Beówulf Slays The Sprite
Geseah þâ on searwum sige-eádig bil,eald sweord eotenisc ecgum þyhtig,wîgena weorð-mynd: þät wäs wæpna cyst,bûton hit wäs mâre þonne ænig mon ôðertô beadu-lâce ätberan meahtegôd and geatolîc giganta geweorc.He gefêng þâ fetel-hilt, freca Scildinga,hreóh and heoro-grim hring-mæl gebrägd,aldres orwêna, yrringa slôh,þät hire wið halse heard grâpode,bân-hringas bräc, bil eal þurh-wôdfægne flæsc-homan, heó on flet gecrong;sweord wäs swâtig, secg weorce gefeh.Lixte se leóma, leóht inne stôd,efne swâ of hefene hâdre scîneðrodores candel. He äfter recede wlât,
Then he saw among the war-gear a blade blessed with victory,an old sword made by giants, strong at the edge,an honor for warriors; that was the choicest of weapons,except that it was bigger than any other mancould ever carry into battle-play,good and splendid, the work of giants.He seized the hilt then, that champion of the Scyldings,fierce and battle-grim, drew the ring-marked sword,despairing of his own life, struck in fury,so that it caught her hard around the neck,broke through the rings of bone; the blade went cleanthrough her doomed body, and she fell to the floor;the sword was bloody, the man rejoiced in his work.The gleam shone out, a light stood within,just as the sky’s own candle shines clear from heaven.He looked around the hall,
hwearf þâ be wealle, wæpen hafenadeheard be hiltum Higelâces þegn,yrre and ân-ræd. Näs seó ecg fracodhilde-rince, ac he hraðe woldeGrendle forgyldan gûð-ræsa felaþâra þe he geworhte tô West-Denumoftor micle þonne on ænne sîð,þonne he Hrôðgâres heorð-geneátasslôh on sweofote, slæpende frätfolces Denigea fýf-tyne menand ôðer swylc ût of-ferede,lâðlîcu lâc. He him þäs leán forgeald,rêðe cempa, tô þäs þe he on räste geseahgûð-wêrigne Grendel licgan,aldor-leásne, swâ him ær gescôdhild ät Heorote; hrâ wîde sprong,
then turned along the wall,Hygelac’s thane raised the weapon,hard by the hilt, angry and resolute.The edge was not wasted on that battle-warrior;he wanted, quickly, to repay Grendelfor the many onslaughts he had madeon the West-Danes, far more than once,when he killed Hrothgar’s own hearth-companions in their sleep,devoured sleeping men, fifteen of the Danish people,and carried off just as many more,a hateful plunder. He paid him back for that,that fierce champion, so that now he saw Grendellying on his own resting-place,worn out by battle,lifeless, just as the fight at Heorothad wounded him before; his body burst wide open,
syððan he äfter deáðe drepe þrowade,heoro-sweng heardne, and hine þâ heáfde becearf,Sôna þät gesâwon snottre ceorlas,þâ þe mid Hrôðgâre on holm wliton,þät wäs ýð-geblond eal gemenged,brim blôde fâh: blonden-feaxegomele ymb gôdne ongeador spræcon,þät hig þäs äðelinges eft ne wêndon,þät he sige-hrêðig sêcean cômemærne þeóden; þâ þäs monige gewearð,þät hine seó brim-wylf âbroten häfde.Þâ com nôn däges. Näs ofgeâfonhwate Scyldingas; gewât him hâm þonongold-wine gumena. Gistas sêtan,môdes seóce, and on mere staredon,wiston and ne wêndon, þät hie heora wine-drihten
once he took the blow after death,a hard sword-stroke, and Beowulf struck off his head.At once the wise men who watched the water’s surfacewith Hrothgar saw that the churning waveswere all stirred together, the water stained with blood:the grey-haired ones, old men, spoke it over among themselves,said they did not expect that prince to come back,that he would return in triumph to seek outtheir famous lord;it seemed certain to manythat the sea-wolf had destroyed him. The ninth hour of the daycame then. The bold Scyldings gave up the headland;the gold-friend of men went home from there.The strangers sat,sick at heart, and stared at the mere;they wished, though they no longer expected,
selfne gesâwon. Þâ þät sweord onganäfter heaðo-swâte hilde-gicelumwîg-bil wanian; þät wäs wundra sum,þät hit eal gemealt îse gelîcost,þonne forstes bend fäder onlæteð,onwindeð wäl-râpas, se þe geweald hafaðsæla and mæla; þät is sôð metod.Ne nom he in þæm wîcum, Weder-Geáta leód,mâðm-æhta mâ, þêh he þær monige geseah,bûton þone hafelan and þâ hilt somod,since fâge; sweord ær gemealt,forbarn broden mæl: wäs þät blôd tô þäs hât,ættren ellor-gæst, se þær inne swealt.Sôna wäs on sunde, se þe ær ät säcce gebâdwîg-hryre wrâðra, wäter up þurh-deáf;wæron ýð-gebland eal gefælsod,
to see their beloved lord again with their own eyes.Then that sword, the war-blade, began to waste awayin battle-icicles, from the blood, from the battle-sweat;it was a great wonder that it melted entirely,most like ice, when the Father loosensthe bonds of frost, unwinds the water’s ropes,he who holds power over times and seasons;that is the true Measurer. He took nothing moreof treasure from that dwelling, the lord of the Weder-Geats,though he saw plenty there, except the headand the hilt together, bright with gems;the blade itself had already melted,that patterned sword had burned away;the blood was too hot,the poisonous alien spirit that had died within it.Soon he was swimming, he who had lived through
eácne eardas, þâ se ellor-gâstoflêt lîf-dagas and þâs lænan gesceaft.Com þâ tô lande lid-manna helmswîð-môd swymman, sæ-lâce gefeah,mägen-byrðenne þâra þe he him mid häfde.Eodon him þâ tôgeánes, gode þancodon,þryðlîc þegna heáp, þeódnes gefêgon,þäs þe hi hyne gesundne geseón môston.Þâ wäs of þäm hrôran helm and byrnelungre âlýsed: lagu drusade,wäter under wolcnum, wäl-dreóre fâg.Fêrdon forð þonon fêðe-lâstumferhðum fägne, fold-weg mæton,cûðe stræte; cyning-balde menfrom þäm holm-clife hafelan bæron
the downfall of his enemies in battle,rose up through the water; the churning waves were cleansedentirely, the wide expanses, once the alien spiritgave up her life-days and this fleeting world.Then the protector of seamen came swimming to land,strong in spirit, glad of his sea-plunder,the great burden he had brought with him.They went toward him then, thanked God,that splendid company of thanes, rejoiced in their prince,that they were allowed to see him safe and sound.Then from that strong man helmet and mail-coatwere quickly loosened: the mere lay quiet,the water under the clouds, stained with battle-blood.They went forward from there along their own footprints,glad at heart, measured the earth-path,
earfoðlîce heora æghwäðrumfela-môdigra: feówer scoldonon ðäm wäl-stenge weorcum geferiantô þäm gold-sele Grendles heáfod,ôð þät semninga tô sele cômonfrome fyrd-hwate feówer-tyneGeáta gongan; gum-dryhten midmôdig on gemonge meodo-wongas träd.Þâ com in gân ealdor þegna,dæd-cêne mon dôme gewurðad,häle hilde-deór. Hrôðgâr grêtan:Þâ wäs be feaxe on flet borenGrendles heáfod, þær guman druncon,egeslîc for eorlum and þære idese mid:wlite-seón wrätlîc weras onsâwon.
the road they knew; kingly-bold mencarried the head from the sea-cliff, and it was hard workfor every one of them, brave as they were:four of them had to carry, with real effort,Grendel’s head on a spear-shaft to the gold-hall,until, at last, fourteen brave and battle-ready Geatscame walking to the building; their lord walked among them,proud amid the throng, treading the meadow-paths.Then in walked the leader of the thanes,a man bold in deeds, honored for glory,a hero brave in battle, to greet Hrothgar.Then Grendel’s head was carried by the haironto the floor, where the men were drinking,a terrible sight before the nobles, and before the lady too:the warriors looked on a wondrous thing.