Beowulf | Page 2

there harps rang out,
clear song of the singer. He sang who knew {1d}
tales of the
early time of man,
how the Almighty made the earth,
fairest fields enfolded by water,

set, triumphant, sun and moon
for a light to lighten the land-dwellers,
and braided
bright the breast of earth
with limbs and leaves, made life for all
of mortal beings that
breathe and move.
So lived the clansmen in cheer and revel
a winsome life, till one
began
to fashion evils, that field of hell.
Grendel this monster grim was called,

march-riever {1e} mighty, in moorland living,
in fen and fastness; fief of the giants

the hapless wight a while had kept
since the Creator his exile doomed.
On kin of Cain
was the killing avenged
by sovran God for slaughtered Abel.
Ill fared his feud, {1f}
and far was he driven,
for the slaughter's sake, from sight of men.
Of Cain awoke all
that woful breed,
Etins {1g} and elves and evil-spirits,
as well as the giants that
warred with God
weary while: but their wage was paid them!
II
WENT he forth to find at fall of night
that haughty house, and heed wherever
the
Ring-Danes, outrevelled, to rest had gone.
Found within it the atheling band
asleep
after feasting and fearless of sorrow,
of human hardship. Unhallowed wight,
grim and
greedy, he grasped betimes,
wrathful, reckless, from resting-places,
thirty of the
thanes, and thence he rushed
fain of his fell spoil, faring homeward,
laden with
slaughter, his lair to seek.
Then at the dawning, as day was breaking,
the might of
Grendel to men was known;
then after wassail was wail uplifted,
loud moan in the
morn. The mighty chief,

atheling excellent, unblithe sat,
labored in woe for the loss of
his thanes,
when once had been traced the trail of the fiend,
spirit accurst: too cruel
that sorrow,
too long, too loathsome. Not late the respite;
with night returning, anew
began
ruthless murder; he recked no whit,
firm in his guilt, of the feud and crime.

They were easy to find who elsewhere sought
in room remote their rest at night,
bed
in the bowers, {2a} when that bale was shown,
was seen in sooth, with surest token, --

the hall-thane's {2b} hate. Such held themselves
far and fast who the fiend outran!

Thus ruled unrighteous and raged his fill
one against all; until empty stood
that lordly
building, and long it bode so.
Twelve years' tide the trouble he bore,
sovran of
Scyldings, sorrows in plenty,
boundless cares. There came unhidden
tidings true to
the tribes of men,
in sorrowful songs, how ceaselessly Grendel
harassed Hrothgar,
what hate he bore him,
what murder and massacre, many a year,
feud unfading, --
refused consent
to deal with any of Daneland's earls,
make pact of peace, or
compound for gold:
still less did the wise men ween to get
great fee for the feud from
his fiendish hands.
But the evil one ambushed old and young
death-shadow dark, and
dogged them still,
lured, or lurked in the livelong night
of misty moorlands: men may
say not
where the haunts of these Hell-Runes {2c} be.
Such heaping of horrors the
hater of men,
lonely roamer, wrought unceasing,
harassings heavy. O'er Heorot he
lorded,
gold-bright hall, in gloomy nights;
and ne'er could the prince {2d} approach

his throne,
-- 'twas judgment of God, -- or have joy in his hall.
Sore was the sorrow to
Scyldings'-friend,
heart-rending misery. Many nobles
sat assembled, and searched out
counsel
how it were best for bold-hearted men
against harassing terror to try their
hand.
Whiles they vowed in their heathen fanes
altar-offerings, asked with words {2e}

that the slayer-of-souls would succor give them
for the pain of their people. Their
practice this,
their heathen hope; 'twas Hell they thought of
in mood of their mind.
Almighty they knew not,
Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord,
nor
Heaven's-Helmet heeded they ever,
Wielder-of-Wonder. -- Woe for that man
who in
harm and hatred hales his soul
to fiery embraces; -- nor favor nor change
awaits he
ever. But well for him
that after death-day may draw to his Lord,
and friendship find
in the Father's arms!
III
THUS seethed unceasing the son of Healfdene
with the woe of these days; not wisest
men
assuaged his sorrow; too sore the anguish,
loathly and long, that lay on his folk,

most baneful of burdens and bales of the night.
This heard in his home Hygelac's thane,
great among Geats, of Grendel's doings.
He
was the mightiest man of valor
in that same day of this our life,
stalwart and stately.
A stout wave-walker
he bade make ready. Yon battle-king, said he,
far o'er the
swan-road he fain would seek,
the noble monarch who needed men!
The prince's
journey by prudent folk
was little blamed, though they loved him dear;
they whetted
the hero, and hailed good omens.
And now the bold one from bands of Geats

comrades chose, the keenest of warriors
e'er he could find; with fourteen men
the
sea-wood {3a} he sought, and, sailor proved,
led them on to the land's confines.

Time
had now flown; {3b} afloat was the ship,
boat under bluff. On board they climbed,

warriors ready; waves were churning
sea with sand; the sailors bore
on the breast of
the bark their bright array,
their mail and weapons: the men pushed off,
on its willing
way, the well-braced craft.
Then moved o'er the waters by might of the wind
that bark
like a bird with breast