  Now help depends
again on you and on you alone.
The gap of danger where the demon waits
is still unknown to you.  Seek it if you dare.
(1380)I will compensate you for settling the feud
as I did the last time with lavish wealth,
coffers of coiled gold, if you come back.”
 
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke:
“Wise sir, do not grieve.  It is always better
to avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning.
For every one of us, living in this world
means waiting for our end.  Let whoever can
win glory before death.  When a warrior is gone,
that will be his best and only bulwark.
(1390)So arise, my lord, and let us immediately
set forth on the trail of this troll-dam.
I guarantee you: she will not get away,
not to dens under ground nor upland groves
nor the ocean floor.  She’ll have nowhere to flee to.
Endure your troubles to-day.  Bear up
and be the man I expect you to be.”
 
With that the old lord sprang to his feet
and praised God for Beowulf’s pledge.
Then a bit and halter were brought for his horse
(1400)with the plaited mane.  The wise king mounted
the royal saddle and rode out in style
with a force of shield-bearers. The forest paths
were marked all over with the monster’s tracks,
her trail on the ground wherever she had gone
across the dark moors, dragging away
the body of that thane, Hrothgar’s best
counsellor and overseer of the country.
So the noble prince proceeded undismayed
up fells and screes, along narrow footpaths
(1410)and ways where they were forced into single file,
ledges on cliffs above lairs of water-monsters.
He went in front with a few men,
good judges of the lie of the land,
and suddenly discovered the dismal wood,
mountain trees growing out at an angle
above grey stones: the bloodshot water
surged underneath.  It was a sore blow
to all of the Danes, friends of the Shieldings,
a hurt to each and every one
(1420)of that noble company when they came upon
Aeschere’s head at the foot of the cliff.
 
Everybody gazed as the hot gore
kept wallowing up and an urgent war-horn
repeated its notes: the whole party
sat down to watch.  The water was infested
with all kinds of reptiles.  There were writhing sea-dragons
and monsters slouching on slopes by the cliff,
serpents and wild things such as those that often
surface at dawn to roam the sail-road
(1430)and doom the voyage. Down they plunged,
lashing in anger at the loud call
of the battle-bugle. An arrow from the bow
of the Geat chief got one of them
as he surged to the surface: the seasoned shaft
stuck deep in his flank and his freedom in the water
got less and less. It was his last swim.
He was swiftly overwhelmed in the shallows,
prodded by barbed boar-spears,
cornered, beaten, pulled up on the bank,
(1440)a strange lake-birth, a loathsome catch
men gazed at in awe.
                                    Beowulf got ready,
donned his war-gear, indifferent to death;
his mighty, hand-forged, fine-webbed mail
would soon meet with the menace underwater.
It would keep the bone-cage of his body safe:
no enemy’s clasp could crush him in it,
no vicious armlock choke his life out.
To guard his head he had a glittering helmet
that was due to be muddied on the mere bottom
(1450)and blurred in the upswirl. It was of beaten gold,
princely headgear hooped and hasped
by a weapon-smith who had worked wonders
in days gone by and adorned it with boar-shapes;
since then it had resisted every sword.
And another item lent by Unferth
at that moment of need was of no small importance:
the brehon handed him a hilted weapon,
a rare and ancient sword named Hrunting.
The iron blade with its ill-boding patterns
(1460)had been tempered in blood. It had never failed
the hand of anyone who hefted it in battle,
anyone who had fought and faced the worst
in the gap of danger.  This was not the first time
it had been called to perform heroic feats. 
 
When he lent that blade to the better swordsman,
Unferth, the strong-built son of Ecglaf,
could hardly have remembered the ranting speech
he had made in his cups. He was not man enough
to face the turmoil of a fight under water
(1470)and the risk to his life. So there he lost
fame and repute. It was different for the other
rigged out in his gear, ready to do battle.
 
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke:
“Wisest of kings, now that I have come
to the point of action, I ask you to recall
what we said earlier: that you, son of Halfdane
and gold-friend to retainers, that you, if I should fall
and suffer death while serving your cause,
would act like a father to me afterwards.
(1480)If this combat kills me, take care
of my young company, my comrades in arms.
And be sure also, my beloved Hrothgar,
to send Hygelac the treasures I received.
Let the lord of the Geats gaze on that gold,
let Hrethel’s  son take note of it and see
that I found a ring-giver of rare magnificence
and enjoyed the good of his generosity.
And Unferth is to have what I inherited:
to that far-famed man I bequeath my own
(1490)sharp-honed, wave-sheened wonderblade.
With Hrunting I shall gain glory or die.”
 
After these words, the prince of the Weather-Geats
was impatient to be away and plunged suddenly:
without more ado, he dived into the heaving
depths of the lake. It was the best part of  a day
before he could see the solid bottom.
Quickly the one who haunted these waters,
who had scavenged and gone her gluttonous rounds
for a hundred seasons, sensed a human
(1500)observing her outlandish lair from above.
She lunged and clutched and managed to catch him
in her brutal grip: but his body, for all of that,
remained unscathed: the mesh of the chain-mail
saved him on the outside. Her savage talons
failed to rip the web of his warshirt.
Then once she touched bottom, that wolfish swimmer
carried the ring-mailed prince to her court
so that for all of his courage he could never use
the weapons he carried; and a bewildering horde
(1510)came at him from the depths, droves of sea-beasts
who attacked with tusks and tore at his chain-mail
in a ghastly onslaught. The gallant man
could see he had entered some hellish turn-hole
and yet the water did not work against him
because the hall-roofing held off
the force of the current; then he saw a firelight,
 a gleam and flare-up, a glimmer of brightness.
 
The hero observed that swamp-thing from hell,
the tarn-hag in all her terrible strength,
(1520)then heaved his war-sword and swung his arm:
the decorated blade came down ringing
and singing on her head. But he soon found
his battle-torch extinguished: the shining blade
 refused to bite. It spared her and failed
the man in his need. It had gone through many
hand-to-hand fights, had hewed the armour
and helmets of the doomed, but here at last
the fabulous power of that heirloom had failed.
Hygelac’s kinsman kept thinking about
(1530)his name and fame; he never lost heart.
Then, in a fury, he flung his sword away.
The keen, inlaid, worm-loop-patterned steel
was hurled to the ground: he would have to rely
on the might of his arm. So must a man do
who intends to gain enduring glory
in a combat. Life doesn’t cost him a thought.
Then the prince of War-Geats, warming to this fight
with Grendel‘s mother, gripped her shoulder
and laid about him in a battle frenzy:
(1540)he pitched his killer opponent to the floor
but she rose quickly and retaliated,
grappled him tightly in her grim embrace.
The sure-footed fighter felt daunted,
the strongest of warriors stumbled and fell.
So she pounced upon him and pulled out
 a broad, whetted knife: now she would avenge
her only child. But the mesh of chain-mail
on Beowulf’s shoulder shielded his life,
turned the edge and tip of the blade.
(1550)The son of Ecgtheow would have surely perished
and the Geats lost their warrior under the wide earth
had not the strong links and locks of his war-gear
not helped to save him: holy God
decided the victory. It is easy for the Lord,
The Ruler of Heaven, to redress the balance
Once Beowulf got back up on his feet.
 
Then he saw a blade that boded well,
a sword in her armory, an ancient heirloom
from the days of the giants, an ideal weapon,
(1560)one that any warrior would envy,
but so huge and heavy of itself
only Beowulf could wield it in a battle.
So the Shielding’s hero, hard-pressed and enraged,
took a firm hold of the hilt and swung
the blade in an arc, a resolute blow
that bit deep into her neck-bone
and severed it entirely, toppling the doomed
house of her flesh; she fell to the floor.
The sword dripped blood, the swordsman was elated.
 
(1570)A light appeared and the place brightened
the way the sky does when heaven’s candle
is shining clearly. He inspected the vault:
with sword held high, its hilt raised
to guard and threaten, Hygelac’s thane
scouted by the wall in Grendel’s wake.
Now the weapon was to prove its worth.
The warrior determined to take revenge
for every gross act Grendel had committed-
and not only for that one occasion
(1580)when he’d come to slaughter the sleeping troops,
fifteen of Hrothgar’s house-guards
surprised on their benches and ruthlessly devoured,
and as many again carried away,
a brutal plunder. Beowulf in his fury
now settled that score: he saw the monster
in his resting place, war-weary and wrecked,
a lifeless corpse, a casualty
of the battle in Heorot. The body gaped
at the stroke dealt to it after death:
(1590)Beowulf cut the corpse’s head off.
 
Immediately the counsellors keeping a lookout
with Hrothgar, watching the lake waters,
saw a heave-up and surge of waves
and blood in the backwash. They bowed gray heads,
spoke in their sage, experienced way
about the good warrior, how they never again
expected to see the prince returning
in triumph to their king. It was clear to many
that the wolf of the deep had destroyed him forever.
 
 (1600)The ninth hour of the day arrived.
The brave Shieldings abandoned the cliff-top
and the king went home; but sick at heart,
staring at the mere, the strangers held on.
They wished, without hope, to behold their lord,
Beowulf himself.
                              Meanwhile the sword
began to wilt into gory icicles,
to slather and thaw. It was a wonderful thing,
the way it all melted as ice melts
when the Father eases the fetters off the frost
(1610)and unravels the water-ropes. He who wields power
over time and tide: He is the true Lord.
 
The Geat captain saw treasure in abundance
but carried no spoils from those quarters
except for the head and the inlaid hilt
embossed with jewels; its blade had melted
and the scrollwork on it burnt, so scalding was the blood
of the poisonous fiend who had perished there.
Then away he swam, the one who had survived
the fall of his enemies, flailing to the surface.
(1620)The wide water, the waves and pools
were no longer infested once the wandering fiend
let go of her life and this unreliable world.
The seafarer’s leader made for land,
resolutely swimming, delighted with his prize,
the mighty load he was lugging to the surface.
His thanes advanced in a troop to meet him,
thanking God and taking great delight
in seeing their prince back safe and sound.
Quickly the hero’s helmet and mail-shirt
(1630)were loosed and unlaced. The lake settled,
the clouds darkened above the bloodshot depths.
 
With high hearts they headed away
along footpaths and trails through the fields,
roads that they knew, each of them wrestling
with the head they were carrying from the lakeside cliff,
men kingly in their courage and capable
of difficult work. It was a task for four
to hoist Grendel’s head on a spear
and bear it under strain to the bright hall.
(1640)But soon enough they neared the place,
fourteen Geats in fine fettle,
 striding across the outlying ground
in a delighted throng around their leader.
 
He came then, the thane’s commander,
the arch-warrior, to address Hrothgar:
his courage proven, his glory was secure.
Grendel’s head was hauled by the hair,
dragged across the floor where people were drinking,
a horror for both queen and company to behold.
(1650)They stared in awe. It was an astonishing sight.
 
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke:
“So, son of Halfdane, prince of the Shieldings,
we are glad to bring this booty from the lake.
It is a token of triumph and we tender it to you.
I barely survived the battle under water.
It was hard-fought, a desperate affair
that could have gone badly; if God had not helped me,
the outcome could have been quick and fatal.
although Hrunting is hard-edge ,
(1660)I could not bring it to bear in battle.
But the Lord of Men allowed me to behold-
for he often helps the unbefriended-
an ancient sword shining on the wall,
a weapon made for giants, there for the wielding.
Then my moment came in the combat and I struck
the dwellers in that den. Next thing the damascened
sword blade melted; it bloated and it burned
in their rushing blood. I have wrested the hilt
from the enemy’s hand, avenged the evil
(1670)done to the Danes; it was what was due.
And this I pledge, oh prince of the Shileldings:
you can sleep secure with your company of troops
in Heorot Hall. Never need you fear
for a single thane of your sept or nation,
young warriors or old, that laying waste of life
that you and your people endured of yore.”
 
Then the gold hilt was handed over
to the old lord, a relic from long ago
for the venerable ruler. That rare smithwork
(1680)was passed on to the prince of the Danes
when those devils perished; once death removed
that murdering, guilt-steeped, God-cursed fiend,
eliminating his unholy life
and his mother as well, it was willed to that king
who of all the lavish gift-lords of the north
Was best regarded between the two seas.
 
Hrothgar spoke; he examined the hilt,
that relic of old times. It was engraved all over
and showed how war first came into the world
(1690)and the flood destroyed the tribe of giants.
They suffered a terrible severance from the Lord;
the Almighty made the waters rise,
drowned them in a deluge of retribution.
In pure gold inlay on the sword-guards
there were rune-markings correctly incised,
stating and recording for whom the sword
had been first made and ornamented
with its scrollwork hilt. Then everyone hushed
as the son of Halfdane spoke his wisdom.
(1700)“ A protector of his people, pledged to uphold
truth and justice and to respect tradition,
is entitled to affirm that this man
was born to distinction. Beowulf, my friend,
your fame has gone far and wide,
you are known everywhere. In all things you are even-
     tempered,
prudent and resolute. So I stand firm by the promise of
    friendship
we exchanged before. Forever you will be
your people’s mainstay and your own warriors’
helping hand.
                       Heremod was different,
(1710)the way he behaved to Ecgwala’s sons.
His rise in the world brought little joy
to the Danish people, only death and destruction.
He vented his rage on men he caroused with,
killed his own comrades, a pariah king
who cut himself off from his own kind,
even though Almighty God had made him
eminent and powerful and marked him from the start
for a happy life. But a change happened,
he grew bloodthirsty, gave no more rings
(1720)to honour the Danes. He suffered in the end
for having plagued his people for so long:
his life lost happiness.
                                       So learn from this
and understand true values. I who tell you
have wintered into wisdom.
                                             It is a great wonder
how Almighty God in His magnificence
favors our race with rank and scope
and the gift of wisdom; His sway is wide.
Sometimes He allows the mind of a man
of distinguished birth to follow its bent,
(1730)grants him fulfillment and felicity on earth
and forts to command in his own country.
He permits him to lord it in many lands
until the man in his unthinkingness
forgets that it will ever end for him.
He indulges his desires; illness and old age
mean nothing to him; his mind is untroubled
by envy or malice or the thought of enemies
with their hate-honed swords. The whole world
conforms to his will, he is kept from the worst
(1740)until an element of overweening
enters into him and takes hold
while the soul’s guard, its sentry, drowses,
grown too distracted. A killer stalks him,
an archer who draws a deadly bow.
And then the man is hit in the heart,
the arrow flies beneath his defences,
the devious promptings of the demon start.
His old possessions seem paltry to him now.
He covets and resents; dishonours custom
(1750)and bestows no gold; and because of good things
that the Heavenly Powers gave him in the past
he ignores the shape of things to come.
Then finally the end arrives
when the body he was lent collapses and falls
prey to its death; ancestral possessions
and the goods he hoarded are inherited by another
who lets them go with a liberal hand.
 
“O flower of warriors, beware of that trap.
Choose, dear Beowulf, the better part,
(1760)eternal rewards. Do not give way to pride.
For a brief while your strength is in bloom
but it fades quickly; and soon there will follow
illness or the sword to lay you low,
or a sudden fire or surge of water
or jabbing blade or javelin from the air
or repellant age. Your piercing eye
will dim and darken; and death will arrive,
dear warrior, to sweep you away.
 
‘Just so I ruled the Ring-Dane’s country
(1770)for fifty years, defended them in wartime
with spear and sword against constant assaults
by many tribes: I came to believe
my enemies had faded from the face of the earth.
Still, what happened was a hard reversal
from bliss to grief. Grendel struck
after lying in wait. He laid waste to the land
and from that moment my mind was in dread
of his depredations. So I praise God
in His heavenly glory that I lived to behold
(1780)this head dripping blood and that after such harrowing
I can look upon it in triumph at last.
Take your place, then, with pride and pleasure
and move to the feast. Tomorrow morning
our treasure will be shared and showered upon you.”
 
The Geat was elated and gladly obeyed
the old man’s bidding; he sat on the bench.
And soon all was restored, as before.
Happiness came back, the hall was thronged,
and a banquet set forth; black night fell
(1790)and covered them in darkness.
                          Then the company rose
for the old campaigner: the grey-haired prince
was ready for bed. And a need for rest
came over the brave shield-bearing Geat.
He was a weary seafarer, far from home,
so immediately a house-guard guided him out,
one whose office entailed looking after
whatever a thane on the road in those days
might need or require. It was a noble courtesy.
 
The great heart rested. The hall towered,
(1800)gold-shingled and gabled, and the guest slept in it
until the black raven with raucous glee
announced heaven’s joy, and a hurry of brightness
overran the shadows. Warriors rose quickly,
impatient to be off: their own country
was beckoning the nobles; and the bold voyager
longed to be aboard his distant boat.
Then that stalwart fighter ordered Hrunting
to be brought to Unferth, and bade Unferth
take the sword and thanked him for lending it.
(1810)He said he had found it a friend in battle
and a powerful help; he put no blame
on the blade’s cutting edge. He was a considerate man.
 
And there the warriors stood in their war-gear,
eager to go, while their honoured lord
approached the platform where the other sat.
The undaunted hero  addressed Hrothgar.
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke:
“Now we who crossed the wide sea
have to inform you that we feel a desire
(1820)to return to Hygelac. Here we have been welcomed
and thoroughly entertained. You have treated us well.
If there is any favor on earth I can perform
beyond deeds of arms I have done already,
anything that will merit your affection more,
I shall act, my lord, with alacrity.
If I ever hear from across the ocean
that people on your borders are threatening battle
as attackers have done from time to time,
I shall land with a thousand thanes at my back
(1830)to help your cause. Hygelac may be young
to rule a nation, but this I know
about the king of the Geats: he will come to my aid
and want to support me by word and action
in your hour of need, when honour dictates
that I raise a hedge of spears around you.
Then if Hrethric should think about traveling
as a king’s son to the court of the Geats,
he will find many friends. Foreign places
yield more to one who is himself worth meeting.”
 
(1840)Hrothgar spoke and answered him:
“The Lord in His Wisdom sent you those words
and they came from the heart. I have never heard
so young a man make truer observations.
You are strong in body and mature in mind,
impressive in speech. If it should come to pass
that Hrethel’s descendant dies beneath the spear,
if deadly battle or the sword blade or disease
fells the prince who guards your people
and you are still alive, then I firmly believe
(1850)the seafaring Geats won’t find a man
worthier of acclaim as their king and defender
than you, if only you would undertake
the lordship of your homeland. My liking for you
deepens with time, dear Beowulf.
What you have done is to draw two peoples,
the Geat nation and us neighboring Danes,
into shared peace and a pact of friendship
in spite of hatreds we have harboured in the past.
For as long as I rule this far-flung land
(1860)treasures will change hands and each side will treat
the other with gifts; across the gannet’s bath,
over the broad seas, whorled prows will bring
presents and tokens. I know your people
are beyond reproach in every respect,
steadfast in the old way with friend or foe.”
 
Then the earl’s defender furnished the hero
with twelve treasures and told him to set out,
sail with those gifts safely home
to the people he loved, but return promptly.
(1870)And so the good and gray-haired Dane,
that high-born king, kissed Beowulf
and embraced his neck, then broke down
in sudden tears. Two forebodings
disturbed him in his wisdom, but one was stronger:
nevermore would they meet each other
face to face. And such was his affection
that he could not help being overcome:
his fondness for the man was so deep-founded,
it warmed his heart and wound the heartstrings
(1880)tight in his breast.
                               The embrace ended
And Beowulf, glorious in his gold regalia,
stepped the green earth. Straining at anchor
and ready for boarding, his boat awaited him.
So they went on their journey, and Hrothgar’s generosity
was praised repeatedly. He was a peerless king
until old age sapped his strength and did him
mortal harm, as it has done so many.
 
Down to the waves then, dressed in the web
of their chain-mail and war-shirts the young men marched
(1890)in high spirits. The coast-guard spied them,
thanes setting forth, the same as before.
His salute this time from the top of the cliff
was far from unmannerly; he galloped to meet them
as they took ship in their shining gear,
he said how welcome they would be in Geatland.
Then the broad hull was beached on the sand
to be cargoed with treasure, horses and war-gear.
The curved prow motioned; the mast stood high
above Hrothgar’s riches in the loaded hold.
 
(1900)The guard who had watched the boat was given
a sword with gold fittings and in future days
that present would make him a respected man
at his place on the mead-bench.
                                            Then the keel plunged
and shook in the sea, and they sailed from Denmark.

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