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, 95 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 96 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. 97 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, 98 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 hisbreast
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