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themselves with Grendel. Now God be thanked

that safe and sound I can see thee now!”

Beowulf spake, the bairn of Ecgtheow: —

“’Tis known and unhidden, Hygelac Lord,

to many men, that meeting of ours,

struggle grim between Grendel and me,

which we fought on the field where full too many

sorrows he wrought for the Scylding-Victors,

evils unending. These all I avenged.

No boast can be from breed of Grendel,

any on earth, for that uproar at dawn,

from the longest-lived of the loathsome race

in fleshly fold! — But first I went

Hrothgar to greet in the hall of gifts,

where Healfdene’s kinsman high-renowned,

soon as my purpose was plain to him,

assigned me a seat by his son and heir.

The liegemen were lusty; my life-days never

such merry men over mead in hall

have I heard under heaven! The high-born queen,

people’s peace-bringer, passed through the hall,

cheered the young clansmen, clasps of gold,

ere she sought her seat, to sundry gave.

Oft to the heroes Hrothgar’s daughter,

to earls in turn, the ale-cup tendered, —

she whom I heard these hall-companions

Freawaru name, when fretted gold

she proffered the warriors. Promised is she,

gold-decked maid, to the glad son of Froda.

Sage this seems to the Scylding’s-friend,

kingdom’s-keeper: he counts it wise

the woman to wed so and ward off feud,

store of slaughter. But seldom ever

when men are slain, does the murder-spear sink

but briefest while, though the bride be fair! [28a]

“Nor haply will like it the Heathobard lord,

and as little each of his liegemen all,

when a thane of the Danes, in that doughty throng,

goes with the lady along their hall,

and on him the old-time heirlooms glisten

hard and ring-decked, Heathobard’s treasure,

weapons that once they wielded fair

until they lost at the linden-play [28b]

liegeman leal and their lives as well.

Then, over the ale, on this heirloom gazing,

some ash-wielder old who has all in mind

that spear-death of men, [28c] — he is stern of mood,

heavy at heart, — in the hero young

tests the temper and tries the soul

and war-hate wakens, with words like these: —

Canst thou not, comrade, ken that sword

which to the fray thy father carried

in his final feud, ’neath the fighting-mask,

dearest of blades, when the Danish slew him

and wielded the war-place on Withergild’s fall,

after havoc of heroes, those hardy Scyldings?

Now, the son of a certain slaughtering Dane,

proud of his treasure, paces this hall,

joys in the killing, and carries the jewel [28d]

that rightfully ought to be owned by thee!_

Thus he urges and eggs him all the time

with keenest words, till occasion offers

that Freawaru’s thane, for his father’s deed,

after bite of brand in his blood must slumber,

losing his life; but that liegeman flies

living away, for the land he kens.

And thus be broken on both their sides

oaths of the earls, when Ingeld’s breast

wells with war-hate, and wife-love now

after the care-billows cooler grows.

“So [28e] I hold not high the Heathobards’ faith

due to the Danes, or their during love

and pact of peace. — But I pass from that,

turning to Grendel, O giver-of-treasure,

and saying in full how the fight resulted,

hand-fray of heroes. When heaven’s jewel

had fled o’er far fields, that fierce sprite came,

night-foe savage, to seek us out

where safe and sound we sentried the hall.

To Hondscio then was that harassing deadly,

his fall there was fated. He first was slain,

girded warrior. Grendel on him

turned murderous mouth, on our mighty kinsman,

and all of the brave man’s body devoured.

Yet none the earlier, empty-handed,

would the bloody-toothed murderer, mindful of bale,

outward go from the gold-decked halclass="underline"

but me he attacked in his terror of might,

with greedy hand grasped me. A glove hung by him [28f]

wide and wondrous, wound with bands;

and in artful wise it all was wrought,

by devilish craft, of dragon-skins.

Me therein, an innocent man,

the fiendish foe was fain to thrust

with many another. He might not so,

when I all angrily upright stood.

’Twere long to relate how that land-destroyer

I paid in kind for his cruel deeds;

yet there, my prince, this people of thine

got fame by my fighting. He fled away,

and a little space his life preserved;

but there staid behind him his stronger hand

left in Heorot; heartsick thence

on the floor of the ocean that outcast fell.

Me for this struggle the Scyldings’-friend

paid in plenty with plates of gold,

with many a treasure, when morn had come

and we all at the banquet-board sat down.

Then was song and glee. The gray-haired Scylding,

much tested, told of the times of yore.

Whiles the hero his harp bestirred,

wood-of-delight; now lays he chanted

of sooth and sadness, or said aright

legends of wonder, the wide-hearted king;

or for years of his youth he would yearn at times,

for strength of old struggles, now stricken with age,

hoary hero: his heart surged full

when, wise with winters, he wailed their flight.

Thus in the hall the whole of that day

at ease we feasted, till fell o’er earth

another night. Anon full ready

in greed of vengeance, Grendel’s mother

set forth all doleful. Dead was her son

through war-hate of Weders; now, woman monstrous

with fury fell a foeman she slew,

avenged her offspring. From Aeschere old,

loyal councillor, life was gone;

nor might they e’en, when morning broke,

those Danish people, their death-done comrade

burn with brands, on balefire lay

the man they mourned. Under mountain stream

she had carried the corpse with cruel hands.

For Hrothgar that was the heaviest sorrow

of all that had laden the lord of his folk.

The leader then, by thy life, besought me

(sad was his soul) in the sea-waves’ coil

to play the hero and hazard my being

for glory of prowess: my guerdon he pledged.

I then in the waters — ’tis widely known —

that sea-floor-guardian savage found.

Hand-to-hand there a while we struggled;

billows welled blood; in the briny hall

her head I hewed with a hardy blade

from Grendel’s mother, — and gained my life,

though not without danger. My doom was not yet.

Then the haven-of-heroes, Healfdene’s son,

gave me in guerdon great gifts of price.

XXIX

“So held this king to the customs old,

that I wanted for nought in the wage I gained,

the meed of my might; he made me gifts,

Healfdene’s heir, for my own disposal.

Now to thee, my prince, I proffer them all,

gladly give them. Thy grace alone

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28a

Beowulf gives his uncle the king not mere gossip of his journey, but a statesmanlike forecast of the outcome of certain policies at the Danish court. Talk of interpolation here is absurd. As both Beowulf and Hygelac know, — and the folk for whom the Beowulf was put together also knew, — Froda was king of the Heathobards (probably the Langobards, once near neighbors of Angle and Saxon tribes on the continent), and had fallen in fight with the Danes. Hrothgar will set aside this feud by giving his daughter as “peace-weaver” and wife to the young king Ingeld, son of the slain Froda. But Beowulf, on general principles and from his observation of the particular case, foretells trouble. Note:

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28b

Play of shields, battle. A Danish warrior cuts down Froda in the fight, and takes his sword and armor, leaving them to a son. This son is selected to accompany his mistress, the young princess Freawaru, to her new home when she is Ingeld’s queen. Heedlessly he wears the sword of Froda in hall. An old warrior points it out to Ingeld, and eggs him on to vengeance. At his instigation the Dane is killed; but the murderer, afraid of results, and knowing the land, escapes. So the old feud must break out again.

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28c

That is, their disastrous battle and the slaying of their king.

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28d

The sword.

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28e

Beowulf returns to his forecast. Things might well go somewhat as follows, he says; sketches a little tragic story; and with this prophecy by illustration returns to the tale of his adventure.

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28f

Not an actual glove, but a sort of bag.