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.
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, 92 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; 93 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; 94 no harp resounds
in the courts no wassail, as once was heard.