Verbatim

Selections from Beowulf

Anonymous Anglo-Saxon (circa 700 A.D.)

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o, praise of the prowess of people-kings

of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,

we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!

Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,

from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,

awing the earls. Since erst he lay

friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:

for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,

till before him the folk, both far and near,

who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,

gave him gifts: a good king he!

To him an heir was afterward born,

a son in his halls, whom heaven sent

to favor the folk, feeling their woe

that erst they had lacked an earl for leader

so long a while; the Lord endowed him,

the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.

Famed was this Beowulf. . . .

 

To Hrothgar was given such glory of war,

such honor of combat, that all his kin

obeyed him gladly till great grew his band

of youthful comrades. It came in his mind

to bid his henchmen a hall uprear,

a master mead-house, mightier far

than ever was seen by the sons of earth,

and within it, then, to old and young

he would all allot that the Lord had sent him,

save only the land and the lives of his men.

Wide, I heard, was the work commanded,

for many a tribe this mid-earth round,

to fashion the folkstead. It fell, as he ordered,

in rapid achievement that ready it stood there,

of halls the noblest: Heorot he named it

whose message had might in many a land. . . .

 

So lived the clansmen in cheer and revel

a winsome life, till one began

to fashion evils, that field of hell.

Grendel this monster grim was called,

march-riever mighty, in moorland living,

in fen and fastness; fief of the giants

the hapless wight a while had kept

since the Creator his exile doomed.

On kin of Cain was the killing avenged

by sovran God for slaughtered Abel.

Ill fared his feud, and far was he driven,

for the slaughter's sake, from sight of men.

Of Cain awoke all that woful breed,

Etins and elves and evil-spirits,

as well as the giants that warred with God

weary while: but their wage was paid them! . . .

 

Went he forth to find at fall of night

that haughty house, and heed wherever

the Ring-Danes, outrevelled, to rest had gone.

Found within it the atheling band

asleep after feasting and fearless of sorrow,

of human hardship. Unhallowed wight,

grim and greedy, he grasped betimes,

wrathful, reckless, from resting-places,

thirty of the thanes, and thence he rushed

fain of his fell spoil, faring homeward,

laden with slaughter, his lair to seek.

Then at the dawning, as day was breaking,

the might of Grendel to men was known;

then after wassail was wail uplifted,

loud moan in the morn. The mighty chief,

atheling excellent, unblithe sat,

labored in woe for the loss of his thanes,

when once had been traced the trail of the fiend,

spirit accurst: too cruel that sorrow,

too long, too loathsome. Not late the respite;

with night returning, anew began

ruthless murder; he recked no whit,

firm in his guilt, of the feud and crime. . . .

 

This heard in his home Hygelac's thane,

great among Geats, of Grendel's doings.

He was the mightiest man of valor

in that same day of this our life,

stalwart and stately. A stout wave-walker

he bade make ready. Yon battle-king, said he,

far o'er the swan-road he fain would seek,

the noble monarch who needed men! . . .

 

Then Hrothgar went with his hero-train,

defence-of-Scyldings, forth from hall;

fain would the war-lord Wealhtheow seek,

couch of his queen. The King-of-Glory

against this Grendel a guard had set,

so heroes heard, a hall-defender,

who warded the monarch and watched for the monster.

In truth, the Geats' prince gladly trusted

his mettle, his might, the mercy of God!

Cast off then his corselet of iron,

helmet from head; to his henchman gave-

choicest of weapons-the well-chased sword,

bidding him guard the gear of battle.

Spake then his Vaunt the valiant man,

Beowulf Geat, ere the bed be sought:

Of force in fight no feebler I count me,

in grim war-deeds, than Grendel deems him.

Not with the sword, then, to sleep of death

his life will I give, though it lie in my power. . . .

 

Then from the moorland, by misty crags,

with God's wrath laden, Grendel came.

The monster was minded of mankind now

sundry to seize in the stately house.

Under welkin he walked, till the wine-palace there,

gold-hall of men, he gladly discerned,

flashing with fretwork. Not first time, this,

that he the home of Hrothgar sought,

yet ne'er in his life-day, late or early,

such hardy heroes, such hall-thanes, found!

To the house the warrior walked apace,

parted from peace; the portal opended,

though with forged bolts fast, when his fists had struck it,

and baleful he burst in his blatant rage,. . .

 

But Wyrd forbade him

to seize any more of men on earth

after that evening. Eagerly watched

Hygelac's kinsman his cursed foe,

how he would fare in fell attack.

Not that the monster was minded to pause!

Straightway he seized a sleeping warrior

for the first, and tore him fiercely asunder,

the bone-frame bit, drank blood in streams,

swallowed him piecemeal . . . .

 

Not in any wise would the earls' defence

suffer that slaughterous stranger to live,

useless deeming his days and years

to men on earth. Now many an earl

of Beowulf brandished blade ancestral,

fain the life of their lord to shield,

their praised prince, if power were theirs;

never they knew-as they neared the foe,

hardy-hearted heroes of war,

aiming their swords on every side

the accursed to kill-no keenest blade,

no farest of falchions fashioned on earth,

could harm or hurt that hideous fiend!

He was safe, by his spells, from sword of battle,

from edge of iron. Yet his end and parting

on that same day of this our life

woful should be, and his wandering soul

far off flit to the fiends' domain.

Soon he found, who in former days,

harmful in heart and hated of God,

on many a man such murder wrought,

that the frame of his body failed him now.

For him the keen-souled kinsman of Hygelac

held in hand; hateful alive

was each to other. The outlaw dire

took mortal hurt; a mighty wound

showed on his shoulder, and sinews cracked,

and the bone-frame burst. To Beowulf now

the glory was given, and Grendel thence

death-sick his den in the dark moor sought,

noisome abode: he knew too well

that here was the last of life, an end

of his days on earth. To all the Danes

by that bloody battle the boon had come. . . .

 

Hrothgar spake, to the hall he went,

stood by the steps, the steep roof saw,

garnished with gold, and Grendel's hand:

"For the sight I see to the Sovran Ruler

be speedy thanks! A throng of sorrows

I have borne from Grendel; but God still works

wonder on wonder, the Warden-of-Glory.

It was but now that I never more

for woes that weighed on me waited help

long as I lived, when, laved in blood,

stood sword-gore-stained this stateliest house,

widespread woe for wise men all,

who had no hope to hinder ever

foes infernal and fiendish sprites

from havoc in hall. This hero now,

by the Wielder's might, a work has done

that not all of us erst could ever do

by wile and wisdom. Lo, well can she say

whoso of women this warrior bore

among sons of men, if still she liveth,

that the God of the ages was good to her

in the birth of her bairn. Now, Beowulf, thee,

of heroes best, I shall heartily love

as mine own, my son; preserve thou ever

this kinship new: thou shalt never lack

wealth of the world that I wield as mine!" . . .

 

Then sank they to sleep. With sorrow one bought

his rest of the evening, as ofttime had happened

when Grendel guarded that golden hall,

evil wrought, till his end drew nigh,

slaughter for sins. 'Twas seen and told

how an avenger survived the fiend,

as was learned afar. The livelong time

after that grim fight, Grendel's mother,

monster of women, mourned her woe. . . .

 

To Heorot came she, where helmeted Danes

slept in the hall. Too soon came back

old ills of the earls, when in she burst,

the mother of Grendel. Less grim, though, that terror,

e'en as terror of woman in war is less.

Haste was hers; she would hie afar

and save her life when the liegemen saw her.

Yet a single atheling up she seized

fast and firm, as she fled to the moor.

He was for Hrothgar of heroes the dearest,

of trusty vassals betwixt the seas,

whom she killed on his couch, a clansman famous,

in battle brave. Nor was Beowulf there;

another house had been held apart . . . .

Credenda/Agenda Vol. 9, No. 4