Beowulf Forebodes Ill from the Wedding of Freawaru: He Tells of Grendel and His Dam

Ill-liking this may be to the lord of the Heathobards, And to each of the thanes of that same people. When he with fair bride on the floor of hall wendeth, That the Dane's noble bairn his doughty should wait on, As on him glisten there the heirlooms of the aged, Hard and with rings bedight, Heathobards' treasure, Whileas the weapons yet they might wield; Till astray did they lead there at the lind-play Their own fellows belov'd and their very own lives. For then saith at the beer, he who seeth the ring, An ancient ash-warrior who mindeth of all The spear-death of men; grim is he of mind; Sad of mood he beginneth to tell the young champion. Through the thought of his heart his mind there to try, The war-bale to waken, and sayeth this word: Mayest thou, friend mine, wot of the war-sword, That which thy father bore in the fight Under the war-mask e'en on the last time, That the dear iron, whereas the Danes slew him, Wielded the death-field, since Withergyld lay, After fall of the heroes, the keen-hearted Scyldings? Now here of those banesmen the son, whoseso he be, All merry in fretwork forth on floor fareth; Of the murder he boasteth, and that jewel he beareth, E'en that which of right thou shouldest arede. Thus he mindeth and maketh word every of times, With sore words he telleth, until the time cometh That the thane of the fair bride for the deeds of his father After bite of the bill sleepeth all blood-stain'd, All forfeit of life; but thenceforth the other Escapeth alive; the land well he kenneth; Then will be broken on both sides forsooth The oath-swearing of earls, whenas unto Ingeld Well up the death-hatreds, and the wife-loves of him Because of the care-wellings cooler become. Therefore the Heathobards' faith I account not, Their deal of the folk-peace, unguileful to Danes, Their fast-bounden friendship. Henceforth must I speak on Again about Grendel, that thou get well to know it, O treasure-out-dealer, how sithence betided The hand-race of heroes: sithence heaven's gem All over the grounds glided, came the wroth guest, The dire night-angry one us to go look on, Whereas we all sound were warding the hall. There then for Handshoe was battle abiding, Life-bale to the fey; he first lay alow, The war-champion girded; unto him became Grendel, To the great thane of kindreds, a banesman of mouth, Of the man well-beloved the body he swallow'd; Nor the sooner therefor out empty-handed The bloody-tooth'd banesman, of bales all bemindful, Out from that gold-hall yet would he get him; But he, mighty of main, made trial of me, And gripp'd ready-handed. His glove hung aloft, Wondrous and wide, in wily bands fast, With cunning wiles was it begeared forsooth, With crafts of the devils and fells of the dragons; He me withinwards there, me the unsinning, The doer of big deeds would do me to be As one of the many; but naught so it might be, Sithence in mine anger upright I stood. 'Tis over-long telling how I to the folkscather For each one of evils out paid the hand-gild. There I, O my lord king, them thy leal people Worthy'd with works: but away he gat loosed Out thence for a little while, brooked yet life-joys; But his right hand held ward of his track howsoever, High upon Hart-hall, and thence away humble He sad of his mood to the mere-ground fell downward. Me for that slaughter-race the friend of the Scyldings With gold that beplated was mickle deal paid, With a many of treasures, sithence came the morning, And we to the feast-tide had sat us adown; Song was and glee there; the elder of Scyldings, Asking of many things, told of things o'erpast; Whiles hath the battle-deer there the harp's joy, The wood of mirth greeted; whiles the lay said he Soothfast and sorrowful; whiles a spell seldom told Told he by right, the king roomy-hearted; Whiles began afterward he by eld bounden, The aged hoar warrior, of his youth to bewail him, Its might of the battle; his breast well'd within him, When he, wont in winters, of many now minded. So we there withinward the livelong day's wearing Took pleasure amongst us, till came upon men Another of nights; then eftsoons again Was yare for the harm-wreak the mother of Grendel: All sorry she wended, for her son death had taken, The war-hate of the Weders: that monster of women Awreaked her bairn, and quelled a warrior In manner all mighty. Then was there from Aeschere, The wise man of old, life waning away; Nor him might they even when come was the morning, That death-weary wight, the folk of the Danes Burn up with the brand, nor lade on the bale The man well-belov'd, for his body she bare off In her fathom the fiendly all under the fell-stream. That was unto Hrothgar of sorrows the heaviest Of them which the folk-chieftain long had befallen. Then me did the lord king, and e'en by thy life, Mood-heavy beseech me that I in the holm-throng Should do after earlship, my life to adventure, And frame me main-greatness, and meed he behight me. Then I of the welling flood, which is well kenned, The grim and the grisly ground-herder did find. There to us for a while was the blending of hands; The holm welled with gore, and the head I becarved In that hall of the ground from the Mother of Grendel With the all-eked edges; unsoftly out thence My life forth I ferry'd, for not yet was I fey. But the earls' burg to me was giving thereafter Much sort of the treasures, e'en Healfdene's son.

XXXI. BEOWULF GIVES HROTHGAR'S GIFTS TO HYGELAC, AND BY HIM IS REWARDED. OF THE DEATH OF HYGELAC AND OF HEARDRED HIS SON, AND HOW BEOWULF IS KING OF THE GEATS: THE WORM IS FIRST TOLD OF.

So therewith the folk-king far'd, living full seemly; By those wages forsooth ne'er a whit had I lost, By the meed of my main, but to me treasure gave he, The Healfdene's son, to the doom of myself; Which to thee, king of bold ones, will I be a-bringing, And gladly will give thee; for of thee is all gotten Of favours along, and but little have I Of head-kinsmen forsooth, saving, Hygelac, thee. Then he bade them bear in the boar-shape, the head-sign, The battle-steep war-helm, the byrny all hoary, The sword stately-good, and spell after he said: This raiment of war Hrothgar gave to my hand, The wise of the kings, and therewithal bade me, That I first of all of his favour should flit thee; He quoth that first had it King Heorogar of old, The king of the Scyldings, a long while of time; But no sooner would he give it unto his son, Heoroward the well-whet, though kind to him were he, This weed of the breast. Do thou brook it full well. On these fretworks, so heard I, four horses therewith, All alike, close followed after the track, Steeds apple-fallow. Fair grace he gave him Of horses and treasures. E'en thus shall do kinsman, And nowise a wile-net shall weave for another With craft of the darkness, or do unto death His very hand-fellow. But now unto Hygelac The bold in the battle was his nephew full faithful, And either to other of good deeds was mindful. I heard that the neck-ring to Hygd did he give, E'en the wonder-gem well-wrought, that Wealh-theow gave him, The king's daughter; gave he three steeds therewithal Slender, and saddle-bright; sithence to her was, After the ring-gift, the breast well beworthy'd. Thus boldly he bore him, the Ecgtheow's bairn, The groom kenned in battle, in good deeds a-doing; After due doom he did, and ne'er slew he the drunken Hearth-fellows of him: naught rough was his heart; But of all men of mankind with the greatest of might The gift fully and fast set, which had God to him given, That war-deer did hold. Long was he contemned, While the bairns of the Geats naught told him for good, Nor him on the mead-bench worthy of mickle The lord of the war-hosts would be a-making. Weened they strongly that he were but slack then, An atheling unkeen; then came about change To the fame-happy man for every foul harm. Bade then the earls' burg in to be bringing, The king battle-famed, the leaving of Hrethel, All geared with gold; was not 'mid the Geats then A treasure-gem better of them of the sword-kind, That which then on Beowulf's harm there he laid; And gave to him there seven thousand in gift, A built house and king-stool; to both them together Was in that folkship land that was kindly, Father-right, home; to the other one rather A wide realm, to him who was there the better. But thereafter it went so in days later worn Through the din of the battle, sithence Hygelac lay low And unto Heardred swords of the battle Under the war-board were for a bane; When fell on him midst of this victory-folk The hard battle-wolves, the Scyldings of war, And by war overwhelmed the nephew of Hereric; That sithence unto Beowulf turned the broad realm All into his hand. Well then did he hold it For a fifty of winters; then was he an old king, An old fatherland's warder; until one began Through the dark of the night-tide, a drake, to hold sway. In a howe high aloft watched over an hoard, A stone-burg full steep; thereunder a path sty'd Unknown unto men, and therewithin wended Who of men do I know not; for his lust there took he, From the hoard of the heathen his hand took away A hall-bowl gem-flecked, nowise back did he give it Though the herd of the hoard him sleeping beguil'd he With thief-craft; and this then found out the king, The best of folk-heroes, that wrath-bollen was he.