Beowulf: By J. Lesslie Hall - Illustrated by Hall J. Lesslie

Author:Hall, J. Lesslie [Hall, J. Lesslie]
Language: eng
Format: azw
Published: 2016-12-19T16:00:00+00:00

Beowulf grasps a giant-sword,

Then he saw mid the war-gems a weapon of victory,

An ancient giant-sword, of edges a-doughty,

Glory of warriors: of weapons ’twas choicest,

Only ’twas larger than any man else was

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Able to bear to the battle-encounter,

The good and splendid work of the giants.

He grasped then the sword-hilt, knight of the Scyldings,

Bold and battle-grim, brandished his ring-sword,

Hopeless of living, hotly he smote her,

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That the fiend-woman’s neck firmly it grappled,

and fells the female monster.

Broke through her bone-joints, the bill fully pierced her

Fate-cursèd body, she fell to the ground then:

The hand-sword was bloody, the hero exulted.

The brand was brilliant, brightly it glimmered,

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Just as from heaven gemlike shineth

The torch of the firmament. He glanced ’long the building,

And turned by the wall then, Higelac’s vassal

Raging and wrathful raised his battle-sword

Strong by the handle. The edge was not useless

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To the hero-in-battle, but he speedily wished to

Give Grendel requital for the many assaults he

Had worked on the West-Danes not once, but often,

When he slew in slumber the subjects of Hrothgar,

Swallowed down fifteen sleeping retainers

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Of the folk of the Danemen, and fully as many

Carried away, a horrible prey.

He gave him requital, grim-raging champion,

Beowulf sees the body of Grendel, and cuts off his head.

When he saw on his rest-place weary of conflict

Grendel lying, of life-joys bereavèd,

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As the battle at Heorot erstwhile had scathed him;

His body far bounded, a blow when he suffered,

Death having seized him, sword-smiting heavy,

And he cut off his head then. Early this noticed

The clever carles who as comrades of Hrothgar

The waters are gory.35

Gazed on the sea-deeps, that the surging wave-currents

Were mightily mingled, the mere-flood was gory:

Of the good one the gray-haired together held converse,

Beowulf is given up for dead.

The hoary of head, that they hoped not to see again

The atheling ever, that exulting in victory

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He’d return there to visit the distinguished folk-ruler:

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Then many concluded the mere-wolf had killed him.1

The ninth hour came then. From the ness-edge departed

The bold-mooded Scyldings; the gold-friend of heroes

Homeward betook him. The strangers sat down then

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Soul-sick, sorrowful, the sea-waves regarding:

They wished and yet weened not their well-loved friend-lord

The giant-sword melts.

To see any more. The sword-blade began then,

The blood having touched it, contracting and shriveling

With battle-icicles; ’twas a wonderful marvel

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That it melted entirely, likest to ice when

The Father unbindeth the bond of the frost and

Unwindeth the wave-bands, He who wieldeth dominion

Of times and of tides: a truth-firm Creator.

Nor took he of jewels more in the dwelling,

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Lord of the Weders, though they lay all around him,

Than the head and the handle handsome with jewels;

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The brand early melted, burnt was the weapon:2

So hot was the blood, the strange-spirit poisonous

The hero swims back to the realms of day.

That in it did perish. He early swam off then

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Who had bided in combat the carnage of haters,

Went up through the ocean; the eddies were cleansèd,

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