XII

NOT in any wise would the earls’-defence1

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, –––––––––––––––––––––––—Page 28

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.

From ravage had rescued the roving stranger Hrothgar’s hall; the hardy and wise one

had purged it anew. His night-work pleased him, his deed and its honor. To Eastern Danes had the valiant Geat his vaunt made good, all their sorrow and ills assuaged,

their bale of battle borne so long,

and all the dole they erst endured

pain a-plenty. — ‘Twas proof of this,

when the hardy-in-fight a hand laid down, arm and shoulder, — all, indeed,

of Grendel’s gripe, — ‘neath the gabled roofˇ

[1] Kenning for Beowulf.

XIII MANY at morning, as men have told me,

warriors gathered the gift-hall round,

folk-leaders faring from far and near,

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o’er wide-stretched ways, the wonder to view, trace of the traitor. Not troublous seemed the enemy’s end to any man

who saw by the gait of the graceless foe how the weary-hearted, away from thence, baffled in battle and banned, his steps

death-marked dragged to the devils’ mere.

Bloody the billows were boiling there,

turbid the tide of tumbling waves

horribly seething, with sword-blood hot, by that doomed one dyed, who in den of the moor laid forlorn his life adown,

his heathen soul,-and hell received it.

Home then rode the hoary clansmen

from that merry journey, and many a youth, on horses white, the hardy warriors,

back from the mere. Then Beowulf’s glory eager they echoed, and all averred

that from sea to sea, or south or north, there was no other in earth’s domain,

under vault of heaven, more valiant found, of warriors none more worthy to rule!

(On their lord beloved they laid no slight, gracious Hrothgar: a good king he!)

From time to time, the tried-in-battle

their gray steeds set to gallop amain,

and ran a race when the road seemed fair.

From time to time, a thane of the king,

who had made many vaunts, and was mindful of verses, stored with sagas and songs of old,

bound word to word in well-knit rime,

welded his lay; this warrior soon

of Beowulf’s quest right cleverly sang,

and artfully added an excellent tale,

in well-ranged words, of the warlike deeds he had heard in saga of Sigemund.

Strange the story: he said it all, -the Waelsing’s wanderings wide, his struggles, which never were told to tribes of men,

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the feuds and the frauds, save to Fitela only, when of these doings he deigned to speak, uncle to nephew; as ever the twain

stood side by side in stress of war,

and multitude of the monster kind

they had felled with their swords. Of Sigemund grew, when he passed from life, no little praise; for the doughty-in-combat a dragon killed that herded the hoard:1 under hoary rock the atheling dared the deed alone

fearful quest, nor was Fitela there.

Yet so it befell, his falchion pierced

that wondrous worm, — on the wall it struck, best blade; the dragon died in its blood.

Thus had the dread-one by daring achieved over the ring-hoard to rule at will,

himself to pleasure; a sea-boat he loaded, and bore on its bosom the beaming gold,

son of Waels; the worm was consumed.

He had of all heroes the highest renown

among races of men, this refuge-of-warriors, for deeds of daring that decked his name since the hand and heart of Heremod

grew slack in battle. He, swiftly banished to mingle with monsters at mercy of foes, to death was betrayed; for torrents of sorrow had lamed him too long; a load of care

to earls and athelings all he proved.

Oft indeed, in earlier days,

for the warrior’s wayfaring wise men mourned, who had hoped of him help from harm and bale, and had thought their sovran’s son would thrive, follow his father, his folk protect,

the hoard and the stronghold, heroes’ land, home of Scyldings. — But here, thanes said, the kinsman of Hygelac kinder seemed

to all: the other2 was urged to crime!

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And afresh to the race,3 the fallow roads by swift steeds measured! The morning sun was climbing higher. Clansmen hastened

to the high-built hall, those hardy-minded, the wonder to witness. Warden of treasure, crowned with glory, the king himself,

with stately band from the bride-bower strode; and with him the queen and her crowd of maidens measured the path to the mead-house fair.

[1] “Guarded the treasure.”

[2] Sc. Heremod.

[3] The singer has sung his lays, and the epic resumes its story. The time-relations are not altogether good in this long passage which describes the rejoicings of “the day after”; but the present shift from the riders on the road to the folk at the hall is not very violent, and is of a piece with the general style.