Beowulf - - (read me like a book TXT) 📗

No living man,

or lief or loath, from your labor dire could you dissuade, from swimming the main.

Ocean-tides with your arms ye covered, with strenuous hands the sea-streets measured, swam o’er the waters. Winter’s storm

rolled the rough waves. In realm of sea a sennight strove ye. In swimming he topped thee, had more of main! Him at morning-tide billows bore to the Battling Reamas,

whence he hied to his home so dear

beloved of his liegemen, to land of Brondings, fastness fair, where his folk he ruled, town and treasure. In triumph o’er thee Beanstan’s bairn {8b} his boast achieved.

So ween I for thee a worse adventure

— though in buffet of battle thou brave hast been, in struggle grim, — if Grendel’s approach thou darst await through the watch of night!”

 

Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: —

“What a deal hast uttered, dear my Unferth, drunken with beer, of Breca now,

told of his triumph! Truth I claim it, that I had more of might in the sea

than any man else, more ocean-endurance.

We twain had talked, in time of youth, and made our boast, — we were merely boys, striplings still, — to stake our lives far at sea: and so we performed it.

Naked swords, as we swam along,

we held in hand, with hope to guard us against the whales. Not a whit from me could he float afar o’er the flood of waves, haste o’er the billows; nor him I abandoned.

Together we twain on the tides abode

five nights full till the flood divided us, churning waves and chillest weather,

darkling night, and the northern wind ruthless rushed on us: rough was the surge.

Now the wrath of the sea-fish rose apace; yet me ‘gainst the monsters my mailed coat, hard and hand-linked, help afforded, —

battle-sark braided my breast to ward, garnished with gold. There grasped me firm and haled me to bottom the hated foe, with grimmest gripe. ‘Twas granted me, though, to pierce the monster with point of sword, with blade of battle: huge beast of the sea was whelmed by the hurly through hand of mine.

IX

ME thus often the evil monsters

thronging threatened. With thrust of my sword, the darling, I dealt them due return!

Nowise had they bliss from their booty then to devour their victim, vengeful creatures, seated to banquet at bottom of sea;

but at break of day, by my brand sore hurt, on the edge of ocean up they lay,

put to sleep by the sword. And since, by them on the fathomless sea-ways sailor-folk are never molested. — Light from east, came bright God’s beacon; the billows sank, so that I saw the sea-cliffs high,

windy walls. For Wyrd oft saveth

earl undoomed if he doughty be!

And so it came that I killed with my sword nine of the nicors. Of night-fought battles ne’er heard I a harder ‘neath heaven’s dome, nor adrift on the deep a more desolate man!

Yet I came unharmed from that hostile clutch, though spent with swimming. The sea upbore me, flood of the tide, on Finnish land,

the welling waters. No wise of thee

have I heard men tell such terror of falchions, bitter battle. Breca ne’er yet,

not one of you pair, in the play of war such daring deed has done at all

with bloody brand, — I boast not of it! —

though thou wast the bane {9a} of thy brethren dear, thy closest kin, whence curse of hell awaits thee, well as thy wit may serve!

For I say in sooth, thou son of Ecglaf, never had Grendel these grim deeds wrought, monster dire, on thy master dear,

in Heorot such havoc, if heart of thine were as battle-bold as thy boast is loud!

But he has found no feud will happen; from sword-clash dread of your Danish clan he vaunts him safe, from the Victor-Scyldings.

He forces pledges, favors none

of the land of Danes, but lustily murders, fights and feasts, nor feud he dreads from Spear-Dane men. But speedily now shall I prove him the prowess and pride of the Geats, shall bid him battle. Blithe to mead

go he that listeth, when light of dawn this morrow morning o’er men of earth, ether-robed sun from the south shall beam!”

Joyous then was the Jewel-giver,

hoar-haired, war-brave; help awaited

the Bright-Danes’ prince, from Beowulf hearing, folk’s good shepherd, such firm resolve.

Then was laughter of liegemen loud resounding with winsome words. Came Wealhtheow forth, queen of Hrothgar, heedful of courtesy, gold-decked, greeting the guests in hall; and the high-born lady handed the cup first to the East-Danes’ heir and warden, bade him be blithe at the beer-carouse, the land’s beloved one. Lustily took he banquet and beaker, battle-famed king.

 

Through the hall then went the Helmings’ Lady, to younger and older everywhere

carried the cup, till come the moment when the ring-graced queen, the royal-hearted, to Beowulf bore the beaker of mead.

She greeted the Geats’ lord, God she thanked, in wisdom’s words, that her will was granted, that at last on a hero her hope could lean for comfort in terrors. The cup he took, hardy-in-war, from Wealhtheow’s hand, and answer uttered the eager-for-combat.

Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: —

“This was my thought, when my thanes and I bent to the ocean and entered our boat, that I would work the will of your people fully, or fighting fall in death,

in fiend’s gripe fast. I am firm to do an earl’s brave deed, or end the days of this life of mine in the mead-hall here.”

Well these words to the woman seemed, Beowulf’s battle-boast. — Bright with gold the stately dame by her spouse sat down.

Again, as erst, began in hall

warriors’ wassail and words of power, the proud-band’s revel, till presently the son of Healfdene hastened to seek rest for the night; he knew there waited fight for the fiend in that festal hall, when the sheen of the sun they saw no more, and dusk of night sank darkling nigh, and shadowy shapes came striding on,

wan under welkin. The warriors rose.

Man to man, he made harangue,

Hrothgar to Beowulf, bade him hail,

let him wield the wine hall: a word he added: —

“Never to any man erst I trusted,

since I could heave up hand and shield, this noble Dane-Hall, till now to thee.

Have now and hold this house unpeered; remember thy glory; thy might declare; watch for the foe! No wish shall fail thee if thou bidest the battle with bold-won life.”

X

THEN Hrothgar went with his hero-train, defence-of-Scyldings, forth from hall; fain would the war-lord Wealhtheow seek, couch of his queen. The King-of-Glory against this Grendel a guard had set, so heroes heard, a hall-defender,

who warded the monarch and watched for the monster.

In truth, the Geats’ prince gladly trusted his mettle, his might, the mercy of God!

Cast off then his corselet of iron,

helmet from head; to his henchman gave, —

choicest of weapons, — the well-chased sword, bidding him guard the gear of battle.

Spake then his Vaunt the valiant man, Beowulf Geat, ere the bed be sought: —

“Of force in fight no feebler I count me, in grim war-deeds, than Grendel deems him.

Not with the sword, then, to sleep of death his life will I give, though it lie in my power.

No skill is his to strike against me, my shield to hew though he hardy be,

bold in battle; we both, this night,

shall spurn the sword, if he seek me here, unweaponed, for war. Let wisest God,

sacred Lord, on which side soever

doom decree as he deemeth right.”

Reclined then the chieftain, and cheek-pillows held the head of the earl, while all about him seamen hardy on hall-beds sank.

None of them thought that thence their steps to the folk and fastness that fostered them, to the land they loved, would lead them back!

Full well they wist that on warriors many battle-death seized, in the banquet-hall, of Danish clan. But comfort and help, war-weal weaving, to Weder folk

the Master gave, that, by might of one, over their enemy all prevailed,

by single strength. In sooth ‘tis told that highest God o’er human kind

hath wielded ever! — Thro’ wan night striding, came the walker-in-shadow. Warriors slept whose hest was to guard the gabled hall, —

all save one. ‘Twas widely known

that against God’s will the ghostly ravager him {10a} could not hurl to haunts of darkness; wakeful, ready, with warrior’s wrath, bold he bided the battle’s issue.

XI

THEN from the moorland, by misty crags, with God’s wrath laden, Grendel came.

The monster was minded of mankind now sundry to seize in the stately house.

Under welkin he walked, till the wine-palace there, gold-hall of men, he gladly discerned, flashing with fretwork. Not first time, this, that he the home of Hrothgar sought, —

yet ne’er in his life-day, late or early, such hardy heroes, such hall-thanes, found!

To the house the warrior walked apace, parted from peace; {11a} the portal opended, though with forged bolts fast, when his fists had struck it,

and baleful he burst in his blatant rage, the house’s mouth. All hastily, then, o’er fair-paved floor the fiend trod on, ireful he strode; there streamed from his eyes fearful flashes, like flame to see.

 

He spied in hall the hero-band,

kin and clansmen clustered asleep,

hardy liegemen. Then laughed his heart; for the monster was minded, ere morn should dawn, savage, to sever the soul of each,

life from body, since lusty banquet

waited his will! But Wyrd forbade him to seize any more of men on earth

after that evening. Eagerly watched

Hygelac’s kinsman his cursed foe,

how he would fare in fell attack.

Not that the monster was minded to pause!

Straightway he seized a sleeping warrior for the first, and tore him fiercely asunder, the bone-frame bit, drank blood in streams, swallowed him piecemeal: swiftly thus the lifeless corse was clear devoured, e’en feet and hands. Then farther he hied; for the hardy hero with hand he grasped, felt for the foe with fiendish claw,

for the hero reclining, — who clutched it boldly, prompt to answer, propped on his arm.

Soon then saw that shepherd-of-evils

that never he met in this middle-world, in the ways of earth, another wight

with heavier hand-gripe; at heart he feared, sorrowed in soul, — none the sooner escaped!

Fain would he flee, his fastness seek, the den of devils: no doings now

such as oft he had done in days of old!

Then bethought him the hardy Hygelac-thane of his boast at evening: up he bounded, grasped firm his foe, whose fingers cracked.

The fiend made off, but the earl close followed.

The monster meant — if he might at all —

to fling himself free, and far away

fly to the fens, — knew his fingers’ power in the gripe of the grim one. Gruesome march to Heorot this monster of harm had made!

Din filled the room; the Danes were bereft, castle-dwellers and clansmen all,

earls, of their ale. Angry were both

those savage hall-guards: the house resounded.

Wonder it was the wine-hall firm

in the strain of their struggle stood, to earth the fair house fell not; too fast it was within and without by its iron bands

craftily clamped; though there crashed from sill many a mead-bench — men have told me —

gay with gold, where the grim foes wrestled.

So well had weened the wisest Scyldings that not ever at all might any man

that bone-decked, brave house break asunder, crush by craft, — unless clasp of fire in smoke engulfed it. — Again uprose din redoubled. Danes of the North

with fear and frenzy were filled, each one, who from the