Hrothgar Tells Of Grendel
Hrôðgâr maðelode, helm Scyldinga:"for were-fyhtum þu, wine mîn Beówulf,"and for âr-stafum ûsic sôhtest."Geslôh þin fäder fæhðe mæste,"wearð he Heaðolâfe tô hand-bonan"mid Wilfingum; þâ hine Wedera cyn"for here-brôgan habban ne mihte."Þanon he gesôhte Sûð-Dena folc"ofer ýða gewealc, Âr-Scyldinga;"þâ ic furðum weóld folce Deninga,"and on geogoðe heóld gimme-rîce"hord-burh häleða: þâ wäs Heregâr deád,"mîn yldra mæg unlifigende,"bearn Healfdenes. Se wäs betera þonne ic!"Siððan þâ fæhðe feó þingode;
Hrothgar spoke, helmet of the Scyldings:“For the sake of past battles, my friend Beowulf,and out of kindness, you have sought us out.Your father struck the greatest of feuds:he became Heatholaf’s slayer with his own handamong the Wylfings; then the Weder peoplecould not keep him for fear of war.From there he sought out the South-Danes’ folk,over the rolling waves, the honored Scyldings;I had only just then begun to rule the Danish people,and in my youth held this jeweled kingdom,this hoard-city of warriors: Heorogar was dead then,my elder kinsman, no longer living,Healfdene’s son. He was better than I!Afterward I settled that feud with payment;
"sende ic Wylfingum ofer wäteres hrycg"ealde mâdmas: he me âðas swôr."Sorh is me tô secganne on sefan mînum"gumena ængum, hwät me Grendel hafað"hýnðo on Heorote mid his hete-þancum,"fær-nîða gefremed. Is mîn flet-werod,"wîg-heáp gewanod; hie Wyrd forsweóp"on Grendles gryre. God eáðe mäg"þone dol-scaðan dæda getwæfan!"Ful oft gebeótedon beóre druncne"ofer ealo-wæge oret-mecgas,"þät hie in beór-sele bîdan woldon"Grendles gûðe mid gryrum ecga."Þonne wäs þeós medo-heal on morgen-tîd,
I sent to the Wylfings, over the water’s back,ancient treasures: he swore me oaths in return.It grieves me at heart to tellany man what Grendel has done to me,what humiliation in Heorot, with his hateful purposes,what sudden horrors. My hall-troop isdiminished, my war-band; fate has swept them awayinto Grendel’s terror. God could easilyput an end to that reckless ravager’s deeds!Very often warriors, drunk on beer,have boasted over the ale-cupthat they would wait in the beer-hallfor Grendel’s onslaught with terrible blades.Then this mead-hall, in the morning hour,
"driht-sele dreór-fâh, þonne däg lixte,"eal benc-þelu blôde bestýmed,"heall heoru-dreóre: âhte ic holdra þý läs,"deórre duguðe, þe þâ deáð fornam."Site nu tô symle and onsæl meoto,"sige-hrêð secgum, swâ þîn sefa hwette!"Þâ wäs Geát-mäcgum geador ätsomneon beór-sele benc gerýmed;þær swîð-ferhðe sittan eodonþryðum dealle. Þegn nytte beheóld,se þe on handa bär hroden ealo-wæge,scencte scîr wered. Scôp hwîlum sanghâdor on Heorote; þær wäs häleða dreám,duguð unlytel Dena and Wedera.
was stained with blood when daylight gleamed,all the bench-planks drenched with gore,the hall reeking with sword-blood: I had fewer loyal men,dear followers, whom death had taken.Sit now at the feast, and unburden your thoughts,victory-fame to my men, as your heart moves you!”Then for the men of the Geats, all together,a bench was cleared in the beer-hall;there the strong-hearted ones went to sit,proud in their might. A thane did his duty,who bore in his hand the adorned ale-cup,poured the bright drink. Sometimes the poet sang,clear-voiced in Heorot; there was joy of heroes,no small company of Danes and Weders.