The Tale of Beowulf | Page 4

100 A fiend out of hell-pit, the framing of evil,?And Grendel forsooth the grim guest was hight,?The mighty mark-strider, the holder of moorland,?The fen and the fastness. The stead of the fifel?That wight all unhappy a while of time warded,?Sithence that the Shaper him had for-written.?On the kindred of Cain the Lord living ever?Awreaked the murder of the slaying of Abel.?In that feud he rejoic'd not, but afar him He banish'd,?The Maker, from mankind for the crime he had wrought. 110 But offspring uncouth thence were they awoken?Eotens and elf-wights, and ogres of ocean,?And therewith the Giants, who won war against God?A long while; but He gave them their wages therefor.
III. HOW GRENDEL FELL UPON HART AND WASTED IT.
Now went he a-spying, when come was the night-tide,?The house on high builded, and how there the Ring-Danes?Their beer-drinking over had boune them to bed;?And therein he found them, the atheling fellows,?Asleep after feasting. Then sorrow they knew not?Nor the woe of mankind: but the wight of wealth's waning, 120 The grim and the greedy, soon yare was he gotten,?All furious and fierce, and he raught up from resting?A thirty of thanes, and thence aback got him?Right fain of his gettings, and homeward to fare,?Fulfilled of slaughter his stead to go look on.?Thereafter at dawning, when day was yet early,?The war-craft of Grendel to men grew unhidden,?And after his meal was the weeping uphoven,?Mickle voice of the morning-tide: there the Prince mighty, The Atheling exceeding good, unblithe he sat, 130 Tholing the heavy woe; thane-sorrow dreed he?Since the slot of the loathly wight there they had look'd on, The ghost all accursed. O'er grisly the strife was,?So loathly and longsome. No longer the frist was?But after the wearing of one night; then fram'd he?Murder-bales more yet, and nowise he mourned?The feud and the crime; over fast therein was he.?Then easy to find was the man who would elsewhere?Seek out for himself a rest was more roomsome,?Beds end-long the bowers, when beacon'd to him was, 140 And soothly out told by manifest token,?The hate of the hell-thane. He held himself sithence?Further and faster who from the fiend gat him.?In such wise he rul'd it and wrought against right,?But one against all, until idle was standing?The best of hall-houses; and mickle the while was,?Twelve winter-tides' wearing; and trouble he tholed,?That friend of the Scyldings, of woes every one?And wide-spreading sorrows: for sithence it fell?That unto men's children unbidden 'twas known 150 Full sadly in singing, that Grendel won war?'Gainst Hrothgar a while of time, hate-envy waging,?And crime-guilts and feud for seasons no few,?And strife without stinting. For the sake of no kindness?Unto any of men of the main-host of Dane-folk?Would he thrust off the life-bale, or by fee-gild allay it, Nor was there a wise man that needed to ween?The bright boot to have at the hand of the slayer.?The monster the fell one afflicted them sorely,?That death-shadow darksome the doughty and youthful 160 Enfettered, ensnared; night by night was he faring?The moorlands the misty. But never know men?Of spell-workers of Hell to and fro where they wander.?So crime-guilts a many the foeman of mankind,?The fell alone-farer, fram'd oft and full often,?Cruel hard shames and wrongful, and Hart he abode in,?The treasure-stain'd hall, in the dark of the night-tide; But never the gift-stool therein might he greet,?The treasure before the Creator he trow'd not.?Mickle wrack was it soothly for the friend of the Scyldings, 170 Yea heart and mood breaking. Now sat there a many?Of the mighty in rune, and won them the rede?Of what thing for the strong-soul'd were best of all things Which yet they might frame 'gainst the fear and the horror. And whiles they behight them at the shrines of the heathen To worship the idols; and pray'd they in words,?That he, the ghost-slayer, would frame for them helping?'Gainst the folk-threats and evil So far'd they their wont, The hope of the heathen; nor hell they remember'd?In mood and in mind. And the Maker they knew not, 180 The Doomer of deeds: nor of God the Lord wist they,?Nor the Helm of the Heavens knew aught how to hery,?The Wielder of Glory. Woe worth unto that man?Who through hatred the baneful his soul shall shove into?The fire's embrace; nought of fostering weens he,?Nor of changing one whit. But well is he soothly?That after the death-day shall seek to the Lord,?In the breast of the Father all peace ever craving.
IV. NOW COMES BEOWULF ECGTHEOW'S SON?TO THE LAND OF THE DANES,?AND THE WALL-WARDEN SPEAKETH WITH HIM.
So care that was time-long the kinsman of Healfdene?Still seeth'd without ceasing, nor might the wise warrior 190 Wend otherwhere woe, for o'er strong was the strife?All loathly so longsome late laid on the people,?Need-wrack and grim nithing, of night-bales the greatest. Now that from his home