 section 1 of Beowulf. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Tad E. Beowulf. By Unknown. Translated by Francis Barton Gammair. Prelude. Low, praise of the prowess of people kings, of spear-armed danes and days long sped, we have heard and what honor the Atholinks won, oft shielded the shaving from squandered foes. From many a tribe, the mead-bench-tour, aweing the earls, since erst he lay friendless and foundling, fate repaid him, for he waxed under welkin, and wealth he throve. Till before him the folk, both far and near, who house by the whale-path heard his mandate, gave him gifts, a good king he. To him an heir was afterward born, a son in the halls whom heaven sent to favor the folk, feeling their woe, that erst they had lacked an earl for leader so long a while, the Lord endowed him, the wielder of wonder. With worlds renowned, famed was this Beowulf, far flew the boast of him, son of shield in the Scandinlands. So becomes it a youth to quit him well with his father's friends, by fee and gift, that to aid him, aged and after days, come warriors willing, should war draw nigh, liegemen loyal by lauded deeds, shall an earl have honor in every clan. Fourth he fared at the faded moment, sturdy shield to the shelter of God, then they bore him over to oceans below, loving clansmen, as late he charged them, while wielded words the windsome shield. The leader beloved, who long had ruled, in the Rockstead rocked a ring-dite vessel, ice-flect outbound Atholings barge, there laid they down, their darling Lord, on the breast of the boat, the breaker of rings, by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure fetched from far was freighted with him, no ship have I known so nobly-dite, with weapons of war, and weeds of battle, with breastplate and blade, on his bosom lay a heaped horde that hence should go far o'er the flood, with him floating away. No lest these loaded the lordly gifts, thanes huge treasure, than those had done, who in former time forth had sent him, soul on the seas, a suckling child. I o'er his head they hoisted the standard, a gold-wove banner, let billows take him, gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits, mournful their mood, no man is able to say in sooth, no son of the halls, no hero neath heaven, who harbored that freight. One Now Beowulf bowed in the burge of the shieldings, leader beloved and long he ruled in fame, with all folk, since his father had gone away from the world till awoke in air. Hati Halaf Dayna, who held through life, sage and sturdy, the shieldings glad. Then one after one there awoke to him the chieftain of Klansman, children four, Hera Gar, then Hrothgar, then Haga Brave, and I heard that Blank was Blank's queen. The Heatho Skilfing's helpmate, dear, to Hrothgar was given such glory of war, such honor of combat, that all his kin obeyed him gladly till great grew his band of youthful comrades. It came in his mind to bid his henchmen a hall up rear, a master mead house, mightier far than ever was seen by the sons of earth. And within it, then, too, old and young, he would all allot that the Lord had sent him, save only the land and the lives of his men. Wide, I heard, was the work commanded, for many a tribe this mid-earth round to fashion the folk-stead. It fell as he ordered, in rapid achievement, that ready it stood there of halls the noblest. Hey, O Roth, he named it, whose message had might in many a land, not reckless of promise, the rings he dealt treasure at Banquet. There towered the hall, high, gabled wide, the hot surge waiting, of furious flame. Not far was the day when father and son-in-law stood in feud for warfare and hatred that woke again. With envy and anger, an evil spirit endured the dull in his dark abode, that he heard each day the den of revel high in the hall. There, harps rang out, clear song of the singer. He sang who knew tales of the early time of man, how the almighty made the earth, ferris fields enfolded by water, set, triumphant, sun and moon, for a light to lighten the land-dwellers, and braided bright, the breast of earth, with limbs and leaves, made life for all of mortal beings that breathe and move. So lived the clansmen in cheer and revel a winsome life, till one began to fashion evils that field of hell. Grendel, this monster grim, was called March-Rever-Mighty in Moorland living, in fen and fastness, thief of the giants. The hapless wit a while had kept since the creature his exile doomed. On kin of Cain was the killing avenged by sovereign God for slaughtered Abel. Ill fared his feud, and far was he driven, for the slaughter's sake, from sight of men, of Cain awoke, all that woeful breed. Etons and elves and evil spirits, as well as the giants that warred with God, weary while, but their wage was paid them. Two. Went he forth to find, at fall of night, that haughty house and heed wherever. The ring-danes out-raveled, to rest had gone. Found within it, the atheling band, asleep after feasting and fearless of sorrow, of human hardship. Unhallowed wit, grim and greedy, he grasped betimes, wrathful, reckless, from resting places. Thirty of the thanes, and thence he rushed, feign of his fell spoil, faring homeward. Layden with slaughter, his lair to seek. Then at the dawning, as day was breaking, the might of Grendel to men was known. Then after was sale, was wail uplifted, loud moan in the mourn. The mighty chief, atheling, excellent, unblithe sat, labored in woe for the loss of his thanes. When once he had traced the trail of the fiend, spirit accursed, too cruel that sorrow, too long, too loathsome, not late the respite. With night returning, a new began, ruthless murder. He wrecked no wit, firm in his guilt. Of the feud and crime, they were easy to find, who elsewhere sought, and room remote, their rest at night. Bed in the bowers, when that bale was shown, was seen in sooth. With surest token, the hall-thanes hate. Such held themselves, far and fast, who the fiend outran. Thus ruled unrighteous, and raged his fill, one against all, until empty stood that lordly building, and long it bode so. Twelve years tied the trouble he bore. Sovereign of shieldings, sorrows, and plenty, boundless cares. There came, unhidden, tidings true, to the tribes of men, and sorrowful songs. How ceaselessly Grendel harassed Rathgar, what hate he bore him, what murder and massacre, many a year, feud unfading, blank-refused consent to deal with any of Daneland's earls, make pact of peace, or compound of gold. Still less did the wise men wean to get great fee for the feud from his fiendish hands. But the evil one ambushed old and young, death-shadow dark, and dogged them still, lured, or lurked, in the live-long night. Of Misty Moorland's men may say not where the haunts of these hell-ruins be. Such heaping of horrors the hater of men, lonely roamer, wrought unceasing, harassings heavy, or hail wrought he lorded, gold, bright hall, and gloomy nights, and nair could the prince approach his throne, to his judgment of God, or have joy in his hall. Sore was the sorrow to shielding's friend, heart-rending misery. Many nobles sat assembled and searched out-council, how it were best for bold-hearted men against harassing terror to try their hand. Whilst they vowed in their heathen feins alter offerings, ask with words that the slayer of souls would secure give them for the pain of their people. There practiced this, their heathen hope, to as hell they thought of in mood of their mind. Almighty they knew not, doomsmen of deeds and dreadful lord, nor heaven's helmet heeded they ever wielder of wonder. Woe for that man, who in harm and hatred hails his soul to fiery embraces, nor favor nor change awaits he ever, but well for him that after death-day may draw to his lord and friendship find in the father's arms. End of Section 1. Recording by Tad E. Section 2 of Beowulf. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Tad E. Beowulf. By Unknown. Translated by Francis Barton Gammare. Three. Thus seething unceasing the sun of Halefdena, with the woe of these days, not wisest men, assuaged his sorrow to soar the anguish, loathly and long that lay on his folk, most baneful and burdens and bails of the night. This heard in his home he Yolox Thane, great among guillots of Grendel's doings. He was the mightiest man of Valor in that same day of this our life, stalwart and stately. A stout wave-walker he bade make ready. Yon battle-king, said he, far o'er the swan-road, he Fane would seek. The noble monarch who needed men. The prince's journey by prudent folk was little blamed, though they loved him dear. They wedded the hero and hailed good omens. And now the bold one from bands of guillots. Comrades chose the keenness of warriors, ere he could find. With fourteen men the sea would he sought, and sailor proved, led them on the land's confines. Time had now flown, afloat was the ship-boat under bluff. On board they climbed warriors ready, waves were churning sea with sand. The sailors bore on the breast of the bark their bright array, their mail and weapons. The men pushed off on its willing way the well-braced craft. Then moved o'er the waters by might of the wind that bark like a bird with breast of foam. Till in season due, on the second day, the curved prow such course had run that sailors now could see the land. Sea-cliffs shining, steep high hills, headlands broad. Their haven was found, their journey ended. Up then quickly the weeders, clansmen climbed ashore, anchored their sea-wood with armor clashing in gear of battle. God they thanked, on passing in peace o'er the paths of the sea. Now saw from the cliff a shielding clansman, a warden that watched the waterside, how they bore o'er the gangway, glittering shields, war gear and readiness. Wonder seized him to know what manner of men they were. Straight to the strand his steed he rode, Rothgar's henchmen. With hand of might he shook his spear and spake and parley. Who are ye then, ye armed men? Mailed folk that yon mighty vessel have urged, thus over the ocean ways, here o'er the waters. A warden eye, sentinel set over the sea-march here, lest any foe to the folk of Danes with harrying fleet should harm the land. No aliens ever at ease, thus bore them. Linden-wielders, yet word of leave, clearly ye lack from clansmen here. My folk's agreement. A greater nare saw eye of warriors in world than is one of you, gion-hero in harness. No henchmen he worthied my weapons. If witness his features, his peerless presence, I pray you, though, tell your folk and home, lest hence ye fare suspect to wander your way as spies in Danish land. Now, dwellers afar, ocean travelers, take from me simple advice. The sooner the better. I hear of the country once ye came. Four To him, the stateliest spake in answer, the warrior's leader, his word-horde unlocked. We are by kin of the clan of Gaius, and he ye locks own hearth-fellows we. To folk afar my father known, noble Atheling, Edg-theo named. Full of winters, he fared away, aged from earth. He has honored still, through width, of the world by wise men all. To thy lord and liege in loyal mood, we hasten hither. To Halafdena's son, people-protector, be pleased to advise us, to that almighty one come we on Mickel-errand. To the lord of the Danes, nor deem I right that ought be hidden. We hear, thou knowest, if Seuth is the saying of men, that amid the shieldings a scathing monster, dark ill-doer, in dusky nights, shows terrific his rage unmatched, hatred and murder. To Hrothgar, in greatness of soul, would succor bring, to the wise and brave, may worst his foes, if ever the end of ills is faded. Of cruelest contest, if cure shall follow, and the boiling care-waves cooler grow, else ever afterward anguish days. He shall suffer in sorrow, while stands in place, high on its hill, that house unpeered. Astride his steed, the strandward answered, clansmen unquailed. The keen-sold thane must be skilled to sever and sunder duly words and works, if he well intends. I gather this band is graciously bent to the shielding's master. March then, bearing weapons and weeds that way I show you. I will bid my men, your boat, meanwhile, to guard for fear lest foemen come, your new tarred ship, by shore of ocean, faithfully watching till once again, it waft o'er the waters, those well-loved thanes. Winding necked wood, to wetters' bounds, heroes such as the hestaphate shall succor and save from the shachak of war. They bent them to march, the boat lay still, fettered by cable and fast at anchor. Broad bosomed ship, then shone the bores over the cheek-guard, chased with gold, keen and gleaming, guarded kept, or the man of water, as marched along heroes and haste, till the hall they saw, broad of gable and bright with gold. That was the fairest, mid-folk of earth, of houses neath heaven, where hrothgar lived, and the gleam of it lightened o'er lands afar. The sturdy shieldsmen showed that bright burge of the boldest, bade them go straightway thither. His steed then turned, hardy hero, and hailed them thus. To his time that I fare from you, Father Almighty, in grace and mercy guard you well, save in your seekings, seeward I go, against hostile warriors hold my watch. 5. Stone bright the street, it showed the way, to the crowd of clansmen. Corsilets glistened, hand-forged, hard, on their harness bright, the steel ring sang as they strode along in mail of battle and marched to the hall. There, wary of ocean, the wall along they set their bucklers, their broad shields down and bowed them to bench. The breast-plates clanged, war-gear of men, their weapons stacked, spears of the seafarer stood together, grey-tipped ash, that iron-band was worthily weaponed. A warrior proud, asked of the heroes, their home and kin, Wents now, bare ye burnish shields, harness grey and helmets grim, spears and multitude. Messenger I, Hrothgaard's herald, heroes so many, nearer met I as strangers of mood so strong, To his plain that prowess not plunged into exile for a high-hearted valour. Hrothgaard ye see! Him, the sturdy and war bespake with words, proud earl of the wetters, answer made. Hardy, neath helmet, he alocks, we fellows at board, I am Beowulf named. I am seeking to say to the son of Halafdena, the mission of mine to thy master-lord, the Doughty Prince. If he dain it all grace that we greet him, the good one now. Wolfgaard spake, the Wendell's chieftain, whose might of mine to many was known, his courage and counsel. The king of Danes, the shielding's friend, I feign will tell, the breaker of rings, as the boon now askest, The famed prince of thy fairing hither, and swiftly after such answer bring, as the Doughty Monarch may dain to give. Hide then, in haste, to where Hrothgaard sat, white-haired and old, his earls about him, till the stout thane stood at the shoulder there of the Danish king. Good courtier he, Wolfgaard spake to his winsome lord. Hither have fared to thee far-come men, or the plains of ocean, people of Gaithland, and the statelyest there by his sturdy band is Beowulf named. This boon they seek, that they, my master, may with thee have speech at will, nor spurn their prayer to give them hearing gracious Hrothgaard. In weeds of the warrior-worthy, they, me, thinks of our liking, their leader most surely a hero that hither his henchmen has led. End of Section 2. Recording by Tad E. Section 3 of Beowulf. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Tad E. Beowulf. By Unknown. Translated by Frances Barton-Gamare. Six. Hrothgaard answered. I knew him of Yor in his youthful days, his aged father was Edge Theo named, to whom at home gave Hrothl the Gaet his only daughter. Their offspring bold, fares hither to seek the steadfast friend, and seamen too have said me this, who carried my gifts, to the Gaetish court, thither for thanks. He has thirty men heft of grasp in the gripe of his hand, the bold in battle. Blessed God, out of his mercy this man hath sent to Danes of the West, as I wean indeed against horror of Grendel. I hope to give the good youth gold for his gallant thought. Be thou in haste, and bid them hither, clan of kinsmen, to come before me, and add this word. They are welcome guests to folk of the Danes. To the door of the hall Wolfgaard went, and to the word declared, to you this message my master sends, East Danes King, that your kin he knows, hardy heroes, he hails you all, welcome hither or waves of the sea. Ye may wend your way in war attire, and under helmets, Hrothgaard greet, but let here the battleshields bide your parley, and wooden warshafts wait its end. Up rose the mighty one, ringed with his men, brave band of thanes, some bode without battle gear guarding, as bade the chief. Then hide that troop, where the herald led them, under Haelroth's roof. The heroes strode, hardy neath them till the hearth he neared. Beowulf's spake, his breastplate gleamed, wore net woven by wit of the smith. Thou, Hrothgaard, Hael, he elox I, kinsmen and follower, fame aplenty have I gained in youth. These grendel deeds I heard in my homeland heralded clear. Seafarers say, how stands this hall of building best, for your band of thanes, empty and idle, when evening sun in the harbor of heaven is hidden away. So my vassals advise me well. Brave and wise, the best of men, O sovereign Hrothgaard, I seek thee here, for my nerve and my might they knew full well. Themselves had seen me from slaughter come, blood flecked from foes, where five I bound, and that wild brood worsted. I, the waves I slew, knickers by night, in need of peril, avenging the wetters, whose woe they sought, crushing the grim ones, grendel now, monster cruel, be mine to quell in single battle. So from thee thou sovereign of the shining danes, shildings, bulwark, a boon I seek, and friend of the folk refuse it not, O warrior's shield. Now I've wandered far, that I alone with my leechmen here, this hardy band, may Haelroth purge. More I hear that the monster dire in his wanton mood of weapons wrecks not, hence shall I scorn, so Haelroth stay, king of my kindred, kind to be. Brand or buckler to bear in the fight, gold-colored targe, but with gripe alone must I front the fiend and fight for life, foe against foe. Then faith be his in the doom of the lord whom death shall take, feign I wean if the fight he win in this hall of gold, my gallatish band. Will he fearless eat, as oft before, my noblest thanes, nor needest thou then to hide my head, for his shall I be. Died and gore, if death must take me, and my blood-covered body he'll bear as prey, ruthless devour it, the roamer lonely, with my life-blood redden his lair in the fenn. No further for me needs food prepare, to Haelroth send, if hilled shouldst take me, best of war-weeds, warding my breast, armor excellent, heirloom of rethel, and work of weyland, fares word as she must. Seven. Wrothgar spake, the shielding's helmet, for fight defensive, friend my beowulf, to secure and save thou hast sought us here, thy father's combat afewed and kindled, when heethaloth, with hand he slew, among the wilfings, his wender kin, for horror of fighting feared to hold him. Fleeing, he sought our south-dane folk, over surge of ocean, the honor-shieldings. When first I was ruling the folk of Danes, wielded, youthful, this widespread realm, this horde-hold of heroes. Haelrothgar was dead, my elder brother had breathed his last, Helaftainu's bairn, he was better than I. Straightway the feud with fee I settled, to the wilfings sent, or watery ridges, treasures olden, oaths he swore me, sore is my soul to say to any, of the race of man that rooth for me, in Haelroth, grendel with hate hath wrought. What sudden herrings, Haelfolk fail me, my warriors wane, for word hath swept them into grendel's grasp, but God is able this deadly foe from his deeds to turn. Boasted full off, as my beer they drank, earls or the ale-cup armed men, that they would bide in the beer-hall here, grendel's attack, with terror of blades. Then was this mead-house, at morning tide, died with gore, when the daylight broke, all the boards of the benches blood besprinkled, gory the hall. I had heroes the less, dowdy dear ones that death had reft. But sit to the banquet, unbind thy words, hardy hero, as heart shall prompt thee. Gathered together, the gayadish men in the banquet-hall on benches assigned, sturdy spirited, sat them down, hardy-hearted. A henchman attended, carried the carven cup in hand, served the clear mead, oft minstrel sang blithe, in Haelroth, heroes reveled, no dearth of warriors, wender and dain. Eight. Unfirth spake the son of Eckglath, who sat at the feet of the shielding's lord, unbound the battle runes, Beowulf's quest. Sturdy seafarer sorely galled him, ever he envied that other men should more achieve in Middle-earth of fame under heaven than he himself. Art thou that Beowulf, Brecca's rival, who emulous swam on the open sea, when for pride the pair of you proved the floods, and wantonly dared in waters deep to risk your lives? No living man, or leaf or loath, from your labor dire, could you dissuade from swimming the main? Ocean tides with your arms ye covered, with strenuous hands the sea streets measured. Swam o'er the waters, winter storm, rolled the rough waves in the realm of sea, a sunlight strove ye, and swimming waters topped thee, had more of main, him at morning tide. Billow's bored to the battling ramus, whence he hide to his home so dear, beloved of his legemen, to land of brandings, fastness fair, when his folk he ruled, town and treasure, and triumph or thee. Bayon Ston's bear, his boast achieved, so wean I thee a worse adventure, though in buffet of battle thou brave hast been, and struggle grim, if Grendel's approach thou derst wait through the watch of night. Bale will spake, Baron of Edge Theo, what a deal hast uttered, dear my unfairth, drunken with beard, of Breca now, told him of his triumph, truth I claim it, that I had more of might in the sea than any man else, more ocean endurance. We twain had talked in time of youth and made our boast, we were mere boys, stripling still, to stake our lives far at sea, and so we performed it. Naked swords, as we swam along, we held in hand, with hope to guard us, against the whales, not a whit from me could he float afar, or the flood of waves, haste or the billows, nor him I abandoned. Together we twain on the tides abode, five nights fall till the flood divided us, churning waves and chillest weather, darkling night and the northern wind, ruthless rushed on us. Rough was the surge, now the wrath of the sea fish rose apace, yet me against the monsters my mailed coat, hard and hand linked, help afforded, battle-sark braided my breast to ward, garnished with gold. There grass me firm and hailed me to bottom, the hated foe, with grimace gripe, twas granted me, though to pierce the monster with point of sword, with blade of battle, huge beast of the sea was whelmed by the hurly through hand of mine. End of Section 2 Section 4 of Beowulf. This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. This reading by Tad E. Beowulf. By Unknown. Translated by Francis Barton Gammare. Nine Me, thus often, the evil monsters thronging threatened, with thrust of my sword, the darling, I dealt them due return. No wise had they bliss from their booty then to devour their victim, vengeful creatures, seated to banquet at bottom of sea, but at break of day by the brand sore hurt on the edge of ocean up they lay, put to sleep by the sword and sense by them on the fathomless sea ways sailor folk are never molested. Light from east came bright God's beacon, the billows sank, so that I saw the sea-cliffs high, windy walls, for word off saveth earl undoomed if he dotty be. And so it came that I killed with my sword nine of the knickers, of night-fought battles near heard I a harder, neath heaven's dome, nor adrift on the deep a more desolate man. Yet I came unharmed from that hostile clutch, though spent with swimming, the sea up bore me, flood of the tide of Finnish land, the welling waters. No wise of thee have I heard men tell such terror of falsions, bitter battle, Brekkah near yet, not one of you pair, in the play of war such daring deed has done it all with bloody brand, I boast not of it. Though thou wasst the bane of thy brethren dear, thy closest kin, whence curse of hell, awaits thee, well as thy wit may serve. For I say in sooth, thou son of Ekglaf, never had Grendel these grim deeds wrought, monster dire, on thy master dear, and heo wrought such havoc, if heart of thine were as battle-bold as thy boast is loud, but he has found no feud will happen. From sword-clash dread of your Danish clan, he vaunts him safe from the victor's shieldings, he forces pledges, favors none of the land of Danes, but lustily murders, fights and feasts, nor feud he dreads from spear-dain men. But speedily now shall I prove him prowess in pride of the guillots, shall bid him battle, blithe to mead, go he that listeneth when light of dawn, this morrow mourning or men of ether-robed sun from the south shall beam. Joyous then was the jewel-giver, whore-haired, war-brave, help-awaited, the bright Danes' prince from Beowulf hearing. Folks' good shepherd, such firm resolve, then was laughter of Legemen, loud resounding with winsome words, came Walsh, theyo, forth, queen of Frothgar, heedful of courtesy, gold-decked, greeting the guests in Hall. And the high-born lady handed the cup, first to the East Danes, heir and warden, bade him be blithe at the beer-courouse the land's beloved one. Lustily took he, banquet and beaker, battle-famed king. Through the hall, then, went the helming's lady. Two younger and older everywhere carried the cup, till come the moment when the ring-graced queen, the royal-hearted to Beowulf bore the beaker of mead, she greeted the guillots' lord, god, she thanked, in wisdom words, that her will was granted, that at last on a hero her hope could lean for comfort and terrors. The cup he took, hardy in war, from Walsh, theyo's hand, and answer uttered the eager for combat, Beowulf spake, bairn of edge theyo, this was my thought, when my thanes and I bent to the ocean and entered our boat, that I would work the will of your people fully, or fighting fallen death, and fiends gripe fast. I am firm to do an earl's brave deed, or end the days of this life of mine, in the mead-hall here. Well, these words to the woman seemed Beowulf's battle-boast. Bright with gold, the stately dame by her spouse sat down. Again, as earths began in hall, warriors was sail, and words of power, the proud bands revel, till presently the sun of Hailef de Neu, hastened to seek rest for the night. He knew their waited fight for the fiend in that festival-hall, when the sheen of the sun they saw no more, and dusk of night sank darkling nigh, and shadowy shapes came striding on, one under-welkin. The warriors rose, man to man he made harang, hrothgar to Beowulf, bade him hail, let him wield the wine-hall, a word he added. Never to any man, erst I trusted, since I could heave up hand and shield, this noble dame-hall, till now to thee. Have now and hold this house unpeered, remember thy glory, thy might declare, watch for the foe, no wish shall fail thee. If thou bidest the battle with bold one life. 10. Then hrothgar went with his hero-train, defense of shieldings forth from hall, feign with the warlord Walsh Theoseek, couch of his queen. The king of glory against this grendel a guard had set, so heroes heard a hall defender, who warded the monarch and watched for the monster. In truth the Gaet's prince gladly trusted his metal, his might, the mercy of God. Cast off then his coarselet of iron helmet from head to his henchmen gave, choicest of weapons, the well-chased sword, bidding him guard the gear of battle. Spake then his vaunt, the valiant man. Beowulf Gaet ere the bed he sought. Of force in fight no feeble ere I count me. In grim war deeds, then grendel deems him. Not with the sword, then, to sleep of death. His life will I give, though it lie in my power. No skill is his to strike against me. My shield to hew, though he hearty be, bold in battle, we both, this night, shall spurn the sword. If he seek me here, unweapon'd for war, like wisest God, sacred lord, on which side so ever doom, decree, as he deemeth right. Reclined, then, the chieftain, and cheek pillows held the head of the earl, while all about him seem and hearty on haul beds sank. None of them thought that thence their steps to the falcon fastness that fostered them to the land they loved would lead them back. Fall well, they wisest, that on warriors many, battle death seized, in the banquet hall of Danish clan. But comfort and help, war-wheel weaving, to wetter folk the master gave, that by might of one over their enemy all prevailed by single strength. In soothed is told that highest God, or humankind, hath wielded ever. Through a one-night striding came the walker and shadow. Warriors slept, whose hess was to guard the gabled hall. All save one. Twas widely known, that against God's will, the ghostly ravager hymn could not hurl to haunts of darkness. Wakeful, ready, with warriors wrath, bold he bided the battle's issue. 11. Then the Moorland, by misty crags, with God's wrath laden, grendel came. The monster was minded of mankind now, sundry to seize in the stately house. Under welkin he walked, till the wine-place there, gold-haul of men, he gladly discerned, flashing with fretwork. Not first time this, that he, the home of Rothgar, sought, yet near in his life-day, late or early, such hearty heroes, such haul-things found. To the house the warrior walked apace, parted from peace, the portal opened, though with forge-bolts fast, when his fists had struck it, and baleful he burst in his blatant rage the house's mouth. All hastily, then, o'er fair-proofed floor the fiend trod on, ireful he strode, there streamed from his eyes fearful flashes like flame to see. He spied and hauled the hero-band, kin and clansmen clustered asleep, hearty leechmen. Then laughed his heart, for the monster was minded, airmourne should dawn, savage, to sever the soul of each, life from body, since lusty banquet waited his will. But word forbade him to seize any more of men of earth after that evening. Eagerly watched he allox, kinsmen, his cursed foe, how he would fare in fell attack. Now that the monster was minded to pause. Straight away he seized a sleeping warrior for the first, and tore him fiercely asunder. The bone-framed bit drank blood and streams, swallowed him piecemeal, swiftly thus, the lifeless course was cleared of our eating feet and hands. Then farther he hide, for the hearty hero with hand he grasped, felt for the foe with fiendish claw. For the hero reclining, who clutched it boldly, prompt to answer, propped on his arm. Soon they saw that shepherd of evils that never he met in this middle world in the ways of earth another wit, with heavier hand-gripe, at heart he feared, sorrowed in soul. None the sooner escaped. Fain would he flee, his fastness seek, the den of devils. No doings now, such as oft he had done in days of old. Then bethought him, the hearty he-ya-locked thane, of his boast at evening. Up he bounded, grass firm his foe, whose fingers cracked. The fiend made off, but the earl close followed. The monster meant, if he might at all, to fling himself free, and far away fly to the fiends, knew his fingers' power in the gripe of the grim one. Grew some march to he-ya-rot this monster of harm had made. Den filled the room, the danes were bereft, castle-dwellers and clansmen all earls of their ale. Angry were both those savage hall-guards the house resounded. Wonder it was, the wine-hall firm, in the strain of their struggle stood. To earth the fair house fell not, too fast it was within and without by its iron bands craftily clamped. Though there crashed from sill, many a mead-bench men have told me, gay with gold, where the grim foes wrestled. So well had weaned this wisest shielding, that not ever at all might any man, that bone-decked, brave house break asunder, crush by craft, unless clasp of fire and smoke engulfed it. Again up-rose, den redoubled, danes of the north with fear and frenzy were filled, each one, who from the wall that wailing hurt, God's foe sounding his grisly song, cry of the conquered, clamorous pain from captive of hell. Too closely held him, he who of men in might was strongest in that same day of this our life. End of Section 4. Section 5 of Beowulf. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Tad E. Beowulf. By Unknown. Translated by Francis Barton-Gammer. 12. Not in any wise would that Earl's defense suffer that slaughterous stranger to live, useless deemed as days and years to men on earth. Now many an Earl of Beowulf brandished blade ancestral, feigned the life of their lord to shield their praised prince, if power were theirs. Never they knew, as they neared the foe, hearty-hearted hero of war, aiming their swords on every side, the accursed to kill. No keenest blade, no fairest of falsions fashioned on earth, could harm or hurt that hideous fiend. He was safe by his spills from sort of battle, from edge of iron, yet his end and parting on that same day of this our life. Beowulf should be, and his wandering soul far off-flit to the fiend's domain. Soon he found, who in former days, harmful in heart and hated of God, on many a man such murder wrought, that the frame of his body failed him now. For him, the keen-sold kinsmen of Helach held in hand, hateful alive was each to other. The outlawed dire took mortal hurt, a mighty wound shewed on his shoulder, and sinews cracked, and the bone frame burst. To Beowulf now the glory was given, and grendled thence death sick his den, and the dark moor sought, noisome abode. He knew too well that here was the last of life, an end of his days on earth. To all the Danes, by that bloody battle the Boon had come. From Ravage had rescued the roving stranger Hothgar's Hall. The hardy and wise one had purged it anew. His night work pleased him, his deed and its honor. To Eastern Danes had the valiant guy at his vaunts made good. All their sorrow and ills assuaged, their bale of battle born so long, and all the dull that erst endured, pain aplenty. To us proof of this, when the hardy in fight, a hand laid down, arm and shoulder, all in deed of Grendel's gripe, neath the gabled roof. Thirteen Many at morning, as men have told me, warriors gathered, the gift hall round, folk leaders faring from far and near, or a wide stretched waves, the wonder to view, trace of the traitor. Not trouble us seemed the enemy's end to any man, who saw by the gate of the gracious foe, how the weary hearted away from thence baffled and battled and banned, his steps death-marched, dragged to the devil's mirror. Bloody the billows were boiling there, turbid the tide of tumbling waves, horribly seething with sword-blood hot, by that doomed one died, who in den of the moor laid forlorn his life a down. His heathen soul and hell received it. Home then rode the hoary clansmen, from that married journey and many a youth on horse-white, the hardy warriors, back from the mere. Then beowulfs, glory, eager and echoed, and all averred that from sea to sea, or south or north, there was no other in earth's domain under vault of heaven, more valiant found of warriors, none more worthy to rule. On their lord beloved they laid no sight, gracious Hrothgar, a good king he, from time to time, the tried in battle, their gray steeds set to gallop amane, and ran a race when the road seemed fair, from time to time a thane of the king, who had made many vaunts, and was mindful of verses, stored with sages and songs of old, bounded word to word in well-knit rhyme, welded his lay. This warrior soon of beowulfs quest, right cleverly sang, and artfully added an excellent tale, in well-ranged words, of war-like deeds he had heard in saga of Sigmund. Strange the story, he said it all, though Walesing's wanderings wide, his struggles, which never were told to tribes of men, the feuds and the frauds, saved to Fetela only. One of these doings he deemed to speak, uncle to nephew, as ever the twain stood side by side in stress of war, and multitude of the monster kind, they had felled with their swords. Of Sigmund grew, when he passed from life, no little praise, for the dowdy in combat a dragon killed, that herded the horde under hoary rock the Atheling dared the deed alone, fearful quest, nor was Fetela there. Yet so it befell his falchion pierced that wondrous worm on the wall it struck best blade, the dragon died in its blood. Thus had the dread one by daring achieved over the ring horde to rule at will, himself to pleasure. A sea-boat he loaded and bore on its bosom, the beaming gold, son of Wales, the worm was consumed. He had of all heroes the highest renown among races of men, this refuge of warriors for deeds of daring that decked his name since the hand and heart of Hayamode grew slack in battle. He swiftly banished to mingle with monsters and mercy of foes, to death was betrayed, for torrents of sorrow had lame him too long. A load of care to earls and Athelings all he proved, often deed in earlier days for the warriors wayfaring wise men mourned, who had hoped of him help from harm and bale, and had thought their sovereign son would thrive. Follow his father, his folk protect, the horde and the stronghold, heroes land, home of shieldings. But there, Thane said, the kinsmen of Helok kinder seemed to all, the other was urged to crime. A fresh to the race the fallow roads by swift steeds measured. The morning sun was climbing higher, clansmen hastened to the high-built hall those hardy-minded. The wonder to witness, warden of treasure, crowned with glory, the king himself with stately band, from the bride-bower strode, and with him the queen and her crowd of maidens measured the path to the mead-house fair. The sorrows I have borne from Grendel, but God still works, wonder on wonder. The warden of glory, it was but now that I never more, for woes that weighed on me, waited help. Long as I lived, when laved in blood, stood sword gore stained, the stateliest house, widespread woe for wise men all, who had no hope to hinder ever foes infernal and fiendish sprites from havoc and haul. This hero now, by the wielder's might, a work has done that not all of us, erst, could ever do by while in wisdom. Lo well can she say, who so of woman this warrior bore, amongst sons of men, if still she liveth, that God of the ages was good to her, in the birth of her bairn. Now beowulf thee of heroes best I shall heartily love as my own, my son. Preserveeth thou ever this kinship new, thou shalt never lack wealth of the world that I wield as mine. Full off, for lest have I largest showered, my precious horde on a punier man, lest stout and struggle. Thy self has now fulfilled such deeds, that thy fame shall endure through all the ages, as ever did while may the wielder reward thee still. Beowulf spake, bairnavech theo. This work of war most willingly we have fought, this fight and fearlessly dared force of the foe. Fane too were I. Hadst thou but seen himself, what time the fiend in his trappings troddered to fall? Swiftly I thought, and strongest gripe, on the bed of death to bind him down, that he in the tent of this hand of mine should breathe his last, but he broke away. Him I might not, the maker willed, hinder from flight, and firm enough hold the life destroyer. Too sturdy was he, the ruthless and running. For rescue, however, he left behind him, his hand in pledge, arm and shoulder. Nor ought of help could the cursed one thus procure at all. None the longer liveth he, loathsome fiend, sunk in his sins, but sorrows hold him tightly grasped, and gripe of anguish, and baleful bonds where bide he must, evil outlaw, such awful doom as the mighty maker shall meet him out. More silent seemed the son of Aglath, and boastful speech of his battle-deeds, since Atholings all, through the Earl's great prowess, beheld that hand, on the high-roof gazing, foeman's finger. The forepart of each of the sturdy nails to steel was likest, heathens handspear, hostile warriors claw uncanny. To us clear they said that to him no blade of the brave could touch, how keen soever or cut away that battlehand bloody from baleful foe. End of Section 5. Section 6 of Beowulf. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Tad E. Beowulf. By Unknown. Translated by Francis Barton Gammare. 15. There was hurry and haste and hail wrought now, for hands to bedeck it, and dense was the throng of men and women, the wine-hall to cleanse. The guest room to garnish, gold ray shown the hangings, there were wove on the wall, and wonders many to delight each mortal that looks upon them, though braced within by iron clads. That building bright was broken sorely, rent were its hinges, the roof alone held safe and sound when seared with crime the fiendish foe, his flight assayed of life despairing. No light thing that, the flight for safety, essay it who will. Forst of fate he shall find his way to the refuge ready for race of man, for sole possessors and sons of earth, and there his body on bed of death shall rest after revel. Arrived was the hour when to haul proceed, Halafdenu's son, the king himself, would sit to banquet. Nair heard eye of host and haughtier throng, more graciously gathered round, giver of rings. Bowed then to bench those bearers of glory, feign of the feasting. Feetly received many a mead cup, the mighty in spirit, kinsmen who sat in the sumptuous hall, hrothgar, and hrothulf. Heorot now was filled with friends, the folk of shildings, Nair yet had tried the trader's deed, to Beowulf gave the baron of Halafdenu a gold-wove banner. Garedon of triumph, brood-old battle-flag, breastplate and helmet, and a splendid sword was seen of many born to the brave one. Beowulf took cup and haul, for such costly gifts he suffered no shame in that soldier throng, for I heard a few heroes in hardier mood, with four such gifts so fashioned with gold, on the ale-bunch honoring others thus. Or the roof of the helmet high, a ridge wound with wires, kept ward or the head, lest the relict of flies should fierce invade, sharp in the stripe, when that shielded hero should go to grapple against his foes. Then the earl's defense, on the floor-baid lead, coursers ate, with carven headgear, a down the hall, one horse was decked with a saddle all shining and set in jewels, towards the battle-seat of the best kings, when to play of swords the son of Halafdenu was feigned to fair. Never failed his valour in the crush of combat when corpses fell, to Beowulf over them both then gave the refuge of Inguan's right in power, or water-steeds and weapons wished him joy of them, manfully thus the mighty prince, horde-guard for heroes that hard-fight repaid with steeds and treasures, contempt by none who is willing to say the sooth all right. 16. And the Lord of Earls to each that came with Beowulf over the briny ways, an heirloom there at the ale-bench gave precious gift, and the price bade pay in gold for him whom Grendelhurst murdered, blank and feign of them more had killed. Had not wisest God with word averted, and the man's brave mood? The maker then ruled humankind as here and now, therefore, is insight always best, and forethought of mind, how much awaits him, of leaf and of loaf, who long time hear, through days of warfare this world endures. 17. Then song and music mingled sounds in the presence of Halephthenu's head of armies, and harping was heard with the hero lay, as Hrathgar's singer, the halljoy woke along the mead-seats, making his son of that sudden raid on the sons of Finn. 18. Halephthenu's hero, Hnath, the shielding, was fated to fall in the Frisian slaughter. Hilda Birch needed not hold in value her enemy's honour. Innocent both were the loved ones she lost at the Linden play. 19. Bairn and brother, they bowed to fate, stricken by spears, twas a sorrowful woman, none doubted why the daughter of Hoke bewailed her doom when dawning came, and under the sky she saw them dying, kinsmen murdered, where most she had kenned of the sweets of the world. 20. By war were swept to Finn's own leechmen, and few were left in the parley place. He could ply no longer weapon, nor war could he wage on Hengest, and rescue his remnant by right of arms from the prince's thane. A pact he offered, another dwelling the Dane should have, haul in high seat, and half the power should fall to them in Frisian land. 21. And at the fee-gifts folkwalled sun, day by day the Dane should honour, the folk of Hengest favour with rings, even as truly with treasure and jewels, with fretted gold, as his Frisian kin, he meant to honour an ale-hall there. Pact of peace they plighted further, on both sides firmly. 22. Finn to Hengest with oath upon honour, openly promised that woeful remnant, with wise men's aid, nobly to govern so none of the guests by word or work should warp the treaty, or with malice of mind bemoan themselves as forced to follow their free-giver slayer. Lordless men is their lot ordained. 23. Should Frisian, moreover, with foeman's taunt, that murderous hatred to mind recall, then edge of the sword must seal his doom. 24. Ose were given an ancient gold heaped from horde, then hardy shielding battle-thane best on his bail-fire lay, all on the pyre were plain to see, the gory-sark, the gilded swine-crust, bore of hard iron, and atheling many slain by the sword. 25. At the slaughter they fell, it was Hildeburch's haste, at Knaf's own pyre, the bairn of her body on brand's delay, his bones to burn on the baleful place at his uncle's side, and sorrowful dirges bewept them, the woman, great wailing, ascended. 26. Then, wound up to welkin, the wildest of death-fires roared o'er the hillock, heeds all were melted, gashes burst, and blood gushed out from bites of the body. Baleful devoured greediest spirit, those spared not by war out of either folk, their flower was gone. 17. Then hastened those heroes their home to see, friendless to find the Frisian land, houses in high burge, Hengis still, through the death-died winter, dwelt with Finn, holding packed yet of home he minded, though powerless his ring-decked prow to drive over the waters, now waves rolled fierce, lashed by the winds, or winter locked them in icy fetters, then fared another year to men's dwellings, as yet they do, the sun-bright skies that their season ever dully await. Far off winter was driven, fair lay earth's breast, and feign was the rover, the guests, to depart, though more gladly he pondered on wrecking his vengeance than roaming the deep. And how to hasten the hot encounter were sons of the Frisian were sure to be! So he escaped, not the common doom, when Hun, with laughing the light of battle best of blades, his bosom pierced, its edge was famed with the Frisian earls. On fierce heart Finn there fell likewise, on himself at home the horrid sword death, for Guthloth and Osloth of Grimm attack had soaring told, from seaways landed mourning their foes. Finn's wavering spirit bowed not in breast, the burge was reddened with blood of foemen, and Finn was slain, king amid clansmen, the queen was taken, to the ship the shielding warriors bore all the chattels the chieftain owned, whatever they found in Finn's domain of gems and jewels, the gentle wife or paths of the deep to the Danes they bore led to her land. The lay was finished, the gleamon song, then glad rose the revel, bench joy brightened, bears draw from their wonder vats wine, comes Walsh Theo forth, under gold crown goes where the good pair sit, uncle and nephew, true each to the other one kindred in amity, unfurth the spokesmen at the shielding's lord feet sat, men had faith in his spirit, his keenness of courage, though kinsmen had found him, unsure at the sword play, the shielding queen spoke, Quaff of this cup, my king and lord, breaker of rings and blithe be thou, gold friend of men, to the guillots here speak, such words of mildness, as man should use, be glad with thy guillots, of these gifts be mindful or near or far, which now thou hast. Men say to me, as sun thou wishest, yon hero to hold, thy hayorot purged, jewel-hall brightest, enjoy while thou canst, with many a larges, and leave to thy kin folk and realm, when forth thou goest to greet thy doom, for gracious I deem my Hrothulf, willing to hold and rule nobly our youths. If thou yield, up first, prince of shieldings, thy part in the world, I wean with good, he will well requite offspring of ours, when all he minds that for him we did in his helpless days of gift and grace to gain him honour. Then she turned to the seat where her sons were placed. Hrithic and Hrothamund, with heroes, barons, young men together, the Gaiot too sat there, Beowulf brave, the brothers between. A cup she gave him with kindred greeting and winsome words, of wound and gold she offered to honour him, arm jewels twain, coarselet and rings, and of collars the noblest that ever I knew the earth around, near heard I so mighty, neath heaven's dome, a horde gem of heroes, since hammer bore his bright-built birge, the bristling's necklace, and the jewel and gem casket. Jealousy fled he, Aomenrix hate chose help eternal. He locked Gaiot, grandson of Swerting, on the last of his raids, this ring bore with him, under his banner the booty defending, the war-spoil warding, but word or whelmed him, what time, in his daring dangers he sought, feud with Frisians. Fairest of gems he bore with him, over the beaker of waves, sovereign strong under shield he died, fell the corpse of the king into keeping of Franks, gear of the breast and that gorgeous ring. Weaker warriors won the spoil, after gripe of battle from Gaiot land's lord, and held the death-field. Dyn Rose and Hall, Waltz Theos spake amid warriors and said, This jewel and joy in thou joking youth, Beowulf loved these battle-weeds, where, a royal treasure, and richly thrive, preserve thy strength in these striplings here, counsel and kindress, Requittal be mine, has done thou deeds that for days to come, thou art famed among folk, both far and near, so wide as washest the wave of ocean, his windy walls, through the walls of life prospero prints. I pray for thee, rich possessions, to son of mine be helpful indeed, and uphold his joys. Here every earl to the other is true, mild of mood, to the master loyal. Thanes are friendly, the throng obedient, legemen are reveling, list and obey. Went then to her place, that was proudest of feasts, flow'd wine for the warriors, word they knew not, destiny dire and the doom to be seen, by many an earl, when eaves should come and hrothgar homeward hasten away, royal to rest. The room was guarded by an army of earls, and erst was done. They bared the bench-boards, abroad they spread beds and bolsters. One beer-corouser, in danger of doom, lay down in the hall. At their heads, they set shields of war, bucklers bright, on the bench where there over each atheling, easy to see, the high-battle helmet, the haughty spear, the coarselet of rings. It was their custom so ever to be for battle-prepared, at home, or harrying, which it were, even as oft as evil threatened their sovereign king. They were clansmen good. Nineteen. Then sank they to sleep, with sorrow one bought his rest of the evening, as oft time had happened, when Grendel guarded that golden hall, evil wrought till his end drew nigh, slaughter for sins. Twas seen and told, how an avenger survived the fiend, and was learned afar, the live long time after that grim fight Grendel's mother, monster of women, mourned her woe. She was doomed to dwell in the dreary waters, cold sea courses, since Cain cut down with edge of the sword, his only brother, his father's offspring, outlawed, he fled, marked with murder from men's delights, warded the wilds. There awoke from him, such fate sent ghost as Grendel, who wore wolf horrid, at Hayorot found, a warrior watching and wading the fray, with whom the grizzly one grappled a mane. But the man remembered his mighty power, the glorious gift that God had sent him, and his maker's mercy put his trust for comfort and help, so he conquered the foe, felled the fiend, who fled abject, reft of joy, to the realms of death mankind's foe. And his mother now, gloomy and grim, would go that quest of sorrow, the death of her son to avenge, to Hayorot came she, where helmeted danes slept in the hall. Too soon came back old ills of the earls, when in she burst the mother of Grendel, less grim though that terror, Eden as terror of woman in war is less might of maid, than of men in arms when hammer forged the falchion hard sword gore stained through swine of the helm, crusted with keen blade, carves a mane. Then was in hall the hard edge drawn, the swords on the settles, and shields a many held firm in hand, nor helmet minded, nor harness of mail, whom that horror seized. Haste was hers, she would high afar and save her life when the legemen saw her. With a single atheling up she seized, fast and firm, and she fled to the moor. He was for Hrothgar, of heroes the dearest, of trusty vassals betwixt the seas, whom she killed on his couch, a clansman famous, and battle brave. Nor was Beowulf there, another house had been held apart, after giving of gold for the guillet renowned. Uproar filled Hroth, the hand all had viewed, blood flecked, she bore with her, Beowulf was returned, dull in the dwellings. T'was dire exchange when Dane and guillet were doomed to give the lives of loved ones. Long tried king, the hoary hero, at heart was sad when he knew his noble no more lived, and dead indeed was his dearest thane. To his bower was Beowulf brought in haste, dauntless victor. As daylight broke along his earls, the atheling lord with his clansmen came where the king abode, waiting to see if the wielder of all would turn this tale of trouble and woe. Strode over flood the famed in strife with his hand companions, the hall resounded, wishing to greet the wise old king, Inguyan's lord, he asked if the night had passed in peace to the prince's mind. 20. Hrothgar spake, helmet of shieldings. Asks not of pleasure, pain is renewed to Danish folk, dead is Asherah, of Jermyn left the elder brother, my sage advisor in stay in council, shoulder comrade in stress of fight when warriors clashed and we warded our heads. 20. Hewed the helm bores, hero famed should be every earl as Asherah was. But there, in hayarot, a hand hath slain him, of wandering death sprite. I wots not, wither, proud of the prey, her path she took, fain of her fill. The feud she avenged that yester night, unyieldingly. 21. Grendel in grimace grasst thou kilts, seeing how long these leechmen mine he ruined and ravaged. Reft of life in arms he fell. Now another comes, keen and cruel, her kin to avenge, fairing far in feud of blood, so that many athane shall think, who ere sorrows in soul for that's share of rings, is the hardest of heart bails. 22. The hand lies low, that once was willing each wish to please. Land dwellers here and leechmen mine, who house by those parts I have heard relate, that such a pair they have sometimes seen, march stalkers mighty, the more than haunting, wandering spirits, one of them seem so far as my folk could fairly judge a woman kind, and one, a cursed in man's guise, trot, the misery track of exile. 23. Though hugeer than human bulk, Grendel in days long gone they named him, folk of the land, his father they knew not, nor any brood that was born to him of treacherous spirits. Untrod is their home, by wolf cliffs haunt they, and windy headlands, fenways fearful, where flows the stream from mountains gliding to gloom of the rocks, underground flood. 24. Not far as it hence in measure of miles, that the mere expands, and or it, the frost-bound forest hanging sturdily rooted, shadows the wave, by night is a wonder weird to see, fire on the waters, so wise lived none of these sons of men to search those depths. 25. Nay, though the heath-rover harried by dogs, the horn-proud heart, this halt should seek, long-distance driven, his dear life first on the brink he yields, ere he brave the plunge to hide his head, tis no happy place. 26. Thence the welter of waters washes up, wand to welcome when winds besture evil storms, and air grows dusk, and the heavens weep. Now is help once more with thee alone. The land thou knowest not, place of fear, where thou findest out that sin-flect being, seek if thou dare, I will reward thee for waging this fight, with ancient treasure and erst I did, with winding gold if thou winnest back. End of Section 7. Section 8 of Beowulf. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Tad E. Beowulf. By Unknown. Translated by Francis Barton Gammare. 21. Beowulf spake Baron of Edge Theo. Sorrow not sage, it besiems us better friends to avenge than fruitlessly mourn them. Each of us all must his end abide in the ways of the world, so when whom may glory ere death, when his days are told that is the warrior's worthiest doom. Rise, O realm-warder, ride we anon and mark the trail of the mother of Grendel. No harbor shall hide her, heed my promise, enfold of field or forested mountain, or floor of the flood, let her flee where she will. Be thou this day endure in patience as I wean thou wilt thy woes each one. Leaped up the greybeard, God he thanked, mighty Lord, for the man's brave words. For Hrothgar soon a horse was saddled, wave main steed, the sovereign wise stately rode on, his shield-armed men followed in force. The footprints led along the woodland, widely seen, a path or the plain, where she passed and trod the murky moor, of men at arm she bore the bravest and best one dead, him who with Hrothgar the homestead ruled. On then went the atheling born, or stone cliffs steep and straight defiles, narrow passes and unknown ways, headland sheer and the haunts of the knickers. For most he fared a few at his side, of the wiser men, the ways to scan, till he found in a flash the forested hill, hanging over the hoary rock, a woeful wood, the waves below, were dyed in blood. The Danish men had sorrow of soul, and for shieldings all, for many a hero, too was hard to bear. Ill for earls, when Asherah's head they found by the flood on the foreland there. Waves were welling, the warriors saw, hot with blood, but the horn sang oft battle-song bold. The band sat down and watched on the water, worm-like things, sea-dragons strange that sounded the deep, and knickers that lay on the ledge of the nests, such as off to say at hour of morn on the road of sails their ruthless quest. And sea-snakes and monsters, these started away, swollen and savage that song to hear, that war-horns blast. The warden of guiets with bolt from bow, then balked of life, of wave-work, one monster amid its heart, went the keen warshaft, and water it seemed, less dowdy and swimming, whom death had seized. Swift on the billows, with bore spears well hooked and barbed, it was hard beset, done to death, and dragged on the headland, wave-roamer wondrous, warriors viewed the grizzly guest, then Gert Himbeowulf and Marshall Mail, nor mourned for his life, his breastplate broad and bright of hues, woven by hand, should the waters try. Nor well could it ward the warrior's body, that battle should break on his breast and vein, nor harm his heart by hand of a foe, and the helmet white, that his head protected, was destined to dare the deeps of the flood, through wave-world wind, twas wound with chains, decked with gold, as in days of yore the weaponsmith worked it wondrously, with swine-forms set it, that swords no-wise, brandished in battle, could bite that helm. Nor was that the meanest of mighty helps, which Rothgar's orator offered at need, fronting, they named the hilted sword, of old-time heirlooms easily first, iron was its edge, and etched with poison, with battle-blood hardened, nor blenched it at fight, and hero's hand, who held it ever, on paths of peril, prepared to go to Folkstead of Foes. Not first time this, it was destined to do a daring task, for he bore not in mind the barren of ectglaf, sturdy and strong, that speech he had made, drunk with wine, now this weapon he lent to a stouter swordsman, himself, though, durst not under welter of waters, wager his life as loyal legemen, so lost he his glory, honor of earls, with the other not so, who girded him now for the grim encounter. 22. Beowulf Spake, Berenaveg Theo. Have mine now offspring of Halefna, gold friend of mine, now I go on this quest, sovereign wise, what once was said. If in thy cause it came that I should lose my life, thou wouldst loyal bide to me, though fallen in father's place. 23. Be guardian now, to this group of my thanes, my warrior friends, if war should seize me, and the goodly gifts thou gavest me. Rathgar beloved, to Helach send, Gaeloth's king may ken by the gold, Rhethel's son see, when he stares at the treasure that I got me a friend for goodness famed, and joyed while I could in my jewel bestower, and let unfurth wield the wondrous sword, earl far honored, this heirloom precious. 24. Hard of edge, with roughing I seek doom of glory, or death shall take me. 25. After these words, the wetter guillet lord boldly hastened, bidding never answered at all, the ocean floods closed o'er the hero, long while of the day fled ere he felt the floor of the sea. 26. Soon found the fiend, who the flood domain, sword-hungry, held these hundred winters, greedy and grim, that some guest from above, some man was raiding her monster realm. 27. She grasped out for him, with grisly claws, and the warrior seized, yet skazed she not his body hail, the breastplate hindered, as she strove to shatter the sark of war, the linked harness with loathsome hand. 28. Then bore this brine-wolf, when bottom she touched, the lord of rings to the lair she haunted, while vainly he strove, though his valor held, weapon to wield against wondrous monsters that soar beset him. 29. Sea beasts many tried with fierce tusks to tear his mail and swarm on the stranger, but soon he marched, he was now in some hall he knew not which, where water never could work him harm, nor through the roof could reach him ever fangs of the flood. 30. Firelight he saw, beams of a blaze that brightly shone, then the warrior was ware of that wolf of the deep, mere wife monstrous. For mighty stroke he swung his blade, and the blow withheld not, then sang on her head that, seemingly blade, its war song wild. 31. But the warrior found, the light of battle, was loath to bite, to harm the heart, its hard edge failed the noble at need, yet had known of old strife hand to hand, and had helmets cloven, doomed men's fighting gear. 32. First time this, for the gleaming blade that its glory fell. Farm still stood, nor failed in valor, heedful of high deeds, helox kinsmen, flung away fretted sword, feetly jeweled, the angry earl on earth at lay, steel edged, and stiff. His strength he trusted, hand gripe of might, so man shall do whenever in war he weans to earn him, lasting fame, nor fears for his life. 33. Seize, then, by shoulder, shrank not from combat, the guiatous war prince, Grendel's mother. Flung, then, the fierce one, filled with wrath his deadly foe that she fell to ground. Swift on her part she paid him back, with grizzly grasp and grappled with him. Spent with struggle, stumbled the warrior, fiercest of fighting men fell down. 34. On the hall guest she hurled herself, hent her short sword, broad and brown edged, the barren to avenge, the soul-born son. On his shoulder lay braided breast-male, barring death, withstanding entrance of edge or blade. Life would have ended for Edgsteo's son under wide earth for earl of guiats, had his armor of war not aided him. 35. Battle net hard, and holy God wielded the victor wisest maker. The Lord of Heaven allowed his cause, and easily rose the earl erect. 23. Mid the battle gear saw he a blade triumphant, old sword of Edgsteens, with edge of proof, warrior's heirloom, weapon unmatched. Save only twas more than other men to bandy of battle could bear at all, as the giants had wrought it, ready and keen. 16. Seize then its chain-hilt, the shielding's chieftain, bold and battle-grem, brandish the sword, reckless of life, and so wrathfully smote, that it gripped her neck, and grasped her heart, her bone-rings breaking, the blade pierced through that faded one's flesh, to floor she sank, bloody the blade, he was blithe of his deed. 17. Then blazed forth light, twas bright within, as when from the sky there shines unclouded Heaven's candle. 18. The hall he scanned. By the wall then went he, his weapon raised, high by its hilts, the heelock thane, angry and eager. That edge was not useless to the warrior now. He wished with speed, grendle to gird, and for grim raids many. 19. For the war he waged on western Danes, often or far than an only time, when of Hrothgar's hearth companions he slew and slumber, and deep devoured. 15 men of the folk of Danes, and as many others outward bore his horrible prey. 16. Well paid for that, the wrathful prince. For now prone he saw, grendle stretched there, spent with war, spoiled of life, so scathed, had left him Haorat's battle. The body sprang far, when after death it endured the blow, sword-stroke savage, that severed its head. 17. Soon then saw the sage-companions, who waited with Hrothgar, watching the flood, that the tossing waters turbid grew. Blood stained the mirror. Old men, together, hoary-haired, of the hero's spake, the warrior would not. They weaned again, proud of conquest, come to seek their mighty master. 18. To many it seemed, the wolf of the waves had won his life. The night hour came, the noble shieldings left the headland, homeward went, the gold friend of men. But the guest sat on, stared at the surges, sick in heart and wished, yet weaned not, there went some lord again to see. 19. Now that sword began, from blood of the fight and battle-droppings, war-blade to wane, twas a wondrous thing, that all of it melted as ice is want. When frosty fetters, the father loosens, unwinds the wave-bonds, wielding all seasons and times the true God he, 19. Nor took from that dwelling the duke of the Gaia save only the head, and that hilt with all, blazoned with jewels. The blade had melted, burned was the bright sword, her blood was so hot, so poisoned the hell-sprite who perished within there. Soon he was swimming, whose safe saw in combat, downfall of demons, up-dove through the flood. The clashing waters were cleansed now, waste of waves where the wandering fiend her life-days left and the lapsing world. 19. Sam then to strand the sailor's refuge, sturdy in spirit, of sea-booty glad, of burden-brave he bore with him, went then to greet him, and God they thanked the thane-banded choice of their chieftain-blithe, that safe and sound they could see him again. Soon from the hardy one helmet and honor deftly they doffed. Now drows the mirror, water neath welkin, the war-blood stained, forth they faired by the footpath's stents, merry at heart the highways measured, well-known roads. Courageous men carried the head from the cliff by the sea, an arduous task for all the band. The firmen fights since four were needed on the shaft of Slaughter, strenuously to bear to the gold-haul Grendel's head. So presently to the palace there, foam and fearless, fourteen gaiets marching came. Their master of clan, mighty amid them, the Meadowways trod, strode then within the sovereign thane, fearless in fight, of fame-renowned, hearty hero Hrothgar to greet. And next by the hair and to haul was born Grendel's head, where the henchmen were drinking, an awe to clan and queen alike, a monster of marvel the men looked on. By unknown, translated by Francis Barton Gammare, twenty-four, baol spake, baron of Edgtheo, low now this booty's son of Halefne. Lord of shieldings, we've lustily brought thee, sign of glory, thou seeest it here. Not lightly did I with my life escape. In war under water this work I essayed, with endless effort, and even so my strength had been lost, had the Lord not shielded me. Not a whit could I, with hunting dew, in work of war, though the weapon is good, yet a sword the sovereign of men, vouchsafed me to spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging old gigantic, how oft he guides the fiendless wit. And I fought with that brand, felling in fight since fate was with me, the house wardens. That war-sword then all burned bright blade when the blood gushed o'er it. Battles sweat hot, but the hilt I brought back from my foes. So avenged I their fiendish deeds, deathfall of Danes, as was due and right. And this is my haste, that in hayorot now, safe thou can't sleep, with thy soldier band, and every thane of all thy folk, both old and young, no evil fear, shieldings lord, from that sight again, ought ill for thy earls, as urse thou must. The golden hilt, for that gray haired leader, hoary hero, in hand was laid, giant rot, old. So owned and enjoyed it, after downfall of devils, the Danish lord, Wunder Smith's work, since the world was rid of that grim sold fiend, the foe of God, murder marked and his mother as well. Now it passed into power of the people's king, best of all that the oceans bound, who have scattered their gold o'er Scandia's isle, Rothgar's spake, the hilt he viewed, heirloom old, where was etched the rise of that far off fight, when the flood o'erwhelmed him, raging waves, the race of giants, fearful their fate, a folk estranged from God eternal, whence guardian do. Whence guardian do, in that waste of waters, the wielder paid them, so on the guard of shining gold and rustic staves, it was rightly said, for whom the serpent, Trace, sword was wrought, best of blades in bygone days and the hilt well wound, the wise one's spake, son of Helafdenu, silent were all. Lo, may he say who sooth and right follows midfolk, of far times mindful, a land warden old, that this earl belongs to the better breed. So oftaloft thy fame must fly, O friend of Beowulf. Far and wide o'er Folkstead's many, firmly thou shalt all maintain, mighty strength with mood of wisdom, love of mine will I assure thee, as a while ago I promised thou shalt prove a stay in future, and far off years to Folk of Thine, to the heroes a help, was not hair a mode thus to offspring, a Gwella, honor shildings, nor grew for their grace, but for grizzly slaughter, for doom of death to the Danishmen. He slew wrath swollen, his shoulder comrades, companions at Bore, so he passed alone chieftain haughty from human cheer. Though him, the maker, with might and doubt, delights of power, and uplifted high above all men, yet blood fierced his mind, his breast hoared, grew, no bracelets gave he to Danes, as was due, he endured all joyless strain of struggle and stress and woe, long feud with his Folk. Here find thy lesson, O future advise thee, this verse I have said for thee, wise from lapsed winters, wonder seems, how to sons of men, almighty God, and the strength of his spirit, sendeth wisdom astate, high station, he swayeth all things, while as he leteth write, lustily fair, the heart of the hero of high-born race, and seat ancestral assigns him bliss, his Folk sure fortress and flea to all. The hold puts in his power great parts of the earth, empire so ample, that end of it this wanter of wisdom, weeneth none. So he waxes in wealth, no wise can harm him, illness or age, no evil cares, shadow his spirit, no sword hate threatens, from ever an enemy, all the world wends at his will. No worse he knoweth, till all within him obstinate pride waxes and waits, while the warden slumbers, the spirit's sentry sleep is too fast, which masters his might, and the murderer nears, stealthily soothing the shafts from his bow. 25 Under harness his heart then is hit indeed by sharpest shafts, and no shelter avails from soul behest of the hellish fiend. Him sees too little what long he possessed, greedy and grim, no golden ring he gives for his pride, the promised future forgets he and spurns with all God has sent him, wonder wielder of wealth and fame, yet in the end it ever comes that the frame of the body fragile yields, fated falls, and there follows another, who joyously the jewels divides, the royal riches nor wrecks of the forebear. In such baleful thoughts, Beowulf dearest, best of men in the better part choose, prophet eternal, and temper thy pride, warrior famous. The flower of thy might last now a while, but ere long it shall be that sickness or sword thy strength shall diminish, or fang of fire, or flooding billow, or bite of blade, or brandished spear, or odious age, or the eye clear deem wax dull and darken, death even thee in haste shall overwhelm, thou hero of war. So the ring-danes these half years a hundred I ruled, wielded neath welkin, and warded them bravely, from mighty ones many, or middle earth, from spear and sword, till it seemed for me no foe could be found under fold of the sky, low sudden the shift. To me seated secure came grief for joy when Grendel began to harry my home the hellish foe, for those ruthless raids, unresting I suffered, heart sorrow heavy, heaven be thanked, Lord eternal, for life extended, that I on this head all hewn and bloody, after long evil with eyes my gaze. Go to the bench now, be glad at banquet warrior worthy, a wealthy of treasure at dawn of day be dealt between us. Glad was the guillet's lord, going but times to seek his seat as the sage commanded, afresh as before, for the famed in battle, for the band of the hall was a banquet-dite nobly anew. The night-helm darkened dusk over the drinkers, the dowdy ones rose, for the hoary head would hasten to rest, age-shilding, and eager the guillet sheild fight her sturdy for sleeping yearned, him wander where a warrior guest from far a hall-thane heralded forth, who by custom courtly cared for all needs as a thane as in those old days warrior wanderers want to have. So slumbered the stout-heart, stately the hall rose, gabled, and guilt, where the guest slept on till a raven-black the rapture of heaven-blithe heart voted. Bright came flying shine after shadow, the swordsmen hastened, Atholings all were eager homeward forth to fair, and far from thence the great-hearted guest would guide his keel. Bade then the hearty one-running be brought to the son of Eklath, the sword bade him take excellent iron and uttered his thanks for it, quoth that he counted at king and battle, war-friend winsome, with words he slandered not edge of the blade, twas a big-hearted man, now eager for parting and armed at point warriors waited while went to his host that darling of Danes, the dowdy Atholing to high-seat hasten and hrothgar greeted. 26. Beowulf spake, bairn of Edgtheo, Lo, we see fairers say our will, far come men, that we feign would seek healuck now. We here have found hosts to our heart, thou hast harbored us well. If ever on earth I am able to win me, more of thy love, O Lord of men, ought anew that I now have done, for work of war I am willing still. 27. If it come to me ever across the seas, that neighbor fowlmen annoy and fright thee, as they that hate thee ere will have used, thousands then of thanes I shall bring heroes to help thee. 28. Of healuck I know, ward of his folk, that though few his years the Lord of the Gaiets will give me aid by word and by work, that well I may serve thee, wielding the war-wood to win thy triumph, and lending thee might when now lackest men. 29. If thy hrethic should come to courts of Gaiets, a sovereign son, he will surely there find his friends, a far off land each man should visit who vaunts him brave. 30. Him then answering Hrothgar spake, These words of thine, the wisest God, sent to thy soul, no sager counsel from so young in years ere yet have I heard, thou art strong of Maine, and in mind art wary, art wise in words. 31. I wean indeed if ever it hap that hrethals ere by spear be seized, by sword grim battle, by illness or iron, thine elder and Lord people's leader, and life be thine, no seamlier man will the sea-gaiets find, at all to choose for their chief and king, for horde guard of heroes, if thou wilt thy kinsmen kingdom. 32. Thy keen mind pleases me the longer the better, Beowulf-loved. 33. Thou hast brought it about that both our peoples, sons of the Gaiet, and spear-dain folk shall have mutual peace, and from murderous strife such as once they wage from war refrain. 34. Long as I rule this realm so wide, let our hordes be common, let heroes with gold each other greet, or the Gannet's bath, and the ringed prow bear o'er rolling waves, tokens of love, I trow my landfolk towards friend and foe, and firmly joined and honor they keep in the olden way. 35. To him in the hall, then Haleft and his son gave treasures twelve, and the trust of earls bade him fair, with the gifts to his folk beloved, hail to his home, and in haste return, then kiss the king of Ken renown, shielding's chieftain, that choicest thane, and fell on his neck. 36. Fast flowed the tears of the hoary-headed, heavy with winters he had chases twain, but he clung to this, that each should look on the other again, and hear him in hall. Was this hero so dear to him, his breast-wild billows he banned in vain, safe in his soul a secret longing, locked in his mind, for that loved man burned in his blood. 37. Then Beowulf strode, glad of his gold gifts, the grass-plot, or warrior-blithe, the wave-roamer bowed, riding at anchor its owner awaiting, as they hastened onward, Hrothgar's gift they lauded at length. 38. Twas a lord unpeered, every way blameless, till age had broken, its sparroth no mortal his splendid might. End of Section 9. Section 10 of Beowulf. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Tad E. Beowulf. By Unknown. Translated by Francis Barton Gammare. 27. Came now to ocean, the ever-courages hardy henchmen, their harness bearing, woven war-sarks. The warden marked, trusty as ever, the earl's return. From the height of the hill, no hostile whores reached the guests as he rode to greet them, but welcome he called to that wetter clan as the sheen-mailed spoilers to ship marched on. Then on the strand, with steeds and treasure, an armor their roomy and ring-dite ship was heavily laden, high its mast rose over Hrothgar's hoarded gems. A sword to the boatguard Beowulf gave, mounted with gold on the mead bench since he was better esteemed at that blade possessing heirloom old. Their ocean keel, boarding they drove through the deep, and Daneland left. A sea-cloth was set. A sail with ropes, firm to the mast. The flood-timbers moaned. Nor did wind over billows that wave-simmer blow across from her course. The craft sped on, foam-necked. It floated forth o'er the waves, keel firm bound over briny currents, till they got them sight of the gayish cliffs, home-known headlands. High the boat stirred by winds, on the strand up drove. Helpful at Haven the harbour-guard stood, who long already for loved companions by the water had waited and watched afar. He bound to the beach, the broad bosom's ship, with anchor bands, lest ocean-billows that trusty timber should tear away. Then Beowulf bade them bear the treasure, gold, and jewels. No journey far was it thence to go to the Giver of Rings he alock-rethling. At home he dwelt by the sea-wall close, himself in clan. Hottie that house, a hero the king, high the hall, and herged, right young, wise and wary, though winter's few in those fortress walls she had found at home. Hareth's daughter, nor humble her ways, nor grudge she gifts to the gayetish men. Of precious treasure, not the earth's pride showed she, folk-queen famed, or that fell deceit, was none so daring that Durst make bold save her lord alone of the Legemen dear that lady foal in the face to look, but forged fetters he found his lot, bonds of death. And brief the respite, soon as they seized him his sword-dome was spoken, and the burnish blade a baleful murder proclaimed and closed. No queenly way for a woman to practice, though peerless sheed that the waiver of peace from warrior-deer by wrath and lying his life should rieve. But Hemming's kinsmen hindered this, for over their ail men also told, that of these folk horrors few she wrought, onslaught of evil after she went gold-becked bride, to the brave young prince, atheling Hottie, and off his hall, or the fallow flood, at her father's bidding, safely sought, where since she prospered, royal, throne, rich in goods, feign of the fair life fate had sent her, and leal of love to the lord of warriors, he of all heroes I heard of ever, from sea to sea of the sons of earth most excellent seemed. Hence, Offa was praised for his fighting, and feying by far off men, the spear-bold warrior wisely he ruled over his empire. Aomer woke to him, help of heroes, Hemming's kinsmen, grandson of garment, grim in war. 28. Heyson the hardy one, henchmen with him, sandy strand of the sea to tread in widespread ways. The worlds great candle-sun shone from south. They strode along with sturdy steps to the spot they knew where the battle-king young, his burge within, slayer of Angen Theo shared the ring's shelter of heroes to Helach Beowulf's coming was quickly told. That, there in the court, the Klansmen's refuge, the shield companion, sound and alive, Hale from the hero play, homeward strode, With haste in the hall, by highest order, room For the rovers was readily made, By his sovereign he sat, come safe from battle, Kinsmen by kinsmen, His kindly lord he first had greeted in gracious form with many words. The mead dispensing came through the high hall, Herath's daughter winsome to warriors, Wine-cut bore to the hands of the heroes. He alock then, his comrade fairly with question plied, In the lofty hall, sore longing to know What manner of sojourn the sea-guillettes made. What came of thy quest, my kinsmen beowulf? When thy yearning suddenly swept the yonder, Battle to seek, or the briny sea, combat in hail, Rathgar couldst thou aid at all? The honoured chief in his wide-known woes? With ways of care my sad heart seethed, I sore mistrusted my loved one's venture long I beg thee by no means to seek Thy slaughtering monster, but suffer the South Danes to settle their feuds themselves with Grendel. Now God be thanked that safe and sound I can see thee now. So will spake, the baron of Edge Theo, Tis unknown and unhidden, he alock Lord, to many men that meeting of ours Struggle grim between Grendel and me, Which we fought on the field where full To many sorrows he wrought, for this shielding victors evils unending. These and I avenged, no boast can be breed of Grendel, any on earth for that uproar at dawn, from the longest lived of the loathsome race in fleshly fold. But first I went Rathgar to greet in the Hall of Gifts, where Halafdeniz kinsmen, high renown, soon as my purpose was plain to him, assigned me a seat, by his son and heir, the Legemen were lusty. My life-days never such merry men over Mead and Hall have I heard under heaven. The high-born queen, people's peace-bringer, Passed through the hall, cheered the young clansmen, Clasps of gold ere she sought her seat to Sundry gave. Off to the hero's Rathgar's daughter, to Earl's in turn, the ale-cup tendered, she whom I heard these hall-companions, Frey of Warrow name, when fretted gold she preferred, the warriors, promised is she gold-decked maid to the glad son of Froda. Sage this seems to the shielding's friend, Kingdom's keeper, he counts it wise, the woman to wed, so and ward off feud, store of slaughter. But seldom ever were men our slain, does the murder spear sink, but briefest while, though the bride be fair. Or haply will like it the heath-a-board lord, as a little each of his Legemen all, when a feign of the Danes in that dowdy throng, goes with the lady along their hall, and on him the old-time heirlooms glisten hard, and ring-decked, heath-a-bards treasure, weapons that once they wielded fair, until they lost at the Linden play, Legemen leal, and their lives as well. Then over the ale, on their heirloom gazing, some ash-wielder old, who has all in mind that spear-death of men, he has stern of mood, heavy at heart, and the young hero tests the temper and tries the soul, and war-hate-wakens with words like these, can that sword which to the Frey thy father carried in his final feud, heath the fighting-mask dearest of blades, when the Danish slew him, and wielded the war-place, on wither-guilds-fall, after havoc of heroes those hardy shieldings? Now the son of a certain slaughtering Dane, proud of his treasure, paces this hall, joys in the killing, and carries the jewel that rightfully ought to be owned by thee. Thus he urges and eggs him all the time with keenest words till occasion offers that Freyowa rose, Thane, for his father's deed after bite of brandon his blood must slumber, losing his life but that legemen flies, living away for the land he kens, and thus be broken on both their sides, oaths and earls, when in-guilds-breasts wells with war-hate, and wife-love now after the care-billows cooler grows. So I hold not the Heathabards' faith due to the Danes, or there during love and pact of peace, but I pass from that turning to Grendel, O giver of treasure and saying in full how the fight resulted, hand-frey of heroes, when Heaven's jewel had fled or far fields that fierce sprite came, night-foe savage to seek us out, where safe and sound we centred the hall. To Honskjö then was that harassing deadly, his fall there was fated, his first was slain, girded warrior. Grendel on him turned murderous mouth on our mighty kinsmen and all the brave man's body devoured. Yet none the earlier empty-handed with the bloody-toothed murderer, mindful of bale, outward go from the gold-decked hall, but me he attacked in his terror of might, with greedy hand grasped me, a glove hung by him, wide and wondrous, wound with bands and in artful wise it all was wrought by devilish craft of dragonskins. Me therein an innocent man the fiendish foe was feigned to thrust with many another, he might not so when I all angrily upright stood, there long to relate how that land-destroyer I paid in kind for his cruel deeds yet there. My prince, this people of thine got famed by my fighting. He fled away and a little space his life preserved, but there stayed right him, his stronger hand, left in haorat, heart-sick thence on the floor of the ocean that outcast fell. Me for this struggle the shielding's friend paid in plenty with plates of gold, with many a treasure when mourn had come, and we all at the banquet board sat down. Then was song and glee, the gray-haired shielding much-tested told of these times of yore, whilst the hero his heart besturred would of delight, now lays he chanted of sooth and sadness, or set aright legends of wonder, the wide-hearted king, or the years of his youth he would yearn at times for strength of struggles, now stricken with age, hoary hero, his heart surged full when wise with winters he wailed their flight. Thus in the hall the whole of that day at ease we feasted, till fell o'er earth another night. A non-full ready in greed of vengeance, Grendel's mother set forth all doleful. Dead was her son, through war-hate of wedders, now woman monstrous, with fury fell afoam and she slew avenged her offspring. From Asherah old loyal counselor life was gone, nor might they end when mourning broke those Danish people, their death-downed comrade burned with brands. On Balefire lay the man they'd mourned under mountain stream, she had carried the corpse with cruel hands. For Harathgar, that was the heaviest sorrow of all that had laden the lord of his folk. The leader then, by thy life besought me, sad was his soul, in the sea-waves coil to play the hero and hazard my being. For glory of prowess, my garden he pledged. I then in the waters, tis widely known, that sea-floor guardian savage found, hand to hand there awhile we struggled, billows welled blood, in the briny hall, her head I hewed with a hearty blade, from Grendel's mother, and gained my life, though not without danger, my doom was not yet. Then the haven of heroes, Helyftena's son gave me and Gerdon great gifts of price. 29. So held this king to the customs old, that I wanted for not in the wage I gained, the mead of my might, he made me gifts, Helyftena's heir, for my own disposal. Now to thee, my prince, I prefer them all gladly give them, thy grace alone can find me favour. Few indeed have I of kinsmen save he a luck thee. Then he bade them bear him the borehead standard, the battle-helm high, and breastplate gray, the splendid sword. Then spake and form, me this war-gear, the wise old prince Rothgar gave and his haste, he added, that it story be straightway said to thee, A while it was held by Heragar king, for long time told of the land of shieldings, Yet not to his son, the sovereign left it, To daring Hayovard, dear as he was to him, his harness of battle, will hold thou it all. And I heard, that soon passed, or the path of this treasure, all apple-fallow, four good steeds, each like the others, arms and horses, he gave to the king. So should kinsmen be, not weave, one another the net of wiles, or with deep-hid treachery, death contrive for neighbor and comrade, his nephew was ever by he a luck held full dear, and each kept watch, or the others' wheel. I heard, too, the necklace, to her he presented, wonder-wrought treasure, which Walsh Theo gave him, sovereign daughter. Three steeds he added, slender and saddle-gray, since such gift the gem gleamed bright on the breast of the queen, thus showed his strain the son of Edge Theo as a man remarked for mighty deeds and acts of honor. At ale he slew not comrade or kin, nor cruel his mood, though of sons of earth his strength was greatest, a glorious gift that God had sent the splendid leader. Long was he spurned, and worthless by gyatish warriors held, him at mead the master of clans failed full off to favor at all. Slack and shiftless the strong men deemed him, profitless prince, but payment came to the warrior honored for all his woes. Then the bulwark of earls bade bring within, hardy chieftain, freethel's heirloom, garnished with gold, no gyat air known in shape of a sword, a statelyer prize. The brand he laid in Beowulf's lap, and of hides assigned him seven thousand, with house and high seat, they held in common land alike by their line of birth, inheritance home. But hire the king because of his rule or the realm itself. Now further it fell with the flight of years, with herrings horrid, that healock perished, and hard-dread, too, the hewing of swords under the shield wall slaughtered lay. When him, at the van of the victor folk, sought hardy heroes, heatho skillfings and arms o'erwhelming herorick's nephew, then Beowulf came as king this broad realm to wield, and he ruled it well fifty winters, a wise old prince warding his land until one began, in the dark of night, a dragon to rage, in the grave on the hill a horde it guarded, in the stone-barrow steep. A straight path reached it unknown to mortals, some man, however, chance by chance, that cave within to the heathen horde. In hand he took a golden goblet, nor gave he it back, stole with it away, while the watcher slept, by thievish wiles, for the warden's wrath, prince and people, must pay betimes. End of Section 10, Section 11 of Beowulf. This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. This reading by Tad E. Beowulf, by Unknown, translated by Francis Barton Gammare, 30. That way he went, with no will of his own, in danger of life to the dragon's horde. But for pressure of peril, some prince's thane, he fled in fear, the fatal scourge, seeking shelter a sinful man, and entered it, at the awful sight, tottered that guest, and terror seized him. Yet the wretched fugitive rallied anon from fright and fear ere he fled away, and took the cup from that treasure horde. Of such besides there was store enough, heirlooms old the earth below, which some earl forgotten in ancient years left the last of his lofty race, heedfully there, had hidden away, dearest treasure. For death of yore had hurried all hence, and he alone left to live, the last of the clan weeping his friends, yet wished to bide, warding the treasure, his one delight, though brief his respite. The barrow, new ready, to strand and sea-wave, stood a near, hard by the headlin, hidden and closed, there laid within its lordly heirlooms, and heaped horde of heavy gold, that warden of rings. New words he spake. Now hold thou, earth, since heroes may not, what earls have owned. Low earths from thee, brave men, brought it. But battle death seized, and cruel killing, my clansmen all, rob them of life, and allegemen's joy. None have I to lift the sword, or to cleanse the carven cup of print speaker bright. My brave are gone, and the helmet hard, all haughty with gold, shall part from its plotting. Polisher sleep, who could brighten and burnish the battle-mask, and those weeds of war that were want, to brave over bicker, of shields, the bite of steel, rust with their bearer. The ringed male fares not far with famous chieftain at side of hero. No harps delight, no glee-woods gladness, no good hawk now flies through the hall. Are horses' fleet stamp in the burgstead? Battle and death the flower of my race have ref'd away. Mournful of mood, thus he moaned his woe, alone for them all, and unblithe wept, by day and by night, till deaths fell wave, or whelmed his heart. His horde of bliss, that old ill-doer open found, who, blazing at twilight, the barrows haunteth, naked foe dragon flying by night. Within fire the folk of earth dread him soar, tis his doom to seek, horde in the graves and heathen gold, to watch many wintered nor winds he thereby. Powerful this plague of people, thus, held the house of the horde and earth, three hundred winters till one aroused, wrath in his breast, to the ruler-bearing, that costly cup and the king implored, for bond of peace so the barrow was plundered, borne off was booty, his boon was granted, that wretched man and his ruler saw, first time what was fashioned in far-off days. When the dragon awoke knew woe was kindled, or the stone he snuffed, the stark heart found footprint of foe who so far had gone, in his hidden craft by the creature's head. So may the undoomed easily flee, evils in exile if only he gain, the grace of the wielder, that warden of gold or the ground went seeking greedy to find the man who wrought him such wrong in sleep. Savage and burning the barrow he circled, all without, nor was any there, none in the waste, yet war he desired, was eager for battle, the barrow he entered, sought the cup and discovered soon, that someone of mortals had searched his treasure, his lordly gold, the guardian waited, ill-enduring till evening came, boiling with wrath was the barrow's keeper, and feign with flame the foe to pay, for the dear cup's loss, now day was fled as the worm had wished. By its wall no more was it glad to bide, but burning flew, folded in flame, a fearful beginning, for sons of the soil, and soon it came, in the doom of their lord, to a dreadful end. 31 Then the baleful fiend, its fire belched out, and bright homes burned. The blaze stood high, all landfolk frighting, no living thing would that lowly one leave as aloft it flew. Wide was the dragon's warring scene, its fiendish fury far and near, as the grim destroyer, those gayetish people, hated and hounded. To hidden lair to its horde it hastened a hint of dawn. Folk of the land it had lapped in flame, with bale and brand, in its barrow it trusted its battling and bulwarks, that boast was vain. To bale-wolf, then, the bale was told quickly and truly the king's own home, of buildings the best in brand waves melted, that gift thrown of gayets, to the good old man sad in heart. To his heaviest sorrow, the sage assumed that his sovereign god he had angered, breaking ancient law, and embittered the lord, his breast within with black thoughts welled, as his want was never. The folk's own fastness, that fiery dragon with flame had destroyed, and the stronghold all washed by waves, but the war-like king, prince of the wetters, plotted vengeance, warriors' bulwark he bade them work, all of iron the Earl's commander, a war-shield wondrous, well he knew that forest wood against fire were worthless, Linden could aid not. Atheling brave he was fated to finish this fleeting life, his days on earth and the dragon with him, though long it had watched or the wealth of the horde. Dream he reckoned it, share of rings to follow the flyer afar with a host, a broad flung band, nor the battle feared he, nor deemed he dreadful the dragon's warring, its vengeance and valor, ventures desperate he had passed to plenty in perils of war, contest crash since conqueror proud Hrothgar's hall he had wholly purged, and in grapple had killed the kin of Grendel, loathsome Not least was that of hand-to-hand fights, where Heluk fell, when the ruler of Gaiets in rush of battle, lord of his folk, and the Frisian land son of Rhethel by sword-draughts died by brands downbeaten, thence Beowulf fled through strength of himself and his swimming power, though alone, and his arms were laden with thirty coats of mail when he came to the sea. For yet might Hetwarus haughtily boast their craft of contest, who carried against him shields to the fight, but few escaped from strife with the hero to seek their homes. Then swam over ocean Edgtheo's son, lonely and sorrowful seeking his land, where Higg made him offer of horde and realm, rings and royal seat reckoning not the strength of her son to save their kingdom from hostile hordes after Heluk's death. No sooner for this could the stricken ones in any wise move that Athelings mined over young hard dreads, head as lord, and ruler of all the realm to be, yet the hero upheld him with helpful words, aided in honor till older groan he wielded the wetter Gaiets. Wandering exile sought him o'er seas, the sons of Oter, who had spurned the sway of the skilfing's helmet, the bravest and best that broke the rings in Swedish land, of the sea king's line haughty hero, hence hard dreads end, for shelter he gave them, sword death came, the blades fell blow, to bairn of Heluk, but the son of Ongen Theos sought again house and home, when hard dread fell, leaving Beowulf, lord of Gaiets, and gith seat's master, a good king he. 32 The fall of his lord was feigned to requite in after days, and to aia jills he proved friend to the friendless, and forces sent over the sea to the son of Oter. Weapons and warriors well repaid he, those care paths cold when the king he slew, thus safe through struggles the son of Ejtheo had passed aplenty through Peril's dire, when daring deeds till this day was come that doomed him now with the dragon to strive. With comrade's eleven the lord of Gaiets, swollen in rage, went seeking the dragon. He had heard whence all the harm arose, and the killing of clansmen, the cup of price, on the lap of the lord had been paid by the finder. In the throng was this one thirteenth man, starter of all the strife and ill, care laden captive, cringing thence, and reluctant. He led them on till he came in can of the carven hall, the barrow delved near billowy surges, flood of ocean. Within twas full of wire gold and jewels and jealous warden, warrior trustee, the treasures held, lurked in his lair, not light the task of entrance for any of earth-born men. Set on the headland the hero king spake words of hail to his hearth-companions, gold friend of Gaiets. All gloomy his soul, wavering death-bound, word-full nigh stood ready to greet the gray-haired man to seize his soul-hoard, sunder apart life and body. Not long would be the warrior spirit and wound with flesh. Beowulf spake, the bairn of Edgtheo. Through store of struggles I strove in youth, mighty feuds. I mined them all. I was eleven years old when the sovereign of kings, friend of his folk from my father, took me, had me, and held me, hrethel the king with food and fee, faithful in kinship, near well I lived there he loathly or found me, bairn in the birge. Then his birthright sons, Erebald, and Hothkin, and Heolok mine. For the eldest of these, by un-meat chants, by kinsmen's deed, was the death-bed strewn. When Hothkin killed him with horny bow, his own dear liege laid low with an arrow, missed the mark, and his mate shot down, one brother the other, with bloody shaft. A fee-less fight and a fearful sin, whore to hrethel, yet hard as it was, unevenged, must the atheling die. Too awful it is for an aged man to bide and bear, that his bairn so young rides on the gallows, a rhyme he makes, sorrow song for his son, there hanging as rapture of ravens. No rescue now can come from the old, disabled man. Still as he minded, as morning breaks of the air gone elsewhere, another he hopes not. He will bide to see his birge within, as ward for his wealth, now the one has found doom of death, that the deed incurred. Forlorn he looks on the lodge of his son, wine-hall waste, and windswept chambers, raft of revel. The writer steepeth the hero far hidden. No harp resounds in the courts, no was sale, as once was heard. End of Section 11. Section 12 of Beowulf. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Tad E. Beowulf. By Unknown. Translated by Frances Barton-Gamere, 33. Then he goes to his chamber a grief-songed chance alone for his loss. Too large all seems, homestead and house, so the helmet of wetters hid in his heart for herobald waves of woe. No way could he take to avenge on the slayer's slaughter so foul, nor in could he harass that hero at all with loads them deed, though he loved him not. And so for the sorrow his soul endured, man's gladness he gave up, and God's light chose, lands and cities he left his sons, as the wealthy do when he went from earth. There was strife and struggle, twix, swede and guillet, for the width of water's war arose, hard battle horror when hrethel died, and Anjan Theos offspring grew strife-keen, bold, nor brooked or the seas, packed of peace, but pushed their hosts to harass and hatred by Hreos Naberc. Men of my old, for that feud had vengeance, for woeful war tis widely known, though one of them bought it with blood of his heart, a bargain hard for hath-conproved fatal that fray. For the first of guillettes, at morn I heard, was the murderer killed by kinsmen for kinsmen, with clash of sword, when Anjan Theo met Eove there. Wide-split the war-helm, wan he fell, hoary skill-thing, the hand that smote him of feud was mindful, nor flinched from the death-blow. For all that he gave me, my gleaming sword, repaid him at war, which power I wielded, for lordly treasure with land he entrusted me, homestead in house, he had no need from Swedish realm, or from spear-dain folk, or from men of the giths, to get him help. Some warriors worse for wage to buy. Ever I fought in front of all, soul to the fore, and so shall I fight, while I bide in life, and this blade shall last that early and late hath royal proof since for my doutiness. Day-heaven fell, slain by my hand, the huggest champion, nor fared he thence to the Frisian king with the booty sack, and breast adornments, but slain and struggle that standard bearer fell, atheling brave. Not with blade was he slain, but his bones were broken by brawny gripe, his heart waved still, the sword edge now hard blade in my hand, for the horde shall strive. Beowulf spake, and a battle-vow made his last of all. I have lived through many wars in my youth, now once again old folk defender, feud will I seek, do doughty deeds, if the dark destroyer forth from his cavern comes to fight me. Then hailed he, the helmeted hero, all for the last time greeting his liegemen, dear comrades of war. I should carry no weapon, no sword to the serpent, if sure I knew how, with such enemy else my vows I could gain as I did in Grendel's day. But fire in this fight, I must fear me now, and poisonous breath, so I bring with me breastplate and board. From the bearer's keeper no foot-breath flee I. One fight shall end our war by the wall, as word of lots all mankind's master. My mood is bold, but forbearers to boast, or this battle-flyer. Now abide by the bearer, ye breastplate mailed, ye heroes and harness, which of us twain better from battle rush, bear his wounds. Wait ye the finish, the fight is not yours, nor meet for any but me alone to measure might with this monster here, and play the hero. Hardly I shall win that wealth, or war shall seize cruel killing your king and lord. Up stood then, with shield the sturdy champion stayed by the strength of his single manhood, and hardy neath helmet his harness bore under cleft of the cleft's no-cowards path. Soon spied by the wall that warrior chief, survivor of many a victory field, when foment fought with furious clashings and arch of stone, and within a stream that broke from the barrow. The brooklet's waves was hot with fire, the horde that way he never could hope unharmed to near, or endure those deeps for the dragon's flame. Then let from his breast, for he burst with rays the wetter guy at prince, a word out go, stormed the stark heart, stern went ringing, and clear his cry neath the cliff rocks gray. The horde guard heard a human voice, his rage was incandled, no respite now for pact of peace. The poison breath of that foul worm first came forth from the cave, hot wreaking of fight, the rocks resounded, stout by the stone way his shield he raised, lord of the guillots against the loathed one. While with courage keen that coiled foe came seeking strife, the sturdy king had drawn his sword, not dull of edge, heirloom old, and each of the two felt fear of his foe, though fierce their mood, stoutly stood with his shield raised high, the warrior king, and the worm now coiled together a main, the mailed one waited. Now spire by spire, fast sped and glided that blazing serpent, the shield protected soul and body a shorter while for the hero king, then his heart desired. Could his will have wielded the welcome respite, but once in his life, but word denied it in victory's honors. His arm he lifted, lord of the guillots, the grim foe smote with atheling heirloom, its edge was turned brown blade on the bone, and bit more feebly than its noble master had need of then in his baleful stress. Then the bearer's keeper waxed full wild for that weighty blow, cast deadly flames wide drove and far those vicious fires, no victor's glory the guillots lord boasted, his brand had failed naked in battle as never it should, excellent iron. It was no easy path that Edgtheo's honored heir must tread over the plain to the place of the foe, for against his will he must win a home elsewhere far as must all men leaving this lapsing life. Not long it was, heir of those champions, grimly closed again. The horde guard was heartened, high heaved his breast once more, and by peril was pressed again and folded in flames, the fault commander, nor yet about him his band of comrades, sons of athelings, armed stood with war like front to the woods they bent them, their lives to save, but the soul of one with care was cumbered, kinsmen true can never be marred in a noble mind. 34. Weloff, his name was, Welch-stan's son, Lyndon Thane loved the lord of skill-things, Alphara's kinsmen, his king he now saw, with heat under helmet hard oppressed. He minded the prizes his prince had given him wealthy seat of the wage-mounding line, and folk writes that his father owned. Not long he lingered, the Lyndon yellow his shield, he seized the sword he drew, as heirloom of Iron Mund, earth-dwellers knew it, who was slain by the sword-edge, son of Otear, friendless exile, erst and fray, killed by Welch-stan who won for his ken, brown bright helmet, breastplate ringed, old sword of Etton's, Onala's gift, weeds of war of the warrior Thane, battle-gear brave, though a brother's child had been felled, the feud was unfelt by Onala. For winters this war-gear, Welch-stan kept breastplate and board, till his bairn had grown earl-ship to earn, as the old Sire did, then he gave him mid-guillettes, the gear of battle, portion huge, when he passed from life, faired aged forth. For the first time now with his leader-lord, the Legemen young, was bitten to share the shrokech of battle, neither soft in his soul, nor the Sire bequest weakened in war, so the worm found out when once in fight the foes had met, we loft spake, and his words were sage, sad in spirit, he said to his comrades, I remember the time when mead we took what promise we made to this prince of ours in the banquet hall to our breaker of rings for gear of combat to heal him re-quittle, for hard sword and helmet, if Hap should bring stress of this sort, himself who chose us from all his army to aid him now, urged us to glory, and gave these treasures because he counted us keen with the spear, and hardy-need helm, though this hero-work our leader hoped unhelped and alone to finish for us. Folk defender whoeth got him glory greater than all men for daring deeds. Now the day has come that our noble master has need of the might of warrior stout. Let us stride along, the hero to help while the heat is about him, glowing and grim. For God is my witness, I am far more feigned the fire should seize along with my lord these limbs of mine. Unsuiting it seems our shields to bear, homeward hence, save here we assay to fell the foe and defend the life of the wedder's lord. I watt to our shame on the law of our land if alone the king out of gyatish warriors woe endured and sank in the struggle. My sword and helmet, breastplate and board for us both shall serve. Through slaughter wreak, strode he to secure his chieftain, his battle helm bore, and brief words spake. Beowulf dearest, do all bravely as in youthful days of yore thou vouch'd that while life should last, thou wits to let no wise thy glory droop. Now great indeed's atheling steadfast with all thy strength, shield thy life, I will stand to help thee. At the words the worm came once again, murderous monster mad with rage, with fire billows flaming its foe to seek, the hated men, and heat waves burned that board to the boss and the breastplate failed to shelter at all the spear-thane young, yet quickly under his kinsman's shield went eager the earl, since his own was now all burned by the blaze, the bold king again had mind of his glory, with might his glaive was driven into the dragon's head. Blow nerved by hate, but nail-ing was shivered, broken in battle was Beowulf's sword old and gray, to us granted him not that ever the edge of iron at all could help him at strife, too strong was his hand, so the tale is told, and he tried too far with strength of stroke all swords he wielded, though sturdy their steel they steaded him not. Then for the third time thought on its feud, that folk destroyer fired red dragon and rushed on the hero, where room allowed battle grim burning, its bitter teeth closed on his neck and covered him with waves of blood from his breast that welled. 35. Twas now men say in his sovereign's need that the earl made known his noble strain, craft and keenness and courage enduring, heedless of harm though his hand was burned, hearty-hearted he helped his kinsman. A little lower the loathsome beast he smoteless sword his steel drove in, bright and burnished. That blaze began to loose and lessen, at last the king wielded his wits again, war-knife drew a biting blade by his breastplate hanging, and the wetter's helm smote that worm asunder, felled the foe, flung forth its life, so had they killed it, kinsman both, atheling twain, thus an earl should be in danger's day. Of deeds of valor this conqueror's hour of the king was last of his work in the world. The wound began which that dragon of earth had erst inflicted to swell and smart, and soon he found in his breast was boiling, baleful and deep, pain of poison, the prince walked on, wise in his thought, to the wall of rock. Then sat and stared at the structure of giants, where arch of stone and steadfast column upheld forever that hall and earth, yet here must the hand of the henchmen peerless, lave with water his winsome lord, the king and conqueror covered with blood, with struggle spent and unspan his helmet. Bale will spake in spite of his hurt, his mortal wound full well he knew his portion now was past and gone of earthly bliss, and all had fled of his file of days and death was near. I would vain bestow on son of mine this gear of war were given me now than any air should after me of my proper blood. This people I ruled 50 winters, no folk king was there, none at all of the neighboring clans to war would wage me with warriors, friends and threat me with horrors. At home I bided what fate might come, and I cared for mine own, feuds I sought not, nor falsely swore ever on oath, for all these things though fatally found, fame am I. From the ruler of man no wrath shall seize me, when life from my frame must flee away for killing of kinsmen. Now quickly go and gaze on that horde neath the hoary rock we love loved, now the worm lies low, sleeps, heart sore of his spoil bereaved, and fair in haste I would feign behold the gorgeous heirlooms, gold and store, have joy in the jewels and gems, lay down softlier for sight of this splendid horde my life and the lordship I long have held. End of section 12. Section 13 of Beowulf. This is a Librivox recording, all Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. This reading by Tad E. Beowulf, by Unknown, translated by Francis Barton Gammare. 36. I have heard that swiftly the son of which Ston at wish and word of his wounded king, war sick warrior, woven male coat, battle sark bore neath the barrow's roof, then the clansman king of conquest proud passing the seat, saw store of jewels and glistening gold the ground along, by the wall were marvels and many a vessel, in the den of the dragon, the dawn flyer old, unburnished bowels of bygone men, reft of richness, rusty helms of the olden age, and arm rings many wondrously woven. Such wealth of gold, booty from barrow, can burden with pride each human wit. Let him hide it who will, his glance too fell on a gold-wove banner, high o'er the horde of handiwork noblest, brilliantly broidered, so bright its gleam, all the earth floor he easily saw, and viewed all the vessels. No vestige now was seen of the serpent, the sword had tamed him. Then I heard the hill of its horde was reft, old work of giants by one alone, he burdened his bosom with beakers and plate, at his own good will, and the ensign took, brightest of beacons, the blade of his lord, its edge was iron and injure deep, one that guarded the golden horde many a year, and its murder fire spread hot round the barrow in horror billows at midnight hour, till it met its doom. Hasted the herald, the horde so spurred him, his track to retrace, he was troubled by doubt, high sold hero if happily he'd find alive, where he left him, the lord of wetters, weakening fast by the wall of the cave. So he carried the load, his lord and king, he found all bleeding, famous chief at the lapse of life. The legemen again, plashed him with water, till point of word broke through the breast horde. Beowulf spake, sage and sad, as he stared at the gold. For the golden treasure to God my thanks, to the wielder of wonders with words I say, for what I behold to heaven's lord, for the grace that I give such gifts to my folk, or ever the day of my death be run. Now I've bartered here for booty of treasure, the last of my life so look ye well to the needs of my land, no longer I tarry, a barrow bid ye the battle feigned rays for my ashes. Twell shined by the shore of the flood, to folk of mine memorial fair, on Hrone's headland high uplifted, that ocean wanderers oft may hail, Beowulf barrow, as back from far they drive their heels or the darkling wave. From his neck he unclassed the collar of gold, valorous king to his vassal gave it, with bright gold helmet, breastplate and ring, for the youthful thane bade him use them in joy. Thou art end and remnant of all our race, the wag-mounding name, for word hath swept them, all my line to the land of doom, earls in their glory, I after them go. This word was the last which the wise old man harbored in heart, ere hot death waves of baleful he chose, from his bosom fled his soul to seek the saint's reward. 37 It was heavy hap for that hero young, on his lord beloved, to look and find him lying on earth with life at end, sorrowful sight. But the slayer too, awful earth-dragon, empty of breath, lay felled in fight, nor fain of its treasure could the writhing monster rule it more. For edges of iron had ended its days hard and battle-sharp, hammers leaving, and that flyer afar had fallen to the ground, hushed by its hurt, its horde all near, no longer lusty aloft to whirl at midnight, making its merriment seen, proud of its prizes. Prone it sank by the handiwork of the hero-king, forsooth among folk but few achieve, though sturdy and strong, as stories tell me, and never so daring indeed of valor, the perilous breath of a poison foe, to brave and to rush on the ring-board-haul. Whenever his watch the warden keeps, bold in the barrow, Beowulf paid the price of death for that precious horde, and each of the foes had found the end of this fleeting life. Befell ere long, that the laggards in war the wood had left, toothbreakers, cowards, tend together, fearing before the flourish a spear in the swordest dress of their sovereign lord. Now in their shame their shields they carried, armor of fight where the old man lay, and they gazed on Weelof. Waryed he sat at his sovereign shoulder, Shieldsman good, to wake him with water. No wise it availed, though well he wished it, and world no more could he bury her life for that leader of battles, nor baffle the will of all-wielding God. Doom of the Lord was law or the deeds of every man as it is today. Grim was the answer, easy to get, from the youth for those that had yielded to fear. Weelof spake, the son of Wechstan. Mournful he looked on those men unloved. Who sooth will speak can say indeed that the ruler who gave you golden rings, and the harness of war in which ye stand, for he at ale bench, often times, bestowed on Hall Folk, helm and breastplate, Lord to Legeman. The likeliest gear which near of far he could find to give, threw away and wasted these weeds of battle, of men who failed when the foemen came. Not at all could the king of his comrades in arms venture to vaunt, though the victory-wielder God gave him grace that he got revenge, soul with his sword and stress and need, to rescue his life to as little that I could serve him in struggle, yet shift I made, hopeless it seemed, to help my kinsmen. Its strength ever waned, when with weapon I struck that fatal foe, and the fire less strongly flowed from its head, too few the heroes in throw of contest that throng to our king. Now gift of treasure and girded of sword, joy of the house and home delight shall fail your folk, his freehold land every clansman with your kin shall lose and leave. When lords high-born hear afar of that flight of yours, a fameless deed, yea, dead is better for Legeman, all than a life of shame. That battle-toil bade he at Burge to announce, at the fort of the cliff where, full of sorrow, all the morning earls had sat. Daring shieldsmen in doubt of twain, would they wail as dead, or welcome home their lord beloved? Little kept back of the tidings new, but told them all the herald that up the headland road, now the willing giver to wetter folk in death-bed lies, the lord of guillettes, on the slaughter-bed sleeps by the serpent's deed. And beside him is stretched that slayer of men with knife wound sick, no sword availed on the awesome thing, in any wise to work a wound. There wheel off Sidoth, wet Ston's barn, by Beowulf's side, the living earl by the other dead, and heavy of heart a head watch keeps, or friend and foe. Now our folk may look for waging of war when once unhidden to Frisian, and frank the fall of the king had spread afar. The strife began when hot on the Huggus, Heluk fell and fared with his fleet to the Frisian land. Him there, the hetwaris, humbled in war, plied with such prowess their power or whelming, that the bolden battle bowed beneath it and fell in fight. To his friends no wise could that earl give treasure, and ever sense the marowings' favor has failed us wholly. Nor ought expect eye of peace and faith from Swedish folk to as spread afar, how on Gentheo, reft at Raven's wood, hath kin-wrethling of hope and life, when the folk of Gaiets, for that first time sought and wanton pride the war-like skilfings. Soon the sage old sire of Oteer, ancient and awful, gave answering blow. The sea-king he slew, and his spouse redeemed. His good wife rescued, though robbed of her gold, mother of Oteer and Onala. Then he followed his foes who fled before him, sore beset and stole their way. First of a ruler to Raven's wood. With his hosts he besieged there what swords had left, the weary and wounded. Woes he threatened the whole night through to that hard-pressed throng. Some with the morrow, his sword should kill. Some should go to the gallows' tree for rapture of Raven's. But rescue came, and dawn and day, for those desperate men, when they heard the horn of Helach's sound. Because of his trumpet, the trusty king had followed their trail, with faithful band. And of section 13, section 14 of Beowulf. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Tad E. Beowulf. By Unknown. Translated by Francis Barton Gammare. 39. The bloody swath of Swedes and Gaiats, and the storm of their strife were seen afar. How folk against folk the fight had wakened. The ancient king with his atheling band sought his citadel, sorrowing much. On Gen Theo Earl went up to his burge. He had tested Helach's hardy-hood, the proud one's prowess, would prove it no longer, defied no more those fighting wanderers, nor hoped from the seamen to save his horde. His bairn and his bride. So he bent him again, old, to his earth-walls. Yet after him came with slaughter for Swedes the standards of Helach, or peaceful planes in pride advancing, till hrethlings fought in the fenced town. Then on Gen Theo, with edge of sword, the hoary bearded, was held at bay, and the folk king there was forced to suffer Eover's anger. An ire at the king, wolf wanredding, with weapon struck. And the chieftain's blood for that blow and streams flowed neath his hair. No fear felt he, stout old skilfing, but straight way repaid in better bargain, that bitter stroke and faced his foe with fell intent. Nor swift enough was the son of wanred. Answered to render the age chief, too soon on his head the helm was cloven. Blood bedecked he bowed to earth, and fell adown. Not doomed was he yet. And well he waxed, though the wound was sore. Then the hearty hyalucthane, when his brother fell with broad brand smote, giant sword crashing through giant's helm, across the shield wall, sank the king, his folk's old herdsmen. Fatally hurt. There were many to bind the brother's wounds and lift him, fast as fate allowed his people to wield the peace of war. But Aovir took from Anjan Theo Earl from other, the iron breastplate, hard sword hilted in helmet, too. And the whore chief's harness to hyaluct carried, who took the trappings and truly promised rich fee midfolk, and fulfill it so. For that grim strife gave Gyatish Lord Hrethel's offspring, when home he came to Aovir, and wolf a wealth of treasure each of them had a hundred thousand in land and linked rings, nor at less price reckoned mid-earth men such mighty deeds, and to Aovir he gave his only daughter in pledge of grace the pride of his home. Such is the feud, the fomens rage, death, hate of men. So I deem it sure that the Swedish folk will seek us home, for this fall of their friends, the fighting skilfings when once they learn that our warrior leader, lifeless lies, who land and horde ever defended from all his foes, furthered his folk's wealth, finished his course a hardy hero. Now haste is best that we go to gaze on our Gyatish Lord, and bear the bountiful breaker of rings to the funeral pyre. No fragments barely shall burn with the warrior. Wealth of jewels, gold untold, and gained in terror, treasure at last with his life obtained, all of that booty the brand shall take, fire shall eat it. No earl must carry memorial jewel. No maiden fair shall wreath her neck with noble ring. Nay, sad in spirit and shorn of her gold, off shall she pass or pass of exile. Now our Lord, all laughter has laid aside, all mirth and revel. Many a spear, mourning cold, shall be clasp, a mane, lifted aloft, nor shall lilt of harp those warriors wake. But the wain hewn raven, feign or the fallen, his feasts shall praise and boast to the eagle how bravely he ate, when he and the wolf were wasting the slain. So he told his sorrowful tidings, and little he lied, the loyal man of word or of work. The warriors rose sad. They climbed to the cliff of eagles, went welling the tears the wonder to view. Found on the sand there stretched at rest their lifeless Lord, who had lavished rings of old upon them. Ending day had dawn on the dotty one, death had seized in woeful slaughter the wetter's king. There saw they, besides the strangest being loathsome, lying their leader near, prone on the field. The fiery dragon, fearful fiend, with flame, was scorched. Wrecked by feet it was, fifty measures in length as it lay, aloft air while it had reveled by night, and anon come back seeking its den. Now in death's sure clutch it had come to the end of its earth-haul joys. Why it there stood the stoops and jars, dishes lay there, and deer-deck swords eaten with rust, as on earth's lap resting, a thousand winters they waited there. For all that heritage huge, that gold of bygone men was bound by a spell, so the treasure-haul could be touched by none of humankind. Save that heaven's king got himself might give whom he would, helper of heroes the horde to open. Then such a man as seemed to meet him. 40 A perilous path it proved, he trod, who heinously hid, that hall within, wealth under wall. Its watcher had killed one of a few, and the feud was avenged in woeful fashion. Wondrous seemed it what manner a man of might and valour oft ends his life, when the earl no longer in mead-haul may live with loving friends. So Beowulf, when that barrows warden he sought, and the struggle, himself knew not in what wise he should wend from the world at last. For Prince's potent, who placed the gold with a curse to doomsday covered it deep, so that marked with sin the man should be, hedged with horrors and hell-bonds fast, racked with plagues who should rob their horde. Yet no greed for gold but the grace of heaven ever the king had kept in view. Weelaf spake the son of Wechstan. At the mandate of one, oft warriors many sorrow must suffer, and so must we. The people's shepherd showed not ought of care for our council, king beloved. That guardian of gold he should grapple not urged we, but let him lie where he long had been, in his earth-haul waiting the end of the world, the rest of heaven. The horde is ours but grievously gotten, to grim the fate which thither carried our king and lord. I was within there, and all I viewed, the chambered treasure, whence chance allowed me, and my path was made in no pleasant wise under the earth-wall. Eager I seized such heap from the horde as hands could bear, and hurriedly carried it hither back to my liege and lord. Alive was he still. While wielding his wits, the wise old man spake much in his sorrow, and sent you greetings and bade that ye build, when he breathed no more, on the place of his balefire, a barrow high, memorial mighty. Of men he was worthiest warrior-wide earth-or. The while he had joy of his jewels and burge. Let us set out in haste now, the second time to see and search the store of treasure. His wall hid wonders, the way I show you. Where gathered near ye may gaze your fill at broad gold and rings. Let the beer soon made be all in order when out we come, our king and captain to carry thither. Man beloved, where long he shall bide, safe in the shelter of sovereign God. Then the baron of Wechstan bade command, hardy chief to heroes many, that owned their homesteads, hither to bring firewood from far o'er the folk they ruled, for the famed one's funeral. Fire shall devour, and one flames feed on the fearless warrior who off stood stout in the iron shower. When sped from the string, a storm of arrows shot o'er the shield wall, the shaft held firm, feetly feathered, followed the barb. And now the sage young son of Wechstan, seven chose of the chieftain's thames, the best he found that band within, and went with these warriors one of eight under hostile roof. And hand one bore a lighted torch and led the way. No lots they cast for keeping the horde, when once the warriors saw it in hall, all together without a guardian lying there lost. And little they mourned when they had hastily hailed it out, their bought treasure. The dragon they cast, the worm or the wall, for the wave to take, and surges swallowed that shepherd of gems. Then the woven gold on a wane was laden, countless quite. And the king was born, hoary hero, to Hrone's nests. 41 Then fashioned for him the folk of Gaius, firm on the earth a funeral pile, and harness of war and breastplates bright, and the boon he asked, and they laid amid it the mighty chieftain, heroes mourning their master dear. Then on the hill that hugest of balefires the warriors wakened. Wood smoke rose, black over blaze, and blent was the roar of flame with weeping, the wind was still, till the fire had broken the frame of bones, hot at the heart. In heavy mood their misery moaned they, their master's death. Wailing her woe, the widow old, her hair upbound for Beowulf's death, sung in her sorrow, and said full off she dreaded the dullful days to come, deaths anow, and doom of battle and shame. The smoke by the sky was devoured. The folk of the wetters fashioned there, on the headland a barrow broad and high, by ocean fairers far described. In ten days' time their toil had raised it, the battle braves beacon. Round brands of the pyre, a wall they built, the worthiest ever that wit could prompt in their wisest men. They placed in the barrow that precious booty, the rounds and the rings they had ref'd airwile, hardy heroes from horde and cave, trusting the ground with treasure of earls, gold in the earth, wherever it lies useless to men as of yore it was. Then about that barrow the battle-keen rode, atheling born, a band of twelve lament to make to mourn their king, chant their dirge and their chieftain honor. They praised his earlship, his acts of prowess, worthily modest, and well it is that men, their master friend mightily laud, heartily love, when hence he goes from life in the body for lorn away. Thus made their mourning the men of Guyatland, for their heroes passing his hearth companions, quoth that of all the kings of earth, of men he was the mildest and most beloved, to his ken the kindest, keenest for praise. End of Beowulf by Unknown, translated by Francis Barton Gammair