The Tale of Beowulf by Beowulf

Author:Beowulf [Beowulf]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Klassiker
Publisher: Jazzybee Verlag
Published: 2017-07-26T22:00:00+00:00

XXIV.: BEOWULF SLAYETH GRENDEL’S DAM, SMITETH OFF GRENDEL’S HEAD, AND COMETH BACK WITH HIS THANES TO HART.

MIDST the war-gear he saw then a bill victory-wealthy,

An old sword of eotens full doughty of edges,

The worship of warriors. That was choice of all weapons,

Save that more was it made than any man other

In the battle-play ever might bear it afield,

So goodly, all glorious, the work of the giants.

Then the girdled hilt seiz’d he, the Wolf of the Scyldings,

The rough and the sword-grim, and drew forth the ring-sword,

Naught weening of life, and wrathful he smote then

So that there on her halse the hard edge begripped,

And brake through the bone-rings: the bill all through-waded

Her flesh-sheathing fey; cring’d she down on the floor;

The sword was war-sweaty, the man in his work joy’d.

The bright beam shone forth, the light stood withinward,

E’en as down from the heavens’ clear high aloft shineth

The sky’s candle. He all along the house scanned;

Then turn’d by the wall along, heav’d up his weapon

Hard by the hilts the Hygelac’s thane there,

Ireful one-reded; naught worthless the edge was

Unto the warrior; but rathely now would he

To Grendel make payment of many war-onsets,

Of them that he wrought on the folk of the West Danes

Oftener by mickle than one time alone,

Whenas he the hearthfellows of Hrothgar the King

Slew in their slumber and fretted them sleeping,

Men fifteen to wit of the folk of the Danes,

And e’en such another deal ferry’d off outward,

Loathly prey. Now he paid him his guerdon therefor,

The fierce champion; so well, that abed there he saw

Where Grendel war-weary was lying adown

Forlorn of his life, as him ere had scathed

The battle at Hart; sprang wide the body,

Sithence after death he suffer’d the stroke,

The hard swing of sword. Then he smote the head off him.

Now soon were they seeing, those sage of the carles,

E’en they who with Hrothgar gaz’d down on the holm,

That the surge of the billows was blended about,

The sea stain’d with blood. Therewith the hoar-blended,

The old men, of the good one gat talking together

That they of the Atheling ween’d never eft-soon

That he, glad in his war-gain, should wend him a-seeking

The mighty king, since unto many it seemed

That him the mere-she-wolf had sunder’d and broken.

Came then nones of the day, and the ness there they gave up,

The Scyldings the brisk; and then busk’d him home thence-ward

The gold-friend of men. But the guests, there they sat

All sick of their mood, and star’d on the mere;

They wist not, they ween’d not if him their own friend-lord

Himself they should see.

Now that sword began

Because of the war-sweat into icicles war-made,

The war-bill, to wane: that was one of the wonders

That it melted away most like unto ice

When the bond of the frost the Father lets loosen,

Unwindeth the wave-ropes, e’en he that hath wielding

Of times and of seasons, who is the sooth Shaper.

In those wicks there he took not, the Weder-Geats’ champion,

Of treasure-wealth more, though he saw there a many,

Than the off-smitten head and the sword-hilts together

With treasure made shifting; for the sword-blade was molten,

The sword broider’d was burn’d up, so hot was that blood,

So poisonous the alien ghost there that had died.

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