{"id":409,"date":"2015-07-15T22:34:51","date_gmt":"2015-07-15T22:34:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/courses.candelalearning.com\/britlit1xmaster\/?post_type=chapter&p=409"},"modified":"2015-07-15T22:40:08","modified_gmt":"2015-07-15T22:40:08","slug":"beowulf-sections-21-25","status":"web-only","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-britlit1\/chapter\/beowulf-sections-21-25\/","title":{"raw":"Beowulf Sections 21-25","rendered":"Beowulf Sections 21-25"},"content":{"raw":"XX\r\n\r\nHROTHGAR spake, helmet-of-Scyldings: --\r\n\u201cAsk not of pleasure! Pain is renewed\r\nto Danish folk. Dead is Aeschere,\r\nof Yrmenlaf the elder brother,\r\nmy sage adviser and stay in council,\r\nshoulder-comrade in stress of fight\r\nwhen warriors clashed and we warded our heads,\r\nhewed the helm-boars; hero famed\r\nshould be every earl as Aeschere was!\r\nBut here in Heorot a hand hath slain him\r\nof wandering death-sprite. I wot not whither,[footnote]He surmises presently where she is.[\/footnote]\r\nproud of the prey, her path she took,\r\nfain of her fill. The feud she avenged\r\nthat yesternight, unyieldingly,\r\nGrendel in grimmest grasp thou killedst, --\r\nseeing how long these liegemen mine\r\nhe ruined and ravaged. Reft of life,\r\nin arms he fell. Now another comes,\r\nkeen and cruel, her kin to avenge,\r\nfaring far in feud of blood:\r\nso that many a thane shall think, who e\u2019er\r\nsorrows in soul for that sharer of rings,\r\nthis is hardest of heart-bales. The hand lies low\r\nthat once was willing each wish to please.\r\nLand-dwellers here[footnote]The connection is not difficult. The words of mourning, of acute grief, are said; and according to Germanic sequence of thought, inexorable here, the next and only topic is revenge. But is it possible? Hrothgar leads up to his appeal and promise with a skillful and often effective description of the horrors which surround the monster\u2019s home and await the attempt of an avenging foe.[\/footnote]\u00a0and liegemen mine,\r\nwho house by those parts, I have heard relate\r\nthat such a pair they have sometimes seen,\r\nmarch-stalkers mighty the moorland haunting,\r\nwandering spirits: one of them seemed,\r\nso far as my folk could fairly judge,\r\nof womankind; and one, accursed,\r\nin man\u2019s guise trod the misery-track\r\nof exile, though huger than human bulk.\r\nGrendel in days long gone they named him,\r\nfolk of the land; his father they knew not,\r\nnor any brood that was born to him\r\nof treacherous spirits. Untrod is their home;\r\nby wolf-cliffs haunt they and windy headlands,\r\nfenways fearful, where flows the stream\r\nfrom mountains gliding to gloom of the rocks,\r\nunderground flood. Not far is it hence\r\nin measure of miles that the mere expands,\r\nand o\u2019er it the frost-bound forest hanging,\r\nsturdily rooted, shadows the wave.\r\nBy night is a wonder weird to see,\r\nfire on the waters. So wise lived none\r\nof the sons of men, to search those depths!\r\nNay, though the heath-rover, harried by dogs,\r\nthe horn-proud hart, this holt should seek,\r\nlong distance driven, his dear life first\r\non the brink he yields ere he brave the plunge\r\nto hide his head: \u2019tis no happy place!\r\nThence the welter of waters washes up\r\nwan to welkin when winds bestir\r\nevil storms, and air grows dusk,\r\nand the heavens weep. Now is help once more\r\nwith thee alone! The land thou knowst not,\r\nplace of fear, where thou findest out\r\nthat sin-flecked being. Seek if thou dare!\r\nI will reward thee, for waging this fight,\r\nwith ancient treasure, as erst I did,\r\nwith winding gold, if thou winnest back.\u201d\r\n
<\/div>\r\nXXI\r\n\r\nBEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:\r\n\u201cSorrow not, sage! It beseems us better\r\nfriends to avenge than fruitlessly mourn them.\r\nEach of us all must his end abide\r\nin the ways of the world; so win who may\r\nglory ere death! When his days are told,\r\nthat is the warrior\u2019s worthiest doom.\r\nRise, O realm-warder! Ride we anon,\r\nand mark the trail of the mother of Grendel.\r\nNo harbor shall hide her -- heed my promise! --\r\nenfolding of field or forested mountain\r\nor floor of the flood, let her flee where she will!\r\nBut thou this day endure in patience,\r\nas I ween thou wilt, thy woes each one.\u201d\r\nLeaped up the graybeard: God he thanked,\r\nmighty Lord, for the man\u2019s brave words.\r\nFor Hrothgar soon a horse was saddled\r\nwave-maned steed. The sovran wise\r\nstately rode on; his shield-armed men\r\nfollowed in force. The footprints led\r\nalong the woodland, widely seen,\r\na path o\u2019er the plain, where she passed, and trod\r\nthe murky moor; of men-at-arms\r\nshe bore the bravest and best one, dead,\r\nhim who with Hrothgar the homestead ruled.\r\nOn then went the atheling-born\r\no\u2019er stone-cliffs steep and strait defiles,\r\nnarrow passes and unknown ways,\r\nheadlands sheer, and the haunts of the Nicors.\r\nForemost he[footnote]Hrothgar is probably meant.[\/footnote]\u00a0fared, a few at his side\r\nof the wiser men, the ways to scan,\r\ntill he found in a flash the forested hill\r\nhanging over the hoary rock,\r\na woful wood: the waves below\r\nwere dyed in blood. The Danish men\r\nhad sorrow of soul, and for Scyldings all,\r\nfor many a hero, \u2019twas hard to bear,\r\nill for earls, when Aeschere\u2019s head\r\nthey found by the flood on the foreland there.\r\nWaves were welling, the warriors saw,\r\nhot with blood; but the horn sang oft\r\nbattle-song bold. The band sat down,\r\nand watched on the water worm-like things,\r\nsea-dragons strange that sounded the deep,\r\nand nicors that lay on the ledge of the ness --\r\nsuch as oft essay at hour of morn\r\non the road-of-sails their ruthless quest, --\r\nand sea-snakes and monsters. These started away,\r\nswollen and savage that song to hear,\r\nthat war-horn\u2019s blast. The warden of Geats,\r\nwith bolt from bow, then balked of life,\r\nof wave-work, one monster, amid its heart\r\nwent the keen war-shaft; in water it seemed\r\nless doughty in swimming whom death had seized.\r\nSwift on the billows, with boar-spears well\r\nhooked and barbed, it was hard beset,\r\ndone to death and dragged on the headland,\r\nwave-roamer wondrous. Warriors viewed\r\nthe grisly guest.\r\nThen girt him Beowulf\r\nin martial mail, nor mourned for his life.\r\nHis breastplate broad and bright of hues,\r\nwoven by hand, should the waters try;\r\nwell could it ward the warrior\u2019s body\r\nthat battle should break on his breast in vain\r\nnor harm his heart by the hand of a foe.\r\nAnd the helmet white that his head protected\r\nwas destined to dare the deeps of the flood,\r\nthrough wave-whirl win: \u2019twas wound with chains,\r\ndecked with gold, as in days of yore\r\nthe weapon-smith worked it wondrously,\r\nwith swine-forms set it, that swords nowise,\r\nbrandished in battle, could bite that helm.\r\nNor was that the meanest of mighty helps\r\nwhich Hrothgar\u2019s orator offered at need:\r\n\u201cHrunting\u201d they named the hilted sword,\r\nof old-time heirlooms easily first;\r\niron was its edge, all etched with poison,\r\nwith battle-blood hardened, nor blenched it at fight\r\nin hero\u2019s hand who held it ever,\r\non paths of peril prepared to go\r\nto folkstead[footnote]Meeting place.[\/footnote]\u00a0of foes. Not first time this\r\nit was destined to do a daring task.\r\nFor he bore not in mind, the bairn of Ecglaf\r\nsturdy and strong, that speech he had made,\r\ndrunk with wine, now this weapon he lent\r\nto a stouter swordsman. Himself, though, durst not\r\nunder welter of waters wager his life\r\nas loyal liegeman. So lost he his glory,\r\nhonor of earls. With the other not so,\r\nwho girded him now for the grim encounter.\r\n
<\/div>\r\nXXII\r\n\r\nBEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --\r\n\u201cHave mind, thou honored offspring of Healfdene\r\ngold-friend of men, now I go on this quest,\r\nsovran wise, what once was said:\r\nif in thy cause it came that I\r\nshould lose my life, thou wouldst loyal bide\r\nto me, though fallen, in father\u2019s place!\r\nBe guardian, thou, to this group of my thanes,\r\nmy warrior-friends, if War should seize me;\r\nand the goodly gifts thou gavest me,\r\nHrothgar beloved, to Hygelac send!\r\nGeatland\u2019s king may ken by the gold,\r\nHrethel\u2019s son see, when he stares at the treasure,\r\nthat I got me a friend for goodness famed,\r\nand joyed while I could in my jewel-bestower.\r\nAnd let Unferth wield this wondrous sword,\r\nearl far-honored, this heirloom precious,\r\nhard of edge: with Hrunting I\r\nseek doom of glory, or Death shall take me.\u201d\r\n\r\nAfter these words the Weder-Geat lord\r\nboldly hastened, biding never\r\nanswer at all: the ocean floods\r\nclosed o\u2019er the hero. Long while of the day\r\nfled ere he felt the floor of the sea.\r\n\r\nSoon found the fiend who the flood-domain\r\nsword-hungry held these hundred winters,\r\ngreedy and grim, that some guest from above,\r\nsome man, was raiding her monster-realm.\r\nShe grasped out for him with grisly claws,\r\nand the warrior seized; yet scathed she not\r\nhis body hale; the breastplate hindered,\r\nas she strove to shatter the sark of war,\r\nthe linked harness, with loathsome hand.\r\nThen bore this brine-wolf, when bottom she touched,\r\nthe lord of rings to the lair she haunted\r\nwhiles vainly he strove, though his valor held,\r\nweapon to wield against wondrous monsters\r\nthat sore beset him; sea-beasts many\r\ntried with fierce tusks to tear his mail,\r\nand swarmed on the stranger. But soon he marked\r\nhe was now in some hall, he knew not which,\r\nwhere water never could work him harm,\r\nnor through the roof could reach him ever\r\nfangs of the flood. Firelight he saw,\r\nbeams of a blaze that brightly shone.\r\nThen the warrior was ware of that wolf-of-the-deep,\r\nmere-wife monstrous. For mighty stroke\r\nhe swung his blade, and the blow withheld not.\r\nThen sang on her head that seemly blade\r\nits war-song wild. But the warrior found\r\nthe light-of-battle[footnote]Kenning for \u201csword.\u201d Hrunting is bewitched, laid under a spell of uselessness, along with all other swords.[\/footnote]\u00a0was loath to bite,\r\nto harm the heart: its hard edge failed\r\nthe noble at need, yet had known of old\r\nstrife hand to hand, and had helmets cloven,\r\ndoomed men\u2019s fighting-gear. First time, this,\r\nfor the gleaming blade that its glory fell.\r\nFirm still stood, nor failed in valor,\r\nheedful of high deeds, Hygelac\u2019s kinsman;\r\nflung away fretted sword, featly jewelled,\r\nthe angry earl; on earth it lay\r\nsteel-edged and stiff. His strength he trusted,\r\nhand-gripe of might. So man shall do\r\nwhenever in war he weens to earn him\r\nlasting fame, nor fears for his life!\r\nSeized then by shoulder, shrank not from combat,\r\nthe Geatish war-prince Grendel\u2019s mother.\r\nFlung then the fierce one, filled with wrath,\r\nhis deadly foe, that she fell to ground.\r\nSwift on her part she paid him back\r\nwith grisly grasp, and grappled with him.\r\nSpent with struggle, stumbled the warrior,\r\nfiercest of fighting-men, fell adown.\r\nOn the hall-guest she hurled herself, hent her short sword,\r\nbroad and brown-edged,[footnote]This brown of swords, evidently meaning burnished, bright, continues to be a favorite adjective in the popular ballads.[\/footnote]\u00a0the bairn to avenge,\r\nthe sole-born son. -- On his shoulder lay\r\nbraided breast-mail, barring death,\r\nwithstanding entrance of edge or blade.\r\nLife would have ended for Ecgtheow\u2019s son,\r\nunder wide earth for that earl of Geats,\r\nhad his armor of war not aided him,\r\nbattle-net hard, and holy God\r\nwielded the victory, wisest Maker.\r\nThe Lord of Heaven allowed his cause;\r\nand easily rose the earl erect.\r\n
<\/div>\r\nXXIII\r\n\r\n\u2019MID the battle-gear saw he a blade triumphant,\r\nold-sword of Eotens, with edge of proof,\r\nwarriors\u2019 heirloom, weapon unmatched,\r\n-- save only \u2019twas more than other men\r\nto bandy-of-battle could bear at all --\r\nas the giants had wrought it, ready and keen.\r\nSeized then its chain-hilt the Scyldings\u2019 chieftain,\r\nbold and battle-grim, brandished the sword,\r\nreckless of life, and so wrathfully smote\r\nthat it gripped her neck and grasped her hard,\r\nher bone-rings breaking: the blade pierced through\r\nthat fated-one\u2019s flesh: to floor she sank.\r\nBloody the blade: he was blithe of his deed.\r\nThen blazed forth light. \u2019Twas bright within\r\nas when from the sky there shines unclouded\r\nheaven\u2019s candle. The hall he scanned.\r\nBy the wall then went he; his weapon raised\r\nhigh by its hilts the Hygelac-thane,\r\nangry and eager. That edge was not useless\r\nto the warrior now. He wished with speed\r\nGrendel to guerdon for grim raids many,\r\nfor the war he waged on Western-Danes\r\noftener far than an only time,\r\nwhen of Hrothgar\u2019s hearth-companions\r\nhe slew in slumber, in sleep devoured,\r\nfifteen men of the folk of Danes,\r\nand as many others outward bore,\r\nhis horrible prey. Well paid for that\r\nthe wrathful prince! For now prone he saw\r\nGrendel stretched there, spent with war,\r\nspoiled of life, so scathed had left him\r\nHeorot\u2019s battle. The body sprang far\r\nwhen after death it endured the blow,\r\nsword-stroke savage, that severed its head.\r\nSoon,[footnote]After the killing of the monster and Grendel\u2019s decapitation.[\/footnote]\u00a0then, saw the sage companions\r\nwho waited with Hrothgar, watching the flood,\r\nthat the tossing waters turbid grew,\r\nblood-stained the mere. Old men together,\r\nhoary-haired, of the hero spake;\r\nthe warrior would not, they weened, again,\r\nproud of conquest, come to seek\r\ntheir mighty master. To many it seemed\r\nthe wolf-of-the-waves had won his life.\r\nThe ninth hour came. The noble Scyldings\r\nleft the headland; homeward went\r\nthe gold-friend of men.[footnote]Hrothgar.[\/footnote]\u00a0But the guests sat on,\r\nstared at the surges, sick in heart,\r\nand wished, yet weened not, their winsome lord\r\nagain to see.\r\n\r\nNow that sword began,\r\nfrom blood of the fight, in battle-droppings,[footnote]The blade slowly dissolves in blood-stained drops like icicles.[\/footnote]\r\nwar-blade, to wane: \u2019twas a wondrous thing\r\nthat all of it melted as ice is wont\r\nwhen frosty fetters the Father loosens,\r\nunwinds the wave-bonds, wielding all\r\nseasons and times: the true God he!\r\nNor took from that dwelling the duke of the Geats\r\nsave only the head and that hilt withal\r\nblazoned with jewels: the blade had melted,\r\nburned was the bright sword, her blood was so hot,\r\nso poisoned the hell-sprite who perished within there.\r\nSoon he was swimming who safe saw in combat\r\ndownfall of demons; up-dove through the flood.\r\nThe clashing waters were cleansed now,\r\nwaste of waves, where the wandering fiend\r\nher life-days left and this lapsing world.\r\nSwam then to strand the sailors\u2019-refuge,\r\nsturdy-in-spirit, of sea-booty glad,\r\nof burden brave he bore with him.\r\nWent then to greet him, and God they thanked,\r\nthe thane-band choice of their chieftain blithe,\r\nthat safe and sound they could see him again.\r\nSoon from the hardy one helmet and armor\r\ndeftly they doffed: now drowsed the mere,\r\nwater \u2019neath welkin, with war-blood stained.\r\nForth they fared by the footpaths thence,\r\nmerry at heart the highways measured,\r\nwell-known roads. Courageous men\r\ncarried the head from the cliff by the sea,\r\nan arduous task for all the band,\r\nthe firm in fight, since four were needed\r\non the shaft-of-slaughter[footnote]Spear.[\/footnote]\u00a0strenuously\r\nto bear to the gold-hall Grendel\u2019s head.\r\nSo presently to the palace there\r\nfoemen fearless, fourteen Geats,\r\nmarching came. Their master-of-clan\r\nmighty amid them the meadow-ways trod.\r\nStrode then within the sovran thane\r\nfearless in fight, of fame renowned,\r\nhardy hero, Hrothgar to greet.\r\nAnd next by the hair into hall was borne\r\nGrendel\u2019s head, where the henchmen were drinking,\r\nan awe to clan and queen alike,\r\na monster of marvel: the men looked on.\r\n
<\/div>\r\nXXIV\r\n\r\nBEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --\r\n\u201cLo, now, this sea-booty, son of Healfdene,\r\nLord of Scyldings, we\u2019ve lustily brought thee,\r\nsign of glory; thou seest it here.\r\nNot lightly did I with my life escape!\r\nIn war under water this work I essayed\r\nwith endless effort; and even so\r\nmy strength had been lost had the Lord not shielded me.\r\nNot a whit could I with Hrunting do\r\nin work of war, though the weapon is good;\r\nyet a sword the Sovran of Men vouchsafed me\r\nto spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging,\r\nold, gigantic, -- how oft He guides\r\nthe friendless wight! -- and I fought with that brand,\r\nfelling in fight, since fate was with me,\r\nthe house\u2019s wardens. That war-sword then\r\nall burned, bright blade, when the blood gushed o\u2019er it,\r\nbattle-sweat hot; but the hilt I brought back\r\nfrom my foes. So avenged I their fiendish deeds\r\ndeath-fall of Danes, as was due and right.\r\nAnd this is my hest, that in Heorot now\r\nsafe thou canst sleep with thy soldier band,\r\nand every thane of all thy folk\r\nboth old and young; no evil fear,\r\nScyldings\u2019 lord, from that side again,\r\naught ill for thy earls, as erst thou must!\u201d\r\nThen the golden hilt, for that gray-haired leader,\r\nhoary hero, in hand was laid,\r\ngiant-wrought, old. So owned and enjoyed it\r\nafter downfall of devils, the Danish lord,\r\nwonder-smiths\u2019 work, since the world was rid\r\nof that grim-souled fiend, the foe of God,\r\nmurder-marked, and his mother as well.\r\nNow it passed into power of the people\u2019s king,\r\nbest of all that the oceans bound\r\nwho have scattered their gold o\u2019er Scandia\u2019s isle.\r\nHrothgar spake -- the hilt he viewed,\r\nheirloom old, where was etched the rise\r\nof that far-off fight when the floods o\u2019erwhelmed,\r\nraging waves, the race of giants\r\n(fearful their fate!), a folk estranged\r\nfrom God Eternal: whence guerdon due\r\nin that waste of waters the Wielder paid them.\r\nSo on the guard of shining gold\r\nin runic staves it was rightly said\r\nfor whom the serpent-traced sword was wrought,\r\nbest of blades, in bygone days,\r\nand the hilt well wound. -- The wise-one spake,\r\nson of Healfdene; silent were all: --\r\n\u201cLo, so may he say who sooth and right\r\nfollows \u2019mid folk, of far times mindful,\r\na land-warden old,[footnote]That is, \u201cwhoever 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.\u201d[\/footnote]\u00a0that this earl belongs\r\nto the better breed! So, borne aloft,\r\nthy fame must fly, O friend my Beowulf,\r\nfar and wide o\u2019er folksteads many. Firmly thou\r\nshalt all maintain,\r\nmighty strength with mood of wisdom. Love of\r\nmine will I assure thee,\r\nas, awhile ago, I promised; thou shalt prove a stay\r\nin future,\r\nin far-off years, to folk of thine,\r\nto the heroes a help. Was not Heremod thus\r\nto offspring of Ecgwela, Honor-Scyldings,\r\nnor grew for their grace, but for grisly slaughter,\r\nfor doom of death to the Danishmen.\r\n\r\nHe slew, wrath-swollen, his shoulder-comrades,\r\ncompanions at board! So he passed alone,\r\nchieftain haughty, from human cheer.\r\nThough him the Maker with might endowed,\r\ndelights of power, and uplifted high\r\nabove all men, yet blood-fierce his mind,\r\nhis breast-hoard, grew, no bracelets gave he\r\nto Danes as was due; he endured all joyless\r\nstrain of struggle and stress of woe,\r\nlong feud with his folk. Here find thy lesson!\r\nOf virtue advise thee! This verse I have said for thee,\r\nwise from lapsed winters. Wondrous seems\r\nhow to sons of men Almighty God\r\nin the strength of His spirit sendeth wisdom,\r\nestate, high station: He swayeth all things.\r\nWhiles He letteth right lustily fare\r\nthe heart of the hero of high-born race, --\r\nin seat ancestral assigns him bliss,\r\nhis folk\u2019s sure fortress in fee to hold,\r\nputs in his power great parts of the earth,\r\nempire so ample, that end of it\r\nthis wanter-of-wisdom weeneth none.\r\nSo he waxes in wealth, nowise can harm him\r\nillness or age; no evil cares\r\nshadow his spirit; no sword-hate threatens\r\nfrom ever an enemy: all the world\r\nwends at his will, no worse he knoweth,\r\ntill all within him obstinate pride\r\nwaxes and wakes while the warden slumbers,\r\nthe spirit\u2019s sentry; sleep is too fast\r\nwhich masters his might, and the murderer nears,\r\nstealthily shooting the shafts from his bow!\r\n
<\/div>\r\nXXV\r\n\r\n\u201cUNDER harness his heart then is hit indeed\r\nby sharpest shafts; and no shelter avails\r\nfrom foul behest of the hellish fiend.[footnote]That is, he is now undefended by conscience from the temptations (shafts) of the devil.[\/footnote]\r\nHim seems too little what long he possessed.\r\nGreedy and grim, no golden rings\r\nhe gives for his pride; the promised future\r\nforgets he and spurns, with all God has sent him,\r\nWonder-Wielder, of wealth and fame.\r\nYet in the end it ever comes\r\nthat the frame of the body fragile yields,\r\nfated falls; and there follows another\r\nwho joyously the jewels divides,\r\nthe royal riches, nor recks of his forebear.\r\nBan, then, such baleful thoughts, Beowulf dearest,\r\nbest of men, and the better part choose,\r\nprofit eternal; and temper thy pride,\r\nwarrior famous! The flower of thy might\r\nlasts now a while: but erelong it shall be\r\nthat sickness or sword thy strength shall minish,\r\nor fang of fire, or flooding billow,\r\nor bite of blade, or brandished spear,\r\nor odious age; or the eyes\u2019 clear beam\r\nwax dull and darken: Death even thee\r\nin haste shall o\u2019erwhelm, thou hero of war!\r\nSo the Ring-Danes these half-years a hundred I ruled,\r\nwielded \u2019neath welkin, and warded them bravely\r\nfrom mighty-ones many o\u2019er middle-earth,\r\nfrom spear and sword, till it seemed for me\r\nno foe could be found under fold of the sky.\r\nLo, sudden the shift! To me seated secure\r\ncame grief for joy when Grendel began\r\nto harry my home, the hellish foe;\r\nfor those ruthless raids, unresting I suffered\r\nheart-sorrow heavy. Heaven be thanked,\r\nLord Eternal, for life extended\r\nthat I on this head all hewn and bloody,\r\nafter long evil, with eyes may gaze!\r\n-- Go to the bench now! Be glad at banquet,\r\nwarrior worthy! A wealth of treasure\r\nat dawn of day, be dealt between us!\u201d\r\nGlad was the Geats\u2019 lord, going betimes\r\nto seek his seat, as the Sage commanded.\r\nAfresh, as before, for the famed-in-battle,\r\nfor the band of the hall, was a banquet dight\r\nnobly anew. The Night-Helm darkened\r\ndusk o\u2019er the drinkers.\r\nThe doughty ones rose:\r\nfor the hoary-headed would hasten to rest,\r\naged Scylding; and eager the Geat,\r\nshield-fighter sturdy, for sleeping yearned.\r\nHim wander-weary, warrior-guest\r\nfrom far, a hall-thane heralded forth,\r\nwho by custom courtly cared for all\r\nneeds of a thane as in those old days\r\nwarrior-wanderers wont to have.\r\nSo slumbered the stout-heart. Stately the hall\r\nrose gabled and gilt where the guest slept on\r\ntill a raven black the rapture-of-heaven[footnote]Kenning for the sun. -- This is a strange role for the raven. He is the warrior\u2019s bird of battle, exults in slaughter and carnage; his joy here is a compliment to the sunrise.[\/footnote]\r\nblithe-heart boded. Bright came flying\r\nshine after shadow. The swordsmen hastened,\r\nathelings all were eager homeward\r\nforth to fare; and far from thence\r\nthe great-hearted guest would guide his keel.\r\nBade then the hardy-one Hrunting be brought\r\nto the son of Ecglaf, the sword bade him take,\r\nexcellent iron, and uttered his thanks for it,\r\nquoth that he counted it keen in battle,\r\n\u201cwar-friend\u201d winsome: with words he slandered not\r\nedge of the blade: \u2019twas a big-hearted man!\r\nNow eager for parting and armed at point\r\nwarriors waited, while went to his host\r\nthat Darling of Danes. The doughty atheling\r\nto high-seat hastened and Hrothgar greeted.","rendered":"

XX<\/p>\n

HROTHGAR spake, helmet-of-Scyldings: —
\n\u201cAsk not of pleasure! Pain is renewed
\nto Danish folk. Dead is Aeschere,
\nof Yrmenlaf the elder brother,
\nmy sage adviser and stay in council,
\nshoulder-comrade in stress of fight
\nwhen warriors clashed and we warded our heads,
\nhewed the helm-boars; hero famed
\nshould be every earl as Aeschere was!
\nBut here in Heorot a hand hath slain him
\nof wandering death-sprite. I wot not whither,[1]<\/sup><\/a>
\nproud of the prey, her path she took,
\nfain of her fill. The feud she avenged
\nthat yesternight, unyieldingly,
\nGrendel in grimmest grasp thou killedst, —
\nseeing how long these liegemen mine
\nhe ruined and ravaged. Reft of life,
\nin arms he fell. Now another comes,
\nkeen and cruel, her kin to avenge,
\nfaring far in feud of blood:
\nso that many a thane shall think, who e\u2019er
\nsorrows in soul for that sharer of rings,
\nthis is hardest of heart-bales. The hand lies low
\nthat once was willing each wish to please.
\nLand-dwellers here[2]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0and liegemen mine,
\nwho house by those parts, I have heard relate
\nthat such a pair they have sometimes seen,
\nmarch-stalkers mighty the moorland haunting,
\nwandering spirits: one of them seemed,
\nso far as my folk could fairly judge,
\nof womankind; and one, accursed,
\nin man\u2019s guise trod the misery-track
\nof exile, though huger than human bulk.
\nGrendel in days long gone they named him,
\nfolk of the land; his father they knew not,
\nnor any brood that was born to him
\nof treacherous spirits. Untrod is their home;
\nby wolf-cliffs haunt they and windy headlands,
\nfenways fearful, where flows the stream
\nfrom mountains gliding to gloom of the rocks,
\nunderground flood. Not far is it hence
\nin measure of miles that the mere expands,
\nand o\u2019er it the frost-bound forest hanging,
\nsturdily rooted, shadows the wave.
\nBy night is a wonder weird to see,
\nfire on the waters. So wise lived none
\nof the sons of men, to search those depths!
\nNay, though the heath-rover, harried by dogs,
\nthe horn-proud hart, this holt should seek,
\nlong distance driven, his dear life first
\non the brink he yields ere he brave the plunge
\nto hide his head: \u2019tis no happy place!
\nThence the welter of waters washes up
\nwan to welkin when winds bestir
\nevil storms, and air grows dusk,
\nand the heavens weep. Now is help once more
\nwith thee alone! The land thou knowst not,
\nplace of fear, where thou findest out
\nthat sin-flecked being. Seek if thou dare!
\nI will reward thee, for waging this fight,
\nwith ancient treasure, as erst I did,
\nwith winding gold, if thou winnest back.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

XXI<\/p>\n

BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:
\n\u201cSorrow not, sage! It beseems us better
\nfriends to avenge than fruitlessly mourn them.
\nEach of us all must his end abide
\nin the ways of the world; so win who may
\nglory ere death! When his days are told,
\nthat is the warrior\u2019s worthiest doom.
\nRise, O realm-warder! Ride we anon,
\nand mark the trail of the mother of Grendel.
\nNo harbor shall hide her — heed my promise! —
\nenfolding of field or forested mountain
\nor floor of the flood, let her flee where she will!
\nBut thou this day endure in patience,
\nas I ween thou wilt, thy woes each one.\u201d
\nLeaped up the graybeard: God he thanked,
\nmighty Lord, for the man\u2019s brave words.
\nFor Hrothgar soon a horse was saddled
\nwave-maned steed. The sovran wise
\nstately rode on; his shield-armed men
\nfollowed in force. The footprints led
\nalong the woodland, widely seen,
\na path o\u2019er the plain, where she passed, and trod
\nthe murky moor; of men-at-arms
\nshe bore the bravest and best one, dead,
\nhim who with Hrothgar the homestead ruled.
\nOn then went the atheling-born
\no\u2019er stone-cliffs steep and strait defiles,
\nnarrow passes and unknown ways,
\nheadlands sheer, and the haunts of the Nicors.
\nForemost he[3]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0fared, a few at his side
\nof the wiser men, the ways to scan,
\ntill he found in a flash the forested hill
\nhanging over the hoary rock,
\na woful wood: the waves below
\nwere dyed in blood. The Danish men
\nhad sorrow of soul, and for Scyldings all,
\nfor many a hero, \u2019twas hard to bear,
\nill for earls, when Aeschere\u2019s head
\nthey found by the flood on the foreland there.
\nWaves were welling, the warriors saw,
\nhot with blood; but the horn sang oft
\nbattle-song bold. The band sat down,
\nand watched on the water worm-like things,
\nsea-dragons strange that sounded the deep,
\nand nicors that lay on the ledge of the ness —
\nsuch as oft essay at hour of morn
\non the road-of-sails their ruthless quest, —
\nand sea-snakes and monsters. These started away,
\nswollen and savage that song to hear,
\nthat war-horn\u2019s blast. The warden of Geats,
\nwith bolt from bow, then balked of life,
\nof wave-work, one monster, amid its heart
\nwent the keen war-shaft; in water it seemed
\nless doughty in swimming whom death had seized.
\nSwift on the billows, with boar-spears well
\nhooked and barbed, it was hard beset,
\ndone to death and dragged on the headland,
\nwave-roamer wondrous. Warriors viewed
\nthe grisly guest.
\nThen girt him Beowulf
\nin martial mail, nor mourned for his life.
\nHis breastplate broad and bright of hues,
\nwoven by hand, should the waters try;
\nwell could it ward the warrior\u2019s body
\nthat battle should break on his breast in vain
\nnor harm his heart by the hand of a foe.
\nAnd the helmet white that his head protected
\nwas destined to dare the deeps of the flood,
\nthrough wave-whirl win: \u2019twas wound with chains,
\ndecked with gold, as in days of yore
\nthe weapon-smith worked it wondrously,
\nwith swine-forms set it, that swords nowise,
\nbrandished in battle, could bite that helm.
\nNor was that the meanest of mighty helps
\nwhich Hrothgar\u2019s orator offered at need:
\n\u201cHrunting\u201d they named the hilted sword,
\nof old-time heirlooms easily first;
\niron was its edge, all etched with poison,
\nwith battle-blood hardened, nor blenched it at fight
\nin hero\u2019s hand who held it ever,
\non paths of peril prepared to go
\nto folkstead[4]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0of foes. Not first time this
\nit was destined to do a daring task.
\nFor he bore not in mind, the bairn of Ecglaf
\nsturdy and strong, that speech he had made,
\ndrunk with wine, now this weapon he lent
\nto a stouter swordsman. Himself, though, durst not
\nunder welter of waters wager his life
\nas loyal liegeman. So lost he his glory,
\nhonor of earls. With the other not so,
\nwho girded him now for the grim encounter.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

XXII<\/p>\n

BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: —
\n\u201cHave mind, thou honored offspring of Healfdene
\ngold-friend of men, now I go on this quest,
\nsovran wise, what once was said:
\nif in thy cause it came that I
\nshould lose my life, thou wouldst loyal bide
\nto me, though fallen, in father\u2019s place!
\nBe guardian, thou, to this group of my thanes,
\nmy warrior-friends, if War should seize me;
\nand the goodly gifts thou gavest me,
\nHrothgar beloved, to Hygelac send!
\nGeatland\u2019s king may ken by the gold,
\nHrethel\u2019s son see, when he stares at the treasure,
\nthat I got me a friend for goodness famed,
\nand joyed while I could in my jewel-bestower.
\nAnd let Unferth wield this wondrous sword,
\nearl far-honored, this heirloom precious,
\nhard of edge: with Hrunting I
\nseek doom of glory, or Death shall take me.\u201d<\/p>\n

After these words the Weder-Geat lord
\nboldly hastened, biding never
\nanswer at all: the ocean floods
\nclosed o\u2019er the hero. Long while of the day
\nfled ere he felt the floor of the sea.<\/p>\n

Soon found the fiend who the flood-domain
\nsword-hungry held these hundred winters,
\ngreedy and grim, that some guest from above,
\nsome man, was raiding her monster-realm.
\nShe grasped out for him with grisly claws,
\nand the warrior seized; yet scathed she not
\nhis body hale; the breastplate hindered,
\nas she strove to shatter the sark of war,
\nthe linked harness, with loathsome hand.
\nThen bore this brine-wolf, when bottom she touched,
\nthe lord of rings to the lair she haunted
\nwhiles vainly he strove, though his valor held,
\nweapon to wield against wondrous monsters
\nthat sore beset him; sea-beasts many
\ntried with fierce tusks to tear his mail,
\nand swarmed on the stranger. But soon he marked
\nhe was now in some hall, he knew not which,
\nwhere water never could work him harm,
\nnor through the roof could reach him ever
\nfangs of the flood. Firelight he saw,
\nbeams of a blaze that brightly shone.
\nThen the warrior was ware of that wolf-of-the-deep,
\nmere-wife monstrous. For mighty stroke
\nhe swung his blade, and the blow withheld not.
\nThen sang on her head that seemly blade
\nits war-song wild. But the warrior found
\nthe light-of-battle[5]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0was loath to bite,
\nto harm the heart: its hard edge failed
\nthe noble at need, yet had known of old
\nstrife hand to hand, and had helmets cloven,
\ndoomed men\u2019s fighting-gear. First time, this,
\nfor the gleaming blade that its glory fell.
\nFirm still stood, nor failed in valor,
\nheedful of high deeds, Hygelac\u2019s kinsman;
\nflung away fretted sword, featly jewelled,
\nthe angry earl; on earth it lay
\nsteel-edged and stiff. His strength he trusted,
\nhand-gripe of might. So man shall do
\nwhenever in war he weens to earn him
\nlasting fame, nor fears for his life!
\nSeized then by shoulder, shrank not from combat,
\nthe Geatish war-prince Grendel\u2019s mother.
\nFlung then the fierce one, filled with wrath,
\nhis deadly foe, that she fell to ground.
\nSwift on her part she paid him back
\nwith grisly grasp, and grappled with him.
\nSpent with struggle, stumbled the warrior,
\nfiercest of fighting-men, fell adown.
\nOn the hall-guest she hurled herself, hent her short sword,
\nbroad and brown-edged,[6]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0the bairn to avenge,
\nthe sole-born son. — On his shoulder lay
\nbraided breast-mail, barring death,
\nwithstanding entrance of edge or blade.
\nLife would have ended for Ecgtheow\u2019s son,
\nunder wide earth for that earl of Geats,
\nhad his armor of war not aided him,
\nbattle-net hard, and holy God
\nwielded the victory, wisest Maker.
\nThe Lord of Heaven allowed his cause;
\nand easily rose the earl erect.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

XXIII<\/p>\n

\u2019MID the battle-gear saw he a blade triumphant,
\nold-sword of Eotens, with edge of proof,
\nwarriors\u2019 heirloom, weapon unmatched,
\n— save only \u2019twas more than other men
\nto bandy-of-battle could bear at all —
\nas the giants had wrought it, ready and keen.
\nSeized then its chain-hilt the Scyldings\u2019 chieftain,
\nbold and battle-grim, brandished the sword,
\nreckless of life, and so wrathfully smote
\nthat it gripped her neck and grasped her hard,
\nher bone-rings breaking: the blade pierced through
\nthat fated-one\u2019s flesh: to floor she sank.
\nBloody the blade: he was blithe of his deed.
\nThen blazed forth light. \u2019Twas bright within
\nas when from the sky there shines unclouded
\nheaven\u2019s candle. The hall he scanned.
\nBy the wall then went he; his weapon raised
\nhigh by its hilts the Hygelac-thane,
\nangry and eager. That edge was not useless
\nto the warrior now. He wished with speed
\nGrendel to guerdon for grim raids many,
\nfor the war he waged on Western-Danes
\noftener far than an only time,
\nwhen of Hrothgar\u2019s hearth-companions
\nhe slew in slumber, in sleep devoured,
\nfifteen men of the folk of Danes,
\nand as many others outward bore,
\nhis horrible prey. Well paid for that
\nthe wrathful prince! For now prone he saw
\nGrendel stretched there, spent with war,
\nspoiled of life, so scathed had left him
\nHeorot\u2019s battle. The body sprang far
\nwhen after death it endured the blow,
\nsword-stroke savage, that severed its head.
\nSoon,[7]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0then, saw the sage companions
\nwho waited with Hrothgar, watching the flood,
\nthat the tossing waters turbid grew,
\nblood-stained the mere. Old men together,
\nhoary-haired, of the hero spake;
\nthe warrior would not, they weened, again,
\nproud of conquest, come to seek
\ntheir mighty master. To many it seemed
\nthe wolf-of-the-waves had won his life.
\nThe ninth hour came. The noble Scyldings
\nleft the headland; homeward went
\nthe gold-friend of men.[8]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0But the guests sat on,
\nstared at the surges, sick in heart,
\nand wished, yet weened not, their winsome lord
\nagain to see.<\/p>\n

Now that sword began,
\nfrom blood of the fight, in battle-droppings,[9]<\/sup><\/a>
\nwar-blade, to wane: \u2019twas a wondrous thing
\nthat all of it melted as ice is wont
\nwhen frosty fetters the Father loosens,
\nunwinds the wave-bonds, wielding all
\nseasons and times: the true God he!
\nNor took from that dwelling the duke of the Geats
\nsave only the head and that hilt withal
\nblazoned with jewels: the blade had melted,
\nburned was the bright sword, her blood was so hot,
\nso poisoned the hell-sprite who perished within there.
\nSoon he was swimming who safe saw in combat
\ndownfall of demons; up-dove through the flood.
\nThe clashing waters were cleansed now,
\nwaste of waves, where the wandering fiend
\nher life-days left and this lapsing world.
\nSwam then to strand the sailors\u2019-refuge,
\nsturdy-in-spirit, of sea-booty glad,
\nof burden brave he bore with him.
\nWent then to greet him, and God they thanked,
\nthe thane-band choice of their chieftain blithe,
\nthat safe and sound they could see him again.
\nSoon from the hardy one helmet and armor
\ndeftly they doffed: now drowsed the mere,
\nwater \u2019neath welkin, with war-blood stained.
\nForth they fared by the footpaths thence,
\nmerry at heart the highways measured,
\nwell-known roads. Courageous men
\ncarried the head from the cliff by the sea,
\nan arduous task for all the band,
\nthe firm in fight, since four were needed
\non the shaft-of-slaughter[10]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0strenuously
\nto bear to the gold-hall Grendel\u2019s head.
\nSo presently to the palace there
\nfoemen fearless, fourteen Geats,
\nmarching came. Their master-of-clan
\nmighty amid them the meadow-ways trod.
\nStrode then within the sovran thane
\nfearless in fight, of fame renowned,
\nhardy hero, Hrothgar to greet.
\nAnd next by the hair into hall was borne
\nGrendel\u2019s head, where the henchmen were drinking,
\nan awe to clan and queen alike,
\na monster of marvel: the men looked on.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

XXIV<\/p>\n

BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: —
\n\u201cLo, now, this sea-booty, son of Healfdene,
\nLord of Scyldings, we\u2019ve lustily brought thee,
\nsign of glory; thou seest it here.
\nNot lightly did I with my life escape!
\nIn war under water this work I essayed
\nwith endless effort; and even so
\nmy strength had been lost had the Lord not shielded me.
\nNot a whit could I with Hrunting do
\nin work of war, though the weapon is good;
\nyet a sword the Sovran of Men vouchsafed me
\nto spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging,
\nold, gigantic, — how oft He guides
\nthe friendless wight! — and I fought with that brand,
\nfelling in fight, since fate was with me,
\nthe house\u2019s wardens. That war-sword then
\nall burned, bright blade, when the blood gushed o\u2019er it,
\nbattle-sweat hot; but the hilt I brought back
\nfrom my foes. So avenged I their fiendish deeds
\ndeath-fall of Danes, as was due and right.
\nAnd this is my hest, that in Heorot now
\nsafe thou canst sleep with thy soldier band,
\nand every thane of all thy folk
\nboth old and young; no evil fear,
\nScyldings\u2019 lord, from that side again,
\naught ill for thy earls, as erst thou must!\u201d
\nThen the golden hilt, for that gray-haired leader,
\nhoary hero, in hand was laid,
\ngiant-wrought, old. So owned and enjoyed it
\nafter downfall of devils, the Danish lord,
\nwonder-smiths\u2019 work, since the world was rid
\nof that grim-souled fiend, the foe of God,
\nmurder-marked, and his mother as well.
\nNow it passed into power of the people\u2019s king,
\nbest of all that the oceans bound
\nwho have scattered their gold o\u2019er Scandia\u2019s isle.
\nHrothgar spake — the hilt he viewed,
\nheirloom old, where was etched the rise
\nof that far-off fight when the floods o\u2019erwhelmed,
\nraging waves, the race of giants
\n(fearful their fate!), a folk estranged
\nfrom God Eternal: whence guerdon due
\nin that waste of waters the Wielder paid them.
\nSo on the guard of shining gold
\nin runic staves it was rightly said
\nfor whom the serpent-traced sword was wrought,
\nbest of blades, in bygone days,
\nand the hilt well wound. — The wise-one spake,
\nson of Healfdene; silent were all: —
\n\u201cLo, so may he say who sooth and right
\nfollows \u2019mid folk, of far times mindful,
\na land-warden old,[11]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0that this earl belongs
\nto the better breed! So, borne aloft,
\nthy fame must fly, O friend my Beowulf,
\nfar and wide o\u2019er folksteads many. Firmly thou
\nshalt all maintain,
\nmighty strength with mood of wisdom. Love of
\nmine will I assure thee,
\nas, awhile ago, I promised; thou shalt prove a stay
\nin future,
\nin far-off years, to folk of thine,
\nto the heroes a help. Was not Heremod thus
\nto offspring of Ecgwela, Honor-Scyldings,
\nnor grew for their grace, but for grisly slaughter,
\nfor doom of death to the Danishmen.<\/p>\n

He slew, wrath-swollen, his shoulder-comrades,
\ncompanions at board! So he passed alone,
\nchieftain haughty, from human cheer.
\nThough him the Maker with might endowed,
\ndelights of power, and uplifted high
\nabove all men, yet blood-fierce his mind,
\nhis breast-hoard, grew, no bracelets gave he
\nto Danes as was due; he endured all joyless
\nstrain of struggle and stress of woe,
\nlong feud with his folk. Here find thy lesson!
\nOf virtue advise thee! This verse I have said for thee,
\nwise from lapsed winters. Wondrous seems
\nhow to sons of men Almighty God
\nin the strength of His spirit sendeth wisdom,
\nestate, high station: He swayeth all things.
\nWhiles He letteth right lustily fare
\nthe heart of the hero of high-born race, —
\nin seat ancestral assigns him bliss,
\nhis folk\u2019s sure fortress in fee to hold,
\nputs in his power great parts of the earth,
\nempire so ample, that end of it
\nthis wanter-of-wisdom weeneth none.
\nSo he waxes in wealth, nowise can harm him
\nillness or age; no evil cares
\nshadow his spirit; no sword-hate threatens
\nfrom ever an enemy: all the world
\nwends at his will, no worse he knoweth,
\ntill all within him obstinate pride
\nwaxes and wakes while the warden slumbers,
\nthe spirit\u2019s sentry; sleep is too fast
\nwhich masters his might, and the murderer nears,
\nstealthily shooting the shafts from his bow!<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

XXV<\/p>\n

\u201cUNDER harness his heart then is hit indeed
\nby sharpest shafts; and no shelter avails
\nfrom foul behest of the hellish fiend.[12]<\/sup><\/a>
\nHim seems too little what long he possessed.
\nGreedy and grim, no golden rings
\nhe gives for his pride; the promised future
\nforgets he and spurns, with all God has sent him,
\nWonder-Wielder, of wealth and fame.
\nYet in the end it ever comes
\nthat the frame of the body fragile yields,
\nfated falls; and there follows another
\nwho joyously the jewels divides,
\nthe royal riches, nor recks of his forebear.
\nBan, then, such baleful thoughts, Beowulf dearest,
\nbest of men, and the better part choose,
\nprofit eternal; and temper thy pride,
\nwarrior famous! The flower of thy might
\nlasts now a while: but erelong it shall be
\nthat sickness or sword thy strength shall minish,
\nor fang of fire, or flooding billow,
\nor bite of blade, or brandished spear,
\nor odious age; or the eyes\u2019 clear beam
\nwax dull and darken: Death even thee
\nin haste shall o\u2019erwhelm, thou hero of war!
\nSo the Ring-Danes these half-years a hundred I ruled,
\nwielded \u2019neath welkin, and warded them bravely
\nfrom mighty-ones many o\u2019er middle-earth,
\nfrom spear and sword, till it seemed for me
\nno foe could be found under fold of the sky.
\nLo, sudden the shift! To me seated secure
\ncame grief for joy when Grendel began
\nto harry my home, the hellish foe;
\nfor those ruthless raids, unresting I suffered
\nheart-sorrow heavy. Heaven be thanked,
\nLord Eternal, for life extended
\nthat I on this head all hewn and bloody,
\nafter long evil, with eyes may gaze!
\n— Go to the bench now! Be glad at banquet,
\nwarrior worthy! A wealth of treasure
\nat dawn of day, be dealt between us!\u201d
\nGlad was the Geats\u2019 lord, going betimes
\nto seek his seat, as the Sage commanded.
\nAfresh, as before, for the famed-in-battle,
\nfor the band of the hall, was a banquet dight
\nnobly anew. The Night-Helm darkened
\ndusk o\u2019er the drinkers.
\nThe doughty ones rose:
\nfor the hoary-headed would hasten to rest,
\naged Scylding; and eager the Geat,
\nshield-fighter sturdy, for sleeping yearned.
\nHim wander-weary, warrior-guest
\nfrom far, a hall-thane heralded forth,
\nwho by custom courtly cared for all
\nneeds of a thane as in those old days
\nwarrior-wanderers wont to have.
\nSo slumbered the stout-heart. Stately the hall
\nrose gabled and gilt where the guest slept on
\ntill a raven black the rapture-of-heaven[13]<\/sup><\/a>
\nblithe-heart boded. Bright came flying
\nshine after shadow. The swordsmen hastened,
\nathelings all were eager homeward
\nforth to fare; and far from thence
\nthe great-hearted guest would guide his keel.
\nBade then the hardy-one Hrunting be brought
\nto the son of Ecglaf, the sword bade him take,
\nexcellent iron, and uttered his thanks for it,
\nquoth that he counted it keen in battle,
\n\u201cwar-friend\u201d winsome: with words he slandered not
\nedge of the blade: \u2019twas a big-hearted man!
\nNow eager for parting and armed at point
\nwarriors waited, while went to his host
\nthat Darling of Danes. The doughty atheling
\nto high-seat hastened and Hrothgar greeted.<\/p>\n\n\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t

Candela Citations<\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
Public domain content<\/div>