The Tale of Beowulf/Chapter 35
Appearance
XXXV. BEOWULF TELLS OF PAST FEUDS, AND BIDS FAREWELL TO HIS FELLOWS: HE FALLS ON THE WORM, AND THE BATTLE OF THEM BEGINS.
THEN to sleeping-stead wendeth he, singeth he sorrow,The one for the other; o'er-roomy all seem'd him2460The meads and the wick-stead. So the helm of the WedersFor Herebeald's sake the sorrow of heartAll welling yet bore, and in nowise might heOn the banesman of that life the feud be a-booting;Nor ever the sooner that warrior might hateWith deeds loathly, though he to him nothing was lief.He then with the sorrow wherewith that sore beset himMan's joy-tide gave up, and chose him God's light.To his offspring he left, e'en as wealthy man doeth,His land and his folk-burgs when he from life wended.2470 Then sin was and striving of Swedes and of Geats,Over the wide water war-tide in common,The hard horde-hate to wit sithence Hrethel perish'd;And to them ever were the Ongentheow's sonsDoughty and host-whetting, nowise then would friendshipHold over the waters; but round about HreosnaburghThe fierce fray of foeman was oftentimes fram'd.Kin of friends that mine were, there they awreakedThe feud and the evil deed, e'en as was famed;Although he, the other, with his own life he bought it,2480A cheaping full hard: unto Hæthcyn it was,To the lord of the Geat-folk, a life-fateful war.Learned I that the morrow one brother the otherWith the bills' edges wreaked the death on the banesman,Whereas Ongentheow is a-seeking of Eofor:Glode the war-helm asunder, the aged of ScylfingsFell, sword-bleak; e'en so remember'd the handFeud enough; nor e'en then did the life-stroke withhold.I to him for the treasure which erewhile he gave me Repaid it in warring, as was to me granted,2490With my light-gleaming sword. To me gave he land,The hearth and the home-bliss: unto him was no needThat unto the Gifthas or unto the Spear-DanesOr into the Swede-realm he needs must go seekingA worse wolf of war for a worth to be cheaping;For in the host ever would I be before himAlone in the fore-front, and so life-long shall IBe a-framing of strife, whileas tholeth the sword,Which early and late hath bestead me full often,Sithence was I by doughtiness unto Day-raven2500The hand-bane erst waxen, to the champion of Hug-folk;He nowise the fretwork to the king of the Frisians,The breast-worship to wit, might bring any more,But cringed in battle that herd of the banner,The Atheling in might: the edge naught was his bane,But for him did the war-grip the heart-wellings of himBreak, the house of the bones. Now shall the bill's edge,The hand and hard sword, about the hoard battle. So word uttered Beowulf, spake out the boast-wordFor the last while as now: Many wars dared I2510In the days of my youth, and now will I yet,The old warder of folk, seek to the feud,Full gloriously frame, if the scather of foul-deedFrom the hall of the earth me out shall be seeking.Greeted he then each one of the grooms,The keen wearers of helms, for the last while of whiles,His own fellows the dear: No sword would I fare with,No weapon against the Worm, wist I but how'Gainst the monster of evil in otherwise might IUphold me my boast, as erst did I with Grendel;But there fire of the war-tide full hot do I ween me,2521And the breath, and the venom; I shall bear on me thereforeBoth the board and the byrny; nor the burg's warden shall IOverflee for a foot's-breadth, but unto us twainIt shall be at the wall as to us twain Weird willeth,The Maker of each man. Of mood am I eager; So that 'gainst that war-flier from boast I withhold me.Abide ye upon burg with your byrnies bewarded,Ye men in your battle-gear, which may the betterAfter the slaughter-race save us from woundingOf the twain of us. Naught is it yours to take over,Nor the measure of any man save alone me,2532That he on the monster should mete out his might,Or work out the earlship: but I with my main mightShall gain me the gold, or else gets me the battle,The perilous life-bale, e'en me your own lord.Arose then by war-round the warrior renownedHard under helm, and the sword-sark he bareUnder the stone-cliffs: in the strength then he trowedOf one man alone; no dastard's way such is.2540Then he saw by the wall (e'en he, who so many,The good of man-bounties, of battles had out-liv'd,Of crashes of battle whenas hosts were blended)A stone-bow a-standing, and from out thence a streamBreaking forth from the burg; was that burn's outwellingAll hot with the war-fire; and none nigh to the hoard then Might ever unburning any while bide,Live out through the deep for the flame of the drake.Out then from his breast, for as bollen as was he,Let the Weder-Geats' chief the words be out faring;2550The stout-hearted storm'd and the stave of him enter'dBattle-bright sounding in under the hoar stone.Then uproused was hate, and the hoard-warden wottedThe speech of man's word, and no more while there wasFriendship to fetch. Then forth came there firstThe breath of the evil beast out from the stone,The hot sweat of battle, and dinn'd then the earth.The warrior beneath the burg swung up his war-roundAgainst that grisly guest, the lord of the Geats;Then the heart of the ring-bow'd grew eager therewith2560To seek to the strife. His sword ere had he drawn,That good lord of the battle, the leaving of old,The undull of edges: there was unto eitherOf the bale-minded ones the fear of the other. All steadfast of mind stood against his steep shieldThe lord of the friends, when the Worm was a-bowingTogether all swiftly, in war-gear he bided;Then boune was the burning one, bow'd in his going,To the fate of him faring. The shield was well wardingThe life and the lyke of the mighty lord king2570For a lesser of whiles than his will would have had it,If he at that frist on the first of the dayWas to wield him, as weird for him never will'd it,The high-day of battle. His hand he up braided,The lord of the Geats, and the grisly-fleck'd smote heWith the leaving of Ing, in such wise that the edge fail'd,The brown blade on the bone, and less mightily bitThan the king of the nation had need in that stour,With troubles beset. But then the burg-wardenAfter the war-swing all wood of his mood2580Cast forth the slaughter-flame, sprung thereon widely The battle-gleams: nowise of victory he boasted,The gold-friend of the Geats; his war-bill had falter'd,All naked in war, in such wise as it should not,The iron exceeding good. Naught was it easyFor him there, the mighty-great offspring of Ecgtheow,That he now that earth-plain should give up for ever;But against his will needs must he dwell in the wickOf the otherwhere country; as ever must each manLet go of his loan-days. Not long was it thenceforth2590Ere the fell ones of fight fell together again.The hoard-warden up-hearten'd him, welled his breastWith breathing anew. Then narrow need bore he,Encompass'd with fire, who erst the folk wielded;Nowise in a heap his hand-fellows there,The bairns of the athelings, stood all about himIn valour of battle; but they to holt bow'd them;Their dear life they warded; but in one of them welled2598His soul with all sorrow. So sib-ship may neverTurn aside any whit to the one that well thinketh.