Hrothgar'S Gratulation
Hrôðgâr maðelode (he tô healle geóng,stôd on stapole, geseah steápne hrôfgolde fâhne and Grendles hond):"þisse ansýne al-wealdan þanc"lungre gelimpe! Fela ic lâðes gebâd,"grynna ät Grendle: â mäg god wyrcan"wunder äfter wundre, wuldres hyrde!"Þät wäs ungeâra, þät ic ænigra me"weána ne wênde tô wîdan feore"bôte gebîdan þonne blôde fâh"hûsa sêlest heoro-dreórig stôd;"weá wîd-scofen witena gehwylcne"þâra þe ne wêndon, þät hie wîde-ferhð"leóda land-geweorc lâðum beweredon
Hrothgar spoke — he had come up to the hall,stood on the step, looked at the high-arched roofgleaming with gold, and at Grendel’s hand:“For this sight, let thanks be given at onceto the All-Ruler! I have endured much evil,much grief from Grendel: God can always workwonder after wonder, guardian of glory!It was not long ago that I had stopped hopingfor any remedy, ever, for any of my sorrows,while the finest of houses stood thereblood-stained, drenched with gore —grief spread wide to every counselorwho never expected to defendthis stronghold of the people against its enemies,
"scuccum and scinnum. Nu scealc hafað"þurh drihtnes miht dæd gefremede,"þe we ealle ær ne meahton"snyttrum besyrwan. Hwät! þät secgan mäg"efne swâ hwylc mägða, swâ þone magan cende"äfter gum-cynnum, gyf heó gyt lyfað,"þät hyre eald-metod êste wære"bearn-gebyrdo. Nu ic Beówulf"þec, secg betsta, me for sunu wylle"freógan on ferhðe; heald forð tela"niwe sibbe. Ne bið þe nænigra gâd"worolde wilna, þe ic geweald häbbe."Ful-oft ic for lässan leán teohhode
against demons and spirits. Now a warrior has done,through the Lord’s own power, a deedthat none of us, for all our wisdom,could accomplish before. Whatever woman it waswho bore this young man among the tribes of men,if she is still living, may truly saythat the old Creator was gracious to herin that birth. Now, Beowulf, best of men,I will love you in my heart as a son;hold well from now on this new kinship.You will lack nothing you desirethat lies within my power to give.Very often I have given rewards for lesser deeds,
"hord-weorðunge hnâhran rince,"sæmran ät säcce. Þu þe self hafast"dædum gefremed, þät þîn dôm lyfað"âwâ tô aldre. Alwalda þec"gôde forgylde, swâ he nu gyt dyde!"Beówulf maðelode, bearn Ecgþeówes:"We þät ellen-weorc êstum miclum,"feohtan fremedon, frêcne genêðdon"eafoð uncûðes; ûðe ic swîðor,"þät þu hinc selfne geseón môste,"feónd on frätewum fyl-wêrigne!"Ic hine hrädlîce heardan clammum"on wäl-bedde wrîðan þôhte,
hoard-treasure to a lesser man,weaker in the fight. You yourself have made it so,by your own deeds, that your fame will liveforever and ever. May the Almightyrepay you with good, just as he has now!”Beowulf spoke, son of Ecgtheow:“We carried out that work of couragegladly, with a whole heart, dared the fightagainst unknown strength; I wish, even more,that you could have seen him yourself,the fiend in his trappings, exhausted to death!I meant to pin him fast, in hard grips,on his death-bed there, so that because of my hand-grip
"þät he for mund-gripe mînum scolde"licgean lîf-bysig, bûtan his lîc swice;"ic hine ne mihte, þâ metod nolde,"ganges getwæman, nô ic him þäs georne ätfealh,"feorh-genîðlan; wäs tô fore-mihtig"feónd on fêðe. Hwäðere he his folme forlêt"tô lîf-wraðe lâst weardian,"earm and eaxle; nô þær ænige swâ þeáh"feá-sceaft guma frôfre gebohte:"nô þý leng leofað lâð-geteóna"synnum geswenced, ac hyne sâr hafað"in nýd-gripe nearwe befongen,"balwon bendum: þær âbîdan sceal
he’d have to lie struggling for his life —unless his body slipped free; I could not,since God did not will it, keep himfrom getting away — I did not hold that deadly enemytightly enough; the foe was too strongin his flight. Even so, he left his hand behind himto mark his trail — his own life’s price —an arm and a shoulder; small comfortdid the wretched creature buy himself there:he will not live any longer, that hateful doer of harm,weighed down by his sins, but pain now holds himgripped fast in a hostile clutch,bound in baleful chains; there, stained with guilt,
"maga mâne fâh miclan dômes,"hû him scîr metod scrîfan wille."Þâ wäs swîgra secg, sunu Ecglâfes,on gylp-spræce gûð-geweorca,siððan äðelingas eorles cräfteofer heáhne hrôf hand sceáwedon,feóndes fingras, foran æghwylc;wäs stêde nägla gehwylc, stýle gelîcost,hæðenes hand-sporu hilde-rincesegle unheóru; æg-hwylc gecwäð,þät him heardra nân hrînan woldeîren ær-gôd, þät þäs ahlæcanblôdge beadu-folme onberan wolde.
he must wait for the great judgment,for how the shining Creator will decide his fate.”Then Ecglaf’s son was quieter after thatin his boasting about deeds of war,once the nobles, by the strength of that one earl,looked up at the hand on the high roof,the enemy’s fingers, each one laid bare;every nail was like a spur of steel,the heathen’s claw, that warrior’s talon,vile and monstrous; everyone agreedthat no hard iron, however fine,would ever touch it, would ever cut awaythat wretch’s bloody battle-hand.