| |
| HROTHGAR spake,—to the hall he went, | |
| stood by the steps, the steep roof saw, | |
| garnished with gold, and Grendel’s hand:— | |
| “For the sight I see to the Sovran Ruler | |
| be speedy thanks! A throng of sorrows | 5 |
| I have borne from Grendel; but God still works | |
| wonder on wonder, the Warden-of-Glory. | |
| It was but now that I never more | |
| for woes that weighed on me waited help | |
| long as I lived, when, laved in blood, | 10 |
| stood sword-gore-stained this stateliest house,— | |
| widespread woe for wise men all, | |
| who had no hope to hinder ever | |
| foes infernal and fiendish sprites | |
| from havoc in hall. This hero now, | 15 |
| by the Wielder’s might, a work has done | |
| that not all of us erst could ever do | |
| by wile and wisdom. Lo, well can she say | |
| whoso of women this warrior bore | |
| among sons of men, if still she liveth, | 20 |
| that the God of the ages was good to her | |
| in the birth of her bairn. Now, Beowulf, thee, | |
| of heroes best, I shall heartily love | |
| as mine own, my son; preserve thou ever | |
| this kinship new: thou shalt never lack | 25 |
| wealth of the world that I wield as mine! | |
| Full oft for less have I largess showered, | |
| my precious hoard, on a punier man, | |
| less stout in struggle. Thyself hast now | |
| fulfilled such deeds, that thy fame shall endure | 30 |
| through all the ages. As ever he did, | |
| well may the Wielder reward thee still!” | |
| Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:— | |
| “This work of war most willingly | |
| we have fought, this fight, and fearlessly dared | 35 |
| force of the foe. Fain, too, were I | |
| hadst thou but seen himself, what time | |
| the fiend in his trappings tottered to fall! | |
| Swiftly, I thought, in strongest gripe | |
| on his bed of death to bind him down, | 40 |
| that he in the hent of this hand of mine | |
| should breathe his last: but he broke away. | |
| Him I might not—the Maker willed not— | |
| hinder from flight, and firm enough hold | |
| the life-destroyer: too sturdy was he, | 45 |
| the ruthless, in running! For rescue, however, | |
| he left behind him his hand in pledge, | |
| arm and shoulder; nor aught of help | |
| could the curséd one thus procure at all. | |
| None the longer liveth he, loathsome fiend, | 50 |
| sunk in his sins, but sorrow holds him | |
| tightly grasped in gripe of anguish, | |
| in baleful bonds, where bide he must, | |
| evil outlaw, such awful doom | |
| as the Mighty Maker shall mete him out.” | 55 |
| More silent seemed the son of Ecglaf 1 | |
| in boastful speech of his battle-deeds, | |
| since athelings all, through the earl’s great prowess, | |
| beheld that hand, on the high roof gazing, | |
| foeman’s fingers,—the forepart of each | 60 |
| of the sturdy nails to steel was likest,— | |
| heathen’s “hand-spear,” hostile warrior’s | |
| claw uncanny. ’Twas clear, they said, | |
| that him no blade of the brave could touch, | |
| how keen soever, or cut away | 65 |
| that battle-hand bloody from baneful foe. | |
