Beowulf: a verse translation by Anonymous (Alexander Michael - transl.)

Author:Anonymous (Alexander, Michael - transl.) [Anonymous (Alexander, Michael - transl.)]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Epic, Poetry, Norse Mythology
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2001-07-15T03:00:00+00:00

1590 And above, the wise men who watched with Hrothgar

the depths of the pool descried soon enough

blood rising in the broken water

and marbling the surface. Seasoned warriors,

grey-headed, experienced, they spoke together,

said it seemed unlikely that they would see once more

the prince returning triumphant to seek out

their famous master. Many were persuaded

the she-wolf of the deep had done away with him.

The ninth hour had come; the keen-hearted Scyldings

1600 abandoned the cliff-head; the kindly gold-giver

turned his face homeward. But the foreigners sat on,

staring at the pool with sickness at heart,

hoping they would look again on their beloved captain,

believing they would not.

The blood it had shed

made the sword dwindle into deadly icicles;

the war-tool wasted away. It was wonderful indeed

how it melted away entirely, as the ice does in the spring

when the Father unfastens the frost’s grip,

unwinds the water’s ropes – He who watches over

1610 the times and the seasons; He is the true God. The Geat champion did not choose to take

any treasures from that hall, from the heaps he saw there,

other than that richly ornamented hilt,

and the head of Grendel. The engraved blade

had melted and burnt away: the blood was too hot,

the fiend that had died there too deadly by far.

The survivor of his enemies’ onslaught in battle

now set to swimming, and struck up through the water;

both the deep reaches and the rough wave-swirl

1620 were thoroughly cleansed, now the creature from the otherworld

drew breath no longer in this brief world’s space.

Then the seamen’s Helm came swimming up

strongly to land, delighting in his sea-trove,

those mighty burdens that he bore along with him.

They went to meet him, a manly company,

thanking God, glad of their lord,

seeing him safe and sound once more.

Quickly the champion’s corselet and helmet

were loosened from him. The lake’s waters,

1630 sullied with blood, slept beneath the sky.

Then they turned away from there and retraced their steps,

pacing the familiar paths back again

as bold as kings, carefree at heart.

The carrying of the head from the cliff by the Mere

was no easy task for any of them,

brave as they were. They bore it up,

four of them, on a spear, and transported back

Grendel’s head to the gold-giving hall.

Warrior-like they went, and it was not long

1640 before they came, the fourteen bold Geats,

marching to the hall, and, among the company

walking across the land, their lord the tallest.

The earl of those thanes then entered boldly

– a man who had dared deeds and was adorned with their glory,

a man of prowess – to present himself to Hrothgar.

Then was the head of Grendel, held up by its locks,

manhandled in where men were drinking;

it was an ugly thing for the earls and their queen,

an awesome sight; they eyed it well.

1650 Beowulf spoke, son of Edgetheow:

‘Behold! What you see here, O son of Healfdene,

prince of the Scyldings, was pleasant freight for us:

– these trophies from the lake betoken victory!

Not easily did I survive

the fight under water; I performed this deed

not without a struggle. Our strife had ended

at its very beginning if God had not saved me.

Nothing could I perform in that fight with Hrunting,

it had no effect, fine weapon though it be.

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