A grueling duel with the fiend and give or take life,
As foes hateful to each other; there he who will be 440
In death’s grip shall trust the verdict of the Lord.
I expect that, if he is allowed to attain victory,
In the battle-hall he will, undeterred by fear,
Gorge himself on the Geats, as he has often done,
The choicest of men; there won’t be any need 445
For you to bury me, for he will have me,
All besmeared in blood, if death takes me.
byreð blodig wæl, byrgean þenceð,
eteð angenga unmurnlice,
mearcað morhopu; no ðu ymb mines ne þearft 450
lices feorme leng sorgian.
Onsend Higelace, gif mec hild nime,
beaduscruda betst, þæt mine breost wereð,
hrægla selest; þæt is Hrædlan laf,
Welandes geweorc. Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel.” 455
(VII) Hroðgar maþelode, helm Scyldinga:
“For gewyrhtum þu, wine min Beowulf,
ond for arstafum usic sohtest.
Gesloh þin fæder fæhðe mæste;
wearþ he Heaþolafe to handbonan 460
mid Wlfingum; ða hine Wedera cyn
for herebrogan habban ne mihte.
Þanon he gesohte Suð-Dena folc
ofer yða gewealc, Ar-Scyldinga;
ða ic furþum weold folce Deniga 465
ond on geogoðe heold ginne rice,*
hordburh hæleþa; ða wæs Heregar dead,
min yldra mæg unlifigende,
bearn Healfdenes; se wæs betera ðonne ic.
Siððan þa fæhðe feo þingode; 470
sende ic Wylfingum ofer wæteres hrycg
ealde madmas; he me aþas swor.
Sorh is me to secganne on sefan minum
gumena ængum, hwæt me Grendel hafað
hynðo on Heorote mid his heteþancum, 475
færniða gefremed; is min fletwerod,
wigheap gewanod; hie wyrd forsweop
He will bear my bloody body, thinking to taste it,
And the lone one who goes away will eat ravenously,
Staining his moor-stead; no longer will you need 450
Worry about taking care of my body.
Send to Hygelac, if the battle seizes me,
The best of battle-gear that guards my breast,
The peerless garb that Hrethel once wore,
The work of Weland.* Fate always goes as it must!” 455
(VII) Hrothgar spoke, Protector of the Scyldings:
“For what’s been done in the past and for the favors,
You have sought us, Beowulf, my friend.
Your father incurred the worst feud with fighting:
He happened to slay Heatholaf with his own hands 460
Among the Wylfings;* then the clan of the Geats
Could not keep him, for he was a threat to peace.
From there he sought the folk of the South-Danes—
The Honor-Scyldings—over the swelling sea-waves,
When I had begun to rule the Danish people, 465
And in youth held a wide kingdom,*
A strong fortress of warriors: Heorogar, Healfdene’s son,
My elder kinsman, was then dead,
No longer alive; he was a man better than I.
Since then I settled the feud with money: 470
I sent to the Wylfings, over the surge of the waves,
Old treasures; he* swore oaths to me.
Sorrow swells in my soul to say
To anyone what Grendel has brought about—
Humiliations in Heorot and sudden assaults— 475
With his hostility; my hall-troop,
My daring band has dwindled; doom has swept them
on Grendles gryre. God eaþe mæg
þone dolsceaðan dæda getwæfan.
Ful oft gebeotedon beore druncne 480
ofer ealowæge oretmecgas,
þæt hie in beorsele bidan woldon
Grendles guþe mid gryrum ecga.
Đonne wæs þeos medoheal on morgentid,
drihtsele dreorfah, þonne dæg lixte, 485
eal bencþelu blode bestymed,
heall heorudreore; ahte ic holdra þy læs,
deorre duguðe, þe þa deað fornam.
Site nu to symle ond onsæl meoto,
sigehreð secgum, swa þin sefa hwette.” 490
Þa wæs Geatmæcgum geador ætsomne
on beorsele benc gerymed;
þær swiðferhþe sittan eodon,
þryðum dealle. Þegn nytte beheold,
se þe on handa bær hroden ealowæge, 495
scencte scir wered. Scop hwilum sang
hador on Heorote. Þær wæs hæleða dream,
duguð unlytel Dena ond Wedera.
(VIII) Unferð maþelode, Ecglafes bearn,
þe æt fotum sæt frean Scyldinga, 500
onband beadu-rune —wæs him Beowulfes sið,
modges merefaran, micel æfþunca,
forþon þe he ne uþe, þæt ænig oðer man
æfre mærða þon ma middangeardes
gehedde under heofenum þonne he sylfa—: 505
“Eart þu se Beowulf, se þe wið Brecan wunne,
on sidne sæ ymb sund flite,
Away into Grendel’s horror. God may with ease
Deter the devilish ravager from his deeds.
Full often my valiant fighters have vowed 480
Over ale-cups, drunk with beer,
That they in the mead-hall would remain to meet
The assault of Grendel with grim-edged swords;
Then in the morning when daylight shone forth,
This drinking hall had become drenched all over, 485
All the bench-boards bedewed with blood,
A hall for horrible gore; I had less men loyal to me,
My dear daring men, for death had taken them.
Sit