The Discourse Is Ended.—Beówulf Prepares To Leave
"Þonne bið on hreðre under helm drepen"biteran stræle: him bebeorgan ne con"wom wundor-bebodum wergan gâstes;"þinceð him tô lytel, þät he tô lange heóld,"gýtsað grom-hydig, nallas on gylp seleð"fätte beágas and he þâ forð-gesceaft"forgyteð and forgýmeð, þäs þe him ær god sealde"wuldres waldend, weorð-mynda dæl."Hit on ende-stäf eft gelimpeð,"þät se lîc-homa læne gedreóseð,"fæge gefealleð; fêhð ôðer tô,"se þe unmurnlîce mâdmas dæleð,"eorles ær-gestreón, egesan ne gýmeð."Bebeorh þe þone bealo-nîð, Beówulf leófa,"secg se betsta, and þe þät sêlre geceós,
“Then he is struck under his helmetwith a bitter arrow; he knows nothing to shield himself withfrom the wicked, uncanny commandsof the accursed spirit; what he has long heldseems too little to him now, he covets more,angry at heart, gives out no rings for glory,and he forgets and disregards the fate to come,the portion of honor that God, ruler of glory,had already given him.It happens at lastthat the borrowed body decays, falls, doomed;another succeeds him, one who deals out treasurewithout a second thought, the earl’s ancient hoard,and cares nothing for terror. Guard against that evil,dear Beowulf, best of men, and choose
"êce rædas; oferhyda ne gým,"mære cempa! Nu is þînes mägnes blæd"âne hwîle; eft sôna bið,"þät þec âdl oððe ecg eafoðes getwæfeð,"oððe fýres feng oððe flôdes wylm,"oððe gripe mêces oððe gâres fliht,"oððe atol yldo, oððe eágena bearhtm"forsiteð and forsworceð; semninga bið,"þät þec, dryht-guma, deáð oferswýðeð."Swâ ic Hring-Dena hund missera"weóld under wolcnum, and hig wîge beleác"manigum mægða geond þysne middan-geard,"äscum and ecgum, þät ic me ænigne"under swegles begong gesacan ne tealde."Hwät! me þäs on êðle edwenden cwom,
the better part, the eternal gain;do not give in to pride, famous champion!The glory of your strength is only for a while now;soon enough it will be that sickness or the swordwill part you from that power,or the grip of fire,or the surge of a flood, or the clutch of a blade,or the flight of a spear, or dreadful old age,or the light of your eyes will fail and go dark;suddenly it will happen that death overtakes you, warrior.So I ruled the Ring-Danes under the skyfor fifty years, and shielded them in warfrom many peoples throughout this middle-earth,with spear and sword, so that I did not countany man under the wide sky my equal in battle.
"gyrn äfter gomene, seoððan Grendel wearð,"eald-gewinna, in-genga mîn:"ic þære sôcne singales wäg"môd-ceare micle. Þäs sig metode þanc,"êcean drihtne, þäs þe ic on aldre gebâd,"þät ic on þone hafelan heoro-dreórigne"ofer eald gewin eágum starige!"Gâ nu tô setle, symbel-wynne dreóh"wîgge weorðad: unc sceal worn fela"mâðma gemænra, siððan morgen bið."Geát wäs gläd-môd, geóng sôna tô,setles neósan, swâ se snottra hêht.Þâ wäs eft swâ ær ellen-rôfum,flet-sittendum fägere gereorded
Listen — reversal came to me, in my own homeland,grief after joy, once Grendel becamemy invader, my old enemy:I carried, from that persecution,a great and constant heart-sorrow. Thanks beto the Measurer, to the eternal Lord,that I have lived to see this, that I can lookwith my own eyes on that bloody head,after such old strife! Go now to your seat,enjoy the feast’s joy, honored in war:a great many treasures shall be shared between us,once morning comes.” The Geat was glad-hearted,went at once to find his seat, as the wise one bade.Then again, as before, for those famous ones,
niówan stefne. Niht-helm geswearcdeorc ofer dryht-gumum. Duguð eal ârâs;wolde blonden-feax beddes neósan,gamela Scylding. Geát ungemetes wel,rôfne rand-wîgan restan lyste:sôna him sele-þegn sîðes wêrgum,feorran-cundum forð wîsade,se for andrysnum ealle beweotedeþegnes þearfe, swylce þý dôgoreheáðo-lîðende habban scoldon.Reste hine þâ rûm-heort; reced hlifadegeáp and gold-fâh, gäst inne swäf,ôð þät hrefn blaca heofones wynneblîð-heort bodode. Þâ com beorht sunne
the hall-dwellers, a feast was handsomely servedonce more. The helm of night grew darkover the warriors. The whole company rose;the grey-haired one wanted to seek his bed,the old Scylding. The Geat, beyond measure,longed to rest, that valiant shield-warrior.At once a hall-thane led him off,one weary from his travels, come from far away,who saw to all a guest’s needs, as courtesy required,just as seafarers in those days had need of.The great-hearted man rested then; the hall towered up,spacious and gold-adorned; the guest slept within,until the black raven, glad in spirit,announced the joy of heaven. Then the bright sun came
scacan ofer grundas; scaðan onetton,wæron äðelingas eft tô leódumfûse tô farenne, wolde feor þanoncuma collen-ferhð ceóles neósan.Hêht þâ se hearda Hrunting beran,sunu Ecglâfes, hêht his sweord niman,leóflîc îren; sägde him þäs leánes þanc,cwäð he þone gûð-wine gôdne tealde,wîg-cräftigne, nales wordum lôgmêces ecge: þät wäs môdig secg.And þâ sîð-frome searwum gearwewîgend wæron, eode weorð Denumäðeling tô yppan, þær se ôðer wäshäle hilde-deór, Hrôðgâr grêtte.
moving over the land;the warriors hastened,the nobles were eager to travel backto their own people; the bold-spirited visitorwanted to find his ship, far away from there.Then the brave man ordered Hrunting carriedto Ecglaf’s son, told him to take his sword,that beloved iron; said he thought that war-friend good,effective in battle, did not fault its edgein words at all: that was a courageous man.And then, ready in their gear, eager to be gone,the warriors made themselves ready; the prince, honored by the Danes,went up to the dais, where the other one sat,that battle-brave hero, and greeted Hrothgar.