I shall now return to speak
more about Grendel, so that you, giver of treasures,
may fully know how we finally concluded
the hand-fight of heroes. When the gem of the heavens
ae
had gone gliding beyond earth, the monster came raging,
a gruesome night-terror, seeking to take us by storm
where we were yet unharmed, holding the hall.
The onslaught turned out to be fatal for Hondscio,
fated for grim death, the very first of the victims,
a well-armed warrior. Grendel the man-eater
tore with his teeth the famous hall-thane,
gulping the dear man’s body all the way down.
Still the bloody-toothed killer, intent on more slaying,
did not wish to depart from the gold-adorned hall
without more bodies to bear away in his grip,
but he would pit his renowned might against me,
grasping with hands. He held hanging down
a wondrous wide bag, skillfully closed with clasps—
it was cleverly designed for its deadly use,
with the craft of the devil, out of dragon skins.
This wild savage worker came up with the plan
to shove me inside, though I had done no evil,
with many others as well. But that might not be,
for in a towering fury I stood upright.
It would take long to recount how I then repaid
that enemy of people for each of his evils,
while the deeds I performed there, my dear prince,
brought honor to your people. Yet Grendel got away,
to enjoy what he could of his little time left,
though his strong right hand remained behind
as a trophy in Heorot, while he wretchedly went forth,
mournful in mood, to sink down to the mere-bottom.
For that deadly fight, the friend of the Scyldings
gave me as reward many gold-plated treasures,
a great store of riches, after morning arrived,
and we had set ourselves down to feast in the hall.
There was singing amid the general good cheer,
and an old Scylding told tales from far-back lore.
At times a battle-brave warrior took up the harp,
striking joy from the strings, relating a story
both tragic and true; then the great-hearted king
told a wondrous tale in traditional fashion.
Sometimes an old warrior, stooping with age,
started to make speeches to the band of youths
about boldness in battle. His heart surged within,
as he brought to mind his wisdom of many winters.
Thus we passed the whole day in the hall,
taking our pleasure, till the night once again
came over the men. Then quickly after that
the mother of Grendel prepared revenge for her grief,
making sorrowful journey. Death had seized her son
in war with the Weders. This monstrous woman
got vengeance for her kin by killing a Danish hero
boldly in his bed—her victim was Aeschere,
a wise old counselor who went forth from this life.
Nor the next morning might the Danish people
lay their dead friend on a funeral pyre
for the flames to consume the fallen body
of the beloved man. For she carried off the corpse,
in a fiendish embrace, under the mountain-stream.
That was the most grievous of griefs for Hrothgar,
which the prince of his people had to endure.
Then the Danish king, sorrowing in spirit,
begged me on your behalf to perform heroic deeds,
to dare mortal danger in the tumult of waters,
to chance all for glory, promising me great gifts.
Then I sought down through surging waters
the well-known grim guardian at the bottom of the mere.
For a time we two locked in hand-to-hand combat;
then the waters welled with blood, as I cut off the head
of Grendel’s mother, with a mighty sword-blade,
down in that war-hall—and after such danger,
I departed still living, for I was not yet fated to die.
But the king of the nobles, the kinsman of Healfdene,
afterward rewarded me with a great many riches.
- XXXI—
Thus the Danish king acted according to custom,
and so not at all did I lack for rewards,
rich payment for heroism, but the son of Healfdene
gave me wealth to take home, to dispose as I wished.
I bring all this to you, the king of brave warriors,
giving it with gladness. For you are the source
of every favor, and I have few near-kinsmen
except for you, Hygelac, my uncle and king.”
Then Beowulf had men bring the banner with
boar-symbol,
the helmet worn high for battle, the gray mail-shirt,
the patterned war-sword—while giving formal speech:
“Hrothgar the wise prince gave me this war-dress,
asked me to assure you, with a certain few words,
that he wishes you to know of his good will toward you.
He said that Heorogar, former King of the Danes,
prince of the Scyldings, long possessed this armor.
Yet he would not pass on this breast-protection
to battle-bold Hearoweard, the king’s own son,
even though he was loyal. Make use of it well!”
I have heard that four horses, all fast and alike,
with colors of bay, yellow shading to brown,
followed those gifts. Beowulf bestowed on him both,
the horses and treasures. Such should a kinsman do—
not braid a net of malice for other men,
with secret craft, nor prepare to send a comrade
down to his death. The nephew of Hygelac
was ever loyal and true, in the toughest fighting,
and each one was mindful for the other’s good.
I heard that Beowulf gave Queen Hygd a neck-ring,
wondrously ornamented, given him by Wealhtheow,
now his gift to royal Hygd, with three graceful horses,
bearing shining saddles. Ever after receiving the ring,
her breast was adorned with the bright jewel.
Thus the son of Ecgtheow showed himself to be brave,
a man famed for fighting, with heroic deeds,
living ever for glory. He never slew hearth-companions,
in drunken fury, nor did he have a frenzied spirit,
but the brave-battle man guarded the generous gift,
given him by God, of the greatest strength
of all mankind. For many years he had been scorned
as the Geatish warriors considered him worthless,
nor did the lord of the Weders wish to do him honor
among the young men seated on the mead-bench:
they thought him to be slow and slothful,
not qualified as a war-lord.
19
Yet a turn-around came
for every act of disdain toward the glorious hero.
Then the protector of nobles, the battle-brave king,
ordered the heirloom of Hrethel, adorned with gold,
to be brought in the hall. No sword was the least better,
a greater treasure among Geats, during that time.
Hygelac laid the sword on the lap of Beowulf,
and handed over to him seven thousand hides of land,
af
with a hall and a prince’s seat. Those two together,
in that country, lawfully held large territories,
their lands by ancestral right, but Hygelac’s was larger,
in that broad kingdom, because his rank was higher.
Afterwards it happened, a long time later,
in deafening battles, when Hygelac lay dead,
and his son Heardred was slain by war-swords,
struck down under the defense of his shield,
when the battle-bold warriors, the Heatho-Scylfingas,
ag
hunted him down with his war-band of heroes,
attacking hard against this nephew of Hereric
ah
—
then Beowulf became ruler of the broad kingdom,
the realm of the Geats, which he ruled over well
for fifty long winters—that was a wise king,
old protector of his people—until the time when,
in the dark of night, a dragon began to swell with power,
which had been holding watch over a hoard on the heath,
a high burial mound, where a path lay beneath,
unknown to men. Yet one man found the path,
making his way nearby, and he went inside
to the heathen hoard, seizing a cup with his hand,
a large ornamented treasure. Though it had been tricked,
while it was sleeping, the dragon made no secret
of the plunder by the thief. The neighboring people
soon found out the terror of its fury.
—
XXXII—
The thief did not break into the dragon-hoard,
desecrating the creature’s home, according to design,
but out of sore distress. This slave of some master
was forced to flee the beating of hostile blows,
in need of a shelter, and compounding his shame,
he invaded the mound. [Then when he saw the monster,
this unwelcome guest stood still in horror.
Yet the wretched man made his way forth,
sought safety from the wrath of the dragon,
slipping away from a sudden attack,
stealing]
20
the precious cup. Many such riches,
treasures from ancient times, lay in that earth-house,
an immense legacy of a noble nation,
a precious hoard, which some man had hidden
in days long gone by, considering with care
that place of concealment. Death seized all his people,
in time gone by, and this lone man was the only
one living
from the band of warriors, still walking their lands,
a lone watchman mourning friends, expecting the
same fate,
that for only a short moment might he enjoy the riches
long-held by his people. The barrow was prepared,
standing on a plain, near the surging of sea-waves,
newly built on the ness, artfully made hard to enter.
The guardian of ring-gifts bore inside the barrow
a mass of ancient treasures, adorned with gold,
worthy of a hoard, and said these few words:
“Hold safely, O Earth, what the heroes cannot,
the wealth of our nobles! Of course, men of worth
first found it on you. War-death swept away,
in malicious slaughter, every one of the men
of my own people, who had once known hall-joy,
before leaving this life. I have no one to wield a sword,
or polish the precious vessel, plated with gold,
the drinking cup for feasting, now that comrades
are gone.
The high bold helmet, skillfully wrought with gold,
will lose its gold plating, while those assigned to polish
the war-masks have long departed in the sleep of death.
So also the mail-coat, which came through fierce fighting,
the sharp biting of blades, in the clashing of shields,
decays like the warrior. Nor may the ringing mail
travel far and wide on campaigns with the war-chief,
protecting the sides of the hero. Nor is there joy of
the harp,
gladness of the wood-strings; nor does the good hawk
swing through the hall; nor does the swift horse
tramp through the stronghold. Terrible death has indeed
sent forth from this world many nations of men!“
21
Thus sad in spirit, he sang his lay of sorrow,
the last one to live, unhappily moving
through day and night, till death’s surging power
reached into his heart. Then the old night-raider,
a smooth-skinned dragon that burned in the dark,
flying through night skies enveloped in flames,
seeking out barrows, took joy in the hoard-treasure
which it found wide open. Greatly was it feared
by the folk of that land. It was forced by its nature
to seek the hoard in the earth, where it stood old in winters,
guarding heathen gold—yet from that got no good.
Thus for three hundred winters that evil enemy
held sway over the hoard-hall there in the earth,
huge and powerful, till one man provoked anger,
rousing it to rage. The run-away man bore the treasure
to his own master, pleading for peace with his lord
and safe haven as well. Thus was the hoard plundered,
its store of gold-treasures decreased, and the plea granted
to the miserable man. And the lord looked upon
the ancient work of long-gone men for the first time.
Then the dragon rose from sleep, and discord was renewed.
It moved swiftly over stones, till the bold-hearted creature
found its enemy’s footprint, where the man had stepped,
sneaking with stealth, near the head of the dragon.
Just so, may a man who is not fated to fall
pass securely to safety, from woe and exile,
who has the Almighty’s favor! The hoard-guard searched,
anxiously about the ground, hoping to find the man
who did such a wrong while the dragon was asleep.
In a heated mood, and a troubled mind, it often circled
the outside of the barrow, but there was not any man
in that wasteland—yet it now yearned for war,
hoped for battle-joy. At times it turned toward the mound,
still seeking the treasure-cup, but it soon found
that one of mankind had gotten into the gold,
the heap of riches. Then the hoard-guard waited,
tortured in mind, till evening arrived.
The barrow’s protector was bulging with rage,
the dragon desiring to avenge with flames
the dear drinking vessel. When day had departed,
as the creature wished, no longer would it wait
on the wall of the barrow, but went forth with fire,
eagerly blazing. That was the beginning of terror
for folk in that land, as it soon ended in sorrow
for their great giver of treasures.
—XXXIII
—
Then the monster began to spew forth flames,
burning bright dwellings; light from fires shot up,
while the men watched in horror. For the hateful
night-flyer
did not wish to leave any one of them living.
The dragon’s war could be widely seen,
its fearful cruelty observed near and far—
how this war-ravager both hated and humbled
the people of the Geats. Then the dragon darted back
to the secret hall of its hoard, before it was day.
After the monster enveloped all who lived in that land,
in a blazing inferno, it trusted for safety in the barrow,
its fighting force and the wall. That hope was deceived.
Then was the terror made known to Beowulf,
swiftly and surely, that his very own home,
the best of buildings, the gift-seat of the Geats,
was melting in waves of flame. That was heart-sorrow,
the greatest of griefs, for the good ruler.
The wise king considered that he bitterly offended
the Almighty Lord, the Eternal Chieftain,
by breaking ancient law.
22
His breast within
welled with dark thoughts, as were not usual for him.
The fire-dragon had destroyed with flames
the stronghold of the people, the land bordering the sea,
the fortress of the nation. For that the war-king,
the prince of the Weders, planned terrible vengeance.
The champion of warriors, the chief of the nobles,
ordered a wondrous war-shield to be made for him,
entirely of iron, since he knew for certain
that a wooden shield could provide no protection,
when fire attacked wood. The long-famous king
had lived to see the end of his life-days,
in this transitory world, along with the dragon,
though it had long held the wealth of the hoard.
Then did Beowulf, the ruler of riches, refuse to seek
the far-flying terror with a band of warriors,
a large fighting force, for he was not filled with dread,
nor did he think much of the monster’s war-skill,
its power and boldness, because always till now
he had survived every danger, braving many battles,
the crashing of combat—since the time long ago,
when blessed with victory, he cleansed Hrothgar’s hall,
and with his mighty grip, killed the kin of Grendel,
that loathsome race.