--The Queen Speaks--
Then Wealhtheow came out
under a golden crown
to where the good men sat,
nephew and uncle (at that time
there was peace between the two,
each still true to the other).
Unferth the spokesman
sat at Hrothgar's feet--
everyone considered him
brave in spirit though
he had not been kind to
his kin at the sword's play.
Spoke then the queen of the Danes:
"Receive this cup,
my dear lord,
giver of treasure.
Be in joy,
gold friend of men,
and speak to these Geats
with kind words
as men should do.
Be gracious to the Geats
and mindful of the gifts
you have from near and far.
A man said to me
that he would have
this warrior for a son.
Herot, the bright ring hall,
is purged. Give while you can
many rewards and leave
to your kin people and land
when you must go
to learn fate's decree.
I know my nephew Hrothulf
will keep his honor
if you, king of the Danes,
leave this world earlier that he.
I know Hruthulf will remember
what we two wish
and the kindness we showed
when he was a child."
Wealhtheow turned then
to the bench where her sons
were, Hrethric and Hrothmund,
children of warriors,
the youth together.
There the good ones sat,
Beowulf of the Geats
and the two brothers.
To him the cup was carried
and friendship offered in words.
Wound gold was kindly bestowed:
two arm ornaments, shirts
of mail, rings, and the largest
neck ring I have heard
tell of on the earth.
I have not heard
of any greater hoard-treasures
under the sky since
Hama carried away
to his bright fortress
the necklace of the Brosings.
He fled a treacherous quarrel
from the king of the East Goths
with the ornament and its setting,
choosing everlasting gain.
(This is the ring Hygelac
of the Geats, grandson of Swerting,
uncle of Beowulf, would have near
when he guarded the battle-spoil
under his banner. Fate would take him
when he courted trouble--
out of pride--in a feud
with the Frisians. He would wear
those noble stones over
the cup of the waves. He would
fall beneath his shield. His body,
his armor, and the ring also, would
pass into the power of the Franks.
Bad warriors rifled the corpses
after the battle slaughter.
The Geat people remained
in the field of corpses.)
Music filled the hall. Wealhtheow
spoke before the company:
"Enjoy this neck-ring,
beloved Beowulf, young hero,
and use this armor, these
treasures of the people.
Thrive well, be known
for valor, and give kind
instruction to these two boys.
I will remember your deeds.
You have earned forever
the praise of men,
from near and far,
even to the home of the winds
and the walls of the sea.
Be blessed while you live, prince!
I wish you well with the treasures.
Be gentle, joyful one, to my sons.
In this place is each warrior
true to the other, mild
in spirit, an d faithful
to his king. The warriors
are united, the men drink
deep, and they do my biding."
She went to her seat.
There was a choice feast,
men drank wine.
They did not know
that grim fate
would come to many nobles
after evening fell
and powerful Hrothgar
went to his house to rest.
Countless warriors guarded the hall,
as they had often done:
they cleared the floor of benches,
spread out beds and cushions.
One of the beer drinkers,
doomed and fated,
lay on the couch.
They set by their heads
their war gear and bright
wood shields. There on the bench
over each warrior could be seen
a towering helmet, ringed armor,
and a huge wooden spear.
Their custom was that they were
always ready for war, both
in the field and at home, each
ready anytime his king needed him.
Those were good people.
end of episode six
Part Two: Grendel's Mother
--The Attack of Grendel's Mother--
They sank into sleep.
One paid dearly for
his evening's rest,
as had happened often
since Grendel had come
to the gold hall
performing his evil
until the end came to him,
death after his sins.
It was soon learned
and widely known among men
that an avenger yet lived
after that war-trouble:
Grendel's mother, a monster
woman, she who lived in
the terrible water,
the cold streams,
thought of her misery.
After Cain killed his brother,
his father's son,
he went in guilt,
marked by murder,
fleeing the joys of men
to occupy the waste land.
There awoke many fated spirits,
Grendel being one,
that savage, hateful outcast.
At Herot he found a man
awake and ready for war.
The monster laid hold of him,
but Beowulf kept in mind his
strength, the precious gift
God had granted, and God gave
him help and support.
Thus Beowulf overcame that enemy,
subdued that hellish demon.
Then Grendel went,
the enemy of mankind,
deprived of joy,
seeking his death place.
So his mother, greedy
and gloomy as the gallows,
went on a sorrowful journey
to avenge her son's death.
So she came to Herot where
the Danes slept in the hall.
The fortunes of the noble ones
changed when Grendel's mother
got inside: the terror was less
by just so much as
is the strength of a woman,
the war-horror of a woman,
is less than the horror of
a sword forged with hammer
and stained in blood
shearing the strong edges
of the boar on a helmet.
Hard edges were drawn in the hall,
swords off the benches,
and many broad shields fast in hand,
though they forgot about helmets
and broad mail shirts when
the terror seized them.
After they had seen her,
she was in haste
to get out of there
and save her life.
She quickly seized
one of the warriors
then headed back to the fens.
The warrior she killed,
in his sleep, was Hrothgar's
most trusted man, famous
between the two seas,
a glorious hero.
(Beowulf was not there,
for after the treasure-giving
the famous Geat had gone
to another house.)
She took her son's famous
blood-covered hand.
An outcry came from Herot,
care had been renewed
and returned to the dwelling
place--that was not a good
bargain, that both sides paid
with the lives of friends.
The wise old king,
the gray warrior,
was in a savage mood
when he heard his
chief warrior was dead.
Beowulf was quickly
fetched to the chamber.
As day broke the noble champion
together with his warriors
went to the wise ones, the hall's
wood floors resounding.
The wise ones all wondered
if ever the Almighty would
remove this woeful spell.
Beowulf asked with words
if the night had been
according to his desire
and all things agreeable.
Hrothgar, protector of the Danes, spoke:
"Don't ask about happiness!
Sorrow is renewed
among the Danish people.
Aeschere is dead, Yrmenlaf's
elder brother, my confidant,
the bearer of my advice, my
shoulder companion when troops
clash and boar helmets smashed.
As a noble prince should be,
such Aeschere was!
Now he has been slain
in Herot by the hands
of a restless, murderous spirit.
I do not know where
his carcass has gone
to be gladly feasted on.
She has avenged the feud
for your violent killing
with hard hand clasps
of Grendel yesternight
for diminishing and destroying
my people for so long.
Grendel fell in battle,
forfeited his life, and
now another has come,
a mighty man-eater
to avenge her kin,
as is seen by many
a warrior who mourns for me,
treasure giver, weeping in
their minds for my heavy
sorrow, a hand lying lifeless
who gave good things to you.
I have heard tell
among my people
and councilors that
they had seen two mighty
wanderers in the waste land
moors keeping guard,
alien spirits. One was,
as far as they could see,
the likeness of a woman.
The other miserable thing
in the stature of a man,
though he was larger
than any other man,
as they trod the paths of exiles.
In the days of old
earth dwellers called him Grendel.
We have no knowledge of a father,
of any forebears among evil spirits.
They occupied the secret land,
the wolf's retreat--
windy bluffs, perilous fens,
where a waterfall
darkens under bluffs
and goes down under the ground.
It is not far from here,
by measure of miles,
that the mere stands.
Over it hangs a frost-covered
grove, woods rooted deep-
shadowing the water.
There each night
a portent may be seen:
fire on the water.
No wise one among
the sons of men
knows the bottom.
Though the heath-stalker,
the strong-horned hart,
harassed by hounds, seeks
the forest in his flight,
he will give his life
rather than protect his head
by going there.
That is not a good place!
There water surges up,
black, to the clouds,
and the wind stirs up
hateful weather so that
the sky turns gloomy and weeps. . .
Again it has happened that
the remedy lies with you alone.
The land, the dangerous place
where you might find
this criminal is unexplored.
Seek it if you dare. . .
For that fight I will pay
as I did before with
wound gold and ancient
treasures. . .if you survive."
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke:
"Do not sorrow, wise king!
It is better for a man
to avenge a friend
than mourn much. Each of us
must await the end of this
life. He who wishes will
work for glory before death.
That is best for the warrior
after he is gone.
Arise, guardian of the kingdom,
let us go quickly
to see Grendel's kin.
I promise you this:
she will not escape to shelter--
not into the earth's bosom,
not into the mountain's wood,
not into the sea's bottom,
go where she will!
For this day, have
patience in each woe."
The veteran leapt up then,
thanking God, the Mighty One,
that the man had so spoken.
A horse with plaited mane
was saddled for Hrothgar:
the wise king rode in splendor,
a band of men marching on foot.
Tracks were clearly visible
going over the ground
along the forest paths
where she had gone forth
over the murky moors
carrying the good warrior,
the best of men, lifeless,
a man who had helped
Hrothgar guard his home.
The noble Hrothgar passed
over narrows, lonely paths,
steep, stony slopes
on that unknown way
among steep bluffs
and the homes of water monsters.
He and the wise men
went before the rest
to scout the place,
and suddenly, he saw
a joyless woods leaning over
turbid and bloody water.
For all the Danes
it was grievous, and
the warriors suffered
when they on the sea
cliff saw Aeschere's head.
The water boiled with blood
and hot gore as the men watched.
Sometimes a horn sang out,
an eager war song, but
the troop all waited, watching
along the water the kin
of snakes, strange sea dragons,
swimming in the deep or
lying on the steep slopes--
water monsters, serpents, and
wild beasts, such as the ones
that appear on a dangerous
sea journey in the morning time.
When those creatures heard
the war horn's note
they hurried away
bitter and angry.
A man from the Geat
tribe with his bow
deprived of life, of
wave battle, one
of the monsters. An
arrow, war hard, stuck
in its heart, and it
swam more weakly
as death took it.
Quickly it was attacked
in the waves with barbed
spears and swords and
dragged by force to the
bluff, a wondrous sea roamer.
Warriors examined
the terrible stranger.
Beowulf arrayed himself
in armor, not at all
worrying about his life,
putting on his mail shirt,
large and decorated,
woven by hand so that
it could protect his chest
as he tried the water,
so that hostile grips,
the fury's malicious grasps,
might not scathe his life.
A shiny helmet protected the head
that would go to the watery depths.
It was adorned with treasures,
encircled with splendid chains--
in the old days weapon-smiths
formed it wondrously, setting
on it boar figures so that
no sword could bite it in battle.
And it was not the weakest of helps
Unferth, Hrothgar's spokesman,
loaned: the hilted sword called
Hrunting, an ancient treasure
with edges of iron and adorned
with poison strips. That sword,
hardened in blood, had never failed
a man who grasped it in hand
and dared a terrible journey,
battles in a hostile place.
This would not be the first time
it had gone to do brave work.
Unferth, great of strength,
did not remember what he had
said, drunk on wine, but loaned
his weapon to a better sword
warrior: he himself did not
dare venture his life
under the terrible waves
to perform a deed of valor.
There he lost his fame,
his renown for valor.
This was not so for that other man,
he who prepared himself for war.
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke:
"Remember, Hrothgar, kin of Healfdene,
gold friend of men, wise king,
now that I am ready to start,
what we have spoken of--
if I, in your service,
lose my life, that you
will be in position of my father.
Be a protector of my warriors,
my comrades, if war takes me.
Also, beloved Hrothgar,
send the treasure you gave me
to Hygelac, king of the Geats,
that he may perceive from the gold,
beholding the treasure,
that I found a virtuous ring giver
who I enjoyed while I could.
And give Unferth my old heirloom,
my splendid wavy sword
widely known among men
to have a hard edge.
I will do my glory work
with Hrunting--or
death will take me. . ."
With these words
the chief of the Geats,
waiting for no reply,
hastened with bravery.
The surging water took
the warrior, and it was
a good part of a day
before he found the bottom.
She who had fiercely guarded,
grim and greedy, that water
for a hundred half-years
quickly saw that some man
from above was exploring
the monsters' home. Then
the enemy seized the warrior
in her horrid clutches, yet
he was not injured--the ringed
armor protected him, and she
could not break his mail shirt
with her hostile claws.
The sea wolf bore
the armored warrior
down to her dwelling
at the bottom. He could not,
despite his bravery, command
his weapons--many a sea beast
harassed him with battle tusks,
trying to cut his armor.
Then the chief found
that he was with someone
in a hostile hall.
The flood's rush
could not harm him there
because of the hall's roof.
He saw a firelight shine
in a brilliant flame.
Then the warrior saw
that monster of the deep,
the mighty mere-woman.
He swung his battle sword
quickly--he did not hold
back--and the ringed blade
sang a greedy war song
on her head. But the guest
found that the flashing
sword would not bite,
could not harm her life--
the edge failed him at need.
(It had endured many
combats, often slashed helmets
and fated war garments. . .
This was the first time
that precious treasure
failed in its glory.)
But Beowulf was resolute,
by no means slow in valor,
still thinking of daring deeds.
The angry warrior threw
the carved sword covered
in ornaments, stiff and edged
in iron, to the floor
and trusted in his powerful
hand grip. (So must a man do
when he wishes for enduring
fame at war: he cannot
The lord of the Geats
did not grieve at the battle
but seized Grendel's mother
by the shoulder.
Now he was enraged
and flung his deadly foe
to the ground.
She paid him back quickly
with angry claws and
clutched him against her.
At that moment
the strongest of warriors
felt sick at heart:
he fell. She sat
on her hall guest
and drew a dagger,
wide and brown-edged--
she would avenge her son,
her only offspring.
On his shoulder lay
the woven mail shirt.
It protected his life,
withstood the entrance
of point and edge.
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow,
champion of the Geats,
would have perished then
under the wide ground
had not his armor,
his hard war net, helped
him (and Holy God, who
brought about war victory).
The wise ruler of the skies
decided justice easily when
Beowulf stood up again:
there among the weapons
he saw a victory-blessed sword,
an old sword made by giants
with strong edges, the glory
of warriors. It was
the choicest of weapons,
good and majestical,
the work of giants, but
larger than any other man
could carry to battle sport.
He who fought for the Danes,
fierce and sword grim,
despairing of life,
seized the chain-wound hilt,
drew the ringed sword,
and angrily struck--
It grasped her neck hard
and her bone rings broke.
The blade entered
the fated body.
She fell to the ground.
The sword was bloody,
and the warrior rejoiced
in his work.
Suddenly light glittered,
a light brightened within,
as bright and clear as
the candle of the sky.
He looked around the building,
walked around the walls.
He raised the weapon
hard by its hilt--
Beowulf was angry and resolute.
The edge was not useless
to the warrior--he wished
to requite Grendel for
the many attacks he
had made on the Danes,
much more often
than on one occasion,
when he had slain
Hrothgar's guests in their sleep.
Fifteen Danish men
he devoured while they slept,
and carried as many away,
hideous booty. The fierce
champion paid him his reward:
Beowulf saw Grendel in rest,
worn out with fighting,
lifeless from the hard wounds
he had gotten in battle
at Herot. The corpse
split when it suffered
that blow after death--
the hard sword stroke.
Beowulf cut off the head.
--Meanwhile, Up Above--
The wise men with Hrothgar
saw the surging water mingled
with blood. The old gray-hairs
spoke together, saying
they did not expect the famous
prince to be victorious.
To many it seemed the sea wolf
had destroyed him.
Then came noon of the day
and the valiant Danes left
the bluff. The king went
home. His guests sat down
sick at heart
and stared at he mere.
They wished, but did not hope,
that they would see
their dear lord again.
Back in the Cave
The sword, because of the blood,
began to fade--a battle icicle.
That was some wonder:
it all melted,
just like ice
when the Father--
who has power
over times and seasons--
loosens the bands
and unwinds the wave ropes.
(That is the True Maker.)
The leader of the Geats
took no more treasures
from the dwelling,
though he saw many,
except for the head
and the hilt decorated
with treasure. The blade
had melted. . .the
ornamented sword burned up--
so hot was the blood,
so poisonous the alien
spirit who died there.
Soon he was swimming;
his enemy had fallen in fight.
He swam up through the water--
the surging waters were purged,
all the broad expanse,
when the alien spirit
gave up her life days
on this loaned world.
Beowulf Comes Up
Came then to the land
the chief of the sailors,
boldly swimming. He rejoiced
in the sea-booty,
the mighty burden of things
he had with him.
His men rushed toward him,
thanking God they saw him
safe. The helmet and armor
were quickly loosed from
the strong man. The lake
grew calm, the water under
the clouds, stained with blood.
They went from there
on the forest paths
glad in mind.
The brave men measured
the well-known road
bearing the head
from the lake cliff
with difficulty--
it took four men
to bear the spear shaft
with Grendel's head
to the gold hall.
The fourteen brave
war-like Geats marched
straight to the hall
with the lord of men
proud among them.
He crossed the meadow,
then came inside,
the prince of warriors,
the man of daring deeds,
honored with glory,
a hero in battle,
to greet Hrothgar.
They carried Grendel's head
by its hair onto the floor
where the men were drinking--
a terrible sight before
the warriors and the women
with them, a wondrous sight.
The men looked at it.
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke:
"Behold, son of Healfdene,
Lord of the Danes--we have brought
you with pleasure this sea booty,
as token of glory,
which you see here.
I hardly survived
the battle under the water,
engaged in that deed
with difficulty. The battle
would have ended quickly
if God had not protected me.
Nor could I accomplish anything
with Hrunting, that strong
weapon, but the ruler of men
granted me to see
a beautiful old mighty sword
hanging on the wall.
He often guides a man
devoid of friends.
I drew that weapon,
cut in that conflict
the house guardians
when I saw the chance.
That ornamented sword burned
up as the blood sprang.
I carried the hilt away
from the enemies.
The deeds of crime,
the slaughter of the Danes,
has been avenged
as it was right to do.
I promise you
that you and your warriors
may sleep in Herot
free from care
and every warrior
of your tribe,
old men and young--
you need not,
Prince of the Danes,
fear for them,
death of your warriors
from that side
as you did before."
Then was the golden hilt,
the ancient work of giants,
given to the hand
of the aged warrior,
the gray war leader.
The possession of it,
the wondrous work of smiths,
passed, after the deaths
of demons, to the king of the Danes.
When the grim-hearted being,
God's adversary, guilty of murder,
left this world,
and his mother also,
the hilt passed
into the power of the best
of the world's kings
between the seas
who dealt out treasure
in the Northland.
Hrothgar examined the hilt,
the old heirloom,
on which was written
in ancient runes
the story of the flood
which with rushing sea
slew the race of giants
with terrible suffering.
That was a race foreign
to the Eternal Lord.
The Almighty gave them
a final reward through
the water's surging.
Also on the sword guard
bright with gold
was rightly written--
in rune letters,
set and said--
for whom the sword
had been wrought,
this choicest of iron
with twisted hilt
and snake ornaments.
Hrothgar Expounds On How To Be A Good Warrior
Then the wise one,
son of Healfdene, spoke
(all were silent):
"Lo, this he may say
who does truth and right
among the people,
remembers things far distant,
an old guardian:
This is the best-born man!
My friend Beowulf,
your renown is established
beyond the wide ways,
yours over all the nations.
Hold it steady,
might with mind's wisdom.
I shall carry out
my friendship as
we two spoke before.
You shall prove
a long-lasting relief
to your people,
a help to fighters.
Heremod was not so
to the offspring of Ecgwela,
the honorable Danes.
He waxed not to their help
but to their slaughter,
for the destruction
of the Danish people.
Enraged, he cut down
his table companions,
his bosom friends,
until he went about alone,
away from the joy of life
among men, a notorious
prince, although Almighty God
had raised his strength,
advanced it over all men.
His spirit, his heart,
grew blood thirsty.
He gave no rings
to Danes who pursued glory.
Joyless he went on,
struggling on as a long-lasting
affliction. Learn from this
and understand manly virtues.
I, old and wise in winters,
tell you this
for your sake.
It is wonderful to say
how mighty God through
His wisdom and large heart
distributes land and rank
to the race of men.
He controls all.
Sometimes out of love
He gives a man wisdom,
great among his kin,
gives him a home,
the joy of the earth,
gives him control
of a fortress of men,
a wide kingdom in the world,
so that the man
in his un-wisdom
does not think about the end.
He lives in plenty;
neither disease nor age
live with him;
his mind is not darkened
with evil worries,
nor does enmity
bring about war.
All the world
turns to his will--
he does not know worse--
but then arrogance grows;
the guardian of his soul
sleeps. That sleep is
too heavy, bound with affliction,
and the killer very near
who shoots his bow
with evil intent.
Then he is hit
in the heart,
beneath his armor,
with a bitter arrow--
he cannot guard himself
against the perverse commands
of his accursed spirit.
Then what he has long held
seems too little; angry-minded,
he covets, never proudly giving
gold rings, and he forgets
and neglects the future
state because God the Ruler
of Glory has given him
a great deal of honors.
In the end it comes to pass
that the body, on loan,
declines, falls fated. Another,
who recklessly dispenses
treasure, one who does not
hold it in terror, seizes
the warrior's ancient possessions.
Beloved Beowulf, best of warriors,
protect yourself against that
wickedness and choose better,
eternal councils. Do not heed
arrogance, famous champion!
Now is your strength famous. . .
for awhile. Soon after
it shall happen that disease,
or the sword's edge, shall
cut off your strength.
Or maybe the fire's embrace,
or the flood's welling,
or the grip of the sword,
or the arrow's flight,
or dire age. . . Bright eyes
do diminish and go dark.
Straightway death will overpower you, warrior.
Thus I have ruled under the clouds
the prosperous Danes a hundred half-years,
and by war have protected them
against many nations
throughout this middle earth
with spears and edges,
so that under heaven's expanse
I could think of no enemies.
Lo, a reverse came to me--
in my home--sadness after joy
when the old adversary Grendel
invaded. I have continually
carried worry over that visitation.
Therefore, thanks to the Creator,
the Eternal Lord, that I have
remained in life to gaze with
my eyes at the blood-stained head
after that old contention!
Go now to your seat,
feast in joy, you who are
distinguished in battle.
We shall share
a great many treasures
before morning comes."
The Geat was glad in mind,
quickly seeking his seat
as the wise one bade.
Then again was the feast
prepared, as before, for
the courageous ones sitting
in the hall.
The helmet of night turned black,
dark over the warriors.
The men all arose.
The gray-haired one
would seek his bed,
the old Dane.
It pleased the Geat well,
the strong shield warrior,
that he should have rest.
A hall warrior guided
the man who was far from home,
tending to every courtesy, every
need of the warrior. Such
in those days could
a sea-fairer expect.
The great-hearted one then rested.
The hall reached high,
vaulted and adorned in gold.
The guest rested within
until the black raven
told heaven's joy
with a happy heart.
Then came the bright light,
hastening over the shadow.
The warriors hurried,
eager to go back
to their people.
The bold of spirit sought his ship.
--Beowulf Becomes King / The Dragon Attacks--
Later it happened,
after Hygelac fell
in the storm of war,
and his son, Heardred,
fell too under his shield,
killed by the sword
fighting the Swedes,
that the broad kingdom
came into Beowulf's hand.
He held it well, ruled
fifty winters; he was
an old land guardian.
Then in the dark nights
a dragon began to rule,
he who guarded a hoard,
a steep stone burial mound
high on the heath.
A path led underneath
unknown to men.
But a certain man
stumbled on it,
into the heathen hoard,
and took a cup,
a large, decorated treasure.
The dragon did not hide
his opinion of that deed;
the neighboring people
quickly learned his anger.
But the thief did not
of his own accord
plunder the treasure:
he was driven by need,
a fugitive from justice.
Fleeing hostile blows
and in need of a roof,
he stumbled in,
a man distressed.
He was amazed at what
he saw--a precious
hoard, cups and weapons.
There were many such
ancient treasures in
that earth house, for
in the old days a man
had hidden the riches
of a noble, dying tribe there.
He was the last; death
had taken the rest.
That lone survivor, knowing
death was near, mourning
his lost friends, kept
those treasures all alone.
The cave stood near the sea,
protected by secret spells.
He bore the treasures inside,
a huge and worthy hoard
of worked gold. He said,
"Hold you now, Earth, what
warriors could not. Lo,
from you first it was taken.
War-Death has seized my people;
none of them can bear a sword,
hold an ornamented cup. They
have gone elsewhere. Now shall
the hard helmet and its golden
ornaments fall. Their owners
sleep in death, those who
once wore the war-mask. So
it is with the coat of mail,
which stood amid crashing shields,
held off the bite of iron:
it lies, falling to pieces,
like the warrior who owned it.
Never again will that armor
travel far on a war chief
by the side of heroes.
There is no joy in the song,
no pleasure in the harp.
No hawk sweeps over the hall.
No horse gallops in the courtyard.
Death has sent off many men."
Thus, sad in mind,
he moaned his sorrow;
the lonely survivor moved
day and night in sadness
until the flood of death
surged into his heart.
The Dragon Attacks
An old night-ravager,
that one which, burning,
seeks a burial mound,
the smooth dragon of malice
who flies by night
encompassed in fire,
found the hoard
standing open.
Earth dwellers fear him much.
He must seek a hoard
in the earth, where,
old in winters, he
will guard heathen
gold, though he gains
nothing from it.
So that foe of the people,
exceedingly powerful,
guarded the cave
three hundred winters
until a man
angered his heart,
took a cup
to his master
asking for peace.
Peace was granted:
the lord examined
the cup, the ancient
work of men.
So was the hoard robbed,
ransacked of a treasure.
The dragon awoke,
and strife came: it
sniffed along the stones,
found an intruder's footprints.
The thief had stepped
with insidious craft
near the dragon's head.
(Thus may an undoomed man
survive danger
if the Almighty
holds him in favor.)
The hoard-keeper sought
eagerly along the ground,
looked for the man
who had robbed him
while he slept.
Hot and fierce he moved
about the cave. He
went completely around
the wasted place but
no man was there.
Eager for battle, he
turned and turned again
searching the cave,
but the golden cup was gone.
Anxiously he awaited
the fall of night;
enraged, the cave-keeper
would with fire avenge
the loss of his cup.
When the day was gone,
as the dragon wanted,
he no longer waited,
but went in flame,
prepared with fire.
The beginning was fearful
to people in the land,
as was the ending:
death for their king.
The fiend spouted fire,
burned bright houses--
the glow of fire stood out,
a horror to the people.
That terrible sky-flier
wished to leave
nothing alive.
Near and far was seen
the dragon's violence,
how that destroyer
hated and humbled the Geat
people. The people of the land
were enveloped in fire.
At dawn he darted
back into his cave.
He trusted in his war
and in his cavern.
But trust was to play him false.
Beowulf learned the terror
quickly, in truth:
the surging fires
burned his house,
the mead hall of the Geats.
That was sorrow
to the good man,
the greatest of sorrows:
the wise king feared
he'd enraged God,
broken a commandment.
His heart surged
with gloomy thoughts,
which was not
his usual way.
The flame-dragon had burned
the fortress of the people.
The war-king studied revenge.
--We Learn of Beowulf's Reign and he Prepares to Attack the Dragon--
That prince ordered
an iron shield:
he knew for a fact
that the best wood,
the very best linden,
couldn't help
against flame.
The good prince awaited
the last of his days,
the end of this world's life,
and the dragon with him,
no matter how long
he'd held the treasure.
Beowulf scorned a host,
a large army,
when he sought the dragon;
he didn't fear
the dragon's war;
he trusted his strength
and courage since he had
survived many battles,
the flashings of battle gleams,
since the time he'd cleared
Hrothgar's wine-hall
of Grendel's family,
that hateful race.
Nor was it a small battle
when the Geat king,
that lord of the folk,
Hygelac, attacked Fresland
and died there
of sword drinks,
beaten down by weapons.
Yet from that place Beowulf
came, down to the sea,
with thirty suits of battle
in his arms, and in his strength
was able to swim.
The Hetware had no cause
for joy among their soldiers--
few of those
who carried shields
left that battle
to seek their homes.
Beowulf swam the wide water,
wretched, solitary,
back to his people.
There Hygd, Hygelac's wife,
offered him treasure
and the kingdom,
rings and the throne,
because she did not
trust her son to keep them
from foreign armies.
But Beowulf would not
for any reason be
lord over his king's son,
so he protected the boy,
gave him good council
till Heardred became a man.
Banished men sought
Heardred over the sea,
sons of Othere,
king of the Swedes;
they had rebelled
against their lord,
the best of sea-kings.
That was Heardred's death-sentence,
the son of Hygelac:
for entertaining those men
he died of sword strokes.
Then Ongentheow's son
left for home, and Beowulf
held the gift seat,
ruled over the Geats.
He was a good king.
He avenged Heardred's death
in later days,
became to the wretched Eadgils
a friend, supported
that son of Ohthere
over the wide sea
with men and weapons.
On a cold expedition he
deprived king Onela of life.
Thus had that son of Ecgtheow
survived each battle, terrible
war, much courage-work,
until the day when
he fought the dragon.
Beowulf Visits the Dragon
Twelve enraged men
paid the dragon a visit.
The king had by then
learned how the feud arose,
this affliction of men:
to his possession had come,
through the hand of an informer,
the precious cup.
The thief, the cause of this
strife, made thirteen, a saddened
captive, abjectly showing the way.
He went against his will
to that earth-hall,
the one he'd found
near the surging sea,
by the tossing water.
The inside was full
of works of art.
The awful keeper,
alert fighter,
held those gold treasures,
old under the earth;
no man would buy them cheap.
The brave king,
gold-friend of the Geats,
sat down on the headland
and talked with his companions.
He was sad, restless,
and ready to die.
That fate was near
which the old man
would greet.
He would seek his reward,
life from body parted;
not for long
would the soul of the prince
stay wrapped in flesh.
Beowulf spoke:
"Often in youth
I survived
the storm of battle,
the time of war.
I remember all that.
I was seven winters old
when my father took me
to the king of the people.
Hrethal gave me treasure
and feasting, remembering kinship.
I wasn't more hateful
to him than any son
in his house--
than one of his children--
Herebeald, Haethcyn, or my Hygelac.
The eldest was,
by a kinsman's deed,
strewn on the bed of death--
Haethcyn struck his lord
and brother with the arrow
from a bow: missed the mark
and killed his kinsman
with a bloody arrow.
That was a feud that
couldn't be fought.
Weary it is to the heart:
That prince lost his life
. . .unavenged.
That felt just as it does
for an old man to await
the swinging of his son
on the gallows.
He sings a mournful song
when his son hangs
a feast to ravens
and, though old and wise,
he cannot help.
Every morning calls to mind
the journey of his son
to elsewhere--the father
cares not to wait
for the other heirs
when he has, through
an unavoidable death,
experienced an evil.
Sorrow is in the home,
the wine-hall abandoned,
bereft of joy.
The riders sleep,
warriors in the grave;
there is no harp song,
no joy in the court.
Not as there once was.
Comes then from the bedstead
a song of sorrow.
The house and fields
seem too large."
So Beowulf spoke
of his sorrow
for Herebeald.
He could not
for that murder
seek revenge,
though the doer
was not dear to him.
"When that sorrow befell Hrethal
he gave up the joys of men
and chose God's light.
He left to his offspring
a land and a people.
Then were accusations
across the water,
severe hostility
from the war-like sons
of Ongentheow. They would
have nothing of friendship,
but around Hreosnaburg
planned a terrible slaughter.
My kinsmen avenged that,
the feud and crime,
as is well known,
though one paid with his life,
a hard bargain:
for Haethcyn the battle was fatal.
And I've heard tell
how another kinsman
attacked his slayer
with sword's edge;
When Ongentheow sought Eofor
he found his helmet split,
fell down, battle pale.
I repaid Hygelac
for the favors he'd shown,
lands and a house,
with my bright sword.
(He needn't look
for a worse man).
I went alone in the front,
and will so ever,
as long as this sword lasts
which has served me so well.
I was the killer of Daghrefin,
the Huga champion.
He brought no treasures
back from the battle
to the Frisian king
but died in the fight,
that banner guardian,
a prince in bravery.
Nor was my sword his death,
but my hand grasp
broke his bone-house,
tore out his surging heart.
Now shall the sword's edge,
hands and hard sword,
fight over this hoard."
Then Beowulf made his last boast:
"I ventured many battles
in my youth; now, old,
I will seek another,
try again for glorious
deeds, if that avenger
will come out."
He spoke to each
of his brave companions
for the last time:
"I would not use a sword
against this monster
if I might otherwise fight,
as I did with Grendel.
But how else fight fire?
a breath of poison?
Therefore I wear shield and mail.
I will not back
a step away
from that hoard-guardian.
We two shall end
as fate decrees.
I am brave in mind,
so I go against the war-flyer
in no need
of further boasting.
You men wait on the hill,
protect the war-gear
and see which will,
after the death rush,
come away unwounded.
This is not your duty,
nor in the power of man.
No one but myself
can fight this monster.
Your lord shall either
win the treasure
or lose his life."
The brave in battle arose then,
bore his shield and mail,
trusting his strength
under the stone cliffs.
(This is not the coward's way).
Great conclusion to the first
yep
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