http://www.arcamax.com/poetry/b-1057-8
Beowulf
XXXIV
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,
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. {34a} 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. {34b} 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 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! {34c} 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 board {34d} 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 was driven into the dragon's head, -- blow nerved by hate.
But Naegling {34e} 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.
XXXV
'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 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' {35a} 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."
XXXVI
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, {36a} 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 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.
XXXVII
IT was heavy hap for that hero young on his lord beloved to look and
find him lying on earth with life at end, sorrowful sight. But the
slayer too, awful earth-dragon, empty of breath, lay felled in fight,
nor, fain of its treasure, could the writhing monster rule it more.
For edges of iron had ended its days, hard and battle-sharp, hammers'
leaving; {37a} and that flier-afar had fallen to ground hushed by its
hurt, its hoard all near, no longer lusty aloft to whirl at midnight,
making its merriment seen, proud of its prizes: prone it sank by the
handiwork of the hero-king. Forsooth among folk but few achieve, --
though sturdy and strong, as stories tell me, and never so daring in
deed of valor, -- the perilous breath of a poison-foe to brave, and to
rush on the ring-board hall, whenever his watch the warden keeps bold
in the barrow. Beowulf paid the price of death for that precious
hoard; and each of the foes had found the end of this fleeting life.
Befell erelong that the laggards in war the wood had left,
trothbreakers, cowards, ten together, fearing before to flourish a
spear in the sore distress of their sovran lord. Now in their shame
their shields they carried, armor of fight, where the old man lay; and
they gazed on Wiglaf. Wearied he sat at his sovran's shoulder,
shieldsman good, to wake him with water. {37b} Nowise it availed.
Though well he wished it, in world no more could he barrier life for
that leader-of-battles nor baffle the will of all-wielding God. Doom
of the Lord was law o'er the deeds of every man, as it is to-day. Grim
was the answer, easy to get, from the youth for those that had yielded
to fear! Wiglaf spake, the son of Weohstan, -- mournful he looked on
those men unloved: -- "Who sooth will speak, can say indeed that the
ruler who gave you golden rings and the harness of war in which ye
stand -- for he at ale-bench often-times bestowed on hall-folk helm
and breastplate, lord to liegemen, the likeliest gear which near of
far he could find to give, -- threw away and wasted these weeds of
battle, on men who failed when the foemen came! Not at all could the
king of his comrades-in-arms venture to vaunt, though the
Victory-Wielder, God, gave him grace that he got revenge sole with his
sword in stress and need. To rescue his life, 'twas little that I
could serve him in struggle; yet shift I made (hopeless it seemed) to
help my kinsman. Its strength ever waned, when with weapon I struck
that fatal foe, and the fire less strongly flowed from its head. --
Too few the heroes in throe of contest that thronged to our king! Now
gift of treasure and girding of sword, joy of the house and
home-delight shall fail your folk; his freehold-land every clansman
within your kin shall lose and leave, when lords high-born hear afar
of that flight of yours, a fameless deed. Yea, death is better for
liegemen all than a life of shame!"
XXXVIII
THAT battle-toil bade he at burg to announce, at the fort on the
cliff, where, full of sorrow, all the morning earls had sat, daring
shieldsmen, in doubt of twain: would they wail as dead, or welcome
home, their lord beloved? Little {38a} kept back of the tidings new,
but told them all, the herald that up the headland rode. -- "Now the
willing-giver to Weder folk in death-bed lies; the Lord of Geats on
the slaughter-bed sleeps by the serpent's deed! And beside him is
stretched that slayer-of-men with knife-wounds sick: {38b} no sword
availed on the awesome thing in any wise to work a wound. There Wiglaf
sitteth, Weohstan's bairn, by Beowulf's side, the living earl by the
other dead, and heavy of heart a head-watch {38c} keeps o'er friend
and foe. -- Now our folk may look for waging of war when once unhidden
to Frisian and Frank the fall of the king is spread afar. -- The
strife began when hot on the Hugas {38d} Hygelac fell and fared with
his fleet to the Frisian land. Him there the Hetwaras humbled in war,
plied with such prowess their power o'erwhelming that the
bold-in-battle bowed beneath it and fell in fight. To his friends no
wise could that earl give treasure! And ever since the Merowings'
favor has failed us wholly. Nor aught expect I of peace and faith from
Swedish folk. 'Twas spread afar how Ongentheow reft at Ravenswood
Haethcyn Hrethling of hope and life, when the folk of Geats for the
first time sought in wanton pride the Warlike-Scylfings. Soon the sage
old sire {38e} of Ohtere, ancient and awful, gave answering blow; the
sea-king {38f} he slew, and his spouse redeemed, his good wife
rescued, though robbed of her gold, mother of Ohtere and Onela. Then
he followed his foes, who fled before him sore beset and stole their
way, bereft of a ruler, to Ravenswood.
With his host he besieged there what swords had left, the weary and
wounded; woes he threatened the whole night through to that
hard-pressed throng: some with the morrow his sword should kill, some
should go to the gallows-tree for rapture of ravens. But rescue came
with dawn of day for those desperate men when they heard the horn of
Hygelac sound, tones of his trumpet; the trusty king had followed
their trail with faithful band.