Classic Poem

—Now thus happed it through shock of the battle, when many a day was sped,
After Hygelac fell, and Heardred met doom by the falchion's stroke
Smiting under his shield, that there sought him amidst his gallant folk
Warriors fierce in the mellay, the Scylfings fell in war,
And the life of Hereric's nephew with their hate they overbore.
Then beneath the hand of Beowulf passed the spacious kingdom's hold.
Well he wielded it fifty winters, and was waxen a monarch old,
An ancient lord of the kingdom, till, lo, in the mirk of night
One of the breed of dragons began to show his might
Who kept watch o'er a hoard of treasure, high up upon the heath,
A barrow of stone sheer-towering: and a pathway ran beneath
Unknown to men. Howbeit a wight within made way,
And eager hands of pillage on the heathen hoard 'gan lay,
And a beaker of gold most glorious he stole away, and kept
By thievish craft, while the warden of ill by the watch-fire slept—
But sore must the people rue it when the dragon's wrath was outpoured.
Now 'twas not of his will thaThe ventured for his woe on the monster's hoard
But for pressure of deadly peril he, the slave of some son of man,
Fled away from the strokes of hatred and into the cavern ran
Guilt-harried and despairing: and though deadly fear rose up
Before the stranger, he rallied, and beneath his eyes lay the cup,
And with it much glorious treasure that long years had lain in the cave,
An heirloom vast that aforetime some wight of lineage brave
Had hidden away in his forethought, of jewels a priceless hoard
—All the others by death were taken in times long past, but the lord
Of the people who lived the longest, though he mourned his friends, was fain
To have joy, were it but for a little, of that hoard of the olden reign.
And all ready there stood a barrow near the breakers on the strand
New-built by the ness, and made steadfast by the craft of a cunning hand.
And the warden of rings, though hardly, drew therein a mass of the hoard
Of the chieftains, the gold fair-plated, and briefly he uttered his word:
‘Earth, hold thou, since heroes might not, what earls ersTheld in sway!
Lo, doughty were they that aforetime gat it from thee: but death in the fray,
The deadly bane of the spirit, hath reft all of my clan away.
This life have they left, and have looked on the joy of halls more fair,
Not one of them all is left me to lift the sword, and bear
The chaséd cup before me, the mazer of glory bright.
Yea, gone are the goodly heroes, and the war-helm, gold-bedight,
Must fall away from its platings, for the polishers sleep for aye
Whose duty of old 'twas to burnish the masks that give help in the fray;
And likewise the mail of the mellay, that aforetime dared the thrust
Of the sword 'mid the shield-clash, is fallen, as its wearer fell, unto dust.
Not again may the ring-wrought byrny fare with chieftains over the earth
Guarding the flank of the hero: no harp now giveth mirth,
No sport the wood of joyance: no more the goodly glede
Throughout the hall goes winging, nor stamps the mettled steed
In the courtyard of the castle, for doom and deadly bale
Have sent many a race of mortals far out beyond the pale.’
Heart-stricken he mourned his sorrows, yea, forlorn of all, he wept
All the day and night in torment, till the billow of doom o'erswept
His heart, and he was not.
That old one who by twilight worketh annoy
Saw now that the hoard stood open wherein he had ta'en his joy,
The dragon who wars without armour, for in flame is he alway dight,
And ablaze he haunteth the barrows, and wingeth his way through the night
While sorely the people dread him. 'Neath the earth musThe make his hold
In the cavern where, hoary with winters, he guardeth the heathen gold
Yet findeth therein no profit. So the people's foe abhorred
Three hundred winters had guarded in the earth a mighty hoard,
Till a man woke wrath within him, and bore away to his chief
The chaséd cup, and besought him for a compact of relief.
Thus store of rings were rifled when the hoard was open burst
And the boon he had craved was granted to the wretched wight, and first
Looked his master then on the treasure wrought by men who of old had life.
But no sooner the worm was wakened than fresh cause there was of strife;
For he snuffed along the stonework, and was ware in his heart of dread
Of the footprint left by his foeman, for all too near the head
Of the dragon his feet had trodden, in their secret craft and speed
—E'en so if God's grace be with him, and his doom be not yet decreed,
May a man 'scape ruin lightly, and exile's ways unkind.—
Along the ground sought the guardian of the treasure, eager to find
The man who had wrought him evil as he slept. Oftwhiles around
All the barrow withouThe hurried, in fury fierce, yet found
No wight in that waste; yet alway on warfare his heart was bent
And the deadly work of the foray. Somewhile back to the mound he went
And made search for the costly mazer, and sure and swift was he ware
That some wight had handselled the treasure, and had ta'en of the jewels fair;
And hardly the guard of the gold-hoard held back till the evening came:
Yea, wrath mastered the barrow's warden, and that fell one would quit with flame
The theft of the precious mazer.

But now 'twas the close of day,
And the worm was blithe, and no longer at guard on the wall would he stay,
But flaming he fared on foray, yea, with fire was he furnished well,
And in awful fashion his outset on the folk of that country fell,
Likewise for their bounteous monarch was the end thereof full dire.
Eftsoons 'gan the loathly demon to belch out gleeds of fire
And burn up the smiling homesteads. The fire-flame rose on high
Garring all the folk to tremble, for the scather that winged the sky
Willed nowise to leave aught living. Through the country far and wide
Were the warfare wrought by the dragon and the work of his wrath espied,
How anear and afar the foeman that hath strife and doom in ward
Harried in hate the Geats; yet ever unto his hoard,
The hidden hall of his glory, he sped back ere the daylight came.
All the folk that dwell in that country had he circled about with flame,
With brand and with bale-fire: and alway in the barrow his faith was fast,
In his wall and his valiance: howbeiThe was balked of that boast at the last.

—Now swift and sure unto Beowulf was the tiding of terror brought
That beneath the waves of the bale-fire were melted away unto naught
His house most fair, and the high-seat thaThe had of the Geats for his own;
And thereby in the heart of the hero was such grief as he never had known,
For that wise one weened he had trespassed 'gainst the rule of the ancient right,
And had angered the Lord Eternal, who wieldeth the world with might.
And his heart, as ne'er yet was its custom, seethed inly with gloom and pain:
For the burning dragon had wasted the land ringed round by the main,
The hold and keep of the nation, yea, the region's compass, with fire
But against him the lord of the Weders, their war-king, plotted in ire,
And he that of earls is sovereign, and his fighters' help in the fray,
Bade fashion a wondrous war-shield wrought of iron everyway,
For he wist that no wood of the forest, no linden targe, might save
Him from scathe of the fire. Howbeit 'twas doomed that the athling brave
Must suffer the end of his loan-days, his mortal life's record,
And with him must perish the dragon, though long had iTheld the hoard.
But the monarch of bounty deigned not to follow the flier-afar
With a mighty levy of clansmen, for no terror had he of that war,
Nor made aught of the dragon's valiance and the fury grim of its might,
For on many a strait had he ventured, and had triumphed in many a fight
That champion fierce in the mellay, since erewhile he purged the hall
Of Hrothgar and gat him glory, garring Grendel's kin to fall
In the grapple, a breed most loathly.

Nor of combats where hand meets hand
Was that the least in which Hygelac, the lord of the Geatish land,
Hrethel's bairn and his people's boon-friend, was undone by the thirsty blade,
Smitten down by the sword in Frisia: from which foray, with none to aid
Save his own hands' strength, came Beowulf. He clave his way o'er the sea
And thirty byrnies of battle in the gripe of his arms had he
When he took to the waves. Yet nowise could the Hetwars boast of that field
Where they fought on foot, when against him they went forth with the linden shield,
For few from their strife with that warrior came ever to hearth and home.
Even so swam the bairn of Ecgtheow forlorn across the foam
To his people's land, and had offer from Hygd of the realm and its gold,
Its treasure and throne of glory, for she deemed thaTher son could not hold,
That seat against foreign foemen, now that Hygelac was dead and gone;
Yet no whit could the wretched sufferers prevail on that princely one
Over Heardred's head to lord it, or take up the realm in his sway,
BuThe held him amid the people in honour and grace alway,
And taught him with friendly counsel till he came unto man's degree
And bore rule o'er the Weder-Geats. But there sought him over the sea
Outlaws, the sons of Ohthere. They had flouted the royal hest
Of him who was helm of the Scylfings, and a chieftain of might, and the best
Of the sailor-kings who in Sweden dealt bounty; whereby was shent
Hygelac's son, and by sword-blows his body was riven and rent
Because of the shelter he gave them. But Ongentheow's bairn again
Fared homeward when Heardred was fallen, and Beowulf he left to reign
O'er the Geats, in high dominion. A goodly king was he!
Now in after days was he careful to exact the uttermost fee
For the fall of his prince, and to Eadgils was he kind when his need was most,
And he aided the son of Ohthere o'er the stretch of the sea with a host,
With warriors and arms, so that vengeance, yea, the life of the king, he won
For the cold drear days of his exile.

Even so had Ecgtheow's son
Come safe through each one of his battles, and many a fierce affray,
And wrought many a deed of valiance, till there came in its course the day
When he needs must fight the serpent. With eleven forth wenThe
In fury, the lord of the Geats, that the dragon he might see.
He had learnt whence the feud had risen that brought bale on many a wight
When he took at the hand of the finder the mazer of glory bright.
Thirteenth trod he in that meiny who had started all the woe,
A captive laden with sorrow, and his duty it was to show
Humbly the road to that meadow; yea, against his will he hied
To where he wist of the cavern 'neath the loam at the edge of the tide
Where the waves make war for ever. Full many a gem did it hold,
And many a wire-wrought circlet: and over that treasure of gold
Watched ever a monstrous warden, a fighter ready alway
Waxen old in the earth of the cavern. In sooth 'twas no light essay
For any of mortals to enter! But the monarch hardy in fight
Who giveth largesse to the Geats, sat him down on the ness's height
And spake greeting unto his comrades: but within him his heart was drear
And quivered, boding its quittance: for now was deadly near
Wyrd, and must needs encounter that greybeard for his dole,
And rifle the hoard of his spirit, and sunder him body from soul,
Nor long in its fleshly holding could the life of the athling dwell
Then Beowulf the bairn of Ecgtheow his tiding thus 'gan tell:
‘In my youth full many a mellay and foray grim I tholed,
And of all at this hour I mind me. I was seven winters old
When the lord of largesse, e'en Hrethel, the monarch of bounty free,
From my father took me and kept me, and gave me feasting and fee,
And was mindful aye of our kinship: through life no less of love
He gave me, that page in his castle, than one of his sons might prove,
E'en Herebeald or Haethcyn, or Hygelac, my dear and own.
—For the eldest of these was a death-bed by the deed of his kinsman strown
Against nature, when Haethcyn pierced him, his lord and comrade, through
With a shaft of his bow horn-pointed: he missed the mark, and slew
Flesh of his flesh with the arrow of blood: nor could fee atone
For that fight: though in sin it was wroken, and for it the heart must moan,
Yet the athling must die unavengéd. For a greybeard 'tis hard to dree
That his offspring, the youth whom he loveth, should ride on the gallows-tree,
While himself musThe croon out his burden of sorrow. Aloft doth swing
The youngling, a joy to the ravens, and no succour at all may he bring,
For with age is he stricken and helpless. Each morrow, early and late,
He hath mind of the lad's wayfaring, and no spirit hath he to wait
For another heir in his castle, since the first through doom's duress
Hath known deadly deeds. So he gazeth in grief and weariness
On the room where his son had wassailed: 'tis bare, and the stormwind sweeps
Through the rest-place lorn of joyance, what time the gallant sleeps,
The man of war, in the blackness. The harp is heard no more
In the court, nor ringeth the revel, as oft it rang of yore.
BuThe goeth straight to his chamber; and crooneth his dirge of woe,
Grieving alone for his lost one: and all too spacious show
His acres now and his homestead. E'en so the Weders' chief
Bare aye in his heart for Herebeald a tossing sea of grief;
YeThe might not wreak his vengeance on the wight that garred him fall
Nor harry with hate that warrior, though he loved him not at all.
And so heavy was waxen the sorrow that woe on his head had brought
That man's joyance he surrendered, and God's light of glory sought,
And he left his land and his castles to his sons when he passed from life,
After the wont of the wealthy. But now waxed sin and strife
Between the Swedes and the Geats, yea, over the water wide
Hate and murder were their portion, in the hour when Hrethel died,
And the sons of Ongentheow showed their mettle, fierce in war,
And no peace would they hold o'er the sea-wave, but they harried evermore
The coast of Hreosnabeorh with deadly ravin and guile.
But swiftly my folk wrought vengeance for the feud and the outrage vile,
As is widely kenned. Yet one bought it full dear with his life for fee,
Yea, Haethcyn the lord of the Geats in that foray his doom must dree.
But I heard that at dawn the slayer by brother for brother was slain
When Ongentheow countered Eofor: his morion parted in twain,
And wan lay the hoary Scylfing when the sword had laid him low,
For the hand of much wrath was mindful, and it flinched not from the blow.
But the treasures of price thaThe gave me in warfare I repaid
—E'en so unto me was it granted—by the might of my gleaming blade.
And land and a home and a steading for my use and joy he found,
And he needed ne'er 'mid the Spear-Danes and the Gifths, nor on Swedish ground
To seek out a weaker champion and buy him with lordly pay,
For aye in the front of his battle have I striven alone, and alway
Through my life shall I wage his quarrel, as long as this sword shall last
That ever and aye hath served me, now and all the years long past,
Since Daeghrefn, the Hugas' champion, was slain by the stroke of my might:
—Nowise to the king of the Frisians could he bear back the booty bright,
The jewel that graceth the bosom, but striving his banner to save
He sank in the thick of the mellay, and died like an athling brave
Yet no sword-edge was it that slew him, for a deadly gripe he tholed
That stopped his heart's resurgence, and shattered his body's hold.
But now shall the edge of the falchion, my hand and ruthless blade,
Make war for the hoard of the treasure.’

Such discourse Beowulf made,
And words of boasting he uttered, the last thaThe spake in life:
‘In the years of my youth full often I ventured on deeds of strife,
And e'en now shall I compass glory, and strive revenge to wreak,
Saving my folk, though a greybeard, if the baleful foe will seek
Me in fight from his den.’ Then greeting, the last of his life, he gave
To each one of his dear-loved comrades, the helméd heroes brave,
‘No sword, nay, nor any weapon, against the worm would I bear
If unarméd against that foeman I might keep the oath I sware,
As I did of yore against Grendel. But now in this fight I fear
Lest the flame's breath overwhelm me, and its onset scorch and sear,
So I arm me with shield and byrny: nor a foot's length will I flee
From the beast that wardeth the barrow, though of monstrous mighThe be.
But we twain shall fare at the rampart as Wyrd giveth to each his part,
Wyrd that is ruler of mortals. Full eager am I aTheart,
So my war-vow against the terror that flieth I scorn to say.
But abide on the mound, ye fighters that are girt in war's array,
And kept from scathe by your byrnies, till ye see which one of us twain
Beareth his wounds the better, when we part from battle again.
Not for you is the venture ordered, nay, no man hath the right
Save myself alone, to match him with the monster, or gain the bright
Renown of a hero. By valour shall I win the gold of the hoard,
Or war, the soul's fell destroyer, shall take off your king and lord.’

—By his shield the grim fighter raised him, keen of mettle 'neath his crest,
And in under the rocky nesses in his armour of proof he pressed
With naught for stay but his valour and his manhood's single strength.
—In sooth 'twas no coward's venture!—buThe spied by the wall at length
—That warrior doughty in combat who had fought through many a fray
'Mid the clashing ranks of the footmen, and the mellay's shock and sway—
How a stone-arch stood, and a torrent from out the barrow leapt;
Of raging fire were the surges that along that water swept,
Nor e'er on the gulf mighThe venture, nor the track of the treasure take
Lest the touch of the fire should scathe him, and the scorching breath of the drake.
But the prince of the Geats in fury from forth his breast let fly
A word, in might outstorming. Loud-dinning came the cry
That ringeth clear in battle, in under the hoary stone.
And now was hatred awakened, for the treasure's guard had known
The voice of a man. Little respite for parley of peace was left,
For at once the breath of the monster came with carnage hot from the cleft,
And all the earth resounded. But now the Geats' lord
Flung his shield-edge up 'neath the barrow against the guest abhorred,
And the heart of the coiling serpent for strife grew quick and bold.
But e'en now had the doughty war-lord drawn his glaive, thaTheirloom old
Of the ruthless edge, and each being of the other now had fear
Though his heart was set upon evil. Then the prince whom his friends hold dear
Stood up 'neath his shield high-lifted, a hero undismayed,
And albeit swiftly the dragon coiled him into a heap, he stayed
His ground, engirt in his war-mail. But the beast that is clad in flame
Flung coiling onward and onward, as toward his fate he came,
And all too short was the respite that to soul and body gave
The goodly guard of his buckler for the will of the war-lord brave,
Where now on the first of his life-days he must not look to know
Victory 'mid the battle, since Wyrd would not grant it so.
—Eftsoons the lord of the Geats upswung his arm, and drave
At the gleaming foe with Ing's heirloom: howbeit the brown blade gave
On the bone, and bit all too feebly for the need of its warrior lord,
So that dire were the straits that vexed him: yet beneath the stroke of the sword
Fierce waxed the barrow's warden, and flung out venom bright
Till afar leapt the flame of that combat, nor could ever the lord of might
That giveth largesse to his Geats boast of any glory won
In the fight, for the sword had failed him, as nowise it should have done
When its edge was stripped for the slaughter. A goodly glaive 'twas found!
Now 'twas not by a path of joyance that Ecgtheow's son renowned
Must fare from this earth's expanses: sore against the will of his heart
MusThe house in a distant dwelling, e'en as all men must depart
From this life whose days are but lent us.

Now but little space was sped
Ere they hurtled again at each other, those champions grim and dread,
And he that watched o'er the treasure took heart, and anew his breast
Heaved up with the breath of his snorting: and now was sore opprest
He that erst had rule of his people, for with fire was he compassed about,
And his boon-friends closed not around him in the throng of their valour stout,
For all that their sires were athlings, but swift to the wood 'gan start
And had heed of their lives. Howbeit within one warrior's heart
Remorse welled up, since for nothing will noble nature slight
The call that cometh from kinship. Wiglaf that warrior hight:
Son was he unto Weohstan, and a fighter of goodly grace
And kinsman of Alfhere, and a prince of the Scylfing race.
He saw his chief sore-smitten 'neath the visored helm by the heat,
And he thought of the grants he had made him of yore, and the wealthy seat
The Waegmundings held, and the folk-rights that his sire had held in charge,
And not long could bear to linger, but his hand laid hold on the targe,
The wood of the yellow linden, and the ancient sword he drew
That erst was the heirloom of Eanmund, when its fame all nations knew.
—Eanmund the son of Ohthere, whom Weohstan in press of the strife,
As he wandered a friendless exile, by the sword-edge reft of life,
And bare away to his kinsfolk the morion, of tawny glow,
And the ring-wrought mail, and the falchion forged by giants long ago.
All this was the gift of Onela, e'en his kinsman's gear in the fight,
Armour of proof, all ready for the fray: yet spoke not the wight
Of the feud, though that other had slaughtered his brother's bairn in the fray.
But Weohstan kept aye the byrny and the sword, and the bright array
Long years, till his son waxed able to compass a deed of might,
E'en so as his father before him had compassed: then gear of the fight,
Huge store 'mid the Geats, he gave him: then from life he passed away
Forth-faring, with years well laden. Never yet before that day
Had it chanced that the youthful warrior in the mellay had fought by his lord.
Yet his heart was not melted within him, nor yet did his kinsman's sword
Weaken at all in the war-play, as the dragon swiftly knew
When together they met in combat.

Now fitting words and true
Spake Wiglaf unto his comrades, though his heart was heavy with ill:
‘Right well of the time I mind me when of mead we quaffed our fill,
And made promise unto our master in the hall where men birl at the ale
That for all the rings he had given us of his bounty, we would not fail
To quit him well for our war-gear, for helm and for sword-blade stout,
If such peril as this should vex him: wherefore he chose us out
From all his host for this emprise. He gave me this goodly gear
And garred us be mindful of glory, for he counted us keen with the spear,
And fierce when we donned the morion. Yet the shepherd who guardeth his own,
Our master, had thought to compass this deed of might alone
Since more daring deeds than all mortals' are his, and more glory bright.
But now is the day upon us when our master needeth the might
Of stalwart warriors: so haste we to succour our lord, while the heat
Grows deadly and grim about him. For myself 'twere a doom more sweet,
God wot, that the fire-blast should raven my flesh, so I be by my king,
—Nay, nowise I ween for our honour shall it happen that home we bring
Our targes, if erst we slay not the foe, and save the life
Of him that ruleth the Weders. Yea, I warrant that if in the strife
He suffer torment and perish, of all the Geats alone,
'Twere no fitting meed for the valour that from olden years he hath shown,
So I vow that my glaive and byrny, my helm and my sark of war,
Shall serve the twain of us.’—Swiftly through the slaughter-reek he tore,
With helm on head for the succour of his master, and tidings few
He spake: ‘Beowulf belovéd, put forth all thy might: be true
To the vow thou mad'st as a youngling that in all the days of thy life
Thou wouldst ne'er let fail thy glory. O thou that art keen in strife,
Great prince of the soul unyielding, now all thy might display
To save thy life, and to aid thee will I bring what strength I may.’

—Scarce had he spoken when onward in fury the dragon came
Once more, a deadly monster, aglow with surging flame,
To fall on the foes it hated: and e'en unto its boss the shield
Was burnt by the fiery billows, nor could yet the byrny yield
The valorous stripling succour: yet the youthful fighter went
Swiftly under the targe of his kinsman, since his own with the flame was shent.
But the king took thought of his glory, and in might and valour dread
He smote with his blade of battle, and it clashed on the monster's head,
Driven home by hate. But Nägling, e'en Beowulf's sword, in the fray
Failed now, and was utterly riven, thaTheirloom steely grey,
For ne'er yet in his days was he granted that edge of steel in the fight
Could aid him, so runneth the story, for all too stark in its might
Was his hand, and each blade of the falchions with its stroke was overwrought,
And though wondrous keen was the weapon he bore frayward, iThelped him naught.
—But a third while now the dragon that scatheth the folk with fire
Was minded for battle, and onward in flame and fury dire
It rushed at the chief from its vantage, and gat hold with its tusks of dread
On his throat, and with streaming life-blood his body all ran red.

—But now as the story telleth, swift leapt the earl upright
In the folk-king's need, and made showing of the valour and craft and might
ThaThe had from his sires before him. Of the head he took no heed,
For all charred was the hand of the hero as he helped his kin at his need,
So lower down at the body of the deadly foe he drave,
That wight in glorious armour, and deep in the falchion clave
Agleam with its golden chasing. Straight the fire-waves slacker grew,
And again the king waxed conscious, and the knife of death he drew,
Bitter and keen for the battle, that beside his mail he wore,
And the Helm of the Weder-Geats clean through the dragon shore.
—Thus felled they their foe and their valiance drave forth his spirit's breath,
Ay, each one of those lordly kinsmen had part in the dragon's death.
So a wight in his thegnly duty should bear him at hour of need.
But that was the uttermost victory of the king, his life's last deed,
And his work in the world was ended; for the wound that ersThe had ta'en
From the drake of the earthy cavern, 'gan boil and swell with pain,
And swiftly he knew that within him, 'neath his breast in hateful wise,
The venom of doom was seething. Sage of thought, the athling hies
To a ledge by the wall, and there sitteth. Giant's work doth he behold,
And sees how the earthy dwelling, beyond all deeming old,
Hath arches of stone within it, on pillars firmly shored.
—Eftsoons the thegn unparalleled 'gan wash his glorious lord,
His friend and chief, with water, as he bled, faint from the fight,
And his helm he undoth. Then Beowulf outspake in his heart's despite
—A mortal wound had he suffered, and he knew that the tide was past
Of his earthly bliss, and the number of his days was told at the last,
And death was full near upon him:—‘Fain were I to leave unto my heir
This gear of the fray, were it fated that a son of my flesh should bear
My heritage. Fifty winters have I held this folk in sway,
And no monarch of all that around me have dwelling durst e'er essay
Me with swords, man's boon-friends in battle, nor with fear afflict me at all,
But ever mine own I cherished, and abode what fate might fall
In my steading, nor guile I plotted, nor forswore me, spurning the right,
And now, though to death I be wounded, of all this I take delight.
Nowise can the Ruler of mortals, when life from my limbs hath flown,
Tax me with slaughter of kinsmen.—But swift 'neath the hoary stone
Do thou hasten, beloved Wiglaf, and gaze on the treasure-store,
Now that the dragon lieth death-drowsed, and wounded sore,
Bereft of his treasure's glory. Swift, swift, I bid thee fare,
For I yearn to gaze on the riches immemorial, the gold-hoard rare,
And to glut my eyes on the glitter of the jewels. More softly so
After the sight of that splendour from life can I bear to go
And from rule that long years I have wielded.’

Now 'twas told me that Weohstan's son
Gave ear to the hest of his master, as he lay with wounds undone,
And strode on in his ring-wrought byrny, his woven sark of the fray,
Till he came 'neath the roof of the barrow. As he passed by the seat on his way,
That thegn in his might triumphant, he saw jewels celestial
And gold on the ground aglitter, and marvels along the wall,
Yea, all the den of the dragon, that old one who flieth by night,
And many a beaker standing, now lorn of its lustre bright,
Mazers of olden revel, from their platings fallen away,
And morions ancient and rusty, and, entwined in rich array,
Armlet on coiling armlet.—Full easily still will gold
In cavern buried, or treasure, make a mortal overbold
Whosoever wills to conceal it!—And high o'er the hoard was he ware
Of a banner hanging all-golden, a hand-wrought wonder rare.
Featly its web was woven, and forth from it gleamed a light
That showed him the depths of the cavern, and the hoard of its jewels bright.
But no sight was seen of the dragon, for 'twas ta'en by the edge of the sword.
—So men say that a wight lone-handed in the barrow plundered the hoard
That the giants of old had fashioned, and his bosom he swift 'gan lade
With burden of plate and beakers, as his heart's sweet fancy bade,
And the banner, brightest of beacons, he took: but erst the blow
Of the steely blade of his master had laid the warden low
That long had watched o'er the jewels, and about the hoard had spread
Terror and fire at midnight with the waves of his fury dread
Till he died by a doom of violence. But the envoy sped apace,
For the touch of the treasure spurred him once again his track to trace,
And with doubt was his greaTheart harried, if haply at all he would find
Life in the lord of the Weders, where but now he had left him behind
On the field, with might fast-waning. But when back with the gems he hied
His mighty king and chieftain blood-boltered he espied
And at life's last gasp. With water once again he plashed him o'er
Till the word from the ward of his bosom like a spear-point crashed and tore;
Yea, Beowulf the aged in anguish outspake as he looked on the gold:
‘Now thank I the Monarch of glory that hath heaven and earth in His hold,
The Saviour and Prince eternal for the gems whereon I gaze,
That I win such wealth for my people, ere the end be come of my days.
But since now I have purchased the treasure with my olden life for fee,
Care thou for the needs of my clansmen, for not long may my tarrying be.
And bid ye the mighty in battle, when quenched is the bale-fire's light,
To fashion a glorious barrow on the sea-girt ness's height
High-towering on Hrone's headland, that my folk my memory keep,
And seamen that drive their galleys o'er the darkling ways of the deep
May call it the Barrow of Beowulf, when they voyage from a far-off main.’
Then the valorous chief unloosened from his neck the golden chain,
And gave it in fee to his henchman, that fighter young and bold,
And the byrny and torque and the morion that was glorious with gold,
And joy of them all he wished him:—‘Thou alone art left to-day
Of all of the race Waegmunding. The rest hath Wyrd raught away,
Yea, all the tale of my clansmen, wights of breed and valour rare,
To the doom ordained by the Master, and after them now must I fare.’
—Even so his latest utterance from that old one's bosom came
Ere he passed to the grip of the bale-fire, the ravening surge of the flame,
And his soul sped forth from his bosom to the glory of the blest.
Hardly now it went with the youngling when he saw him he loved the best
On the sward in case most grievous, at the last gasp of his life,
Yet likewise the earth-drake lay there, his slayer, the fell in strife,
Overborne by bale and lifeless. No longer above the hoard
Of the rings might the writhing serpent have sway, for the edge of the sword
Forged keen for the fray by hammers, had ta'en him, that now on the ground
Lay the flier-afar, death-wounded by the side of his treasure-mound.
No longer in sport o'er the welkin did he wing at the dead of night
Proud of his treasure of jewels, and flaunting his shape to men's sight,
But to earth had he fallen, down-stricken by the might of the chieftain's hand.
—Now no man, so I heard, of all warriors who have prowess throughout the land,
Though in every emprise of danger he was daring, could yet prevail
To rush on the breath malignant outpoured by the beast of bale,
Nor rifle the hall of the treasure with his hands, sobeiThe met
That warder at watch o'er the barrow. But Beowulf had paid his debt
E'en with life, for his share in the jewels; yea, each fighter had reached the end
Of the fleeting days of his living.

But ere long 'gan those laggards wend,
The cowards whose troth was broken, ten together from out the wood,
Who had dared not vie in the spear-play at the need of their master good;
Now in shame were they come with their targes, their gear of the fight, to where lay
The veteran, and Wiglaf they gazed on: but weary he sat alway,
Who fought erst on foot in the mellay, by the shoulder of his lord,
And with water he strove to wake him: but in vain was the water poured.
Not on earth, for all his longing, the life of his lord could he stay,
Nor turn back the will of the Master, since ever, e'en unto this day,
The doom of the Lord hath governance of all doings of mortal kind.
—Now grim was the youngling's answer, nor long did it lag behind
To them that had lost their manhood: yea, Wiglaf, Weohstan's son,
As he looked on the wights he loved not, outspake, all woe-begone:
‘Lo, he who to truth inclineth this word may surely say,
That the master who gave you jewels for largesse, and the gear of the fray
Wherein now ye stand, when he granted at the ale-bench to revellers in hall
As lord to his liegemen, byrny and morion, the bravest of all
That far or near he might win him—ay, that all amiss and in vain
He lavished that gear of the mellay. When in battle's clutch he was ta'en
Nowise might the king of the people make vaunt of his friends in fight.
Howbeit this thing God gave him, who is Wielder of victory and might,
That vengeance himself lone-handed he got for his doom with the glaive.
Now in me was of strength but little for his succour in fight: yet I gave
Help, above my power, to my kinsman: and when I had fleshed my sword
On the scather, his might was minished, and the flame less fiercely poured
From out his head. Yet of warriors too few to their chieftain thronged
In the hour of his deadly peril: so the steadings that erst belonged
To your kin, and the joy of your substance, shall be utterly reft from your hold;
No more shall men fee you with falchions nor offer you treasure of gold,
Yea, each wight of your clan in the folkland shall forfeit for aye his right
When the lords of the uttermost marches shall hear of the shame of your flight.
Ay, and death to each earl were nobler than a life of loathing and scorn!’

Then he bade that news of the combat be swift to the keep upborne
Up over the cliff where the athlings sat all the morn in dread,
Men of the shield, sore doubting if he whom they loved were dead,
Or should come again. Yet but little did the wight who rode up the fell
Keep back of the news, but 'gan soothly before all men his tiding tell:
‘Lo, the giver of joy to the Weders, the Geats' lord and head,
Now by the deed of the dragon lieth fast on the slaughter-bed;
Yea, the couch of carnage holds him: and beside him lieth low
The deadly foe of his being, undone by the dagger's blow,
For no wound could he wreak by the sword-edge on the monster in any wise,
And Wiglaf, the bairn of Weohstan, sits acrouch where Beowulf lies,
The living earl o'er the dead one, at watch over friend and foe,
Guarding their heads, though his spirit is weary and worn with woe.
And our folk may be sure that full swiftly their days of peace shall end
When afar 'mid the Franks and the Frisians the fall of the king is kenned,
For strife grew sharp with the Hugas in the hour when Hygelac sought
The Frisian coast with his galleys, when in fray the Hetwars wroguht
Him woe, and so starkly plied him in the press with their overmight
That in death must the hero bow him, and he fell 'mid his troop in the fight.

The T ALE OF THE W AR BETWEEN G EATS AND S WEDES

No booty from out that battle the chieftain gave his clan!
No grace hath the Merowing shown us since erst the broil began,
Nor yet shall the Swedes, I warrant, give us troth or peace from strife,
For afar was it kenned 'mid the peoples that Ongentheow reft of life
Haethcyn, the bairn of Hrethel, by the Ravenswood, since before
The Geats in their pride had harried the Scylfings fell in war
But eftsoons the sire of Ohthere—full ancient and grim was he—
Dealt a blow that avenged that outrage, and smote down the king of the sea.
And the bride of his youth that greybeard won back, though her gold was ta'en—
Onela's mother and Ohthere's: and he followed his foes amain
Till, labouring and lorn of their leader, into Ravenswood they fared,
And there with his hosThe harried the remnant the swords had spared
Fordone with the wounds they had taken: and throughout the livelong night
He threatened woe to those wretches, and sware that at morning's light
He would smite them down with the sword-edge, but some on the gallows tree
Would he hang for joy of the ravens. Howbeit the agony
Of those desperate men was lightened, when at earliest gleam of morn
They heard sound the trump of Hygelac, and the tumult of his horn,
And the goodly king came hot-foot on their track with his men of might.
But the grapple of Swedes and Geats, and the bloody trail of that flight,
—How a death-feud their folk betwixt them had wakened—was kenned from afar,
And heavy aTheart with his clansmen the grey earl good at war,
Ongentheow, hied to his fortress, holding upward ever his way:
—He had proven the might of Hygelac, and that proud one's craft in the fray,
And he willed not at all to face him, nay, he weened not his hoard to save,
Nor his bride and bairns, from the seamen who had crossed o'er the ocean wave;
So once more 'neath his earth-wall the veteran went down. But the Swedes anon
Took flight, and left Hygelac their banner, and onward they hied and on
Through the Plain of Peace, while the Hrethlings o'er the path to the rampart poured.
And Ongentheow the hoary was brought there to bay with the sword,
And needs must the folk-king bow him before Eofor's single might.
—Angerly Wulf Wonreding garred his falchion upon him light,
And blood from his brow leapt spurting beneath the blow of the blade.
Yet the hoary Scylfing blenched not, but that slaughter-stroke repaid
Swiftly with feller guerdon, facing kingly unto the foe,
Nor might ever the son of Wonred deal any counterblow
To the veteran for all his deftness, for erst clave he the helm on his head
And he swayed, and to earth he bowed him, and the blood from his wounds ran red
But not yet was his doom upon him, for to life he rallied again,
Though sore by the stroke was he smitten.—Then Hygelac's hardy thegn
Let crash across the shield-wall his brand of the mighty blade,
Giants' sword through helm of the giants, when his brother low was laid,
And the monarch who guardeth his people sank down with a mortal wound.
But Eofor's brother by many was raised forthwith, and they bound
His wound when such vantage was given them that they held the garth of the slain.
Then the one chief spoiled the other, yea, Eofor the helm hath ta'en
From Ongentheow, and the corslet, and the hilted blade of might,
And to Hygelac straighThe beareth that greybeard's armour bright,
And the king hath taken the trappings and hath given him promise fair
Of fee in the face of his clansmen, and he dealt with him e'en as he sware.
For the king who was son unto Hrethel, when home he fared once more,
Paid Eofor and Wulf with treasure untold for their work in that war,
Yea, to each an hundred thousand in land and rings interchained
He gave, nor might any who liveth, since-their glory in fight was gained,
Make scorn of the gifts thaThe made them: and to Eofor in pledge of grace
Hath he given his only daughter, for joy of his dwelling-place.
—Even such are the feud and the hatred, and the people's deadly spite.
Wherefore I trow that the Swede-folk, the Scylfings fell in fight,
Shall seek us out in vengeance for their fallen, what time they know
That now dead our leader lieth, who scatheless from every foe
Guarded the realm and its jewels, and helped the folk at their need,
And wrought evermore as a hero. But hie we now with speed
To gaze on the prince of our people, and bear along to the pyre
Him who gave us bounty. Not only shall fragments burn on the fire
With the brave, for of gold and jewels there lieth an untold hoard
Dear-won, and of rings that are ransomed now at last by the life of our lord.
All these shall the bale-fire bury, and the ravening flame enfold,
No jewel shall gentle carry for its memories of old,
No lovely girl on her bosom shall wear a chain of worth,
But ever shall each, woe-weary, o'erwander alien earth
Lorn of their gold, since the war-lord hath laid by his joy for aye
And glee and the revel's glory. So when cometh the dawn of day
In hands of death uplifted shall many a spear lie cold,
No more shall the clash of harp-strings awake the warriors bold,
But anon the swart-hued raven shall be lusty over the dead,
And shall clamour, telling the eagle how fair at the feasThe sped
What time with the wolf for helper he made his spoil of the slain.
—Thus the valiant warrior uttered his tiding harsh with pain,
Of deeds and words naught lying.

Then that meiny all arose,
And under the Ness of Eagles, heavy 'neath their weight of woes,
They went to look on the wonder, and bitterly they wept
When they marked how he who aforetime had given them guerdon, kept
His couch of sleep eternal, lifeless upon the shore.
Ay, surely the lord of the Weders, the monarch fell in war,
Had done with the days of his living, and a wondrous death had dreed.
But erst saw they over against him a being of monstrous breed,
For loathly there on the meadow lay the dragon. The guest of shame
And terror, the fiery serpent, was utterly shent with flame:
Fifty feet was his length as he lay there. Revel oftwhile had he kept
In the lift at night, and thereafter down into his cavern swept,
But now by death was he fettered, and the last of his pleasure and pride
Had he ta'en in his earthy caverns. But there lay there by his side
Beakers and stoups amany, and platters of price thereto,
And many a sword-blade splendid that the rust had eaten through,
Even there where a thousand winters they had lain in earth's embrace,
And thaTheritage vast beyond measure, the gold of an ancient race,
Was kept by a curse, that no man might rifle the treasure-hall
Unless God Himself, who is Guardian of the being of each and all,
The very King of all victories, should suffer to open the hoard
Him of men whom He chose as the meetest to fulfil His will and word.
And now in sooth was it proven that no profit came to the wight
Who within, 'neath the wall of the barrow, kept the riches against the right,
For when one the watcher had slaughtered, as all the tale of his dead,
The feud was avenged right swiftly.—'Tis a thing of wonder and dread
When a chieftain of might triumphant hath met his mortal doom,
And the man no longer in mead-hall with his kith and kin hath room.
Even so it happed unto Beowulf when he sought out peril and woe
And the warden at watch o'er the barrow. Yet nowise himself did he know
In what fashion should come his parting from the world. The chieftains of might
Who hid it, had bound it with curses until doomsday, garring the wight
Who trod that meadow, to suffer in his sinning, in regions fell
Confined, and with plagues sore-punished, and fettered in bonds of hell.
Yet not greedy for gold was the hero, but gladlier aye would he seek
The glory of God.

Then Wiglaf, e'en Weohstan's son, 'gan speak:—
‘Right often at one man's bidding must many an earl know grief
E'en as now to ourselves it hath fortuned: for ne'er would our dear-loved chief,
Who was shepherd and guard to his people, give ear to our warning cry
ThaThe should not cope with the guardian of the gold, but should let him lie
Where long he had lain in his caverns, till the world should wear to its end,
Fulfilling the High Lord's bidding. Now in sooth, the hoard have we kenned
And gotten, yet all too grimly: yea, too stern by far was the fate
That impelled our lord to that emprise. I won within the gate
And marked all the wealth of that dwelling when entrance once I found,
Yet not lightly was ingress given me to those ramparts 'neath the ground:
And with speed in my arms I gathered of the gold that lay in the hoard
A burden vast and mighty, and I bare it ouThere to my lord—
For he lived yet, and quick was his wisdom, and many a word in his pain
Spake that greybeard, and sent you greeting, and bade that ye fashion amain
A barrow of might for the memory of the deeds of your king and friend
To tower o'er the place of his burning, since through earth from end to end
Was he proven bravest in battle, while he joyed in the wealth of his keep.
But haste we again to gaze on and explore the treasure-heap,
The wonder beneath the rampart. I will guide you along the ways,
And on massy gold and on rings enow, near-gathered, shall ye gaze,
And against our outward coming be ready and fashioned the bier,
And then bear we our king and master, the man whom we love so dear,
To the place where long while he shall tarry beneath God's guard of might.’

Then the son of Weohstan, the hero, bade order many a wight
Of them that are lords of dwellings and over the folk have sway
To bear wood from afar for the burning to the spot where the hero lay:—
‘Lo, the lurid fire shall gather and its flaming breath devour
Him who erst was the stay of warriors, and oft 'mid the iron shower
Stood fast, when the storm of arrows, sped forth from the strings with might,
Tore across the wall of the targes, and the shaft was sure in its flight,
And eager and featly feathered, followed home the barbéd head.’
Then the wise-souled bairn of Weohstan called seven of the troop, to tread
The road to that roof of evil, and himself was eighth in the band.
Best were they of the monarch's meiny: and one of them in his hand
Bare a torch, and led their going. Now never a lot was thrown
To win that hoard, when a portion they saw of it lying lone
In the hall, unwatched by its warden: and little did any mourn
That in haste from out of the cavern those treasures dear were borne,
And they thrust the dragon likewise out over the ness's height,
And suffered the sea to raven that shepherd of jewels bright
And of wire-wound gold on a waggon was laden countless store,
And to Hrone's headland was carried their prince, thaThero hoar.
Then the Geats built him a bale-fire, based fast upon the ground;
With shields and shining byrnies and helms was it hung around
On the wise that himself had willed it; and the mourning heroes laid
In the midst the dear-loved chieftain who in glory their realm had swayed.
Then the warriors waked the bale-fire; and huge o'er the mound it soared,
And swart rose the reek of the bavins o'er the blaze that crashed and roared
With the weepers cries for chorus: but the blast of the wind was stilled
Till the fierce-souled flame on the body had its wreckage all fulfilled.
Then they mourned the death of their master with heavy hearts of care,
And for Beowulf the agéd woman, the wife of the coiféd hair,
Crooned ouTher woe. Unceasing rang her cry that she dreaded sore
Days of dole, and many a slaughter, and the terror grim of war
And duress and shame.—Now the smoke-reek was swallowed up in the sky,
And the Weders built on the headland a barrow broad and high,
Far-seen by farers o'er ocean. Ten days they toiled, till their hands
Had fashioned the hero's beacon. Then the leaving of the brands
They girt with a wall as goodly as their sagest might devise,
And brooches they laid in the barrow and circlets, yea, all the prize
That the valiant wights had gotten from the depths of the treasure-hold;
And to earth they trusted the fortune of earls, to its marle their gold,
Where all useless it lieth to mortals, as it lay in the years of yore.
And straightway the sons of the athlings, twelve fighters fell in war,
Rode circling about the barrow and cried aloud their grief.
Keen was the song of sorrow that they made for their king and chief,
And the tale of all his earlship, and his doings of fame in fight
They told in their spirit's fulness. Thus should each one praise aright
The lord who blessed him with bounty, and should love him well aTheart,
When from out the keep of his body his soul forlorn must part.
—Even so the folk of the Geats bemoaned their master's fall,
And who erst at the hearth were his comrades made oath that of monarchs all
Who rule on the earth, was he mildest unto men, and most fair in his ways,
And kindliest to all his clansmen, and most fain of their love and praise.