The Tale of Beowulf/Chapter 17
XVII. THEY FEAST IN HART. THE GLEEMAN SINGS OF FINN AND HENGEST.
THEN the lord of the earl-folk to every and each one1050Of them who with Beowulf the sea-ways had wornThen and there on the mead-bench did handsel them treasure, An heir-loom to wit; for him also he bade itThat a were-gild be paid, whom Grendel aforetimeBy wickedness quell'd, as far more of them would he,Save from them God all-witting the weird away wended,And that man's mood withal. But the Maker all wieldedOf the kindred of mankind, as yet now he doeth.Therefore through-witting will be the best everywhereAnd the forethought of mind. Many things must abide1060Of lief and of loth, he who here a long whileIn these days of the strife with the world shall be dealing.There song was and sound all gathered togetherOf that Healfdene's warrior and wielder of battle,The wood of glee greeted, the lay wreaked often,Whenas the hall-game the minstrel of HrothgarAll down by the mead-bench tale must be making:By Finn's sons aforetime, when the fear gat them,The hero of Half-Danes, Hnæf of the Scyldings,On the slaughter-field Frisian needs must he fall.Forsooth never Hildeburh needed to hery1071The troth of the Eotens; she all unsinning Was lorne of her lief ones in that play of the linden,Her bairns and her brethren, by fate there they fellSpear-wounded. That was the all-woeful of women.Not unduly without cause the daughter of HocMourn'd the Maker's own shaping, sithence came the mornWhen she under the heavens that tide came to see,Murder-bale of her kinsmen, where most had she erewhile1079Of world's bliss. The war-tide took all men awayOf Finn's thanes that were, save only a few;E'en so that he might not on the field of the meetingHold Hengest a war-tide, or fight any whit,Nor yet snatch away thence by war the woe-leavingsFrom the thane of the King; but terms now they bade himThat for them other stead all for all should make room,A hall and high settle, whereof the half-wieldingThey with the Eotens' bairns henceforth might hold,And with fee-gifts moreover the son of FolkwaldaEach day of the days the Danes should beworthy; The war-heap of Hengest with rings should he honour1091Even so greatly with treasure of treasures,Of gold all beplated, as he the kin FrisianDown in the beer-hall duly should dight.Troth then they struck there each of the two halves,A peace-troth full fast. There Finn unto HengestStrongly, unstrifeful, with oath-swearing swore,That he the woe-leaving by the doom of the wise onesShould hold in all honour, that never man henceforthWith word or with work the troth should be breaking,1100Nor through craft of the guileful should undo it ever,Though their ring-giver's bane they must follow in rankAll lordless, e'en so need is it to be:But if any of Frisians by over-bold speakingThe murderful hatred should call unto mind,Then naught but the edge of the sword should avenge it.Then done was the oath there, and gold of the golden Heav'd up from the hoard. Of the bold Here-ScyldingsAll yare on the bale was the best battle-warrior;On the death-howe beholden was easily there1110The sark stain'd with war-sweat, the all-golden swine,The iron-hard boar; there was many an athelingWith wounds all outworn; some on slaughter-field welter'd.But Hildeburh therewith on Hnæf's bale she bade themThe own son of herself to set fast in the flame,His bone-vats to burn up and lay on the bale there:On his shoulder all woeful the woman lamented,Sang songs of bewailing, as the warrior strode upward,Wound up to the welkin that most of death-fires,Before the howe howled; there molten the heads were,1120The wound-gates burst open, there blood was out-springingFrom foe-bites of the body; the flame swallow'd all,The greediest of ghosts, of them that war gat himOf either of folks; shaken off was their life-breath.