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Title: Beowulf

Author: Anonymous

Release Date: July, 1997 [EBook #981]

[This file was first posted on March 12, 2003]

[Most recently updated: March 12, 2003]

Edition: 11

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, BEOWULF ***

Prepared by Robin Katsuya-Corbet ([email protected]) from scanner output provided by Internet Wiretap.

Translated by Gummere

PRELUDE OF THE FOUNDER OF THE DANISH HOUSE

LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped, we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!

Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes, from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore, awing the earls. Since erst he lay

friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him: for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve, till before him the folk, both far and near, who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate, gave him gifts: a good king he!

To him an heir was afterward born,

a son in his halls, whom heaven sent

to favor the folk, feeling their woe

that erst they had lacked an earl for leader so long a while; the Lord endowed him, the Wielder of Wonder, with world’s renown.

Famed was this Beowulf: {0a} far flew the boast of him, son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.

So becomes it a youth to quit him well with his father’s friends, by fee and gift, that to aid him, aged, in after days, come warriors willing, should war draw nigh, liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds

shall an earl have honor in every clan.

Forth he fared at the fated moment,

sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.

Then they bore him over to ocean’s billow, loving clansmen, as late he charged them, while wielded words the winsome Scyld, the leader beloved who long had ruled….

In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel, ice-flecked, outbound, atheling’s barge: there laid they down their darling lord on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings, {0b}

by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure fetched from far was freighted with him.

No ship have I known so nobly dight

with weapons of war and weeds of battle, with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay a heaped hoard that hence should go

far o’er the flood with him floating away.

No less these loaded the lordly gifts, thanes’ huge treasure, than those had done who in former time forth had sent him sole on the seas, a suckling child.

High o’er his head they hoist the standard, a gold-wove banner; let billows take him, gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits, mournful their mood. No man is able

to say in sooth, no son of the halls, no hero ‘neath heaven, — who harbored that freight!

Now Beowulf bode in the burg of the Scyldings, leader beloved, and long he ruled

in fame with all folk, since his father had gone away from the world, till awoke an heir, haughty Healfdene, who held through life, sage and sturdy, the Scyldings glad.

Then, one after one, there woke to him, to the chieftain of clansmen, children four: Heorogar, then Hrothgar, then Halga brave; and I heard that — was — ‘s queen,

the Heathoscylfing’s helpmate dear.

To Hrothgar was given such glory of war, such honor of combat, that all his kin obeyed him gladly till great grew his band of youthful comrades. It came in his mind to bid his henchmen a hall uprear,

ia master mead-house, mightier far

than ever was seen by the sons of earth, and within it, then, to old and young he would all allot that the Lord had sent him, save only the land and the lives of his men.

Wide, I heard, was the work commanded, for many a tribe this mid-earth round, to fashion the folkstead. It fell, as he ordered, in rapid achievement that ready it stood there, of halls the noblest: Heorot {1a} he named it whose message had might in many a land.

Not reckless of promise, the rings he dealt, treasure at banquet: there towered the hall, high, gabled wide, the hot surge waiting of furious flame. {1b} Nor far was that day when father and son-in-law stood in feud for warfare and hatred that woke again. {1c}

With envy and anger an evil spirit

endured the dole in his dark abode,

that he heard each day the din of revel high in the hall: there harps rang out, clear song of the singer. He sang who knew {1d}

tales of the early time of man,

how the Almighty made the earth,

fairest fields enfolded by water,

set, triumphant, sun and moon

for a light to lighten the land-dwellers, and braided bright the breast of earth with limbs and leaves, made life for all of mortal beings that breathe and move.

So lived the clansmen in cheer and revel a winsome life, till one began

to fashion evils, that field of hell.

Grendel this monster grim was called, march-riever {1e} mighty, in moorland living, in fen and fastness; fief of the giants the hapless wight a while had kept

since the Creator his exile doomed.

On kin of Cain was the killing avenged by sovran God for slaughtered Abel.

Ill fared his feud, {1f} and far was he driven, for the slaughter’s sake, from sight of men.

Of Cain awoke all that woful breed,

Etins {1g} and elves and evil-spirits, as well as the giants that warred with God weary while: but their wage was paid them!

WENT he forth to find at fall of night that haughty house, and heed wherever the Ring-Danes, outrevelled, to rest had gone.

Found within it the atheling band

asleep after feasting and fearless of sorrow, of human hardship. Unhallowed wight,

grim and greedy, he grasped betimes,

wrathful, reckless, from resting-places, thirty of the thanes, and thence he rushed fain of his fell spoil, faring homeward, laden with slaughter, his lair to seek.

Then at the dawning, as day was breaking, the might of Grendel to men was known; then after wassail was wail uplifted, loud moan in the morn. The mighty chief, atheling excellent, unblithe sat,

labored in woe for the loss of his thanes, when once had been traced the trail of the fiend, spirit accurst: too cruel that sorrow, too long, too loathsome. Not late the respite; with night returning, anew began

ruthless murder; he recked no whit,

firm in his guilt, of the feud and crime.

They were easy to find who elsewhere sought in room remote their rest at night,

bed in the bowers, {2a} when that bale was shown, was seen in sooth, with surest token, —

the hall-thane’s {2b} hate. Such held themselves far and fast who the fiend outran!

Thus ruled unrighteous and raged his fill one against all; until empty stood

that lordly building, and long it bode so.

Twelve years’ tide the trouble he bore, sovran of Scyldings, sorrows in plenty, boundless cares. There came unhidden

tidings true to the tribes of men,

in sorrowful songs, how ceaselessly Grendel harassed Hrothgar, what hate he bore him, what murder and massacre, many a year, feud unfading, — refused consent

to deal with any of Daneland’s earls, make pact of peace, or compound for gold: still less did the wise men ween to get great fee for the feud from his fiendish hands.

But the evil one ambushed old and young death-shadow dark, and dogged them still, lured, or lurked in the livelong night of misty moorlands: men may say not

where the haunts of these Hell-Runes {2c} be.

Such heaping of horrors the hater of men, lonely roamer, wrought unceasing,

harassings heavy. O’er Heorot he lorded, gold-bright hall, in gloomy nights;

and ne’er could the prince {2d} approach his throne, — ‘twas judgment of God, — or have joy in his hall.

Sore was the sorrow to Scyldings’-friend, heart-rending misery. Many nobles

sat assembled, and searched out counsel how it were best for bold-hearted men against harassing terror to try their hand.

Whiles they vowed in their heathen fanes altar-offerings, asked with words {2e}

that the slayer-of-souls would succor give them for the pain of their people. Their practice this, their heathen hope; ‘twas Hell they thought of in mood of their mind. Almighty they knew not, Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord,

nor Heaven’s-Helmet heeded they ever, Wielder-of-Wonder. — Woe for that man who in harm and hatred hales his soul to fiery embraces; — nor favor nor change awaits he ever. But well for him

that after death-day may draw to his Lord, and friendship find in the Father’s arms!

THUS seethed unceasing the son of Healfdene with the woe of these days; not wisest men assuaged his sorrow; too sore the anguish, loathly and long, that lay on his folk, most baneful of burdens and bales of the night.

This heard in his home Hygelac’s thane, great among Geats, of Grendel’s doings.

He was the mightiest man of valor

in that same day of this our life,

stalwart and stately. A stout wave-walker he bade make ready. Yon battle-king, said he, far o’er the swan-road he fain would seek, the noble monarch who needed men!

The prince’s journey by prudent folk

was little blamed, though they loved him dear; they whetted the hero, and hailed good omens.

And now the bold one from bands of Geats comrades chose, the keenest of warriors e’er he could find; with fourteen men the sea-wood {3a} he sought, and, sailor proved, led them on to the land’s confines.

Time had now flown; {3b} afloat was the ship, boat under bluff. On board they climbed, warriors ready; waves were churning

sea with sand; the sailors bore

on the breast of the bark their bright array, their mail and weapons: the men pushed off, on its willing way, the well-braced craft.

Then moved o’er the waters by might of the wind that bark like a bird with breast of foam, till in season due, on the second day, the curved prow such course had run

that sailors now could see the land,

sea-cliffs shining, steep high hills, headlands broad. Their haven was found, their journey ended. Up then quickly

the Weders’ {3c} clansmen climbed ashore, anchored their sea-wood, with armor clashing and gear of battle: God they thanked or passing in peace o’er the paths of the sea.

Now saw from the cliff a Scylding clansman, a warden that watched the water-side, how they bore o’er