XXXV

“THEN he goes to his chamber, a grief-song chants alone for his lost. Too large all seems, homestead and house. So the helmet-of-Weders hid in his heart for Herebeald

waves of woe. No way could he take

to avenge on the slayer slaughter so foul; nor e’en could he harass that hero at all with loathing deed, though he loved him not.

And so for the sorrow his soul endured,

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 Geat o’er the width of waters; war arose,

hard battle-horror, when Hrethel died,

and Ongentheow’s offspring grew

strife-keen, bold, nor brooked o’er the seas pact of peace, but pushed their hosts

to 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 Haethcyn proved

fatal that fray, for the first-of-Geats.

At morn, I heard, was the murderer killed by 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 him

of feud was mindful, nor flinched from the death-blow.

— “For all that he2 gave me, my gleaming sword repaid him at war, — such power I wielded, -for lordly treasure: with land he entrusted me, homestead and house. He had no need

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from 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 fight

while I bide in life and this blade shall last that early and late hath loyal proved

since for my doughtiness Daeghrefn fell, slain by my hand, the Hugas’ champion.

Nor fared he thence to the Frisian king

with the booty back, and breast-adornments; but, slain in struggle, that standard-bearer fell, 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 many wars in my youth; now once again,

old folk-defender, feud will I seek,

do doughty deeds, if the dark destroyer

forth 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 knew

how, with such enemy, else my vows

I 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 me breastplate and board.3 From the barrow’s keeper no footbreadth flee I. One fight shall end our war by the wall, as Wyrd allots,

all mankind’s master. My mood is bold

but forbears to boast o’er this battling-flyer.

— Now abide by the barrow, ye breastplate-mailed, ye heroes in harness, which of us twain

better from battle-rush bear his wounds.

Wait ye the finish. The fight is not yours, –––––––––––––––––––––––—Page 77

nor meet for any but me alone

to measure might with this monster here

and play the hero. Hardily I

shall win that wealth, or war shall seize, cruel killing, your king and lord!”

Up stood then with shield the sturdy champion, stayed by the strength of his single manhood, and hardy ‘neath helmet his harness bore under cleft of the cliffs: no coward’s path!

Soon spied by the wall that warrior chief, survivor of many a victory-field

where foemen fought with furious clashings, an arch of stone; and within, a stream

that broke from the barrow. The brooklet’s wave was hot with fire. The hoard that way

he never could hope unharmed to near,

or endure those deeps,4 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 ringing and clear his cry ‘neath the cliff-rocks gray.

The hoard-guard heard a human voice;

his rage was enkindled. No respite now

for pact of peace! The poison-breath

of 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 foe

came seeking strife. The sturdy king

had drawn his sword, not dull of edge,

heirloom old; and each of the two

felt fear of his foe, though fierce their mood.

Stoutly stood with his shield high-raised the warrior king, as the worm now coiled together amain: the mailed-one waited.

Now, spire by spire, fast sped and glided that blazing serpent. The shield protected, soul and body a shorter while

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for the hero-king than his heart desired, could his will have wielded the welcome respite but once in his life! But Wyrd denied it, and victory’s honors. — His arm he lifted lord of the Geats, the grim foe smote

with atheling’s heirloom. Its edge was turned brown blade, on the bone, and bit more feebly than its noble master had need of then

in his baleful stress. — Then the barrow’s keeper waxed full wild for that weighty blow,

cast deadly flames; wide drove and far

those vicious fires. No victor’s glory

the Geats’ lord boasted; his brand had failed, naked in battle, as never it should,

excellent iron! — ‘Twas no easy path

that Ecgtheow’s honored heir must tread

over the plain to the place of the foe;

for against his will he must win a home

elsewhere far, as must all men, leaving

this lapsing life! — Not long it was

ere those champions grimly closed again.

The hoard-guard was heartened; high heaved hisbreast once 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 stood

with warlike front: to the woods they bent them, their lives to save. But the soul of one with care was cumbered. Kinship true

can never be marred in a noble mind!

[1] Eofor for Wulf. — The immediate provocation for Eofor in killing “the hoary Scylfing,” Ongentheow, is that the latter has just struck Wulf down; but the king, Haethcyn, is also avenged by the blow. See the detailed description below.

[2] Hygelac.

[3] Shield.

[4] The hollow passage.

XXXVI WIGLAF his name was, Weohstan’s son,

linden-thane loved, the lord of Scylfings, Aelfhere’s kinsman. His king he now saw

with heat under helmet hard oppressed.

He minded the prizes his prince had given him, –––––––––––––––––––––––—Page 79

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 fray

killed by Weohstan, who won for his kin

brown-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 had been felled, the feud was unfelt by Onela.1

For winters this war-gear Weohstan kept, breastplate and board, till his bairn had grown earlship 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 now with his leader-lord the liegeman young

was bidden to share the shock of battle.

Neither softened his soul, nor the sire’s bequest weakened in war.2 So the worm found out

when 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 ours in the banquet-hall, to our breaker-of-rings, for gear of combat to give him requital, for hard-sword and helmet, if hap should bring stress of this sort! Himself who chose us from all his army to aid him now,

urged us to glory, and gave these treasures, because he counted us keen with the spear –––––––––––––––––––––––—Page 80

and hardy ‘neath helm, though this hero-work our leader hoped unhelped and alone

to finish for us, — folk-defender

who hath got him glory greater than all men for daring deeds! Now the day is come

that our noble master has need of the might of warriors stout. Let us stride along

the hero to help while the heat is about him glowing and grim! For God is my witness

I am far more fain the fire should seize along with my lord these limbs of mine!3

Unsuiting it seems our shields to bear

homeward hence, save here we essay

to fell the foe and defend the life

of the Weders’ lord. I wot ‘twere shame

on the law of our land if alone the king out of Geatish warriors woe endured

and sank in the struggle! My sword and helmet, breastplate and board, for us both shall serve!”

Through slaughter-reek strode he to succor his chieftain, his battle-helm bore, and brief words spake: -“Beowulf dearest, do all bravely,

as in youthful days of yore thou vowedst that while life should last thou wouldst let no wise thy glory droop! Now, great in deeds,

atheling steadfast, with all thy strength shield 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 burned

that board4 to the boss, and the breastplate failed to shelter at all the spear-thane young.

Yet quickly under his kinsman’s shield

went eager the earl, since his own was now all burned by the blaze. The bold king again had mind of his glory: with might his glaive –––––––––––––––––––––––—Page 81

was driven into the dragon’s head, -blow nerved by hate. But Naegling5 was shivered, broken in battle was Beowulf’s sword,

old and gray. ‘Twas granted him not

that ever the edge of iron at all

could help him at strife: too strong was his hand, so the tale is told, and he tried too far with strength of stroke all swords he wielded, though sturdy their steel: they steaded him nought.

Then for the third time thought on its feud that folk-destroyer, fire-dread dragon,

and rushed on the hero, where room allowed, battle-grim, burning; its bitter teeth

closed on his neck, and covered him

with waves of blood from his breast that welled.

[1] That is, although Eanmund was brother’s son to Onela, the slaying of the former by Weohstan is not felt as cause of feud, and is rewarded by gift of the slain man’s weapons.

[2] Both Wiglaf and the sword did their duty. — The following is one of the classic passages for illustrating the comitatus as the most conspicuous Germanic institution, and its underlying sense of duty, based partly on the idea of loyalty and partly on the practical basis of benefits received and repaid.

[3] Sc. “than to bide safely here,” — a common figure of incomplete comparison.

[4] Wiglaf’s wooden shield.

[5] Gering would translate “kinsman of the nail,” as both are made of iron.

XXXVII ‘TWAS now, men say, in his sovran’s need that 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 beast

he smote with sword; his steel drove in

bright and burnished; that blaze began

to lose and lessen. At last the king

wielded 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 be

in danger’s day! — Of deeds of valor

this 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 found

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in 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 column upheld forever that hall in earth.

Yet here must the hand of the henchman peerless lave 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 knew

his portion now was past and gone

of earthly bliss, and all had fled

of his file of days, and death was near: “I would fain bestow on son of mine

this gear of war, were given me now

that any heir should after me come

of my proper blood. This people I ruled

fifty winters. No folk-king was there,

none at all, of the neighboring clans

who war would wage me with ‘warriors’-friends‘1

and threat me with horrors. At home I bided what fate might come, and I cared for mine own; feuds I sought not, nor falsely swore

ever 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 go

and 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 behold

the gorgeous heirlooms, golden store,

have joy in the jewels and gems, lay down softlier for sight of this splendid hoard my life and the lordship I long have held.”

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[1] That is, swords.

XXXVIII I HAVE heard that swiftly the son of Weohstan at 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,1 saw store of jewels

and glistening gold the ground along;

by the wall were marvels, and many a vessel in the den of the dragon, the dawn-flier old: unburnished bowls of bygone men

reft of richness; rusty helms

of the olden age; and arm-rings many

wondrously woven. — Such wealth of gold, booty from barrow, can burden with pride each human wight: let him hide it who will! -His glance too fell on a gold-wove banner high o’er the hoard, of handiwork noblest, brilliantly broidered; so bright its gleam, all the earth-floor he easily saw

and viewed all these vessels. No vestige now was 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 plate at his own good will, and the ensign took, brightest of beacons. — The blade of his lord — its edge was iron — had injured deep one that guarded the golden hoard

many a year and its murder-fire

spread hot round the barrow in horror-billows at midnight hour, till it met its doom.

Hasted the herald, the hoard so spurred him his track to retrace; he was troubled by doubt, high-souled hero, if haply he’d find

alive, where he left him, the lord of Weders, weakening fast by the wall of the cave.

So he carried the load. His lord and king –––––––––––––––––––––––—Page 84

he found all bleeding, famous chief

at the lapse of life. The liegeman again plashed him with water, till point of word broke 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 folk or ever the day of my death be run!

Now I’ve bartered here for booty of treasure the last of my life, so look ye well

to the needs of my land! No longer I tarry.

A barrow bid ye the battle-fanned raise

for my ashes. ‘Twill shine by the shore of the flood, to folk of mine memorial fair

on Hrones Headland high uplifted,

that ocean-wanderers oft may hail

Beowulf’s Barrow, as back from far

they drive their keels o’er the darkling wave.”

From his neck he unclasped the collar of gold, valorous king, to his vassal gave it

with 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 man harbored in heart ere hot death-waves

of balefire he chose. From his bosom fled his soul to seek the saints’ reward.

[1] Where Beowulf lay.