http://www.arcamax.com/poetry/b-1057-7
Beowulf
XXXI
THEN the baleful fiend its fire belched out, and bright homes burned.
The blaze stood high all landsfolk frighting. No living thing would
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 people hated 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!
To Beowulf then the bale was told quickly and truly: the king's own
home, of buildings the best, in brand-waves melted, that gift-throne
of Geats. To the good old man sad in heart, 'twas heaviest sorrow. The
sage assumed that his sovran God he had angered, breaking ancient law,
and embittered the Lord. His breast within with black thoughts welled,
as his wont was never. The folk's own fastness that fiery dragon with
flame had destroyed, and the stronghold all washed by waves; but the
warlike king, prince of the Weders, plotted vengeance.
Warriors'-bulwark, he bade them work all of iron -- the earl's
commander -- a war-shield wondrous: well he knew that forest-wood
against fire were worthless, linden could aid not. -- Atheling brave,
he was fated to finish this fleeting life, {31a} his 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 desperate he 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 that of 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 fled through strength of himself and his swimming
power, though alone, and his arms were laden with thirty coats of
mail, when he came to the sea! Nor yet might Hetwaras {31b} haughtily
boast their craft of contest, who carried against him shields to the
fight: but few escaped from strife with the hero to seek their homes!
Then swam over ocean Ecgtheow's son lonely and sorrowful, seeking his
land, where Hygd made him offer of hoard and realm, rings and
royal-seat, reckoning naught the strength of her son to save their
kingdom from hostile hordes, after Hygelac's death. No sooner for this
could the stricken ones in any wise move that atheling's mind over
young Heardred's head as lord and 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 exiles sought 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. {31c} 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 again house and home when Heardred fell, leaving Beowulf lord
of Geats and gift-seat's master. -- A good king he!
XXXII
THE fall of his lord he was fain to requite in after days; and to
Eadgils he proved friend to the friendless, and forces sent over the
sea to the son of Ohtere, weapons and warriors: well repaid he those
care-paths cold when the king he slew. {32a} Thus safe through
struggles the son of Ecgtheow had passed a plenty, through perils
dire, with daring deeds, till this day was come that doomed him now
with the dragon to strive. With comrades eleven the lord of Geats
swollen in rage went seeking the dragon. He had heard whence all the
harm arose and the killing of clansmen; that cup of price on 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 thence forced and reluctant, he led them on till he came in
ken of that cavern-hall, the barrow delved near billowy surges, flood
of ocean. Within 'twas full of wire-gold and jewels; a jealous warden,
warrior trusty, the treasures held, lurked in his lair. Not light the
task of 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 nigh
stood ready to greet the gray-haired man, to seize his soul-hoard,
sunder apart life and body. Not long would be the 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, Herebeald and
Haethcyn and Hygelac mine. For the eldest of these, by unmeet chance,
by kinsman's deed, was the death-bed strewn, when Haethcyn 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, {32b} and a fearful sin, horror to Hrethel; yet, hard
as it was, unavenged must the atheling die! Too awful it is for an
aged man to bide and bear, that his bairn so young rides on the
gallows. A rime he makes, sorrow-song for his son there hanging as
rapture of ravens; no rescue now can come from the old, disabled man!
Still is he minded, as morning breaks, of the heir gone elsewhere;
{32c} another he hopes not he will bide to see his burg within as ward
for his wealth, now the one has found doom of death that the deed
incurred. Forlorn he looks on the lodge of his son, wine-hall waste
and wind-swept chambers reft of revel. The rider sleepeth, the hero,
far-hidden; {32d} no harp resounds, in the courts no wassail, as once
was heard.
XXXIII
"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, {33a} 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 he {33b} 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 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. {33c} 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, 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, {33d} 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 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 his breast 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!