Beowulf (13 page)

 

dark death-sorrows to his Danish followers.

 

With hot rage-thoughts he ravaged his people

 

hearth-companions till hate severed him,

 

jealous slaughter-king, from the joys of men

 

though the great Measurer marked him for honor

 

lifted him on high haled him to a throne

 

a towering meadhall. To his mind came rushing

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blood-hungry thoughts—no bracelets or rings

 

he gave to his warriors but woeful misery

 

shame and sorrow sharp death-grieving

 

endless murdering. Mark carefully

 

this lesson of anguish—old in winters

 

I warn you by this. It is wondrous to see

 

how almighty God in his endless wisdom

 

grants unto a man a mind to rule with

 

kingdom and meadhall to keep until death.

 

At times the Measurer maker of us all

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brings moments of pleasure to a proud earth-king

 

gives to that warrior worldly power-goods

 

hall and homeland to hold for his own

 

renders him ruler of rich meadow-lands

 

a broad kingdom—he cannot foresee

 

in his own unwisdom an end to such wealth.

 

He dwells in happiness no hindrance bothers him

 

no illness or age or evil reckoning

 

darkens his mind no deep serpent-thoughts

 

edge-hate in his heart—but all this loan-world

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bends to his will welcomes him with gold

 

till high throne-thoughts throng into his mind

 

gather in his head. Then the guardian sleeps

 

the soul's warden—it slumbers too long

 

while a silent slayer slips close to him

 

shoots from his bow baleful arrows.

 

Deep into his heart hard under shield-guard

 

strikes the arrowhead—no armor withstands

 

that quiet marksman cold mind-killer.

 

What he long has held too little contents him

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greed grapples him he gives no longer

 

gold-patterned rings reckons no ending

 

of borrowed treasure-years bright earth-fortune

 

granted by God the great Measurer.

 

The last of splendor slips into darkness

 

that loaned king-body cracks upon the pyre

 

swirls away in smoke—soon another one

 

steps to the gift-throne shares his goldhoard

 

turns that treachery to trust and reward.

 

Guard against life-bale beloved Beowulf

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best of warriors and win for your soul

 

eternal counsel—do not care for pride

 

great shield-champion! The glory of your strength

 

lasts for a while but not long after

 

sickness or spear-point will sever you from life

 

or the fire's embrace or the flood's welling

 

or the file-hard sword or the flight of a spear

 

or bane-bearing age—the brightness of your eye

 

will dim and darken. Destiny is waiting

 

and death will take you down into the earth.

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I have held the Shield-Danes for half a century

 

ruled them under heaven harbored them from war

 

against many a people on this proud earthyard—

 

no enemy to peace asking for bloodshed

 

spearshaft or swordedge for settlement of feuds.

 

Then in my homeland happiness departed

 

joy turned to sorrow when jealous-mad Grendel

 

careless murderer came into my hall—

 

through long winters I leaned on my sorrow

 

a breaking of mind. To the bright Measurer

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thanks for deliverance from long heartache,

 

for this swordstruck head severed from that murderer

 

this grim death-trophy through the Deemer's mercy.

 

But sit now to banquet songs and ale-cups

 

with your hearth-companions. By peaceful morninglight

 

goldgifts will travel from my treasure to you.”

 

Beowulf was gladdened by those bountiful words

 

sat by the gift-throne with his Geats around him.

 

Bright bench-laughter bore to the rafters

 

sounds of victory servants brought ale-cups

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to Geats and to Danes. Then dark night-shadows

 

loomed above the hall. Hrothgar rose then

 

king of the Spear-Danes called for night-sleep

 

for silence and peace. Soon then Beowulf

 

yearning for bedrest bent to his hall-bench

 

sank gratefully to slumber in Heorot

 

once more a night-guest in that mighty hallroom.

 

The Danes' thane-servant thoughtful of their needs

 

spread bench-covers bore final cupfuls

 

readied the meadhall for rest in the night.

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The great-hearted slept in that steep-gabled hall

 

tall and gold-trimmed—Geats rested there

 

till the black-shining raven raised morning-gray

 

a lifting of darkness. Dawnlight came shoving

 

bright above Heorot banishing night-creatures.

 

Hygelac's thanes hailed the sunrise

 

yearned for the sea a sail to carry them

 

to that known headland the hall of their king.

 

Their hero commanded Hrunting to be borne

 

returned to Unferth old Ecglaf's son

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urged him to take it—he told well of it

 

thanked him for the loan of that long-famed warblade

 

shining warrior-steel sharp helmet-bane

 

when good men gather to gamble their lives.

 

Then sea-ready warriors with their strong weapons

 

yearned to be gone. Their good sail-skipper

 

stepped to the gift-throne stood before the king—

 

gladman Hrothgar hailed him once more.

 

Beowulf spoke son of Ecgtheow:

 

“Now we Geat-thanes guests across the sea

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are set for sailing over steep wave-rolls

 

home to Hygelac. Here you welcomed us

 

opened your goldhoard granted us treasures.

 

If ever on this earth I may earn your love

 

help you in sorrow sickness or defeat

 

save you from slaughter my ship will return.

 

If news comes to me across the seaswell

 

that scurrilous neighbors scheme for your life

 

trap you in Heorot like those hell-spawned demons

 

I will sail back to you bring you an army

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thousands of linden-shields. My lord Hygelac

 

king of the Geats kin and battle-friend

 

still young in winters stands behind me—

 

he will back me well when I bring help to you

 

a forest of spears file-sharp warblades

 

a navy of shieldmen when your need is great.

 

If Hrethric travels to the home of the Geats

 

I promise you now, proud treasure-king,

 

he will find friends there. Fortune abroad

 

comes to the sailor who himself prevails.”

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Hrothgar answered helm of the Danes:

 

“These stronghearted words were sent down to you

 

from the high Wielder. I have heard no man

 

so young in winters so wealthy in thought.

 

You are strong in body bold in mind-courage

 

wise within your words. I will wager you now

 

if it comes to the Geats that cold battle-death

 

a whining spearshaft or sharp battle-blade

 

sends from this earth that son of Hrethel—

 

if age or steel strikes down your uncle

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leads your dear king from these loaned earth-days

 

and you live after him beloved Beowulf—

 

Geats will not find a greater hall-thane

 

to raise to their gift-throne. Your good mindthoughts

 

bring more pleasure the more you stay with us.

 

You've brought to us all to both our people

 

to men of the Geats and these good Spear-Danes

 

peace between us no time for warplay

 

anger and hatred as in earlier days.

 

As long as I wield this wide kingdom

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gifts will take ship from shore to shore

 

gold will bring greetings to Götland from Denmark

 

the ring-prowed ship will shove across the waves

 

gifts and love-tokens. We will live in friendship

 

forged against enemies fast in loyalty

 

your people and mine proud blood-brothers.”

 

Then Hrothgar gave to his good heart-son

 

twelve treasure-gifts to that tall champion

 

bade him go then to greet Hygelac

 

sail there in safety with his strong prowship.