The Tale of Beowulf, Sometime King of the Folk of the Weder Geats - Anonymous

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waging,

      And crime-guilts and feud for seasons no few,

      And strife without stinting. For the sake of no kindness

      Unto any of men of the main-host of Dane-folk

      Would he thrust off the life-bale, or by fee-gild allay it,

      Nor was there a wise man that needed to ween

      The bright boot to have at the hand of the slayer.

      The monster the fell one afflicted them sorely,

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      That death-shadow darksome the doughty and youthful

      Enfettered, ensnared; night by night was he faring

      The moorlands the misty. But never know men

      Of spell-workers of Hell to and fro where they wander.

      So crime-guilts a many the foeman of mankind,

      The fell alone-farer, fram'd oft and full often,

      Cruel hard shames and wrongful, and Hart he abode in,

      The treasure-stain'd hall, in the dark of the night-tide;

      But never the gift-stool therein might he greet,

      The treasure before the Creator he trow'd not.

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      Mickle wrack was it soothly for the friend of the Scyldings,

      Yea heart and mood breaking. Now sat there a many

      Of the mighty in rune, and won them the rede

      Of what thing for the strong-soul'd were best of all things

      Which yet they might frame 'gainst the fear and the horror.

      And whiles they behight them at the shrines of the heathen

      To worship the idols; and pray'd they in words,

      That he, the ghost-slayer, would frame for them helping

      'Gainst the folk-threats and evil So far'd they their wont,

      The hope of the heathen; nor hell they remember'd

      In 180 mood and in mind. And the Maker they knew not,

      The Doomer of deeds: nor of God the Lord wist they,

      Nor the Helm of the Heavens knew aught how to hery,

      The Wielder of Glory. Woe worth unto that man

      Who through hatred the baneful his soul shall shove into

      The fire's embrace; nought of fostering weens he,

      Nor of changing one whit. But well is he soothly

      That after the death-day shall seek to the Lord,

      In the breast of the Father all peace ever craving.

      IV. NOW COMES BEOWULF ECGTHEOW’S SON TO THE LAND OF THE DANES, AND THE WALL-WARDEN SPEAKETH WITH HIM.

      So care that was time-long the kinsman of Healfdene

      190 Still seeth'd without ceasing, nor might the wise warrior

      Wend otherwhere woe, for o'er strong was the strife

      All loathly so longsome late laid on the people,

      Need-wrack and grim nithing, of night-bales the greatest.

      Now that from his home heard the Hygelac's thane,

      Good midst of the Geat-folk; of Grendel's deeds heard he.

      But he was of mankind of might and main mightiest

      In the day that we tell of, the day of this life,

      All noble, strong-waxen. He bade a wave-wearer

      Right good to be gear'd him, and quoth he that the war-king

      Over 200 the swan-road he would be seeking,

      The folk-lord far-famed, since lack of men had he.

      Forsooth of that faring the carles wiser-fashion'd

      Laid little blame on him, though lief to them was he;

      The heart-hardy whetted they, heeded the omen.

      There had the good one, e'en he of the Geat-folk,

      Champions out-chosen of them that he keenest

      Might find for his needs; and he then the fifteenth,

      Sought to the sound-wood. A swain thereon show'd him,

      A sea-crafty man, all the make of the land-marks.

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      Wore then a while, on the waves was the floater,

      The boat under the berg, and yare then the warriors

      Strode up on the stem; the streams were a-winding

      The sea 'gainst the sands. Upbore the swains then

      Up into the bark's barm the bright-fretted weapons,

      The war-array stately; then out the lads shov'd her,

      The folk on the welcome way shov'd out the wood-bound.

      Then by the wind driven out o'er the wave-holm

      Far'd the foamy-neck'd floater most like to a fowl,

      Till when was the same tide of the second day's wearing

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      The wound-about-stemm'd one had waded her way,

      So that then they that sail'd her had sight of the land,

      Bleak shine of the sea-cliffs, bergs steep up above,

      Sea-nesses wide reaching; the sound was won over,

      The sea-way was ended: then up ashore swiftly

      

      The band of the Weder-folk up on earth wended;

      They bound up the sea-wood, their sarks on them rattled,

      Their weed of the battle, and God there they thanked

      For that easy the wave-ways were waxen unto them.

      But now from the wall saw the Scylding-folks' warder,

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      E'en he whom the holm-cliffs should ever be holding,

      Men bear o'er the gangway the bright shields a-shining,

      Folk-host gear all ready. Then mind-longing wore him,

      And stirr'd up his mood to wot who were the men-folk.

      So shoreward down far'd he his fair steed a-riding,

      Hrothgar's Thane, and full strongly then set he a-quaking

      The stark wood in his hands, and in council-speech speer'd he:

      What men be ye then of them that have war-gear,

      With byrnies bewarded, who the keel high up-builded

      Over the Lake-street thus have come leading.

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      Hither o'er holm-ways hieing in ring-stem?

      End-sitter was I, a-holding the sea-ward,

      That the land of the Dane-folk none of the loathly

      Faring with ship-horde ever might scathe it.

      None yet have been seeking more openly hither

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