The Battle With The Water-Drake
Beówulf maðelode, bearn Ecgþeówes:"geþenc nu, se mæra maga Healfdenes,"snottra fengel, nu ic eom sîðes fûs,"gold-wine gumena, hwät wit geó spræcon,"gif ic ät þearfe þînre scolde"aldre linnan, þät þu me â wære"forð-gewitenum on fäder stäle;"wes þu mund-bora mînum mago-þegnum,"hond-gesellum, gif mec hild nime:"swylce þu þâ mâdmas, þe þu me sealdest,"Hrôðgâr leófa, Higelâce onsend."Mäg þonne on þäm golde ongitan Geáta dryhten,"geseón sunu Hrêðles, þonne he on þät sinc starað,"þät ic gum-cystum gôdne funde
Beowulf spoke, son of Ecgtheow:“Consider now, famous kinsman of Healfdene,wise prince, now that I am ready to set out,gold-friend of men, what we two agreed before:if, in serving you, I should lose my life,that you would always stand to me, once I was gone,in a father’s place; be a guardianto my young retainers, my hand-picked men,if battle takes me; likewise the treasuresyou have given me, dear Hrothgar,send on to Hygelac. Then the lord of the Geatsmay see from that gold, the son of Hrethel may perceive,when he looks at the treasure, that I founda ring-giver good beyond measure,enjoyed him while I could. And let Unferth keep
"beága bryttan, breác þonne môste."And þu Ûnferð læt ealde lâfe,"wrätlîc wæg-sweord wîd-cûðne man"heard-ecg habban; ic me mid Hruntinge"dôm gewyrce, oððe mec deáð nimeð."Äfter þæm wordum Weder-Geáta leódêfste mid elne, nalas andswarebîdan wolde; brim-wylm onfênghilde-rince. Þâ wäs hwîl däges,ær he þone grund-wong ongytan mehte.Sôna þät onfunde, se þe flôda begongheoro-gîfre beheóld hund missera,grim and grædig, þät þær gumena sumäl-wihta eard ufan cunnode.
my old heirloom, that wondrous wave-patterned sword,that widely-known man, that hard-edged blade;with Hrunting I mean to win myself glory,or death will take me.” After these wordsthe prince of the Weder-Geats hurried on with courage,would not wait at all for an answer;the churning water swallowed the battle-warrior.It was the length of a day before he could make outthe bottom of it. Soon she discovered,she who had held that stretch of water,savage with bloodlust, for fifty years,grim and greedy, that some man from abovewas exploring the dwelling-place of monsters.She grasped toward him then, seized the warriorin her terrible claws; but even so
Grâp þâ tôgeánes, gûð-rinc gefêngatolan clommum; nô þý ær in gescôdhâlan lîce: hring ûtan ymb-bearh,þät heó þone fyrd-hom þurh-fôn ne mihte,locene leoðo-syrcan lâðan fingrum.Bär þâ seó brim-wylf, þâ heó tô botme com,hringa þengel tô hofe sînum,swâ he ne mihte nô (he þäs môdig wäs)wæpna gewealdan, ac hine wundra þäs felaswencte on sunde, sæ-deór monighilde-tuxum here-syrcan bräc,êhton aglæcan. Þâ se eorl ongeat,þät he in nið-sele nât-hwylcum wäs,þær him nænig wäter wihte ne sceðede,
she did not injure his unbroken body:the ring-mail guarded him from outside,so that she could not force her way through that war-garment,the locked limb-armor, with her hostile fingers.Then the sea-wolf bore him, once she reached the bottom,the ring-prince, down to her own den,so that, brave as he was, he could notwield any weapon at all; but too many horrorsbeset him as he sank, many a sea-beasttore at his mail-shirt with battle-tusks,monsters hounded him. Then the earl sawthat he was in some kind of hostile hallwhere no water at all could touch him,where the roofed chamber kept off
ne him for hrôf-sele hrînan ne mehtefær-gripe flôdes: fýr-leóht geseah,blâcne leóman beorhte scînan.Ongeat þâ se gôda grund-wyrgenne,mere-wîf mihtig; mägen-ræs forgeafhilde-bille, hond swenge ne ofteáh,þät hire on hafelan hring-mæl âgôlgrædig gûð-leóð. Þâ se gist onfand,þät se beado-leóma bîtan nolde,aldre sceððan, ac seó ecg geswâcþeódne ät þearfe: þolode ær felahond-gemôta, helm oft gescär,fæges fyrd-hrägl: þät wäs forma sîðdeórum mâðme, þät his dôm âläg.
the sudden grip of the flood; he saw firelight,a bright glow shining. Then the good man made outthat mighty mere-woman; he swung his battle-swordwith all his strength, did not hold back the stroke,so that the ring-marked blade sang outa greedy war-song against her head.Then the stranger found that the battle-lightwould not bite, would not touch her life,but the edge failed the prince in his need:it had endured many hand-fights before,had often sheared through helmets,the war-coat of the doomed; that was the first timefor that precious blade that its glory had failed.He was resolute all the same, no slower in courage,
Eft wäs ân-ræd, nalas elnes lät,mærða gemyndig mæg Hygelâces;wearp þâ wunden-mæl wrättum gebundenyrre oretta, þät hit on eorðan läg,stîð and stýl-ecg; strenge getrûwode,mund-gripe mägenes. Swâ sceal man dôn,þonne he ät gûðe gegân þenceðlongsumne lof, nâ ymb his lîf cearað.Gefêng þâ be eaxle (nalas for fæhðe mearn)Gûð-Geáta leód Grendles môdor;brägd þâ beadwe heard, þâ he gebolgen wäs,feorh-genîðlan, þät heó on flet gebeáh.Heó him eft hraðe and-leán forgealdgrimman grâpum and him tôgeánes fêng;
mindful of fame, that kinsman of Hygelac;the angry warrior flung away that sword then,patterned and jewel-set, so that it lay on the ground,hard and steel-edged; he trusted his strength,the might of his own bare grip. So should a man dowhenever he means to win lasting praisein battle; he thinks nothing of his life.Then he seized her by the shoulder — he had no regretfor the feud — the lord of the War-Geatscaught hold of Grendel’s mother; hardened for the fight,his anger up, he swung his mortal enemyso that she fell to the ground. She paid him backjust as quickly, with her savage claws,and grabbed for him; then the strongest of warriors,
oferwearp þâ wêrig-môd wîgena strengest,fêðe-cempa, þät he on fylle wearð.Ofsät þâ þone sele-gyst and hyre seaxe geteáh,brâd and brûn-ecg wolde hire bearn wrecan,ângan eaferan. Him on eaxle lägbreóst-net broden; þät gebearh feore,wið ord and wið ecge ingang forstôd.Häfde þâ forsîðod sunu Ecgþeówesunder gynne grund, Geáta cempa,nemne him heaðo-byrne helpe gefremede,here-net hearde, and hâlig godgeweóld wîg-sigor, witig drihten;rodera rædend hit on ryht gescêd,ýðelîce syððan he eft âstôd.
weary in spirit, the fighter on his feet,stumbled, and went down. Then she sat astridethat hall-guest and drew her knife,broad and bright-edged; she meant to avenge her son,her one and only child. On his shoulderlay his woven breast-armor; that saved his life,kept out the point and the edge.Ecgtheow’s son would have died there then,under the wide earth, that champion of the Geats,had not his battle-shirt come to his aid,that hard war-net, and had not holy Godbrought about victory in that fight — the wise Lord;the ruler of the heavens decided it rightly and easily,once he stood up again.