Beowulf on Everything:
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Beowulf XXIV
Beowulf spake,
bairn of
Ecgtheow: --
"Lo, now, this sea-booty, son of
Healfdene,
Lord of Scyldings, we've lustily brought thee,
sign of glory; thou seest it here.
Not lightly did I with my life escape!
In war under water this work I
essayed
with endless effort; and even so
my strength had been lost had the
Lord not
shielded me.
Not a whit could I with
Hrunting do
in work of war, though the
weapon is good;
yet a sword the Sovran of Men vouchsafed me
to spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging,
old,
gigantic, -- how oft He guides
the friendless wight! -- and I fought with that brand,
felling in fight, since fate was with me,
the house's wardens. That war-sword then
all burned, bright blade, when the
blood gushed o'er it,
battle-
sweat hot; but the hilt I brought back
from my foes. So avenged I their fiendish deeds
death-fall of
Danes, as was due and right.
And this is my hest, that in
Heorot now
safe thou canst sleep with thy
soldier band,
and every thane of all thy folk
both old and young; no evil fear,
Scyldings' lord, from that side again,
aught ill for thy earls, as erst thou must!"
Then the
golden hilt, for that
gray-
haired leader,
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hoary hero, in hand was laid,
giant-wrought, old. So owned and enjoyed it
after downfall of devils, the Danish lord,
wonder-smiths' work, since the world was rid
of that grim-souled fiend, the foe of God,
murder-marked, and his mother as well.
Now it passed into
power of the people's king,
best of all that the oceans bound
who have scattered their gold o'er Scandia's isle.
Hrothgar spake -- the hilt he viewed,
heirloom old, where was etched the rise
of that far-off fight when the floods o'erwhelmed,
raging waves, the race of giants
(fearful their fate!), a folk
estranged
from
God Eternal: whence
guerdon due
in that waste of waters the
Wielder paid them.
So on the guard of shining gold
in
runic staves it was rightly said
for whom the
serpent-
traced sword was wrought,
best of blades, in
bygone days,
and the hilt well wound. -- The wise-one spake,
son of
Healfdene; silent were all: --
"Lo, so may he say who sooth and right
follows 'mid folk, of far times mindful,
a
land-
warden old, (1) that this earl belongs
to the better breed! So, borne aloft,
thy fame must fly, O friend my
Beowulf,
far and wide o'er
folksteads many. Firmly thou
shalt all maintain,
mighty strength with mood of wisdom. Love of
mine will I assure thee,
as, awhile ago, I promised; thou shalt prove a stay
in future,
in far-off years, to folk of thine,
to the heroes a help. Was not Heremod thus
to offspring of
Ecgwela,
Honor-
Scyldings,
nor grew for their grace, but for
grisly slaughter,
for doom of death to the
Danishmen.
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He slew,
wrath-
swollen, his
shoulder-
comrades,
companions at
board! So he passed alone,
chieftain haughty, from human cheer.
Though him the Maker with might endowed,
delights of power, and uplifted high
above all men, yet
blood-fierce his mind,
his breast-hoard, grew, no bracelets gave he
to
Danes as was due; he endured all joyless
strain of struggle and stress of woe,
long
feud with his folk. Here find thy lesson!
Of virtue advise thee! This verse I have said
for thee,
wise from lapsed winters.
Wondrous seems
how to sons of men
Almighty God
in the strength of His
spirit sendeth wisdom,
estate, high station: He
swayeth all things.
Whiles He letteth right lustily fare
the heart of the hero of high-born race, --
in seat
ancestral assigns him bliss,
his folk's sure fortress in fee to hold,
puts in his power great parts of the earth,
empire so ample, that end of it
this wanter-of-wisdom weeneth none.
So he waxes in wealth, nowise can harm him
illness or age; no evil cares
shadow his spirit; no
sword-
hate threatens
from ever an
enemy: all the world
wends at his will, no worse he knoweth,
till all within him obstinate pride
waxes and wakes while the warden slumbers,
the spirit's sentry; sleep is too fast
which masters his might, and the murderer nears,
stealthily shooting the shafts from his bow!
(1) That is, "whoever has as wide
authority as I have and can
remember so far back so many instances of
heroism, may well say, as I say, that no better hero ever lived than
Beowulf."