|
|
| 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 |
|
|
| 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, |
|
|
| 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, |
|
|
| 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, |
|
|
| 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 |
|
|
| 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 |
|
|
| 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 |
|
|
| 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, |
|
|
| 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, |
|
|
| the ruthless, in running! For rescue, however, |
|
|
| he left behind him his hand in pledge, |
|
|
| arm and shoulder; nor aught of help |
|
|
| could the cursed one thus procure at all. |
|
|
| None the longer liveth he, loathsome fiend, |
|
|
| 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." |
|
|
|
|
| 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 |
|
|
| 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 |
|
|
| that battle-hand bloody from baneful foe. |
|
|
