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B E O W U L F PROLOGUE Hear me! We've heard of Danish heroes, ancient kings and the glory they cut for themselves, swinging mighty swords! How Shild made slaves of soldiers from every land, crowds of captives he'd beaten 5 into terror; he'd travelled to Denmark alone, an abandoned child, but changed his own fate, lived to be rich and much honored. He ruled lands on all sides: wherever the sea would take them his soldiers sailed, returned 10 with tribute and obedience. There was a brave King! And he gave them more than his glory, conceived a son for the Danes, a new leader allowed them by the grace of the God. They had lived, before his coming, kingless and miserable; 15 now the Lord of all life, Ruler of glory, blessed them with a prince, Beo, whose power and fame soon spread through the world. Shild's strong son was the glory of Denmark; his father's warriors were wound round his heart 20 with golden rings, bound to their prince by his father's treasure. So young man build the future, wisely open-handed in peace, protected in war; so warriors earn their fame, and wealth is shaped with a sword. 25 When his time was come the old king died, still strong but called to the Lord's hands. His comrades carried him down to the shore, bore him as their leader had asked, their lord and companion, while words could move on his tongue. 30 Shild's reign had been long; he'd ruled them well. There in the harbor was a ring-prowed fighting ship, its timbers icy, waiting, and there they brought the beloved body of their ring-giving lord, and laid him near 35 the mast. Next to that noble corpse they heaped up treasures, jeweled helmets, hooked swords and coats of mail, armor carried from the ends of the earth: no ship had ever sailed so brightly fitted, 40 no king sent forth more deeply mourned. Forced to set him adrift, floating as far as the tide mught run, they refused to give him less from their hoards of gold than those who'd shipped him away, an orphan 45 and a beggar, to cross the waves alone. High up over his head they flew his shining banner, then sadly let the water pull at the ship, watched it slowly sliding to where neither rulers 50 nor heroes nor anyone can say whose hands opened to take that motionless cargo. 1 Then Beo was king in that Danish castle, Shild's son ruling as long as his father and as loved, a famous lord of men. 55 And he in turn gave people a son, the great Healfdane, a fierce fighter who led the Danes to the end of his long life and left them four children, three princes to guide them in battle, Hergar 60 and Hrothgar and Halga the Good, and one daughter, Yrs, who was given to Onela, king of the Swedes, and became his wife and their queen. Then Hrothgar, taking the throne, led the Danes to such glory that comrades and kinsmen 65 swore by his sword, and young men swelled his armies, and he thought of greatness and resolved to build a hall that would hold his mighty band and reach higher toward Heaven than anything that had ever been known to the sons of men. 70 And in that hall he'd divide the spoils of their victories, to old and young what they'd earned in battle, but leaving the common pastures untouched, and taking no lives. The work was odered, the timbers tied and shaped 75 by the hosts that Hrothgar ruled. It was quickly ready, that most beautiful of dwellings, built as he'd wanted, and then he whose word was obeyed all over the earth named it Herot. His boast come true he commanded a banquet, 80 opened out his treasure-full hands. That towering place, gabled and huge, stood waiting for time to pass, for war to begin, for flames to leap as high as the feud that would light them, and for Herot to burn. 85 A powerful monster, living down in the darkness, growled in pain, impatient as day after day the music rang loud in that hall, the harp's rejoicing call and the poet's clear song, sung 90 of the ancient beginnings of us all, recalling the Almighty making the earth, shaping these beautiful plains marked off by oceans, then proudly setting the sun and moon to glow across the land and light it; 95 the corners of the earth were made lovely with trees and leaves, made quick with life, with each of the nations who now move on its face. And then as now warriors sang of their pleasure: so Hrothgar's men lived happy in his hall 100 till the monster stirred, that demon, that fiend, Grendel, who haunted the moors, the wild marshes, and made his home in a hell not hell but earth. He was sprawned with slime, conceived by a pair of those monsters born 105 of Cain, murderous creatures banished by God, punished forever for the crime of Abel's death. The Almighty drove those demons out, and their exile was bitter, shut away from men: they split 110 into a thousand forms of evel - spirits and fiends, goblins, monsters, giants, a brood forever opposing the Lord's will, and again and again defeated. 2 Then, when darkness had dropped, Grendel 115 went up to Herot, wondering what the warriors would do in that hall when their drinking was done. He found them sprawled in sleep, suspecting nothing, their dreams undisturbed. The monster's thoughts were as quick as his greed or his claws: 120 he slipped through the door and there in silence snatched up thirty men, smashed them unknowing in their beds and ran out with their bodies, the blood dripping behind him, back to his lair, delighted with his night's slaughter. 125 At daybreak, with the sun's first light, they saw how well he had worked, and in that gray morning broke their long feast with tears and laments for the dead. Hrothgar, their lord, sat joyless in Herot, a mighty prince mourning 130 the fate of his lost friends and companions, knowing by its tracks that some demon had torn his followers apart. He wept, fearing the beginning might not be the end. And that night Grendel come again, so set 135 on murder that no crime could ever be enough, no savage assault quench his lust for evil. Then each warrior tried to escape him, searched for rest in different beds, as far from Herot as they could find, 140 seeing how Grendel hunted when they slept. Distance was safety; the only survivors were those who fled him. Hate had triumphed. So Grendel ruled, fought with the righteous, one against many, and won; so Herot 145 stood empty, and stayed deserted for years, twelve winters of grief for Hrothgar, king of the Danes, sorrow heaped at his door by hell-forged hands. His misery leaped the seas, was told and sung in all 150 men's ears: how Grendel's hatred began, how the monster relished his savage war on the Danes, keeping bloody feud alive, seeking no peace, offering no truce, accepting no settlement, no price 155 in gold or land, and paying the living for one crime only with another. No one waited for reparation from his plundering claws: that shadow of death hunted in the darkness, stalked Hrothgar's warriors, old 160 and young, lying in waiting, hidden in mist, invisibly following them from the edge of the marsh, always there, unseen. So mankind's enemy continued his crimes, killing as often as he could, coming 165 alone, bloodthirsty and horrible. Though he lived in Herot, when the night hid him, he never dared to touch king Hrothgar's glorious throne, protected by the God - God, whose love Grendel could not know. But Hrothgar's 170 heart was bent. The best and most noble of his council debated remedies, sat in secret sessions, talking of terror and wondering what the bravest of warriors could do. And sometime they sacrificed to the old stone gods, 175 made heathen vows, hoping for Hell's support, the Devil's guidance in driving their affliction off. That was their way, and the heathen's only hope, Hell always in their hearts, knowing neither God 180 nor His passing as He walks through our world, the Lord of Heaven and earth; their ears could not hear His prase nor know His glory. Let them beware, those who are thrust into danger, clutched at by trouble, yet can carry no solace 185 in their hearts, cannot hope to be better! Hail to those who will rise to God, drop off their dead bodies and seek our Father's peace! |