VII

HROTHGAR spake, the Scyldings’-helmet: -“For fight defensive, Friend my Beowulf, to succor and save, thou hast sought us here.

Thy father’s combat1 a feud enkindled

when Heatholaf with hand he slew

among the Wylfings; his Weder kin

for horror of fighting feared to hold him.

Fleeing, he sought our South-Dane folk,

over surge of ocean the Honor-Scyldings, when first I was ruling the folk of Danes, wielded, youthful, this widespread realm, this hoard-hold of heroes. Heorogar was dead, my elder brother, had breathed his last, Healfdene’s bairn: he was better than I!

Straightway the feud with fee2 I settled, to the Wylfings sent, o’er watery ridges, treasures olden: oaths he3 swore me.

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Sore is my soul to say to any

of the race of man what ruth for me

in Heorot Grendel with hate hath wrought, what sudden harryings. Hall-folk fail me, my warriors wane; for Wyrd hath swept them into Grendel’s grasp. But God is able

this deadly foe from his deeds to turn!

Boasted full oft, as my beer they drank, earls o’er the ale-cup, armed men,

that they would bide in the beer-hall here, Grendel’s attack with terror of blades.

Then was this mead-house at morning tide dyed with gore, when the daylight broke, all the boards of the benches blood-besprinkled, gory the hall: I had heroes the less,

doughty dear-ones that death had reft.

— But sit to the banquet, unbind thy words, hardy hero, as heart shall prompt thee.”

Gathered together, the Geatish men

in the banquet-hall on bench assigned,

sturdy-spirited, sat them down,

hardy-hearted. A henchman attended,

carried the carven cup in hand,

served the clear mead. Oft minstrels sang blithe in Heorot. Heroes revelled,

no dearth of warriors, Weder and Dane.

[1] There is no irrelevance here. Hrothgar sees in Beowulf’s mission a heritage of duty, a return of the good offices which the Danish king rendered to Beowulf’s father in time of dire need.

[2] Money, for wergild, or man-price.

[3] Ecgtheow, Beowulf’s sire.

VIII UNFERTH spake, the son of Ecglaf,

who sat at the feet of the Scyldings’ lord, unbound the battle-runes.1 — Beowulf’s quest, sturdy seafarer’s, sorely galled him;

ever he envied that other men

should more achieve in middle-earth

of fame under heaven than he himself. -“Art thou that Beowulf, Breca’s rival,

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who emulous swam on the open sea,

when for pride the pair of you proved the floods, and wantonly dared in waters deep

to risk your lives? No living man,

or lief or loath, from your labor dire

could you dissuade, from swimming the main.

Ocean-tides with your arms ye covered,

with strenuous hands the sea-streets measured, swam o’er the waters. Winter’s storm

rolled the rough waves. In realm of sea

a sennight strove ye. In swimming he topped thee, had more of main! Him at morning-tide

billows bore to the Battling Reamas,

whence he hied to his home so dear

beloved of his liegemen, to land of Brondings, fastness fair, where his folk he ruled,

town and treasure. In triumph o’er thee

Beanstan’s bairn2 his boast achieved.

So ween I for thee a worse adventure

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

Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: -“What a deal hast uttered, dear my Unferth, drunken with beer, of Breca now,

told of his triumph! Truth I claim it,

that I had more of might in the sea

than any man else, more ocean-endurance.

We twain had talked, in time of youth,

and made our boast, — we were merely boys, striplings still, — to stake our lives

far at sea: and so we performed it.

Naked swords, as we swam along,

we held in hand, with hope to guard us

against the whales. Not a whit from me

could he float afar o’er the flood of waves, haste o’er the billows; nor him I abandoned.

Together we twain on the tides abode

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

darkling night, and the northern wind

ruthless rushed on us: rough was the surge.

Now the wrath of the sea-fish rose apace; yet me ‘gainst the monsters my mailed coat, hard and hand-linked, help afforded, -battle-sark braided my breast to ward,

garnished with gold. There grasped me firm and haled me to bottom the hated foe,

with grimmest gripe. ‘Twas granted me, though, to pierce the monster with point of sword, with blade of battle: huge beast of the sea was whelmed by the hurly through hand of mine.

[1] “Began the fight.”

[2] Breca.