Song Of Hrothgar'S Poet—The Lay Of Hnaef And Hengest
Þâ gyt æghwylcum eorla drihtenþâra þe mid Beówulfe brim-lâde teáh,on þære medu-bence mâððum gesealde,yrfe-lâfe, and þone ænne hêhtgolde forgyldan, þone þe Grendel ærmâne âcwealde, swâ he hyra mâ wolde,nefne him witig god wyrd forstôdeand þäs mannes môd: metod eallum weóldgumena cynnes, swâ he nu git dêð;forþan bið andgit æghwær sêlest,ferhðes fore-þanc! fela sceal gebîdanleófes and lâðes, se þe longe heron þyssum win-dagum worolde brûceð.Þær wäs sang and swêg samod ätgäderefore Healfdenes hilde-wîsan,
Still, to each of the earls who had madethat sea-crossing with Beowulf, on the mead-bench,he gave treasure, an heirloom, and orderedthat the one be paid for in goldwhom Grendel had wickedly killed before —as he would have killed more of them,had not wise God and that man’s own courageturned fate aside; the Ruler governedall of mankind then, as he still does now;so understanding is everywhere best,forethought of the spirit! Much shall he endure,of both good and ill, whoever lives longin these troubled days, and makes use of the world.There was song and music togetherbefore Healfdene’s battle-leader; the harp was touched,
gomen-wudu grêted, gid oft wrecen,þonne heal-gamen Hrôðgâres scôpäfter medo-bence mænan scoldeFinnes eaferum, þâ hie se fær begeat:"Häleð Healfdenes, Hnäf Scyldinga,"in Fr..es wäle feallan scolde."Ne hûru Hildeburh hêrian þorfte"Eotena treówe: unsynnum wearð"beloren leófum ät þam lind-plegan"bearnum and brôðrum; hie on gebyrd hruron"gâre wunde; þät wäs geômuru ides."Nalles hôlinga Hôces dôhtor"meotod-sceaft bemearn, syððan morgen com,"þâ heó under swegle geseón meahte"morðor-bealo mâga, þær heó ær mæste heóld
a tale often told, when Hrothgar’s hall-poetwas to give the company entertainmentalong the mead-bench, tell of Finn’s sons,of the disaster that came upon them:“The hero of the Half-Danes, Hnaef of the Scyldings,was fated to fall on the field of the Frisians.Hildeburh had no cause to praisethe good faith of the Jutes; blameless as she was,she lost her loved ones at that clash of shields —her sons, her brothers; they fell as fate decreed,wounded by spears — that was a grieving woman.Not without cause did Hoc’s daughter mournthat decree of fate, once morning cameand she could see, under the open sky,the slaughter of her kinsmen, where she had once held
"worolde wynne: wîg ealle fornam"Finnes þegnas, nemne feáum ânum,"þät he ne mehte on þäm meðel-stede"wîg Hengeste wiht gefeohtan,"ne þâ weá-lâfe wîge forþringan"þeódnes þegne; ac hig him geþingo budon,"þät hie him ôðer flet eal gerýmdon,"healle and heáh-setl, þät hie healfre geweald"wið Eotena bearn âgan môston,"and ät feoh-gyftum Folcwaldan sunu"dôgra gehwylce Dene weorðode,"Hengestes heáp hringum wenede,"efne swâ swîðe sinc-gestreónum"fättan goldes, swâ he Fresena cyn"on beór-sele byldan wolde.
the greatest joy of the world; war had takenevery one of Finn’s thanes, all but a handful,so that he could not fight the matter outwith Hengest at all, there on that field,nor drive off by force the shattered remnantfrom the prince’s own thane; but they offered terms instead —that they would clear for them another hall entirely,a hall and a high-seat, and grant themcontrol of half of it, shared with the Jutes’ sons,and that at every gift-giving Folcwalda’s sonwould honor the Danes day after day,would gladden Hengest’s troop with rings,exactly as freely, with plated gold,as he used to hearten the Frisian peoplein the beer-hall. Then on both sides
"Þâ hie getrûwedon on twâ healfa"fäste frioðu-wære; Fin Hengeste"elne unflitme âðum benemde,"þät he þâ weá-lâfe weotena dôme"ârum heolde, þät þær ænig mon"wordum ne worcum wære ne bræce,"ne þurh inwit-searo æfre gemænden,"þeáh hie hira beág-gyfan banan folgedon"þeóden-leáse, þâ him swâ geþearfod wäs:"gyf þonne Frysna hwylc frêcnan spræce"þäs morðor-hetes myndgiend wære,"þonne hit sweordes ecg syððan scolde."Âð wäs geäfned and icge gold"âhäfen of horde. Here-Scyldinga"betst beado-rinca wäs on bæl gearu;
they sealed a firm peace-pact; Finn swore to Hengest,without reservation, on oath, that he would holdthe shattered remnant in honor, by his counselors’ judgment,so that no man there, by word or deed,would break that truce, nor ever raise itthrough malicious cunning, even though, lordless,they now followed the slayer of their own ring-giver —since that was forced upon them; and if any Frisian,by reckless talk, should call to mindthat murderous hatred, then the sword’s edgewould settle it after. An oath was sworn,and ancient gold raised up from the hoard.The best of the war-Scyldings’ fighting menwas made ready on the pyre; at that funeral fireit was easy to see the blood-soaked mail-shirt,
"ät þäm âde wäs êð-gesýne"swât-fâh syrce, swýn eal-gylden,"eofer îren-heard, äðeling manig"wundum âwyrded; sume on wäle crungon."Hêt þâ Hildeburh ät Hnäfes âde"hire selfre sunu sweoloðe befästan,"bân-fatu bärnan and on bæl dôn."Earme on eaxle ides gnornode,"geômrode giddum; gûð-rinc âstâh."Wand tô wolcnum wäl-fýra mæst,"hlynode for hlâwe; hafelan multon,"ben-geato burston, þonne blôd ätspranc"lâð-bite lîces. Lîg ealle forswealg,"gæsta gîfrost, þâra þe þær gûð fornam"bega folces; wäs hira blæd scacen.
the golden boar, the iron-hard swine-image,many a nobleman ruined by wounds;some had fallen in the slaughter. Then Hildeburh orderedthat her own son be given to the flamesat Hnaef’s own pyre, his body burnedand laid on the pile. The grieving womanmourned at his shoulder, lamented in song;the warrior rose in smoke. The greatest of death-firescoiled to the clouds, roared before the barrow;heads melted, wounds burst open,and blood sprang out from the body’s cruel bite.The fire, greediest of spirits, swallowedall that war had carried off from both peoples;their glory was gone.”