Authors: Frederick Rebsamen
 | a great death-wound gaped in his shoulder |
 | sinew-bonds weakened snapped viciously |
 | bonelockings burst. To Beowulf there |
 | victory was granted. Grendel fled then |
  820 | sickened with death slouched under fen-slopes |
 | to his joyless home no hope for his lifeâ |
 | he knew at last the number of his days. |
 | To the Danes' misery a dawning of mercy |
 | rose from that battle, bright deliverance. |
 | Heorot was cleansed healed of thane-slaughter |
 | aching morning-grief, emptied of murder |
 | by that tall visitorâvictory was bright |
 | joy to his heart. He held to his promise, |
 | evening boastwords, banished from that hall |
  830 | dark sorrow-songs consoled the Danes |
 | for long torture-years terror in the night |
 | an empty meadhall from evening till dawn. |
 | He hailed the sunrise hoisted a signal |
 | a clear token-sign that terror was dead |
 | nailed Grendel's arm that great handgrip |
 | near the high gable-point of Heorot's roof. |
 | By morning's light many a warrior |
 | gathered watchfully by the gift-hall's door. |
 | Chieftains and followers from far and from near |
  840 | gazed at that wonder grisly monster-arm |
 | hand and knife-claws high death-trophy. |
 | Grendel's life-loss gladdened the Danes |
 | who followed his footprints where he fled to his death |
 | left his sorrow-tracks staining the moors |
 | went back to the mere bleak monster-home |
 | teeming with nicors tomb of the damned. |
 | The water-top trembled welling with blood |
 | roiled restlessly with red venom-waves |
 | hot demon-gore heaved from the depthsâ |
  850 | Grendel was deathwards doomed man-killer |
 | laid down his life in that loathsome mereâ |
 | hell received him and his heathen soul. |
 | They turned away wonder in their heartsâ |
 | old counselors carried by horses |
 | many a young one mounted beside them |
 | turned back from the mere. Beowulf's renown |
 | filled their mindthoughtsâmany a Spear-Dane |
 | mindful of that night remembering hell-years |
 | swore that no man under mighty heaven |
  860 | from south or north on sea or on land |
 | was greater in battle than Beowulf the Geat. |
 | Nor did they blame their bountiful lord |
 | gladman Hrothgar good man and king. |
H
ROTHGAR
'
S
MINSTREL
now improvises a song of Beowulf, then moves on to the dragon slayer Sigemund (an early legendary Danish hero) and his nephew Fitela, who shared his adventures after the dragon slaying, thus praising the victory over Grendel and anticipating Beowulf's final battle. This is the earliest literary account of the famous Völsung family (Waelsing in
Beowulf
), later versions of which portray Sigemund's son Sigurd (later Siegfried) as the dragon slayer.
 | At times the riders ready for contest |
 | let their war-steeds leap to the race |
 | where broad meadowlands bright grass-tables |
 | widened the trail. At times the minstrel |
 | heavy with memory mindful of the past, |
 | ancient war-sagas old monster-tales, |
  870 | wove his verse-songsâone word found another |
 | skillfully bound. He sang at first |
 | of Beowulf's valor victory in Heorot |
 | death of a monster and his dark water-home |
 | a champion's tale. He told what he knew |
 | stories he had heard of Sigemund the Dane |
 | marvelous moments of mighty sword-feats |
 | Waelsing's adventures wide traveling |
 | secret wanderings seldom disclosed |
 | except to Fitela faithful companion |
  880 | when he fell to telling tales of his youth |
 | to his only shield-friend always by his sideâ |
 | uncle and nephew in narrow adventures |
 | seeking forest-fiends strange wood-giants |
 | ending them with swords. After his deathday |
 | Sigemund's renown was sung in battle-songs |
 | tales of dragon-breath days of sword-slaughter |
 | glorious rewards. Under gray barrow-stone |
 | he gambled his life gathered his courage |
 | fought against his fate, nor was Fitela with him. |
  890 | It chanced that his sword-point struck through the flesh |
 | pierced that serpent stuck in the barrow-wallâ |
 | that marvelous dragon died of murder. |
 | Sigemund survived unsinged by that breath |
 | earned a treasure-mound for his own delight |
 | a loan from destiny. He loaded a boat |
 | bore to its bosom the bright slaughter-prize |
 | that serpent's goldnestâthe steaming dragon |
 | monstrously hot melted to the ground. |
 | The wandering Waelsing was widely renowned |
  900 | most hailed of heroes after Heremod fell |
 | stumbled to his death restored to Sigemund |
 | the greater glory-name. Good King Heremod |
 | stooped to evil-days stunned his kingdom |
 | joined fiend-creatures fared to hell with them |
 | after his deathfall. Danes mourned for that |
 | bowed to anguish baleful life-sorrow. |
 | They ached with yearning for those early throne-years |
 | bountiful memoriesâmany a wiseman |
 | had looked to that lord for long peace-days |
  910 | feasts and friendship as his father's king-love |
 | had brought to the Danesâdeep treachery |
 | darkened their gift-hall as that dangerous man |
 | bent down to evil. Beowulf prevailed |
 | Hygelac's war-thane held to his promise |
 | brought to all of them bright victory. |
 | They raced their mounts measured the pathway |
 | on the track to Heorot. The hastening of day |
 | shoved up the skyâsoon came fugitives |
 | from safe night-lodgings to see that arm-trophy |
  920 | high upon the hall. Their hopeful king |
 | keeper of the hoard came from the bride-bower |
 | marched with his house-guard to Heorot's doorway |
 | and his queen with him, waiting for hope-news, |
 | measured the hall-yard maidens at her side. |
 | Hrothgar spoke then stood by the doorstep |
 | stared above him at the steep roof-gable |
 | garnished with gold and Grendel's hand: |
 | “May thanks to the Wielder for this wondrous sight |
 | be long in our hearts. Loathsome misery |
  930 | Grendel has brought me. God brings to us |
 | wonder after wonder Wielder of glory. |
 | Until this day I dared not imagine |
 | relief from sorrow shame and treachery |
 | sinful murdering when stained with gore |
 | this best of meadhalls mournfully stood |
 | empty and idleâagony and grief |
 | gripped our heart-thoughts with no hope for mercy |
 | a hand to defend us from that foul hell-monster |
 | sorcery and death. Through the Deemer's will |
  940 | a visiting Geat has vanquished forever |
 | this murdering demon that no Dane's courage |
 | could banish or harm. That heartstrong woman |
 | mother of this man marked by the Wielder |
 | to bear such a son may say to the world |
 | that the old Measurer honored her womb-seed |
 | blessed her in childbirth. I choose you now |
 | beloved Beowulf best among warriors |
 | as the son of my hopesâhold this kinship |
 | near to your heartâyou will never be poor |
  950 | in goods of this world while I wield this goldhoard. |
 | I have often allowed to lesser warriors |
 | weaker in battle-strength bounteous rewards |
 | for smaller victories. You've assured it now |
 | through your great courage that glory will be yours |
 | forever and always. May the almighty King |
 | reward you for this with wisdom and strength.” |
 | Beowulf answered Ecgtheow's son: |
 | “With war-willing hearts we waited for terror |
 | gambled our lives gave up to murder |
  960 | a thane of Hygelac. I hoped as I struggled |
 | that you for yourself might see that monster |
 | in all his strangeness stripped of his life. |
 | I hoped to bind him hard in my grasp |
 | clamp his fiend-corpse to a cold slaughter-bed |
 | hold in my handgrip his hateful life-core |
 | bring you his deathâbut his body betrayed me. |
 | I could not hold him here by the gift-throne |
 | hard as I tried when the high Measurer |
 | planned differentlyâhe pulled too strongly |
  970 | fled with his life. But he left his hand |
 | to mark our struggle his mighty fiend-claws |
 | and death-wrenched arm. No ease from revenge |
 | did he buy with that bargain no booty from hellâ |
 | not long will he live loveless murderer |
 | laboring in sin for sorrow has him |
 | clamped in a life-grip lashed to his crimes |
 | in baleful death-bondsâhe will bide in misery |
 | stained with hall-blood stand for judgment |
 | bound to the will of the bright Measurer.” |
  980 | Then Ecglaf's son Unferth the heckler |
 | stood silent there stunned by that trophy |
 | hushed with horror humbled orator. |
 | They stared at that hand by the high roof-gable |
 | terror-warped fingersâthe tips of the nails |
 | were hard as smith-steel sharp death-talons |
 | heathen's handspurs a hellish warrior's |
 | sword-tips of evil. They all agreed there |
 | that the best of blades battle-swords of old |
 | could not hew that arm from its huge shoulder |
  990 | hack from its body that hell-fiend's claw-hand. |
 | Soon it was time to restore the meadhall |
 | shape it for feastingâthey flocked then to Heorot |
 | warriors and women worked through the day |
 | washed the gore-tracks. Golden tapestries |
 | were hung on the walls wondrous designs |
 | elvishly woven for the eyes of men. |
 | In that bright meadhall benches were shattered |
 | beams unanchored iron-hard hinges |
 | wrenched and twistedâthe roof only |
1000 | kept to its shape when that shambling killer |
 | fled to the moors marked with a death-wound |
 | lifeblood draining. Nor is death avoided |
 | not easily tricked try it as we may |
 | but each soul-bearer must seek in the end |
 | by fate impelled a final slumber-bedâ |
 | each earth-dweller earns a resting-place |
 | where his body will lie bowered from sky-light |
 | sleeping after banquet. Soon it was readyâ |
 | to the hall he went Healfdene's son |
1010 | ready for feasting firelight and peace. |
 | Never have I heard of happier warriors |
 | more highly behaved with their hoard-guardian. |
 | They bent to the benches by bright fire-flicker |
 | lifted their cups. Comrades together |
 | Hrothgar and Hrothulf hoisted their mead-drink |
 | uncle and nephew honored by them all |
 | no guile in their hearts. Heorot was filled then |
 | with family and friendsâno feuding in the air |
 | darkened the Danes no deep treachery. |
1020 | To Beowulf then bountiful Hrothgar |
 | gave a golden banner beacon of victory |