Beowulf by Crossley-Holland Kevin; O'Donoghue Heather;

Author:Crossley-Holland, Kevin; O'Donoghue, Heather;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oxford University Press, UK
Published: 1999-03-04T16:00:00+00:00

In later days, after much turmoil,

things happened in this way: when Hygelac lay dead

and murderous battle-blades had beaten down

the shield of his son Heardred,

and when the warlike Swedes, savage warriors,

had hunted him down amongst his glorious people,

attacked Hereric’s nephew with hatred,

the great kingdom of the Geats passed

into Beowulf’s hands.* He had ruled it well

for fifty winters—he was a wise king,

a grizzled guardian of the land—when, on dark nights,

a dragon began to terrify the Geats:*

he lived on a cliff, kept watch over a hoard

in a high stone barrow; below, there was

a secret path; a man strayed

into this barrow by chance, seized

some of the pagan treasures, stole drinking vessels.

At first the sleeping dragon was deceived

by the thief’s skill, but afterwards he avenged

this theft of gleaming gold; people far and wide,

bands of retainers, became aware of his wrath.

That man did not intrude upon the hoard

deliberately, he who robbed the dragon;

but it was some slave, a wanderer in distress

escaping from men’s anger who entered there,

seeking refuge. He stood guilty of some sin.

As soon as he peered in, the outsider

stiffened with horror. Unhappy as he was,

he stole the vessel, the precious cup.

There were countless heirlooms in that earth-cave,

the enormous legacy of a noble people,

ancient treasures which some man or other

had cautiously concealed there many years

before. Death laid claim to all that people

in days long past, and then that retainer

who outlived the rest, a gold-guardian

mourning his friends, expected the same fate—

thought he would enjoy those assembled heirlooms

a little while only. A newly-built barrow

stood ready on a headland which overlooked

the sea, protected by the hazards of access.

To this barrow the protector of rings brought the heirlooms,

the plated gold, all that part of the precious treasure

worthy of hoarding; then he spoke a few words:

‘Hold now, O earth, since heroes could not,

these treasures owned by nobles! Indeed, strong men

first quarried them from you. Death in battle,

ghastly carnage, has claimed all my people—

men who once made merry in the hall

have laid down their lives; I have no one

to carry the sword, to polish the plated vessel,

this precious drinking-cup; all the retainers

have hurried elsewhere. The iron helmet

adorned with gold shall lose its ornaments;

men who should polish battle-masks are sleeping;

the coat of mail, too, that once withstood

the bite of swords in battle, after shields were shattered,

decays like the warriors; the linked mail may no longer

range far and wide with the warrior,

stand side by side with heroes. Gone is the pleasure

of plucking the harp, no fierce hawk

swoops about the hall, nor does the swift stallion

strike sparks in the courtyard. Cruel death

has claimed hundreds of this human race.’*

Thus the last survivor mourned time passing,

and roamed about by day and night,

sad and aimless, until death’s lightning

struck at his heart.

The aged dragon of darkness

discovered that glorious hoard unguarded,

he who sought out barrows, smooth-scaled

and evil, and flew by night, breathing

fire; the Geats feared him greatly.

He was destined to find the hoard

in that cave and, old in winters, guard

the heathen gold; much good it did him!

Thus the huge serpent who harassed men

guarded that great stronghold under the earth

for

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