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boundless cares. There came unhidden

tidings true to the tribes of men,

in sorrowful songs, how ceaselessly Grendel

harassed Hrothgar, what hate he bore him,

what murder and massacre, many a year,

feud unfading, — refused consent

to deal with any of Daneland’s earls,

make pact of peace, or compound for gold:

still less did the wise men ween to get

great fee for the feud from his fiendish hands.

But the evil one ambushed old and young

death-shadow dark, and dogged them still,

lured, or lurked in the livelong night

of misty moorlands: men may say not

where the haunts of these Hell-Runes [2c] be.

Such heaping of horrors the hater of men,

lonely roamer, wrought unceasing,

harassings heavy. O’er Heorot he lorded,

gold-bright hall, in gloomy nights;

and ne’er could the prince [2d] approach his throne,

— ’twas judgment of God, — or have joy in his hall.

Sore was the sorrow to Scyldings’-friend,

heart-rending misery. Many nobles

sat assembled, and searched out counsel

how it were best for bold-hearted men

against harassing terror to try their hand.

Whiles they vowed in their heathen fanes

altar-offerings, asked with words [2e]

that the slayer-of-souls would succor give them

for the pain of their people. Their practice this,

their heathen hope; ’twas Hell they thought of

in mood of their mind. Almighty they knew not,

Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord,

nor Heaven’s-Helmet heeded they ever,

Wielder-of-Wonder. — Woe for that man

who in harm and hatred hales his soul

to fiery embraces; — nor favor nor change

awaits he ever. But well for him

that after death-day may draw to his Lord,

and friendship find in the Father’s arms!

III

THUS seethed unceasing the son of Healfdene

with the woe of these days; not wisest men

assuaged his sorrow; too sore the anguish,

loathly and long, that lay on his folk,

most baneful of burdens and bales of the night.

This heard in his home Hygelac’s thane,

great among Geats, of Grendel’s doings.

He was the mightiest man of valor

in that same day of this our life,

stalwart and stately. A stout wave-walker

he bade make ready. Yon battle-king, said he,

far o’er the swan-road he fain would seek,

the noble monarch who needed men!

The prince’s journey by prudent folk

was little blamed, though they loved him dear;

they whetted the hero, and hailed good omens.

And now the bold one from bands of Geats

comrades chose, the keenest of warriors

e’er he could find; with fourteen men

the sea-wood [3a] he sought, and, sailor proved,

led them on to the land’s confines.

Time had now flown; [3b] afloat was the ship,

boat under bluff. On board they climbed,

warriors ready; waves were churning

sea with sand; the sailors bore

on the breast of the bark their bright array,

their mail and weapons: the men pushed off,

on its willing way, the well-braced craft.

Then moved o’er the waters by might of the wind

that bark like a bird with breast of foam,

till in season due, on the second day,

the curved prow such course had run

that sailors now could see the land,

sea-cliffs shining, steep high hills,

headlands broad. Their haven was found,

their journey ended. Up then quickly

the Weders’ [3c] clansmen climbed ashore,

anchored their sea-wood, with armor clashing

and gear of battle: God they thanked

or passing in peace o’er the paths of the sea.

Now saw from the cliff a Scylding clansman,

a warden that watched the water-side,

how they bore o’er the gangway glittering shields,

war-gear in readiness; wonder seized him

to know what manner of men they were.

Straight to the strand his steed he rode,

Hrothgar’s henchman; with hand of might

he shook his spear, and spake in parley.

“Who are ye, then, ye armed men,

mailed folk, that yon mighty vessel

have urged thus over the ocean ways,

here o’er the waters? A warden I,

sentinel set o’er the sea-march here,

lest any foe to the folk of Danes

with harrying fleet should harm the land.

No aliens ever at ease thus bore them,

linden-wielders: [3d] yet word-of-leave

clearly ye lack from clansmen here,

my folk’s agreement. — A greater ne’er saw I

of warriors in world than is one of you, —

yon hero in harness! No henchman he

worthied by weapons, if witness his features,

his peerless presence! I pray you, though, tell

your folk and home, lest hence ye fare

suspect to wander your way as spies

in Danish land. Now, dwellers afar,

ocean-travellers, take from me

simple advice: the sooner the better

I hear of the country whence ye came.”

IV

To him the stateliest spake in answer;

the warriors’ leader his word-hoard unlocked: —

“We are by kin of the clan of Geats,

and Hygelac’s own hearth-fellows we.

To folk afar was my father known,

noble atheling, Ecgtheow named.

Full of winters, he fared away

aged from earth; he is honored still

through width of the world by wise men all.

To thy lord and liege in loyal mood

we hasten hither, to Healfdene’s son,

people-protector: be pleased to advise us!

To that mighty-one come we on mickle errand,

to the lord of the Danes; nor deem I right

that aught be hidden. We hear — thou knowest

if sooth it is — the saying of men,

that amid the Scyldings a scathing monster,

dark ill-doer, in dusky nights

shows terrific his rage unmatched,

hatred and murder. To Hrothgar I

in greatness of soul would succor bring,

so the Wise-and-Brave [4a] may worst his foes, —

if ever the end of ills is fated,

of cruel contest, if cure shall follow,

and the boiling care-waves cooler grow;

else ever afterward anguish-days

he shall suffer in sorrow while stands in place

high on its hill that house unpeered!”

Astride his steed, the strand-ward answered,

clansman unquailing: “The keen-souled thane

must be skilled to sever and sunder duly

words and works, if he well intends.

I gather, this band is graciously bent

to the Scyldings’ master. March, then, bearing

weapons and weeds the way I show you.

I will bid my men your boat meanwhile

to guard for fear lest foemen come, —

your new-tarred ship by shore of ocean

faithfully watching till once again

it waft o’er the waters those well-loved thanes,

— winding-neck’d wood, — to Weders’ bounds,

heroes such as the hest of fate

shall succor and save from the shock of war.”

They bent them to march, — the boat lay still,

fettered by cable and fast at anchor,

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2c

“Sorcerers-of-hell.”

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2d

Hrothgar, who is the “Scyldings’-friend” of 170.

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2e

That is, in formal or prescribed phrase.

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3b

That is, since Beowulf selected his ship and led his men to the harbor.

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3c

One of the auxiliary names of the Geats.

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3d

Or: Not thus openly ever came warriors hither; yet...

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4a

Hrothgar.