The Tale of Beowulf/Chapter 22
XXII. THEY FOLLOW GRENDEL'S DAM TO HER LAIR.
SPAKE out then Beowulf the Ecgtheow's bairn:O wise of men, mourn not; for to each man 'tis betterThat his friend he awreak than weep overmuch. Lo! each of us soothly abideth the endingOf the life of the world. Then let him work who work mayHigh deeds ere the death: to the doughty of war-ladsWhen he is unliving shall it best be hereafter.Rise up, warder of kingdom! and swiftly now wend we1390The Grendel Kinswoman's late goings to look on;And this I behote thee, that to holm shall she flee not,Nor into earth's fathom, nor into the fell-holt,Nor the grounds of the ocean, go whereas she will go.For this one of days patience dree thou a while thenOf each one of thy woes, as I ween it of thee.Then leapt up the old man, and lightly gave God thank,That mighty of Lords, for the word which the man spake.And for Hrothgar straightway then was bitted a horse,A wave-maned steed: and the wise of the princes1400Went stately his ways; and stepp'd out the mantroop, The linden-board bearers. Now lightly the tracks wereAll through the woodland ways wide to be seen there,Her goings o'er ground; she had gotten her forthrightOver the mirk-moor: bore she of kindred thanesThe best that there was, all bare of his soul,Of them that with Hrothgar heeded the home.Overwent then that bairn of the athelingsSteep bents of the stones, and stridings full narrow,Strait paths nothing pass'd over, ways all uncouth,Sheer nesses to wit, many houses of nicors.1411He one of the few was going beforeOf the wise of the men the meadow to look on,Until suddenly there the trees of the mountainsOver the hoar-stone found he a-leaning,A wood without gladness: the water stood underDreary and troubled. Unto all the Danes was it,To the friends of the Scyldings, most grievous in moodTo many of thanes such a thing to be tholing,Sore evil to each one of earls, for of Aeschere1420The head did they find e'en there on the holm-cliff;The flood with gore welled (the folk looking on it), With hot blood. But whiles then the horn fell to singingA song of war eager. There sat down the band;They saw down the water a many of worm-kind,Sea-drakes seldom seen a-kenning the sound;Likewise on the ness-bents nicors a-lying,Who oft on the undern-tide wont are to hold themA course full of sorrow all over the sail-road.Now the worms and the wild-deer away did they speed1430Bitter and wrath-swollen all as they heard it,The war-horn a-wailing: but one the Geats' wardenWith his bow of the shafts from his life-days there sunder'd,From his strife of the waves; so that stood in his life-partsThe hard arrow of war; and he in the holm wasThe slower in swimming as death away swept him.So swiftly in sea-waves with boar-spears forsoothSharp-hook'd and hard-press'd was he thereupon,Set on with fierce battle, and on to the ness tugg'd,The wondrous wave-bearer; and men were beholding1440The grisly guest. Beowulf therewith he gear'd him With weed of the earls: nowise of life reck'd he:Needs must his war-byrny, braided by hands,Wide, many-colour'd by cunning, the sound seek,E'en that which his bone-coffer knew how to ward,So that the war-grip his heart ne'er a while,The foe-snatch of the wrathful his life ne'er should scathe;Therewith the white war-helm warded his head,E'en that which should mingle with ground of the mere,And seek the sound-welter, with treasure be-worthy'd,1450All girt with the lordly chains, as in days gone byThe weapon-smith wrought it most wondrously done,Beset with the swine-shapes, so that sithenceThe brand or the battle-blades never might bite it.Nor forsooth was that littlest of all of his mainstays,Which to him in his need lent the spokesman of Hrothgar,E'en the battle-sword hafted that had to name Hrunting,That in fore days was one of the treasures of old,The edges of iron with the poison twigs o'er-stain'd,With battle-sweat harden'd; in the brunt never fail'd he1460 Any one of the warriors whose hand wound about him,Who in grisly wayfarings durst ever to wend himTo the folk-stead of foemen. Not the first of times was itThat battle-work doughty it had to be doing.Forsooth naught remember'd that son there of Ecglaf,The crafty in mighty deeds, what ere he quothAll drunken with wine, when the weapon he lentTo a doughtier sword-wolf: himself naught he durst itUnder war of the waves there his life to adventureAnd warrior-ship work. So forwent he the glory,The fair fame of valour. Naught far'd so the other1471Syth he to the war-tide had gear'd him to wend.