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| BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:— |
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| "Have mind, thou honored offspring of Healfdene |
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| gold-friend of men, now I go on this quest, |
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| sovran wise, what once was said: |
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| if in thy cause it came that I |
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| should lose my life, thou wouldst loyal bide |
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| to me, though fallen, in father's place! |
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| Be guardian, thou, to this group of my thanes, |
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| my warrior-friends, if War should seize me; |
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| and the goodly gifts thou gavest me, |
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| Hrothgar beloved, to Hygelac send! |
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| Geatland's king may ken by the gold, |
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| Hrethel's son see, when he stares at the treasure, |
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| that I got me a friend for goodness famed, |
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| and joyed while I could in my jewel-bestower. |
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| And let Unferth wield this wondrous sword, |
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| earl far-honored, this heirloom precious, |
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| hard of edge: with Hrunting I |
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| seek doom of glory, or Death shall take me." |
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| Soon found the fiend who the flood-domain |
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| sword-hungry held these hundred winters, |
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| greedy and grim, that some guest from above, |
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| some man, was raiding her monster-realm. |
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| She grasped out for him with grisly claws, |
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| and the warrior seized; yet scathed she not |
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| his body hale; the breastplate hindered, |
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| as she strove to shatter the sark of war, |
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| the linked harness, with loathsome hand. |
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| Then bore this brine-wolf, when bottom she touched, |
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| the lord of rings to the lair she haunted |
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| whiles vainly he strove, though his valor held, |
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| weapon to wield against wondrous monsters |
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| that sore beset him; sea-beasts many |
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| tried with fierce tusks to tear his mail, |
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| and swarmed on the stranger. But soon he marked |
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| he was now in some hall, he knew not which, |
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| where water never could work him harm, |
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| nor through the roof could reach him ever |
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| fangs of the flood. Firelight he saw, |
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| beams of a blaze that brightly shone. |
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| Then the warrior was ware of that wolf-of-the-deep, |
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| mere-wife monstrous. For mighty stroke |
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| he swung his blade, and the blow withheld not. |
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| Then sang on her head that seemly blade |
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| its war-song wild. But the warrior found |
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| the light-of-battle[1] was loath to bite, |
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| to harm the heart: its hard edge failed |
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| the noble at need, yet had known of old |
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| strife hand to hand, and had helmets cloven, |
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| doomed men's fighting-gear. First time, this, |
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| for the gleaming blade that its glory fell. |
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| Firm still stood, nor failed in valor, |
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| heedful of high deeds, Hygelac's kinsman; |
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| flung away fretted sword, featly jewelled, |
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| the angry earl; on earth it lay |
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| steel-edged and stiff. His strength he trusted, |
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| hand-gripe of might. So man shall do |
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| whenever in war he weens to earn him |
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| lasting fame, nor fears for his life! |
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| Seized then by shoulder, shrank not from combat, |
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| the Geatish war-prince Grendel's mother. |
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| Flung then the fierce one, filled with wrath, |
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| his deadly foe, that she fell to ground. |
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| Swift on her part she paid him back |
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| with grisly grasp, and grappled with him. |
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| Spent with struggle, stumbled the warrior, |
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| fiercest of fighting-men, fell adown. |
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| On the hall-guest she hurled herself, hent her short sword, |
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| broad and brown-edged,[2] the bairn to avenge, |
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| the sole-born son.—On his shoulder lay |
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| braided breast-mail, barring death, |
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| withstanding entrance of edge or blade. |
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| Life would have ended for Ecgtheow's son, |
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| under wide earth for that earl of Geats, |
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| had his armor of war not aided him, |
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| battle-net hard, and holy God |
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| wielded the victory, wisest Maker. |
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| The Lord of Heaven allowed his cause; |
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| and easily rose the earl erect. |
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