XXXI
¶"So HELD this king to the customs old,that I wanted for nought in the wage I gained,the meed of my might; he made me gifts,Healfdene's heir, for my own disposal.Now to thee, my prince, I proffer them all,gladly give them. Thy grace alonecan find me favor. Few indeedhave I of kinsmen, save, Hygelac, thee!"Then he bade them bear him the boar-head standard,the battle-helm high, and breastplate gray,the splendid sword; then spake in form:—"Me this war-gear the wise old prince,Hrothgar, gave, and his hest he added,that its story be straightway said to thee.—A while it was held by Heorogar king,for long time lord of the land of Scyldings;yet not to his son the sovran left it,to daring Heoroweard,—dear as he was to him,his harness of battle.—Well hold thou it all!"And I heard that soon passed o'er the path of thistreasure,all apple-fallow, four good steeds,each like the others; arms and horseshe gave to the king. So should kinsmen be,not weave one another the net of wiles,or with deep-hid treachery death contrivefor neighbor and comrade. His nephew was everby hardy Hygelac held full dear,and each kept watch o'er the other's weal.I heard, too, the necklace to Hygd he presented,wonder-wrought treasure, which Wealhtheow gave him,sovran's daughter: three steeds he added,slender and saddle-gay. Since such giftthe gem gleamed bright on the breast of the queen.Thus showed his strain the son of Ecgtheowas a man remarked for mighty deedsand acts of honor. At ale he slew notcomrade or kin; nor cruel his mood,[65]though of sons of earth his strength was greatest,a glorious gift that God had sentthe splendid leader. Long was he spurned,and worthless by Geatish warriors held;him at mead the master-of-clansfailed full oft to favor at all.Slack and shiftless the strong men deemed him,profitless prince; but payment came,to the warrior honored, for all his woes.—Then the bulwark-of-earls1 bade bring within,hardy chieftain, Hrethel's heirloomgarnished with gold: no Geat e'er knewin shape of a sword a statelier prize.The brand he laid in Beowulf's lap;and of hides assigned him seven thousand,2with house and high-seat. They held in commonland alike by their line of birth,inheritance, home: but higher the kingbecause of his rule o'er the realm itself.
¶Now further it fell with the flight of years,with harryings horrid, that Hygelac perished,3and Heardred, too, by hewing of swordsunder the shield-wall slaughtered lay,when him at the van of his victor-folksought hardy heroes, Heatho-Scilfings,in arms o'erwhelming Hereric's nephew.Then Beowulf came as king this broadrealm to wield; and he ruled it wellfifty winters,4 a wise old prince,warding his land, until One beganin the dark of night, a Dragon, to rage.In the grave on the hill a hoard it guarded,in the stone-barrow steep. A strait path reached it,[66]unknown to mortals. Some man, however,came by chance that cave withinto the heathen hoard.1 In hand he tooka golden goblet, nor gave he it back,stole with it away, while the watcher slept,by thievish wiles: for the warden's wrathprince and people must pay betimes!
XXXII
¶THAT way he went with no will of his own,in danger of life, to the dragon's hoard,but for pressure of peril, some prince's thane.He fled in fear the fatal scourge,seeking shelter, a sinful man,and entered in. At the awful sighttottered that guest, and terror seized him;yet the wretched fugitive rallied anonfrom fright and fear ere he fled away,and took the cup from that treasure-hoard.Of such besides there was store enough,heirlooms old, the earth below,which some earl forgotten, in ancient years,left the last of his lofty race,needfully there had hidden away,dearest treasure. For death of yorehad hurried all hence; and he aloneleft to live, the last of the clan,weeping his friends, yet wished to bidewarding the treasure, his one delight,though brief his respite. The barrow, new-ready,to strand and sea-waves stood anear,hard by the headland, hidden and closed;there laid within it his lordly heirlooms[67]and heaped hoard of heavy goldthat warden of rings. Few words he spake:"Now hold thou, earth, since heroes may not,what earls have owned! Lo, erst from theebrave men brought it! But battle-death seizedand cruel killing my clansmen all,robbed them of life and a liegeman's joys.None have I left to lift the sword,or to cleanse the carven cup of price,beaker bright. My brave are gone.And the helmet hard, all haughty with gold,shall part from its plating. Polishers sleepwho could brighten and burnish the battle-mask;and those weeds of war that were wont to braveover bicker of shields the bite of steelrust with their bearer. The ringed mailfares not far with famous chieftain,at side of hero! No harp's delight,no glee-wood's gladness! No good hawk nowflies through the hall! Nor horses fleetstamp in the burgstead! Battle and deaththe flower of my race have reft away."Mournful of mood, thus he moaned his woe,alone, for them all, and unblithe weptby day and by night, till death's fell waveo'erwhelmed his heart. His hoard-of-blissthat old ill-doer open found,who, blazing at twilight the barrows haunteth,naked foe-dragon flying by nightfolded in fire: the folk of earthdread him sore. 'Tis his doom to seekhoard in the graves, and heathen goldto watch, many-wintered: nor wins he thereby!
p. 67¶Powerful this plague-of-the-people thusheld the house of the hoard in earththree hundred winters; till One arousedwrath in his breast, to the ruler bearingthat costly cup, and the king imploredfor bond of peace. So the barrow was plundered,borne off was booty. His boon was granted[68]that wretched man; and his ruler sawfirst time what was fashioned in far-off days.When the dragon awoke, new woe was kindled.O'er the stone he snuffed. The stark-heart foundfootprint of foe who so far had gonein his hidden craft by the creature's head.—So may the undoomed easily fleeevils and exile, if only he gainthe grace of The Wielder!—That warden of goldo'er the ground went seeking, greedy to findthe man who wrought him such wrong in sleep.Savage and burning, the barrow he circledall without; nor was any there,none in the waste. . . . Yet war he desired,was eager for battle. The barrow he entered,sought the cup, and discovered soonthat some one of mortals had searched his treasure,his lordly gold. The guardian waitedill-enduring till evening came;boiling with wrath was the barrow's keeper,and fain with flame the foe to payfor the dear cup's loss.—Now day was fledas the worm had wished. By its wall no morewas it glad to bide, but burning flewfolded in flame: a fearful beginningfor sons of the soil; and soon it came,in the doom of their lord, to a dreadful end.
XXXIII
¶THEN the baleful fiend its lire belched out,and bright homes burned. The blaze stood highall landsfolk frighting. No living thingwould that loathly one leave as aloft it flew.Wide was the dragon's warring seen,its fiendish fury far and near,as the grim destroyer those Geatish peoplehated and hounded. To hidden lair,to its hoard it hastened at hint of dawn.Folk of the land it had lapped in flame,with bale and brand. In its barrow it trusted,its battling and bulwarks: that boast was vain![69]To Beowulf then the bale was toldquickly and truly: the king's own home,of buildings the best, in brand-waves melted,that gift-throne of Geats. To the good old mansad in heart, 'twas heaviest sorrow.The sage assumed that his sovran Godhe had angered, breaking ancient law,and embittered the Lord. His breast withinwith black thoughts welled, as his wont was never.The folk's own fastness that fiery dragonwith flame had destroyed, and the stronghold allwashed by waves; but the warlike king,prince of the Weders, plotted vengeance.Warriors'-bulwark, he bade them workall of iron—the earl's commander—a war-shield wondrous: well he knewthat forest-wood against fire were worthless,linden could aid not.—Atheling brave,he was fated to finish this fleeting life,1his days on earth, and the dragon with him,though long it had watched o'er the wealth of the hoard!—Shame he reckoned it, sharer-of-rings,to follow the flyer-afar with a host,a broad-flung band; nor the battle feared he,nor deemed he dreadful the dragon's warring,its vigor and valor: ventures desperatehe had passed a-plenty, and perils of war,contest-crash, since, conqueror proud,Hrothgar's hall he had wholly purged,and in grapple had killed the kin of Grendel,loathsome breed! Not least was thatof hand-to-hand fights where Hygelac fell,when the ruler of Geats in rush of battle,lord of his folk, in the Frisian land,son of Hrethel, by sword-draughts died,by brands down-beaten. Thence Beowulf fledthrough strength of himself and his swimming power,though alone, and his arms were laden with thirtycoats of mail, when he came to the sea![70]Nor yet might Hetwaras1 haughtily boasttheir craft of contest, who carried against himshields to the fight: but few escapedfrom strife with the hero to seek their homes!Then swam over ocean Ecgtheow's sonlonely and sorrowful, seeking his land,where Hygd made him offer of hoard and realm,rings and royal-seat, reckoning naughtthe strength of her son to save their kingdomfrom hostile hordes, after Hygelac's death.No sooner for this could the stricken onesin any wise move that atheling's mindover young Heardred's head as lordand ruler of all the realm to be:yet the hero upheld him with helpful words,aided in honor, till, older grown,he wielded the Weder-Geats.—Wandering exilessought him o'er seas, the sons of Ohtere,who had spurned the sway of the Scylfings'-helmet,the bravest and best that broke the rings,in Swedish land, of the sea-kings' line,haughty hero.2 Hence Heardred's end.For shelter he gave them, sword-death came,the blade's fell blow, to bairn of Hygelac;but the son of Ongentheow sought againhouse and home when Heardred fell,leaving Beowulf lord of Geatsand gift-seat's master.—A good king he!
p. 70¶xxxivTHE fall of his lord he was fain to requitein after days; and to Eadgils he provedfriend to the friendless, and forces sentover the sea to the son of Ohtere,weapons and warriors: well repaid he[71]those care-paths cold when the king he slew.1Thus safe through struggles the son of Ecgtheowhad passed a plenty, through perils dire,with daring deeds, till this day was comethat doomed him now with the dragon to strive.With comrades eleven the lord of Geatsswollen in rage went seeking the dragon.He had heard whence all the harm aroseand the killing of clansmen; that cup of priceon the lap of the lord had been laid by the finder.In the throng was this one thirteenth man,starter of all the strife and ill,care-laden captive; cringing thenceforced and reluctant, he led them ontill he came in ken of that cavern-hall,the barrow delved near billowy surges,flood of ocean. Within 'twas fullof wire-gold and jewels; a jealous warden,warrior trusty, the treasures held,lurked in his lair. Not light the taskof entrance for any of earth-born men!Sat on the headland the hero king,spake words of hail to his hearth-companions,gold-friend of Geats. All gloomy his soul,wavering, death-bound. Wyrd full nighstood ready to greet the gray-haired man,to seize his soul-hoard, sunder apartlife and body. Not long would bethe warrior's spirit enwound with flesh.Beowulf spake, the bairn of Ecgtheow:—"Through store of struggles I strove in youth,mighty feuds; I mind them all.I was seven years old when the sovran of rings,friend-of-his-folk, from my father took me,had me, and held me, Hrethel the king,with food and fee, faithful in kinship.Ne'er, while I lived there, he loathlier found me,bairn in the burg, than his birthright sons,[72]Herebeald and Haethcyn and Hygelac mine.For the eldest of these, by unmeet chance,by kinsman's deed, was the death-bed strewn,when Hzthcyn killed him with horny bow,his own dear liege laid low with an arrow,missed the mark and his mate shot down,one brother the other, with bloody shaft.A feeless fight 2 and a fearful sin,horror to Hrethel; yet, hard as it was,unavenged must the atheling die!Too awful it is for an aged manto bide and bear, that his bairn so youngrides on the gallows. A rime he makes,sorrow-song for his son there hangingas rapture of ravens; no rescue nowcan come from the old, disabled man!Still is he minded, as morning breaks,of the heir gone elsewhere; 3 another he hopes nothe will bide to see his burg withinas ward for his wealth, now the one has founddoom of death that the deed incurred.Forlorn he looks on the lodge of his son,wine-hall waste and wind-swept chambersreft of revel. The rider sleepeth,the hero, far-hidden; 4 no harp resounds,in the courts no wassail, as once was heard.
¶"THEN he goes to his chamber, a grief-song chantsalone for his lost. Too large all seems,homestead and house. So the helmet-of-Wedershid in his heart for Herebealdwaves of woe. No way could he taketo avenge on the slayer slaughter so foul;nor e'en could he harass that hero at allwith loathing deed, though he loved him not.And so for the sorrow his soul endured,[73]men's gladness he gave up and God's light chose.Lands and cities he left his sons(as the wealthy do) when he went from earth.There was strife and struggle 'twixt Swede and Geato'er the width of waters; war arose,hard battle-horror, when Hrethel died,and Ongentheow's offspring grewstrife-keen, bold, nor brooked o'er the seaspact of peace, but pushed their hoststo harass in hatred by Hreosnabeorh.Men of my folk for that feud had vengeance,for woful war ('tis widely known),though one of them bought it with blood of his heart,a bargain hard: for Hzthcyn provedfatal that fray, for the first-of-Geats.At morn, I heard, was the murderer killedby kinsman for kinsman,1 with clash of sword,when Ongentheow met Eofor there.Wide split the war-helm: wan he fell,hoary Scylfing; the hand that smote himof feud was mindful, nor flinched from the death-blow.
p. 73¶—"For all that he2 gave me, my gleaming swordrepaid him at war,—such power I wielded,—for lordly treasure: with land he entrusted me,homestead and house. He had no needfrom Swedish realm, or from Spear-Dane folk,or from men of the Gifths, to get him help,—some warrior worse for wage to buy!Ever I fought in the front of all,sole to the fore; and so shall I fightwhile I bide in life and this blade shall lastthat early and late hath loyal provedsince for my doughtiness Dasghrefn fell,slain by my hand, the Hugas' champion.Nor fared he thence to the Frisian kingwith the booty back, and breast-adornments;[74]but, slain in struggle, that standard-bearerfell, atheling brave. Not with blade was he slain,but his bones were broken by brawny gripe,his heart-waves stilled.—The sword-edge now,hard blade and my hand, for the hoard shall strive."Beowulf spake, and a battle-vow made,his last of all: "I have lived through manywars in my youth; now once again,old folk-defender, feud will I seek,do doughty deeds, if the dark destroyerforth from his cavern come to fight me!"Then hailed he the helmeted heroes all,for the last time greeting his liegemen dear,comrades of war: "I should carry no weapon,no sword to the serpent, if sure I knewhow, with such enemy, else my vowsI could gain as I did in Grendel's day.But fire in this fight I must fear me now,and poisonous breath; so I bring with mebreastplate and board.1 From the barrow's keeperno footbreadth flee I. One fight shall endour war by the wall, as Wyrd allots,all mankind's master. My mood is boldbut forbears to boast o'er this battling-flyer.—Now abide by the barrow, ye breastplate-mailed,ye heroes in harness, which of us twainbetter from battle-rush bear his wounds.Wait ye the finish. The fight is not yours,nor meet for any but me aloneto measure might with this monster hereand play the hero. Hardily Ishall win that wealth, or war shall seize,cruel killing, your king and lord!"
p. 74¶Up stood then with shield the sturdy champion,stayed by the strength of his single manhood,and hardy 'neath helmet his harness boreunder cleft of the cliffs: no coward's path!Soon spied by the wall that warrior chief,[75]survivor of many a victory-fieldwhere foemen fought with furious clashings,an arch of stone; and within, a streamthat broke from the barrow. The brooklet's wavewas hot with fire. The hoard that wayhe never could hope unharmed to near,or endure those deeps,1 for the dragon's flame.Then let from his breast, for he burst with rage,the Weder-Geat prince a word outgo;stormed the stark-heart; stern went ringingand clear his cry 'neath the cliff-rocks gray.The hoard-guard heard a human voice;his rage was enkindled. No respite nowfor pact of peace! The poison-breathof that foul worm first came forth from the cave,hot reek-of-fight: the rocks resounded.Stout by the stone-way his shield he raised,lord of the Geats, against the loathed-one;while with courage keen that coiled foecame seeking strife. The sturdy kinghad drawn his sword, not dull of edge,heirloom old; and each of the twofelt fear of his foe, though fierce their mood.Stoutly stood with his shield high-raisedthe warrior king, as the worm now coiledtogether amain: the mailed-one waited.Now, spire by spire, fast sped and glidedthat blazing serpent. The shield protected,soul and body a shorter whilefor the hero-king than his heart desired,could his will have wielded the welcome respitebut once in his life! But Wyrd denied it,and victory's honors.—His arm he lifted,lord of the Geats, the grim foe smotewith atheling's heirloom. Its edge was turned,brown blade, on the bone, and bit more feeblythan its noble master had need of thenin his baleful stress.—Then the barrow's keeper[76]waxed full wild for that weighty blow,cast deadly flames; wide drove and farthose vicious fires. No victor's glorythe Geats' lord boasted; his brand had failed,naked in battle, as never it should,excellent iron!—'Twas no easy paththat Ecgtheow's honored heir must treadover the plain to the place of the foe;for against his will he must win a homeelsewhere far, as must all men, leavingthis lapsing life!—Not long it wasere those champions grimly closed again.The hoard-guard was heartened; high heaved his breastonce more; and by peril was pressed again,enfolded in flames, the folk-commander!Nor yet about him his band of comrades,sons of athelings, armed stoodwith warlike front: to the woods they bent them,their lives to save. But the soul of onewith care was cumbered. Kinship truecan never be marred in a noble mind!
p. 76¶xxxviWIGLAF his name was, Weohstan's son,linden-thane loved, the lord of Scylfings,jElfhere's kinsman. His king he now sawwith heat under helmet hard oppressed.He minded the prizes his prince had given him,wealthy seat of the Waegmunding line,and folk-rights that his father owned.Not long he lingered. The linden yellow,his shield, he seized; the old sword he drew:—as heirloom of Eanmund earth-dwellers knew it,who was slain by the sword-edge, son of Ohtere,friendless exile, erst in fraykilled by Weohstan, who won for his kinbrown-bright helmet, breastplate ringed,old sword of Eotens, Onela's gift,weeds of war of the warrior-thane,battle-gear brave: though a brother's child[77]had been felled, the feud was unfelt by Onela. 1For winters this war-gear Weohstan kept,breastplate and board, till his bairn had grownearlship to earn as the old sire did:then he gave him, mid Geats, the gear of battle,portion huge, when he passed from life,fared aged forth. For the first time nowwith his leader-lord the liegeman youngwas bidden to share the shock of battle.Neither softened his soul, nor the sire's bequestweakened in war. 2 So the worm found outwhen once in fight the foes had met!Wiglaf spake,—and his words were sage;sad in spirit, he said to his comrades:—"I remember the time, when mead we took,what promise we made to this prince of oursin the banquet-hall, to our breaker-of-rings,for gear of combat to give him requital,for hard-sword and helmet, if hap should bringstress of this sort! Himself who chose usfrom all his army to aid him now,urged us to glory, and gave these treasures,because he counted us keen with the spearand hardy 'neath helm, though this hero-workour leader hoped unhelped and aloneto finish for us,—folk-defenderwho hath got him glory greater than all menfor daring deeds! Now the day is comethat our noble master has need of the mightof warriors stout. Let us stride alongthe hero to help while the heat is about himglowing and grim! For God is my witnessI am far more fain the fire should seizealong with my lord these limbs of mine! 3[78]Unsuiting it seems our shields to bearhomeward hence, save here we essayto fell the foe and defend the lifeof the Weders' lord. I wot 'twere shameon the law of our land if alone the kingout of Geatish warriors woe enduredand sank in the struggle! My sword and helmet,breastplate and board, for us both shall serve!"Through slaughter-reek strode he to succor his chieftainhis battle-helm bore, and brief words spake:—"Beowulf dearest, do all bravely,as in youthful days of yore thou vowedstthat while life should last thou wouldst let no wisethy glory droop! Now, great in deeds,atheling steadfast, with all thy strengthshield thy life! I will stand to help thee."At the words the worm came once again,murderous monster mad with rage,with fire-billows flaming, its foes to seek,the hated men. In heat-waves burnedthat board 4 to the boss, and the breastplate failedto shelter at all the spear-thane young.Yet quickly under his kinsman's shieldwent eager the earl, since his own was nowall burned by the blaze. The bold king againhad mind of his glory: with might his glaivewas driven into the dragon's head,—blow nerved by hate. But Nasgling 5 was shivered,broken in battle was Beowulf's sword,old and gray. 'Twas granted him notthat ever the edge of iron at allcould help him at strife: too strong was his hand,so the tale is told, and he tried too farwith strength of stroke all swords he wielded,though sturdy their steel: they steaded him nought.Then for the third time thought on its feudthat folk-destroyer, fire-dread dragon,and rushed on the hero, where room allowed,
p. 78¶Wiglaf's wooden shield.Gering would translate "kinsman of the nail," as both are made of iron.[79]battle-grim, burning; its bitter teethclosed on his neck, and covered himwith waves of blood from his breast that welled.
XXXVII
¶'TWAS now, men say, in his sovran's needthat the earl made known his noble strain,craft and keenness and courage enduring.Heedless of harm, though his hand was burned,hardy-hearted, he helped his kinsman.A little lower the loathsome beasthe smote with sword; his steel drove inbright and burnished; that blaze beganto lose and lessen. At last the kingwielded his wits again, war-knife drew,a biting blade by his breastplate hanging,and the Weders'-helm smote that worm asunder,felled the foe, flung forth its life.So had they killed it, kinsmen both,athelings twain: thus an earl should bein danger's day!—Of deeds of valorthis conqueror's-hour of the king was last,of his work in the world. The wound began,which that dragon-of-earth had erst inflicted,to swell and smart; and soon he foundin his breast was boiling, baleful and deep,pain of poison. The prince walked on,wise in his thought, to the wall of rock;then sat, and stared at the structure of giants,where arch of stone and steadfast columnupheld forever that hall in earth.Yet here must the hand of the henchman peerlesslave with water his winsome lord,the king and conqueror covered with blood,with struggle spent, and unspan his helmet.Beowulf spake in spite of his hurt,his mortal wound; full well he knewhis portion now was past and goneof earthly bliss, and all had fledof his file of days, and death was near:[80]"I would fain bestow on son of minethis gear of war, were given me nowthat any heir should after me comeof my proper blood. This people I ruledfifty winters. No folk-king was there,none at all, of the neighboring clanswho war would wage me with 'warriors'-friends' 1and threat me with horrors. At home I bidedwhat fate might come, and I cared for mine own;feuds I sought not, nor falsely sworeever on oath. For all these things,though fatally wounded, fain am I!From the Ruler-of-Man no wrath shall seize me,when life from my frame must flee away,for killing of kinsmen! Now quickly goand gaze on that hoard 'neath the hoary rock,Wiglaf loved, now the worm lies low,sleeps, heart-sore, of his spoil bereaved.And fare in haste. I would fain beholdthe gorgeous heirlooms, golden store,have joy in the jewels and gems, lay downsoftlier for sight of this splendid hoardmy life and the lordship I long have held."
¶xxxvni
¶I HAVE heard that swiftly the son of Weohstanat wish and word of his wounded king,—war-sick warrior,—woven mail-coat,battle-sark, bore 'neath the barrow's roof.Then the clansman keen, of conquest proud,passing the seat, 2 saw store of jewelsand glistening gold the ground along;by the wall were marvels, and many a vesselin the den of the dragon, the dawn-flier old:unburnished bowls of bygone menreft of richness; rusty helmsof the olden age; and arm-rings manywondrously woven.—Such wealth of gold,[81]booty from barrow, can burden with prideeach human wight: let him hide it who will!—His glance too fell on a gold-wove bannerhigh o'er the hoard, of handiwork noblest,brilliantly broidered; so bright its gleam,all the earth-floor he easily sawand viewed all these vessels. No vestige nowwas seen of the serpent: the sword had ta'en him.Then, I heard, the hill of its hoard was reft,old work of giants, by one alone;he burdened his bosom with beakers and plateat his own good will, and the ensign took,brightest of beacons.—The blade of his lord—its edge was iron—had injured deepone that guarded the golden hoardmany a year and its murder-firespread hot round the barrow in horror-billowsat midnight hour, till it met its doom.Hasted the herald, the hoard so spurred himhis track to retrace; he was troubled by doubt,high-souled hero, if haply he'd findalive, where he left him, the lord of Weders,weakening fast by the wall of the cave.So he carried the load. His lord and kinghe found all bleeding, famous chief,at the lapse of life. The liegeman againplashed him with water, till point of wordbroke through the breast-hoard. Beowulf spake,sage and sad, as he stared at the gold:—"For the gold and treasure, to God my thanks,to the Wielder-of-Wonders, with words I say,for what I behold, to Heaven's Lord,for the grace that I give such gifts to my folkor ever the day of my death be run!Now I've bartered here for booty of treasurethe last of my life, so look ye wellto the needs of my land! No longer I tarry.A barrow bid ye the battle-famed raisefor my ashes. 'Twill shine by the shore of the flood,to folk of mine memorial fair[82]on Hrones Headland high uplifted,that ocean-wanderers oft may hailBeowulf's Barrow, as back from farthey drive their keels o'er the darkling wave."From his neck he unclasped the collar of gold,valorous king, to his vassal gave itwith bright-gold helmet, breastplate, and ring,to the youthful thane: bade him use them in joy."Thou art end and remnant of all our race,the Waegmunding name. For Wyrd hath swept them,all my line, to the land of doom,earls in their glory: I after them go."This word was the last which the wise old manharbored in heart ere hot death-wavesof balefire he chose. From his bosom fledhis soul to seek the saints' reward.
XXXIX
¶IT was heavy hap for that hero youngon his lord beloved to look and find himlying on earth with life at end,sorrowful sight. But the slayer too,awful earth-dragon, empty of breath,lay felled in fight, nor, fain of its treasure,could the writhing monster rule it more.For edges of iron had ended its days,hard and battle-sharp, hammers' leaving;1and that flier-afar had fallen to groundhushed by its hurt, its hoard all near,no longer lusty aloft to whirlat midnight, making its merriment seen,proud of its prizes: prone it sankby the handiwork of the hero-king.Forsooth among folk but few achieve,—though sturdy and strong, as stories tell me,and never so daring in deed of valor,—the perilous breath of a poison-foeto brave, and to rush on the ring-board hall,whenever his watch the warden keeps[83]bold in the barrow. Beowulf paidthe price of death for that precious hoard;and each of the foes had found the endof this fleeting life.Befell erelongthat the laggards in war the wood had left,trothbreakers, cowards, ten together,fearing before to flourish a spearin the sore distress of their sovran lord.Now in their shame their shields they carried,armor of fight, where the old man lay;and they gazed on Wiglaf. Wearied he satat his sovran's shoulder, shieldsman good,to wake him with water.1 Nowise it availed.Though well he wished it, in world no morecould he barrier life for that leader-of-battlesnor baffle the will of all-wielding God.Doom of the Lord was law o'er the deedsof every man, as it is to-day.Grim was the answer, easy to get,from the youth for those that had yielded to fear!Wiglaf spake, the son of Weohstan,—mournful he looked on those men unloved:—"Who sooth will speak, can say indeedthat the ruler who gave you golden ringsand the harness of war in which ye stand—for he at ale-bench often-timesbestowed on hall-folk helm and breastplate,lord to liegemen, the likeliest gearwhich near or far he could find to give,—threw away and wasted these weeds of battle,on men who failed when the foemen came!Not at all could the king of his comrades-in-armsventure to vaunt, though the Victory-Wielder,God, gave him grace that he got revengesole with his sword in stress and need.To rescue his life, 'twas little that Icould serve him in struggle; yet shift I made(hopeless it seemed) to help my kinsman.[84]Its strength ever waned, when with weapon I struckthat fatal foe, and the fire less stronglyflowed from its head.—Too few the heroesin throe of contest that thronged to our king!Now gift of treasure and girding of sword,joy of the house and home-delightshall fail your, folk; his freehold-landevery clansman within your kinshall lose and leave, when lords highbornhear afar of that flight of yours,a fameless deed. Yea, death is betterfor liegemen all than a life of shame 1"
XL
¶THAT battle-toil bade he at burg to announce,at the fort on the cliff, where, full of sorrow,all the morning earls had sat,daring shieldsmen, in doubt of twain:would they wail as dead, or welcome home,their lord beloved? Little 1 kept backof the tidings new, but told them all,the herald that up the headland rode.—"Now the willing-giver to Weder folkin death-bed lies, the Lord of Geatson the slaughter-bed sleeps by the serpent's deed!And beside him is stretched that slayer-of-menwith knife-wounds sick: 2 no sword availedon the awesome thing in any wiseto work a wound. There Wiglaf sitteth,Weohstan's bairn, by Beowulf's side,the living earl by the other dead,and heavy of heart a head-watch 3 keepso'er friend and foe.—Now our folk may lookfor waging of war when once unhiddento Frisian and Frank the fall of the kingis spread afar.—The strife beganwhen hot on the Hugas 4 Hygelac felland fared with his fleet to the Frisian land.Him there the Hetwaras humbled in war,
¶Nothing. 2 Dead. 3 Death-watch, guard of honor, "lyke-wake.'[85]plied with such prowess their power o'erwhelmingthat the bold-in-battle bowed beneath itand fell in fight. To his friends no wisecould that earl give treasure! And ever sincethe Merowings' favor has failed us wholly.Nor aught expect I of peace and faithfrom Swedish folk. 'Twas spread afarhow Ongentheow reft at RavenswoodHaethcyn Hrethling of hope and life,when the folk of Geats for the first time soughtin wanton pride the Warlike-Scylfings.Soon the sage old sire 5 of Ohtere,ancient and awful, gave answering blow;the sea-king 6 he slew, and his spouse redeemed,his good wife rescued, though robbed of her gold,mother of Ohtere and Onela.Then he followed his foes, who fled before himsore beset and stole their way,bereft of a ruler, to Ravenswood.With his host he besieged there what swords had left,the weary and wounded; woes he threatenedthe whole night through to that hard-pressed throng:some with the morrow his sword should kill,some should go to the gallows-treefor rapture of ravens. But rescue camewith dawn of day for those desperate menwhen they heard the horn of Hygelac sound,tones of his trumpet; the trusty kinghad followed their trail with faithful band.
XLI
¶"THE bloody swath of Swedes and Geatsand the storm of their strife, were seen afar,how folk against folk the fight had wakened.The ancient king with his atheling bandsought his citadel, sorrowing much:Ongentheow earl went up to his burg.He had tested Hygelac's hardihood,the proud one's prowess, would prove it no longer,[86]defied no more those fighting-wanderersnor hoped from the seamen to save his hoard,his bairn and his bride: so he bent him again,old, to his earth-walls. Yet after him camewith slaughter for Swedes the standards of Hygelaco'er peaceful plains in pride advancing,till Hrethelings fought in the fenced town. 1Then Ongentheow with edge of sword,the hoary-bearded, was held at bay,and the folk-king there was forced to sufferEofor's anger. In ire, at the kingWulf Wonreding with weapon struck;and the chieftain's blood, for that blow, in streamsflowed 'neath his hair. No fear felt he,stout old Scylfing, but straightway repaidin better bargain that bitter strokeand faced his foe with fell intent.Nor swift enough was the son of Wonredanswer to render the aged chief;too soon on his head the helm was cloven;blood-bedecked he bowed to earth,and fell adown; not doomed was he yet,and well he waxed, though the wound was sore.Then the hardy Hygelac-thane, 2when his brother fell, with broad brand smote,giants' sword crashing through giants'-helmacross the shield-wall: sank the king,his folk's old herdsman, fatally hurt.There were many to bind the brother's woundsand lift him, fast as fate allowedhis people to wield the place-of-war.But Eofor took from Ongentheow,earl from other, the iron-breastplate,hard sword hiked, and helmet too,and the hoar-chief's harness to Hygelac carried,who took the trappings, and truly promisedrich fee 'mid folk,—and fulfilled it so.
p. 86¶'The line may mean: till Hrethelings stormed on the hedged shields,—i. e. the shield-wall or hedge of defensive war.—Hrethelings, of course, are Geats.
p. 87¶For that grim strife gave the Geatish lord,Hrethel's offspring, when home he came,to Eofor and Wulf a wealth of treasure,Each of them had a hundred thousand1in land and linked rings; nor at less price reckonedmid-earth men such mighty deeds!And to Eofor he gave his only daughterin pledge of grace, the pride of his home.
¶"Such is the feud, the foeman's rage,death-hate of men: so I deem it surethat the Swedish folk will seek us homefor this fall of their friends, the fighting-Scylfings,when once they learn that our warrior leaderlifeless lies, who land and hoardever defended from all his foes,furthered his folk's weal, finished his coursea hardy hero.—Now haste is best,that we go to gaze on our Geatish lord,and bear the bountiful breaker-of-ringsto the funeral pyre. No fragments merelyshall burn with the warrior. Wealth of jewels,gold untold and gained in terror,treasure at last with his life obtained,all of that booty the brands shall take,fire shall eat it. No earl must carrymemorial jewel. No maiden fairshall wreathe her neck with noble ring:nay, sad in spirit and shorn of her gold,oft shall she pass o'er paths of exilenow our lord all laughter has laid aside,all mirth and revel. Many a spearmorning-cold shall be clasped amain,lifted aloft; nor shall lilt of harpthose warriors wake; but the wan-hued raven,fain o'er the fallen, his feast shall praiseand boast to the eagle how bravely he atewhen he and the wolf were wasting the slain."[88]So he told his sorrowful tidings,and little1 he lied, the loyal manof word or of work. The warriors rose;sad, they climbed to the Cliff-of-Eagles,went, welling with tears, the wonder to view.Found on the sand there, stretched at rest,their lifeless lord, who had lavished ringsof old upon them. Ending-dayhad dawned on the doughty-one; death had seizedin woful slaughter the Weders' king.There saw they, besides, the strangest being,loathsome, lying their leader near,prone on the field. The fiery dragon,fearful fiend, with flame was scorched.Reckoned by feet, it was fifty measuresin length as it lay. Aloft erewhileit had revelled by night, and anon come back,seeking its den; now in death's sure clutchit had come to the end of its earth-hall joys.By it there stood the stoups and jars;dishes lay there, and dear-decked swordseaten with rust, as, on earth's lap resting,a thousand winters they waited there.For all that heritage huge, that goldof bygone men, was bound by a spell,2so the treasure-hall could be touched by noneof human kind,—save that Heaven's King,God himself, might give whom he would,Helper of Heroes, the hoard to open,—even such a man as seemed to him meet.
XLII
¶A PERILOUS path, it proved, he3 trodwho heinously hid, that hall within,wealth under wall! Its watcher had killedone of a few,4 and the feud was avenged[89]in woful fashion. Wondrous seems it,what manner a man of might and valoroft ends his life, when the earl no longerin mead-hall may live with loving friends.So Beowulf, when that barrow's wardenhe sought, and the struggle; himself knew notin what wise he should wend from the world at last.For1 princes potent, who placed the gold,with a curse to doomsday covered it deep,so that marked with sin the man should be,hedged with horrors, in hell-bonds fast,racked with plagues, who should rob their hoard.Yet no greed for gold, but the grace of heaven,ever the king had kept in view.2Wiglaf spake, the son of Weohstan:—"At the mandate of one, oft warriors manysorrow must suffer; and so must we.The people's-shepherd showed not aughtof care for our counsel, king beloved!That guardian of gold he should grapple not, urged we,but let him lie where he long had beenin his earth-hall waiting the end of the world,the hest of heaven.—This hoard is ours,but grievously gotten; too grim the fatewhich thither carried our king and lord.I was within there, and all I viewed,the chambered treasure, when chance allowed me(and my path was made in no pleasant wise)under the earth-wall. Eager, I seizedsuch heap from the hoard as hands could bearand hurriedly carried it hither backto my liege and lord. Alive was he still,still wielding his wits. The wise old manspake much in his sorrow, and sent you greetingsand bade that ye build, when he breathed no more,[90]on the place of his balefire a barrow high,memorial mighty. Of men was heworthiest warrior wide earth o'erthe while he had joy of his jewels and burg.Let us set out in haste now, the second timeto see and search this store of treasure,these wall-hid wonders,—the way I show you,—where, gathered near, ye may gaze your fillat broad-gold and rings. Let the bier, soon made,be all in order when out we come,our king and captain to carry thither—man beloved—where long he shall bidesafe in the shelter of sovran God."Then the bairn of Weohstan bade command,hardy chief, to heroes manythat owned their homesteads, hither to bringfirewood from far—o'er the folk they ruled—for the famed-one's funeral. "Fire shall devourand wan flames feed on the fearless warriorwho oft stood stout in the iron-shower,when, sped from the string, a storm of arrowsshot o'er the shield-wall: the shaft held firm,featly feathered, followed the barb."And now the sage young son of Weohstanseven chose of the chieftain's thanes,the best he found that band within,and went with these warriors, one of eight,under hostile roof. In hand one borea lighted torch and led the way.No lots they cast for keeping the hoardwhen once the warriors saw it in hall,altogether without a guardian,lying there lost. And little they mournedwhen they had hastily haled it out,dear-bought treasure! The dragon they cast,the worm, o'er the wall for the wave to take,and surges swallowed that shepherd of gems.Then the woven gold on a wain was laden—coundess quite!—and the king was borne,hoary hero, to Hrones-Ness.
XLIII
¶THEN fashioned for him the folk of Geatsfirm on the earth a funeral-pile,and hung it with helmets and harness of warand breastplates bright, as the boon he asked;and they laid amid it the mighty chieftain,heroes mourning their master dear.Then on the hill that hugest of balefiresthe warriors wakened. Wood-smoke roseblack over blaze, and blent was the roarof flame with weeping (the wind was still),till the fire had broken the frame of bones,hot at the heart. In heavy moodtheir misery moaned they, their master's death.Wailing her woe, the widow1 old,her hair upbound, for Beowulf's deathsung in her sorrow, and said full oftshe dreaded the doleful days to come,deaths enow, and doom of battle,and shame.—The smoke by the sky was devoured.The folk of the Weders fashioned thereon the headland a barrow broad and high,by ocean-farers far descried:in ten days' time their toil had raised it,the battle-brave's beacon. Round brands of the pyrea wall they built, the worthiest everthat wit could prompt in their wisest men.They placed in the barrow that precious booty,the rounds and the rings they had reft erewhile,hardy heroes, from hoard in cave,—trusting the ground with treasure of earls,gold in the earth, where ever it liesuseless to men as of yore it was.Then about that barrow the battle-keen rode,atheling-born, a band of twelve,lament to make, to mourn their king,chant their dirge, and their chieftain honor.[92]They praised his earlship, his acts of prowessworthily witnessed: and well it isthat men their master-friend mightily laud,heartily love, when hence he goesfrom life in the body forlorn away.