Saturday, August 05, 2017


BEOWULF

A Chorale Reading

CAST

The Narrator, A Female Voice, The Interloper, A Narrator for Heorot, A Dane Narrator, The Guardian, Beowulf, Wulfgar, Hrothgar, Unferth, A Dane Storyteller, The Poet, Wealhtheow, A Geat Narrator, A Geat Storyteller, Hygelac, A Youth, The Hoard Keeper, A Narrator for the Hoard, Wiglaf, A Messenger

The Narrator:           And so!  We have heard of the Spear-Danes in years and days gone by, of their nation’s kings’ strength, how they were princes of utter heroism.  Once there was Shield Sheafing.  By threats of harm he bested many a strong mead-bench;

Female Voice:               incited by the Earl, when it was discovered they had become mired in weakness; they were waiting for comfort;

The Narrator:                 never-the-less they grew in power, worthy minded under strong wills, so that everybody there in the surrounding settlements over the whale-road should start to pay tribute.  That was one good king!

Female Voice:               Afterwards, to them an heir was brought forth, a youngster in the yards God had sent as a comfort to the people; for a long time the leaderless had received evil-trouble ere they were drawn together; the Ruler of Glory, the Lord of Life, before the world was, ordained him; Beowulf, the heir of Shield, was as gorse – a blade wide sprung – throughout Shetland.  So should a young fellow do good works with the warrior-gifts he received, while the father is among us, afterwards in old age he can be accustomed to cunning companions, with valiant longing the chief had been steadfast; men everywhere will respect admirable deeds of strength.

The Narrator:                 This Shield,

Female Voice:          while still well-formed, much roiling vigor –

The Narrator:                 it was permitted for him to be carried over to the Lord.  So the companions, as he himself had ordered, they then carried him away to the ocean’s brim, the beloved leader of the advantaged land, long venerated, his word ruled the weak and struggling Shieldings.

Female Voice:          There it stood with whorled prows, outfitted in icy luxuriousness for a prince’s journey; the nation’s beloved, the giver of neck-chains, was laid out in the ship’s hold, by the mast moored; there was much treasure piled up, polished war gear from faraway.

The Narrator:                 I have never before heard of a keelboat outfitted with battle weapons and luxurious garments, billhooks and chainmail; many treasures were laid on him in the hold, it should be the means to take him far out on the venerable ocean waters.  They spread out offerings on him, a nation’s rewards, no less than what was done for him by the one who cast him away, a navel-wrinkled baby, straight over the raiding waves.  Then they got a spear-stalk, golden it was said, placed it above him high overhead, given over to let the ocean carry it; to a sadder safe haven, the mood was mournful for him.  No man, no fortunate advisor healthy under heaven, can tell or know for certain who at last claimed these.

Female Voice:          Then was Beowulf of the Shieldings in the fortress, the beloved leader-king for a people with a story of long woes; a father completely protective, the high office holder of the dwelling.  Or that after him the Great Halfdane awoke; keeping safe the glad Shieldings; the fledgling in life, the old men, and the war-sorrowed.  These four were born, first awakening into the world, brought forth encrusted:  the flowers of merit, in order,

The Narrator:                 Heorogar, and Hrothgar and Halga; I heard that...

Female Voice:               was Onela’s queen,

The Narrator:                 the Heath-Shilfings healing in bed.

Female Voice:               Then there was in Hrothgar a worthy-minded man of valor, gifted, successful at arms; that they had a yearning to be shepherded by him, his fighting strengths, so that these youth grew into a mighty, able army.

The Narrator:                 Building was his mood – that men would be called forth to work at hall-building; a mightier mead-hall than ever had been heard of by elder or offspring; and there within he would dispense to young and old all that God had handed over to him, except for the common folk’s shared land and a fellow’s future.  Then, I have been told, he was able to command much more, works from far and wide to adorn this folk-stead among the enclosure.

Female Voice:               Before long it was completed by him, it was all ready, the most worthy of hall-lodges from among what-ever age.  The poet, the one whose words had held wide sway, named it Heorot.

The Narrator:                 He boasted, it was not a lie, the gold chains doled out sank the banquet table. 

Female Voice:               It was erected the best, tall and horn-gapped spacious, awaiting the overturning of luxuries by humiliating deceit;

The Interloper:             nor was it long before it went out, that the oath-sworn blade-hate, a mighty trouble, should awaken.  The total-spirit, he who had been sorrowing, struggling with woe, he waited on the prowl, he was vexed, having heard daily the loud joyful noise in the hall; there the harp strummed the sweet song of the poet.

The Narrator:                 He who said with knowledge straight from the beginning, to be a matter from long ago, he tells that the Almighty made the earth, a bright-lit plain, so the water surrounds it; He set in splendor the sun and the moon to bring shining light to the land-bound and He adorned the horizons to be outstretched with lights and leaves; He made each life, which is mankind’s, move, those of you that are living.  So the members of the royal clan were living a good fortune of pleasant dreams

The Interloper:             until one, a fiend in Hell, went out to do evil deeds.  The savage spirit was named Grendel, a boundary-post, a landmark, who holds fast to the moors and fen; a wild-man dwelling for a while, abiding helpless, a man under guard, when instead he confessed before the Creator to be Cain’s kin – this is he, the one who slew Abel, that slaughter had made the Eternal Lord miserable. 

Female Voice:               He could not engage in the blood-feud, for the Lord God was forceful and drove him far away from mankind. 

The Interloper:             Then all from time unknown awoke, phantoms and elves and ogres, such giants, against God they strove in long struggle; He loaned them this reward.

Female Voice:               When night had come to the distant houses,

The Interloper:             it opened an opportunity for the repugnant one,

The Narrator:                 how the Ring-Danes after the beer-gathering had been drinking it from the cup;

The Interloper:             he found there those in the prince’s retinue, asleep after supper – being accustomed to not knowing the sorrow of men.  The unwholesome hulk was soon ready, grim and greedy, while at rest thirty thanes were snatched, raked up, and quickly; then afterward the luxury of separation allowed the repugnant one to journey home, there with a full supply of the yielding “mighty ones”.

The Narrator:                 With the early day it was revealed to the fellows that Grendel possessed war skills;

Female Voice:               after this it was intense, the mighty morning swayed, it wept, rising up to heaven.

Heorot Narrator:         The famous leader, that ever good prince, unhappily sat, sorrowed through and through and endured the sorrow of his troops as they looked upon the humiliating loss from the demon’s stranglehold.

Female Voice:               The struggle was too much, too difficult and lengthy.

Heorot Narrator:         It wasn’t long, but just one night after, ere more bold murders were committed, no less than before, a blood-feud, and evil; it was too tight on them.

The Narrator:                 Then it was apparent the easy-pampered sought rest from him, a bed beyond the barracks, where all who at a distance were, this was truly told of him, exuding hatred at any sign of the hall-thanes; when the torch captures him, and closely, he moved with force away from that fiend.

The Interloper:             And so he ruled, but wanting of the right, one against all;

Heorot Narrator:         until empty stood the finest house.  It was a great while; twelve winters torn from time, they sorrowed at the struggle of the eviscerated Shieldings, no matter what, more ample sorrows; before long it became a revealed truth, tales told to the children of the elders, crazy murmurs that Grendel was wanting, from a singular guilt, while against Hrothgar evil hatred moved, an evil of many miseries, and a blood-feud; he would not be far distant, a kinsman against mankind

The Narrator:                 for what of the mighty Danes,

Female Voice:               a bravery long gone,

The Narrator:                 few assemblies of men,

Female Voice:               no there are not any wise counsellors of troubled imagination to summon by hands a brighter respite;

Heorot Narrator:         but dark death-shadows seemingly appeared to the veteran and the youth, and caused distress, these monsters were on the hunt;

The Interloper:             holding to the misty moors at night; men not knowing whither the hell-mystery creeps along the embankments.

The Narrator:                 So the many-eviled foe of mankind, an odious loner, repeatedly did the notorious deeds of hard and harder pain;

Heorot Narrator:         Heorot was occupied, its fortune doomed – sinking into darkly malignant nights;

The Narrator:                 he must not greet that gift-stool, with treasures for the Lord, his memory knew it not.

Female Voice:               This was a great misery, the Shieldings’ mind-breaking struggles.  Many of the nation sat down to the mystery, repeatedly giving advice and counsel to the men of renown, as to what would be the very best of valiant deeds to defend against the fear.

The Narrator:                 Meanwhile, they made vows, at pagan shrines, of becoming stalwarts, by words they commanded that the demon-killer making threats against the nation be dealt with by having a yoke put on him.  Such was the nature of the customs, a heathenish hope; Hell they remembered in the safety of the mind, Lord God, the Judge of deeds, they did not know, nor did they have any knowledge of the Glorious Ruler, the Lord God, they had no means to petition the Protector of the heavens.

Female Voice:               Woeful are those who shall through troubles slide as the soul is shoved into the fire’s depth; happiness is unimaginable, to keep going is a weight.

The Narrator:                 Blessed are those who are allowed to seek the Lord after the day of death and to wish for peace in the depths of the Father.

Heorot Narrator:         So one sees that of the able Half-Danes the sole activity is a time for grief; no one among them is healthy, the mighty made too small to keep on going; that was a struggle so very lengthy and difficult, upon the chief came the terror-wrecker, the most grim trouble, the great night-evil.

Geat Narrator:               At home, there among the good Geats, Hygelac’s thane had been told of Grendel’s deeds; who was in this life’s day the strongest of mighty men, noble-born or any one.  He called on goodness to equip himself to cover the wave; saying that he would search out the war-king over the swan-road, the famous leader, him that was the troubled man.  Even though he was dear to them, very few among the freemen impeded him on that journey-vessel; they were whetted for hasty plunder, looking sound.  He had the decorated champions of the good Geat leaders; the bravest of those who he might find; some fifteen were sought, sound as wood; a sage, a crafty pilot-man, guides along the coast line.

The Narrator:                 At the first they were permitted to go forth; the ship was on the waves, a boat under the cliff.

Female Voice:               The warriors lifted equipment up onto the gangplank – the currents coiled, surf against the sand; the captains loaded fierce war gear, shining treasures into the naked hold; the fellows shoved out, men on a mission, a journey of will, enwreathed in wood.

The Narrator:                 Then that ship had been allowed by the gusting wind to cross the ocean-way, almost wing-like, foam at the prow, until, around that particular time of another day, the wading curved prow gazed upon that whitened sea-cliff, that steep rock wall, the wide sea-promontory of that undulating coast-land; then, at the end, was the surf covered up, a hindrance to going on.

Female Voice:               Then the Weather-Geat leader quickly rose up on the plain, the sea-wood giving over to a clash of chainmail shirts, the uniforms of war; they thanked God that His easy utterance supported them on the wave.

Dane Narrator:              The Shielding’s guardian of the wall, he who should hold that ocean cliff, looked out at that equipment, the ancient armor, round shields to be carried over the bright gunnels; his mind was a commotion, anxious to learn what men these were.  This thane of Hrothgar had no choice but to ride out to them on horseback, to the corner of the keep, the wood-strengthened palisade, a strong challenge, in spoken words of old.

Guardian:                          Who was it that sent you hither over the oceans, possessed of such armor, wearing chainmail, thus burdened, having come to lead this keelboat over a slow-road?  All the while I was at the end-seat, a lookout holding guard, that ship-plunderers might not do harm in Dane-land, not any of those who are more loathsome.  Most assuredly here now comes a triumph of arms, possessed of linden wood spears; no word of you was admitted, we did not know of the most venturesome equipment of war, the rewards of one’s abilities.  I have never over the earth looked upon more noble men than is one of yours, some captain in armor; ennobled by weapons, this is no common man at trade; never a lie, of him only his brightness is seen.  Now I shall come to know about your advantaged kinsmen, ere on Danish land you henceforth further pass, blazing in blinding outward appearances.  Now, you ocean-benders from far off, once again I am thinking it is best for me to hear, to make clear, who has sent you, whence your coming.

Dane Narrator:              The oldest and wisest of the men answered him, unlocking a word-hoard.

Beowulf:                            We are the fellows of the clan of the Geat chieftain and hearth-companions of Hygelac.  My father, Ecgtheow called, was known among the nations, a noble commander – enduring the winters worn before he went on is way, an old man in the yards; widely over the world were wise men who well remembered him at the ready.  Through loyalty we have come in haste to seek out your lord, the protecting leader, son of Halfdane; for us you are good for directions!  We have a noble great obligation to that Danish lord; nor shall there be anything hidden, this I hope.  You were – if it is as we truthfully have heard it was said – among the Shieldings, when whatever was doing harm, I know not what, the devilish so-called deeds, through the dark nights craving to incite unknowing evil, painful and most bloody.  I may be able to instruct Hrothgar through open advice of that which will provide safety, how he and good common sense overpowers the fiend, if ever we should stop this bold business of his, but that is yet to come – and makes worthy the effort to cool those overwhelmed by grief; otherwise, those troubled by the woeful struggle, the most fortunate of houses dwelling there on a high place, the threat-sorrowed, are weakened.

Dane Narrator:              The guardian responded, seated there on horseback, an undaunted officer.

Guardian:                          One who has well-being shall come to know that any sharp-shielded man of valor is measured by words and works.  This I have heard, that this is a force worthy of service to the lord of the Shieldings.  We will permit you to go forth bearing weapons and uniformed; I will guide you:  What’s more, I will call on my able-thanes to stand like arrows against the fiends, what with the fleet of yours, new tarred, exposed bows on the sand, until the time the coiled wooden prows bear over slow-streams the beloved men to Weder-Mark:  most venturesomely good is such a gift, that health survives the battle-rush.

Dane Narrator:              They were allowed to go on their way.  The fleet waited, unmoving, like on the sail a fathom-wide ship rides fast at anchor.

The Narrator:                 Boar-shapes shone over shielded cheeks; the stalwarts of the guard held the milled gold, glittering and flame-hardened; war-minded, they were stern.  The fellows hurried, then, happily as one in victory, advancing methodically

Heorot Narrator:         towards the timbered building, menacing and gold-glittering, great might received; it was the foremost remarkable of buildings under heaven’s broad beams, on this the majesty of kingdoms waited, lighting lamps over many lands.

Dane Narrator:              Then the battle-beast indicated to them the stockade, reminiscent of a high craggy hill, that they may be able to walk to it through the yawning gaps; after speaking these words, that one warrior kept going on horseback.

Guardian:                          For me the appointed time has come.  The Father Almighty with his spear-staffs will keep you safe on your journey!  To the sea I will go to keep guard against wrathful men.

Dane Narrator:              The road was paved with glittering stone, guiding the men as one, upward.

The Narrator:                 The warrior-chainmail shone, hard, hand-linked, shining ring-iron, a song in armor.

Dane Narrator:              Then they walked further along the way, equipped as defenders, they came to that most fortunate building, men made for the sea placing wide shields, rain-hardened round ones, against the building’s wall; the war-mail of the fellows bent the bench, chainmail rang out.  Grouped together as one, the spears of the armored sea-men stood upright, a gray ash-grove; their iron-strong force was ennobled by these weapons.  Then a stout-hearted one there hales the scrappy troops to afterwards learn the story of the noble warrior princes.

Wulfgar:                             From whence do you carry the fat shields, the gray chainmail shirts, and stern-masked helmets, army-shafts in a heap?  I am Hrothgar’s herald and commissioned officer.  I have never seen an assembly of this many men of one mind.  You have sought out Hrothgar, I imagine, out of stout-heartedness, not as a pathway to fame, but to strive for strength.

The Narrator:                 Afterwards speaking these words the stout-hearted Weather-Geat leader, resolute under a helmet, this all-encompassing figure, answered him.

Beowulf:                            We are the retainers of Hygelac; Beowulf is my name.  I will declare my errand to your high leader, the son of Halfdane, the lord and master of boundaries, if he does not think us tricksters, then we must be so good as to greet him.

Dane Narrator:              Replied Wulfgar, the Wendel chief, his secure mind, valor, and wisdom well known by many.

Wulfgar:                             I will provide to the lord of the Shieldings, that hero of the Danes, the giver of gold-collared gifts, what you desire, so you are making these requests on your journey, and the monumental leader of our people will reply to them whatever answer he thinks best to inform me of.

Dane Narrator:              He turned and went quickly to where Hrothgar sat, old and bald, among his loyal retainers; he was standing at attention, going all out, before the Danish lord; he knew the virtues required of a veteran.  To his lord of the fight Wulfgar spoke.

Wulfgar:                             It has come to pass that a chieftain of the Geats has been sent here, coming from afar over the rippling water; the scrappy troops call the oldest “Beowulf”; they are requesting, my lord, that they be allowed to exchange words with you.  Do not be resolved, most serene Hrothgar, to give them a warning of your pile of toils; they seem praiseworthy, as of earls, in equipment of worthy valor; the high leader that guided them hither is accustomed to the ranks of luxury.

Heorot Narrator:         Replied Hrothgar, protector of the Shieldings.

Hrothgar:                          I knew him when he was a wrinkled boy.  His old father was called Ecgtheow.  Hrethel of the Geats presented a daughter, for him to marry, to have a home; the hearty son is now coming here, in loyalty seeking out a struggle.  Once, sea-benders, the ones who returned gift-sails thither to thank the Geats, they said that he has the might and skill of thirty men in his palm-grip, a luxury untold.  Holy God threw him to us, to the West-Danes, a bronze spear-shaft against Grendel’s defenses, I have hope in this.  For that goodness I shall bestow treasures for his troubled mind.  You are to be in a panic, hot to go in to see the retinue of kinsmen grouped together; saying to them these words, also, that they are welcomed by the rulers of the Danes.

Heorot Narrator:         Then to the door of the hall went Wulfgar; decreed a message within:

Wulfgar:                             My conqueror-lord, the leader of the East Danes, has called to say to you, that he can be a prince to you: and you, sighted from over the hard-faltering tossing sea, are welcomed hither by him.  Now you are allowed to go in your war-possessed armor, under army-mask helmets, to have an audience with Hrothgar; for the parley you will let the battle-board shield, the wooden spears, mighty shafts, be left here for a while.

Female Voice:               He arose, this one of richness, around him ranked many, a heap of powerful thanes; but some of them, under orders, waited there, holding fast the valuables. 

Heorot Narrator:         This having been said, they were guided, bound together as a group, under Heorot’s roof; they went, battle-fierce, under hardened helmet, until they were standing at the hearth stone.

The Narrator:                 Beowulf spoke – on him the burnished armor shone, chainmail sewn by a smith in gratitude.

Beowulf:                            Greetings to you, Hrothgar!  I am of Hygelac’s clan, an able and mighty thane; as a youth I had many remarkable triumphs.  The importance of this Grendel thing became known to me, revealed on my home-turf; says the sea-bender oarsman that this happy encampment, this most fortunate building, the ranks of which now are empty and unused, as when the evening light under heaven’s vault becomes hidden.  That learned leader of mine, the best among my countrymen, went forth quickly, so to seek you out, Lord Hrothgar, for you to know the strength of my skill: for myself they watched as I returned, armor splattered from fiends, for there I had encircled five, raided the kin of the phantoms and on the waves slew the sea monsters of the night, a narrow-trouble endured, avenging the Weather-Geats trouble – they were diminished, corroded – enemies already worn down: and now I shall against Grendel, against this monstrous behavior, decide this thing with one single combat.  Now, O Ruler of the Bright-Danes, noble Shielding ,he with the will to command, I have one request: that you, protective shelter of the valiant ones, freer of the nation from struggle, do not dissuade me, now I have thus come from afar, that I, as one and with my earls, a heap of hardened men, must cleanse Heorot.  I have also been impressed that this monster in his abiding-skin does not pay heed for his weapons.  So I will achieve glory for me, for Hygelac, my clan-lord of blithe spirit, that I will pull away from this, that I would carry a sword or wide shield, a yellow-rant to war; but against the fiend I shall seize with a grip, and bring about cause from afar, humiliation against humiliations; there shall it live by the Lord’s judgment, the one who from Him death steals.  I imagined that he wishes, if to rule he must, in this fortune of war, to undauntedly devour the chief of the Geats, as he often did of strong, splendid men.  You would never hide a face to my troubles, but by trickery he would have for me gory hostility, if me death steals; the choice parts are carried, bloody, to be buried, it seems; he eats, one yawning-gape, unmournfully, he marks the moor-hop; nor would you long sorrow nor trouble over the shape of my body.  If me the fight takes, cast back to Hygelac the best of battle-shrouds, that which my breast wears, a most fortunate piece from a spindle; that is Weland’s work, bequeathed by Hrethel.  A fate goes so as it shall!

Heorot Narrator:         Hrothgar, protector of the Shieldings, replied.

Hrothgar:                          Beowulf, for my struggle you have sought us out for manly fights, and for being a brass spear-shaft.  Your father let loose a most mighty blood-feud, he killed by hand Heatholaf in the midst of the Wilfings; those wary kinsmen of his had to fear for an armed force, he had not the might.  Then he sought out the South-Dane folk, the Brass-Shieldings, over the rolling waves; I had come forth to rule the Danish folk and in youth hold the savage kingdom, a treasure fortress of health; this was because Heregar, offspring of Halfdane, was dead, my older brother, a life cut short; he was better than I!  At last a payment negotiated this feud; I had sent ancient treasures to the Wilfings over the water’s ridge; they swore oaths to me.  For any of the fellows in my safe haven it is a sorrow for me to say what pain Grendel has caused me in Heorot with his hate-thanks of fearsome evils; it is my floor-defenders, the valiant-heap waned; fate sweeps them ahead into Grendel’s defenses; God may easily shunt aside these deed’s foolish harms!  Quite often the green troops, beer-drunk as always, would boast that they would wait with the defenders blades in the beer-palace for Grendel’s war.  Then was this mead-hall splattered in the morning-time with the gore of the best army-lords, then daylight, every bench-board glistened in blood, the hall steeped in gore; of tenant-retainers to whom this death is appointed, you dear veterans, I had less.  Sit now to table, so whet your appetite safely, and on a happy meal, for victory for the splendid-captain.

Female Voice:               These straight rods were the Geat-mates, together all, encrusting the bench in the beer-palace; there to sit proudly, very stalwartly, on every third pine plank; an unknown thane, who was bearing it in his hands, kept a shining cloth of a pitcher, decorated in every way; meanwhile the poet sang in the vault of Heorot; a healthy, joyful noise there was, numerous veterans of Danes and Weather-Geats. 

Heorot Narrator:         Unferth spoke, the offspring of Ecglaf, the one who sat there at the foot of the lord of the Shieldings, speaking ill of the mysterious battle-warrior: Beowulf’s journey, a sea-faring spirit of much regard, was never-the-less for him nothing he had sent forth, that any other man, however remarkable this ability in the midst of the yard, was paid more heed under the heavens than he himself.

Unferth:                             Are you the Beowulf, the one who strove with Breca on the wide sea, racing across the sound, there the two of you were tested for courage, and for foolish pride, by a wade into deep water, diving to the elders?  Not any man, neither dear nor loathsome to you both, would lend support in the mighty, sorrowful path that the two of you rained down upon the sound; there the two of you covered the eager current by arms, measured the watery-streets, possessed the swelling mounds, glided over the spear-saw waves.  The swelling in the waves wailed from winter’s upsets; the two of you labored seven nights in the water’s abundance; he was the one who had more strength at swimming across the sound; the morning time carried him up on the Heathoream’s island.  So then, beloved by his leaders, with nobility he sought out the land of the Brondings, a fairer fortress of freedom, there he owed allegiance to the nation, stronghold and stockade.  Against all, the son of Beanstone boasted, truthful in the end.  Though you have been taken care of in glorious battle-rushes whatever, I imagine this to you is the worst of meetings, to a grimmer war, if you dare to wait for Grendel’s long night to first be near.

The Narrator:                 Beowulf, Ecgtheow’s offspring, replied.

Beowulf:                            What you say, Unferth, is a struggle for me, the speech about Breca was from drinking beer, much worn from its journey.  I am telling the truth, that I possess more water-strength, exertion in the waves, than any other man.  As young wrinkled boys we both told stories and boasted – the two of us were equally paired in fearsome youth – that out in the spear-saw waves we two would dive to the elders; and so that would go on until evening.  We had in our hands a hard, naked sword, together we rained down on that sound; we expected the two of us together to be clothed against the whale-beasts; he was not able to float more quickly over the ocean, the least bit farther from me in the flooding waves, nor I would from him.  Then the two of us together were on the sea for the first of five nights, until, surrounded by a struggle against the wading current, the night prodded the coldest of weathers, the waters drifting to and fro and the north wind, abundantly severe, turned against us.  Raw were the waves, it was boiling up the spirit of mer-beasts.  There, against difficulties, my body-shirt, hard, hand linked, in deed gave help to me, a fine wire mesh lay on the breast, equipped in gold battle-threads.  A harmful fiend sparkled, immobilized me to the bottom ground, having been held tight in a grim grip; however worthiness was given to me, thus I avenged with a battle-billhook the command to obey the monster; through my hand the mighty sea-creature was at last abundantly ruined.  So, humiliating afflicters threatened me with a twirl through a loom; I made them respect the precious sword, so it was due.  No feast was had, though they were assembled for me, sitting around near the bottom ground of the sea, there they, the man-destroyers, had to be completely consoled; but in the morning, the coils around me were wave leavings, laid upon by deeply sleeping swords, when that load was a burden no longer around, we were not hindered from moving across the water, the ocean-surface bending.  A light came from the east, God’s bright beacon, to swaddle the waves, that I might see the wind swept walls of the headlands.  The noble with bad luck, fate often spares, then utterly marks him.  However, it made me happy, that with my sword I killed nine sea-monsters.  I have never heard under heaven’s half-dome of a harder fight in the night, nor of a man more in the arms of a dreaded current.  However weary, I overcame the passage, the fear of dying.  The sea lifted me up, a flood on the land of the Finns, after a voyage, wading through a wall of waves.  I have heard not one whit from you to say so much of armored evils, the fear of billhooks.  Breca never lacked at reputation, as so with you, notwithstanding turning and running, so like an animal, from ominous swords, a notorious deed – I am not boasting much – though the word is you killed your head-strong brothers; you shall be destined to suffer in hell, there your cleverness dies.  In truth I say to you, son of Ecglaf, that Grendel, for your elders an odious monster, would never have required so many defenders for the pain in Heorot, if, as you yourself talk, your fierce armor was so readily a safe haven; but he has been found within, that, with odious blade-troubles, he was not inconvenienced by the blood-feud, to very much oppress your chieftain, the Victor of the Shieldings.  He steals by commanding terror, for the Chief of the Danes runs to no one, but he fights for, dreams of, and sends out pleasure, such a thing is unimaginable to the Spear-Danes.  But now, and completely unprepared for the prowess of the Geats, I shall instruct him in war.  When the morning light of another day time shines over the offspring of old age, a southern sun in dominion clothed must be mindful of the one who afterwards goes on a pathway to mead.    

Heorot Narrator:         Thus the elder-haired and veteran of numerous wars was in happiness, distributing gifts taken from those he had defeated; a yoke was lifted from the ruler of the Bright-Danes, having heard the people’s thinking on Beowulf, he heard the steady advice.  There was hearty laughter, bent over in joyful delight, cheerful was the word.  Wealhtheow came forth, Hrothgar’s queen, a reminder of kinship; gold-fluted she greeted the fellowship in the hall; and then the wife of the East-Danes stopped to fully serve the noble guardian; for the beloved chieftains there at the beer-assembly joyfully beseeched her; he, the victory-numbered king, experienced the feast in pleasure, and full-fortune.  This woman, a member of the family of the Helmings, came around to each, doling out to veteran and youth, handing out the goblet, for happy was the occurrence, that she, the necklace-adorned queen, in a spirit of thoughtfulness, carried to Beowulf a full portion of mead.

Female Voice:               Greeting the leader of the Geats with wise steadfast words gave thanks to God, that from any of the evils she would be buoyed up in comfort by the earl, the one who satisfied her wish. 

The Narrator:                 Nearby to Wealhtheow, he was fully experienced for that, the choice sorrow of the valiant, and then giddily gusting for the war.  Beowulf, born of Ecgtheow, replied.

Beowulf:                            I called attention to this, that I was by design on the ocean, sitting in the sea-boat with my retinue of sage companions, that I was made to be the sole will of your leaders, or be bested in mighty battle-death, by fiend-hooks fast.  I shall be completely warrior-like, a man of renown, or await the end of my day in this mead-hall.

Heorot Narrator:         The lady well liked those words, the Geat’s mass boast; gold adorned, the people’s queen went freely to her lord to sit.  It was ever as before in the hall, a nation in happiness, of victorious folks swaying to every third word spoken within, or that seemingly the son of Halfdane would search for an evening rest. 

The Interloper:             The highest, best intensity of everyone would be assembled to this battle, when they might gaze at the sunlight, or who, beyond the whole night, would be prodded to come creeping with shadow-shaped helms waning under the clouds.

Heorot Narrator:         The men all arose.  Hrothgar, saluting the other fellow, Beowulf, and of him commanded health, holding sway over the battle-hall, and this word announces.

Hrothgar:                          Never before, when I might have a hand and round wooden shield, have I lifted up the third-lodge of the Danes to any men, except now to you.  Have now the best house, and keep it: for a remarkable remembrance, make clear an all-encompassing strength, a vigil against intense dangers!  This is no trinket of wishes, if you that work completes, the elder day dies away.

Heorot Narrator:         Hrothgar permitted him to go with his hearty retainers, then the nobleman of the Shieldings went out of the hall; the valiant man of high advantage would Wealhtheow seek, the queen to take to bed.  The King of Glory, so it has been told by the fellows, had placed a fortune-guard of a match against Grendel; decreed a clean separation be kept by a phantom-guard around the leader of the Danes.

The Narrator:                 The chief of the Geats by means of a strength of mind, by yearning, had faith, the Lord God’s favor.  Then he doffed the ice-cold chainmail, the helmet off the brow, gave his handcrafted sword, most valued of irons, to an officer-thane and called him to keep the battle-equipment.  Before he got up on the bed Beowulf the Geat, he of goodness, spoke some proud words.

Beowulf:                            I do not begrudge Grendel in the telling of war-works, for him I am a one-man army.  I will not go forth to swab him with a sword, being beneath a leader, though I easily might.  He has no wisdom of those goods, the hewn round shield, that he may go against me to the kill, though he himself be a number of evil-works; but we two shall be allowed to wisely sit apart in the night, if he, beyond a weapon, dares to seek out the valiant one: and then the Knowing God, the Holy Lord, deems as to which of the two of us on hand is remarkable, as seems fit to him.

The Narrator:                 Then a cheek-pillow claimed the earl’s attention, a precious luxury as a favor to him, and many bold rank of seamen were laid out in a circle around him in happy rest.

The Interloper:             Not one of them thought that he would ever after see the place he loved, kinsmen, or the peaceful town, where he was reared; but as they had heard from the Danish leader, in this great struggle, that was ever too much of strength for them, and so a choice death.

The Narrator:                 But the Lord himself with might has quickly woven gladness and a triumph to give to the leaders of the Weather-Geats, that through the skill of one they shall all overcome their fiend.  The truth is clear that Mighty God rules mankind far and wide.

The Interloper:             A night of shadow-yawnings came to creep in the waning; those that should be holding the antler-horned building, the defenders, slept,

Female Voice:               all except one.  This was known by the ancients, that the Lord would not, that they must not, allow the sin-harm under shadow to rule,

The Interloper:             but he watched with intense anger, waiting for anyone, mindful of the bow, of the battle meetings.  Coming off the moor, Grendel came creeping through the covering mist, carrying God’s anger, with the mine-scarred coinage of mankind, pursuing something of fortune in the distance.  A madness under the clouds, with ripe hostility, he who most readily knows of this struggling edifice, the gold-fortune of comrades.

Heorot Narrator:         This was not the first time that he had scouted Hrothgar’s home.  Never in the old days had he ever found such hale and hearty hall-defenders.

The Interloper:             This armed force, emptied of joys, journeyed on, coming to the building.  The door, held fast with forged metal bands, soon lowered when he ran his palms over them; that bold-hide stretched out, then frenzied he was, at the mouth of the building.  After this the fiend trod wrathfully on the doomed floor, an irate mood going on; he stood with eyes at rest, like an ugly light coming off of him.  Inside the building he gazed on the many ranks, the kin-retinue slept, huddled together, the able-ranks heaped.  Then his mood was gleeful; by a coin that he had dispensed, before the day came the odious monster hoped for, whichever of the one, a life with a body, this was to him the entire fulfillment of desire.

The Narrator:                 Yet this was not that fate, that beyond this night he must confess the strength of the tribe of men.  Behold the triple-strength, Hygelac’s kinsman, how the moaning-harm under fearful grip would fare.

Female Voice:               From of old the monster had no recollection of that one,

The Interloper:             but he pounced quickly, the first rank slept in the path, torn apart without warning, the bone-cage bitten, drank the blood with ardor, swallowed  by scythe handles of sin; soon the whole  body-shape, feet and palms, had become lifeless.  Nearing, he stepped forward, then choosing with thick, hasty hands, this rank at rest –

Female Voice:               the fiend with a fist was opposed by the righteous one; thankfully alert, he quickly laid claim and against the arm was fortified.

The Narrator:                 Soon the evil one had heard about that which was discovered, that which he had not encountered in all the men among the courtyards to the ends of the earth a most gripping palm of the hand; in vigor of mind he became subdued; nothing before was able as this.

Female Voice:               Haste was for him a well-equipped servant, wishing to flee into the cover, seeking the devil’s garbage; there no draft of air was his, he had never been challenged like this in the old days.

The Narrator:                 Then with the memory of the evening speech Hygelac’s good kinsman stood up tall in length and took fast hold of him; fingers bursting: the nobleman-warrior advanced farther, the phantom was moved outward.

The Interloper:             So there he might go wider round, a coin on edge, and then onto the path, then fleeing to the fen-hop; the hooks of his fingers had held intense sway on enemies;

Female Voice:               this was a journey to Heorot more yoked than the one who was an injurious-harmer had taken in the past.

Heorot Narrator:         The lordly fortunate ones heard a loud noise, for all the Danes, however brave, had become encampment-bound, every noble warrior alarmed.

The Interloper:             They had been paired in anger, guardians against a quick retreat.

Heorot Narrator:         The building leaned to one side; it was a mighty wonder in praise that the struggling fortunes, having been opposed in abundant fierceness, they had not felled that broad, fair hall; but it was besmithied, inside and out, by these tight fast iron bands, in foresight forged.

The Narrator:                 There the enemies struggled, gold rained down, as my story goes, from the threshold there, many a mead-bench were encircled.

Heorot Narrator:         No wise man of the Shieldings had delivered this before, that of men any had ever measured it,

Female Voice:               the goodly and bone-foreboding might be ruined, locked together in desires, not unless deep lies are swallowed up in swaddling bands.

Heorot Narrator:         A new pulsating sound rose up nearby, the repellant one stood as an incitement to the North-Danes, whichever one of these, who heard the defender of evil sing God’s curses off the wall, wept, the victor-less sang out, the hell-sore had to lament.

Female Voice:               He held him tight, he who, in the days of this life was foremost the strongest of men.

The Narrator:                 The protector of the earls would not let go of anything living, then the slaughter is to come, not in any of his life-days had anything been so neatly told of chieftains.

Female Voice:               There, again and again and again, with the ancient trophies of Beowulf’s earldom, they would move to defend the army-lord’s perimeter, as of a master of the boundary, there they might be.  They drew themselves together, these struggling hard-hitched battle-troops, not knowing what to expect, seeking a soul to hew, and in half:

Female Voice:               for then any iron-kissed war-billhook, a signature of harm over the earth, would meet no one in greeting, for he had forsworn the victory-weapons, blades of whatever kind.  In the days of this life his portion of leadership should be worthy of strong-armed power,

The Interloper:             and the spirit-complete journeyed afar into the dominion of fiends.

Heorot Narrator:         This was discovered from within, that he who was a notorious cause of evil, at first, was much in the mood to make fun of mankind– against God he offended – that for him his body-home would not last, and so the momentum of Hygelac’s kinsman had him by the hand;

The Narrator:           that either lived was humiliating to the other.

Female Voice:               Body-sore the odious monster endured; exuding sweat on the shoulder it became for him a signature dullness; sinews jumped out, they burst the bone-cage.

The Narrator:                 The war-splendor gave to Beowulf a becoming merit;

Female Voice:               Then Grendel, having fled under the fen-bank, yields to a faraway sickness, joylessness should be searched out; it is a more intense yearning, that the elder-age of his was striding away towards the end, day-brink by evermore day.

Heorot Narrator:         After this it became for all the Danes the choice rush of desire fulfilled.

The Narrator:                 He had cleansed it, the fortune-hall of Hrothgar, he who had previously come among them from afar, protected against evil, and very vigorously.  In the night-work the fight was contended with all-encompassing remarkableness.

Heorot Narrator:         The chief of the Geat-troops had finished the boast to the East-Danes, such assistance was made manifest to all, they who had been drawn out before, torn innumerably into the wide-open sorrow, and for pang-terrors should endure. 

The Narrator:                 That was a sweet sign, when the fierce battle-hand was placed, arm and shoulder under the wide gap of the roof – all of Grendel’s chiseled grip-hook was there.  Then it was morning, as my story goes, many a warrior-rank around that gift-hall; from far and near the gathered nation were carried down yonder wide ways to look at the wonder, humiliations’ loss.

Heorot Narrator:         The giving out of his life bore no sore regrets to any of the wise, those who looked tirelessly at the footprint path, the overcoming of evils, how he, in a wearisome state, doomed and fleeing the faraway losses, moved on from this place, on to the sea monster’s pool.

The Interloper:             There was a wailing, with gory awareness, on the bloody water surface surrounded, an odious overturning of the waves, all mangled, hellfire called down; death-doomed, he was able to lay, without joy, a heathen soul faraway in the peaceful fen.  There, Hell claimed him.

The Narrator:                 Then afterwards the old travelling companions were permitted to ride out from the lake on spirited mares, warriors on white, along with many of the yeoman-clothed young. 

Female Voice:               There Beowulf’s remarkableness was kept in mind;

The Narrator:                 many often said that not any other had gone out over the wide ground, south nor north, between the two seas, under dominion’s sway, never a finer possessor of the round shield, more worthy of ruling a kingdom.

Heorot Narrator:         Nothing slowed them down, not the customary ways of the lord of the struggle, the gladsome Hrothgar, for he was a good king.

Female Voice:               Meanwhile, they could with distinction let the great host leap onto mares of light yellow-brown, to go flying down those broad-ways they thought fairest;

The Narrator:                 meanwhile, the king’s thane, a boast-laden fellow, a fool worth remembering, one of the all too many old storytellers who had been worn down into a heap, found another word to encircle the truth.  Afterwards the old sage had gone out to scatter among them, to exchange into words, Beowulf’s journey, and on the ride to drive out anxious waiting for success.

Female Voice:               He had heard it said,

Dane Storyteller:        many of whom well say, that from Sigemund came Waelsing’s struggles, by deeds complete, much of it unrevealed, down wide paths, the offspring of those fellows did not know of these doings, blood-feud, and of evils, except that Fitela was in the middle of it, then what would he say of such a thing, an uncle to his nephew, so they ever were, a terror penned up, vexed at evil troubles; they had by the swords of kinsmen been told of many phantoms.  In Sigemund, after death’s day, no little number of pronouncements sprung up, of courage, when the hard serpent, the herder of the hoard, was defeated.  He, the prince’s son, under the heron stone, alone dived into the dangerous deed; Fitela was not with him; that which made him happy, that lordly iron, that sword waded through the slimy serpent, on that wall it had stood out; the murderous dragon died.  The monster had totally been extinguished, how, by his own destiny, he must possess the necklace-hoard; the sea-boat had been loaded, it bore in the ship’s hold the shining spoils of Wael’s heirs; the hot serpent had melted.  This was the most widely known of outcasts, by deeds of all kinds, a protective shelter of valor over the nation of men – he was ere that close – when Heremod’s fight was burnt out, prowess and everything; away on the peninsula, he was searched out, made aware of deficiencies, came to be among the phantoms, the dominion of fiends.  Too long the sorrowful-upsets thrashed him; to his chieftains, all of the princes, he had turned into grieving old age.  As often happened in the past, the path of the very valorous is brought to grief, as agreed among many a freeman, those who lived to see a reward for themselves from the great evil, that they should have respected the master’s offspring, they were taken advantage of, the noble-fathers, that the prince of the Shieldings is the keeper of the people, the hoard and fortress-shelter, the health of the nation. 

Female Voice:               Whereas he, the mighty one of Hygelac, became a friendship of many affections for all mankind;

Dane Storyteller:        but him, evil waded into.

Female Voice:               Meanwhile on mares fit for service they went flying down the light yellow-brown road.

Heorot Narrator:         The light of morning was pushed up and shone.  Many a skulker went to that distant finest of places, pulled so very much to see the searing wonder; and so the king himself, the guardian of the necklace-hoards, sleepy-tired, strode off to the mead-hall from the bridal quarters, trimmed out mightily, in rare valuables made known and with him his queen, with a multitude of maidens measured out.  Hrothgar spoke – he had gone to the hall, stood on the steps, gazed at the steep gold-glittered roof and Grendel’s hand.

Hrothgar:                          For this sight, the All-Mighty is to be thanked, a very long time in coming!  I endured many humiliations by the Grendel of snarls; but Mighty God, the glorious Shepherd, can work wonder after wonder.  That was unprepared for, that I had not delivered to any more of the weak ones waiting patiently from far to wide for a respite from me, when the finest of houses stood splattered with blood, a gory presence, a trifle widely pushed out by whichever of the advisors, those who didn’t deliver, that for the leader’s humiliations, they guarded with shock heaps and pelts the strong, wide earthen bulwark.  Now through the Lord’s might the skulker has been finished by the deed, we, who among us before, might not have pursued it at all.  So what then may be said, that exactly which of the maidens, if she yet lives, that in birth-labor the Lord of Ages has graced her, as this strength was made known afterwards to the clan-fellows.  Now for me, Beowulf, I desire a son, covered in the valor of peacemakers, a sage of the best; henceforth to be kept as good as a new kinship.  No ornament, nothing better in the world of desires, is for you, for you I have dominion.  Very often for lesser assistance I captured, for the sake of something similar, a worthy hoard from a disappointed warrior-rank.  You yourself have achieved fame by deeds, that your fate lives ever onward into old age.  The All-Mighty is covered in unadorned goodness, as He now has gotten it done!

The Narrator:                 Beowulf, the son of Ecgtheow, replied.

Beowulf:                            With great favor we have dived dangerously into the powers of the unknown, to fight heroically, that the work be completed.  Never-the-less, I would rather if you had seen the monster himself, the fiend in weary-full war gear!  I thought quickly to twist him onto choice bedding, into the bonds of hard strength, that for the fist-grip he should appreciate my active life, except I would lash at his body.  No, I am this for him, a yearning to be left alone, faraway from troubles, of the leaving I might not restrain him, who the Lord would not; the fiend was too fore-mighty in the fight.  He let go of his palm, arm and shoulder, for which to keep watch over the loss to a life-wraith; so the weakened fellow there traded nothing for comfort though; a reversal having been made that no longer allows for signs of humiliating afflictions, but the sore distress has narrowly taken hold of him in a terror-grip, bawling out in metal bands; there the outlawed one shall await for a mighty moaning of great doom, how the Shining Lord will prescribe it for him.

The Narrator:                 Then the son of Ecglaf was a more silent sage in the boasting talk of war-works,

Female Voice:               then the princes looked at the hand, at the skill of the noble earl, the fingers of the fiend over the distant roof. 

Heorot Narrator:         Ere this, whatever was in the place of the nails was almost like steel, the heathen’s hand-track, a harm to the unheeding of the battle-rank. 

The Narrator:                 Everyone says that nothing harder than ever-good iron would pierce him,

Female Voice:               that would carry away this monstrous bloody battle-fist.

Heorot Narrator:         Then the call was made for hands to quickly adorn the inside of Heorot; many there were, men and women, who got ready that finest-yeast wine-hall.  That bright hall was utterly ruined, the inside all held fast by iron bands, bristles to be covered over; the roof alone wasn’t torn all apart,

The Narrator:                 this monster, whose evil deeds were offensive, kept going on in flight, to the despairs of an old age. 

Female Voice:               Not that the tide is to be escaped – a notorious venture for those who desire it – but the soul of those who bear one of the ground-bound children of troubles from evilsome terrors shall seek for a place to stow the gear, there his body-house sleeps after supper, laid out fast on the bed.

Heorot Narrator:         Then it was a happy time for Halfdane’s son to go to the hall, and meal time; the king himself would acknowledge the feast.

The Narrator:                 I have never been told of those of more merit able to gather around the finest of customs, the trophy-gifts.  Onto the bench, the blade-possessed bowed it down, a pleasurable fullness; many able men were gathered there beautifully full of mead, pull after pull, above them on the finest station, Hrothgar and Hrothulf.

Heorot Narrator:         Heorot inside was filled up with friends; no spear-shaft of betrayal was dividing the heroic Shielding nation.

Female Voice:               The Torch of Halfdane presented these to Beowulf, a gilded ensign as a grant of victory, a fluted battle-banner, helmet and chainmail; a treasure-sword to be carried before a warrior, a landmark to be looked at by many.

Heorot Narrator:         Beowulf took it all in full on the level; he need not be troublesomely shamed by this fighting-gift for defenders.

The Narrator:                 I have never been told of four treasures having been exchanged in a more friendly manner among fellow men, prepared in gold, with many others all on the bench.  The head-crag roof of that helmet, wound around by wires, held an outer ridge, that no dangerous hard-scoured ancient object might leave him damaged, for then should the danger-shield stride back towards implacable foes.

Female Voice:               Eight of that high-born earl’s mares, with fattened cheeks, were pulled onto the flat sheltered place in under the retinue of courtiers; the saddle on one of these stood glittering by the swarms, as good as any captured in battle. 

Heorot Narrator:         That was the high-king’s battle-seat, when even the son of Halfdane would be agreeable to swords; when the metal ridge plates were felled, never was the valiant one of wide renown laid on the ore pile.  And then for Beowulf, the noble of the house of Ingwin was determined to take control of horseback and weapons, either of the pair;

The Narrator:                 I called him well possessed.  So the manly master of the boundary, the hoard-guard of well-being, paid out a rushing abundance in mares and treasures,

Female Voice:               so a man, the one who cunningly says the truth after correction, never lies to them. 

Heorot Narrator:         Then the lord of the earls got traded treasures for each of them, relics for those on that mead-bench who with Beowulf were made tough by the brim wave load, and the next to be rewarded with that gold was the one who that moaning Grendel had earlier overpowered, so he would have been able to have had his way, unless a knowing God, and this man’s spirit, withstood for him the fate.  The Lord of All is ruler of the clan of fellow men, so now he had gotten death. 

Female Voice:               Whoever is the finest, of valor previously thanked, does not get sent away.  Much of love and humiliation shall await the one who, in these days of struggle, long has a use for the world.

Heorot Narrator:         There was singing and strumming, the wooden-shield yeomen gathered together, met before the battle-wise of Halfdane, oft is madness driven out, then afterwards the mead-bench, the amusement hall should have in mind Hrothgar’s poet:-

Poet:                                    The health of the Halfdane, Hnaef of the Shieldings, they were the ones begetting that sudden fear, should fall in Frieswallia by the heirs of Finn.  Hildeburh was not accustomed to being truly harassed by the troublesome Jutes; for loved ones, sons and brothers made to become insignificant, schooling  them at whipping-swordplay; a burden to her stirred up on a spear wound; that was a woman’s sadness.  Hoc’s daughter lamented the divine arrangement, a howling’s nothingness, when the morning came, she might gaze at this, under sway of the mighty murder bold, where she ere had most held onto joy in the world.  So Finn’s thanes, for few ones are so named, fight with all valor, that he might not be able to contend in battle against Hengest with a small number of valiant men on this argument spot, nor then for the wee remnant to press forward with valor against the master’s thane; but a hasty meeting between them was ordered up, that they had different floor space making room for them all, hall and high throne-seat, that they were allowed to possess in equal halves control over the offspring of the Jutes, and at the daily giving of gifts to fighting men, the son of Folcwald heaped, with rings even so very hoped for, on whichever of Hengest’s Danes were worthy, to cram with rewards of gold from the defeated ones, so he would build up in the finest of beer-halls the kin of the Frisians.  They were faithful to that peaceful existence, in two tight halves.  To Hengest Finn specified with completely unalterable oaths that he keep this remnant of skilled fighters from doom by brazen actions, that any man there was not to break it by words nor works, nothing ever conveyed through armed alertness, though in the custom of neck-chain giving they were leaderless following the killings, this was so troubling to them; then if whichever of the Frisians would speak rashly, they were reminded of these hateful murders, when the edge of the sword should then be it.  A pyre was finished before evening, and icy gold brought up from off the hoard; The Shielding-in-Arms, the best of the battle-ranks, was clothing on the casket.  At this funeral pyre the noble insignia was an iron-hard boar’s head, a swine all golden, in sweat-splattered chainmail, a prince fated by many wounds; something yielded up on the stake.  Hot at Hnaef’s pyre Hildeburh had this done to her own self-same son, the bone-vessel to burn, swallowed up as if fast asleep, and on the casket.  The ladies faced their fate, with arm on shoulder, saddened by all the madness.  The warrior-rank rose up; a mast of mighty fire twisted up to the clouds, for lowing bent it over; brow ridges melted, burst by the borrowed war-gear, then blood sprinkled down, the body’s humiliating bits.  For all those lying there, of spirits most prone, they were consumed, those of both nations, for whom this war was preordained; it was a way of life shaken off the blade.  With a yielding of the nastiness, it was permitted for them to seek out Friesland, the homes and high fortress, the valiant ones with friends befallen.  Hengest got this, a mighty dooming winter, all colorless, grown accustomed to being with Finn; a dwelling all in a heap, who, though, was not able to drift out to sea in a ring-whorled prow; in the storm the ocean wails, abiding against the wind; the winter wave became locked up, ice bound, until another year in the yards would come; so now the gloriously rugged weather got death, those who have understanding of this single fine fact.  Then was winter shaken off, a fair lap of great expanse; the yeast off the yards was discovered by the outcasts; to a snarling punishment rather than to the laden sea, he was thinking, if he was able to pull the torn assembly through, that he would pile into a mound the offspring of the Jutes.  So he was not dissuaded by worldly advice, when Hunlafing fixed for him a battle-lamp in the lap, the finest of billhooks, this edge was known among the Jutes.  Such a stalwart danger Finn oft begat, a brave sword sliding at his own-self’s home, when, after a sorrowful sea-voyage, Guthlaf and Oslaf recovered from a fierce affliction, having been cleverly taken in by a dole of small proportions; a mind unable to give up in splendor something no longer claimed. Then was the hall raided, by the fears of fiends, and so Finn was slain, a kingship in curtailment, and the queen taken.  The defenders of the Shieldings carried off to the gangway all of the king’s world penned up inside, such signet rings, forged gems, they might find at Finn’s home.  They carried off to the Danes the regal wife in the sea-load, led to the leaders.

Heorot Narrator:         The gaiety of the entertainer’s song was reluctantly over.  Playfulness was constantly in ascension, the swaying bench brightly shone, the revelers given wine out of wondrous jugs.  Then Wealhtheow came forth, to walk along underneath a collar-chain with the color of gold coins, sitting there between these good men, a father’s sought after treasure; these kinsmen were obviously getting together, each faithful to the other.

The Interloper:             And so Unferth sat there on the plank at the feet of the lord of the Shieldings; aware of the one who would be faithful with his valor, that he had a mighty mind, though it was he who his abilities at the edges of fondness was never tied fast to the oar.

Heorot Narrator:         The lady of the Shieldings spoke.

Wealhtheow:                 My lord, the giver of trophies freely given, has enjoyed this fully; and to the Geats speak with mild words, as so a man shall do, of fellows for striven gold, you were into happy things; I am glad, by direct action of the Geats you now have a reminder of rippling waves near and far.  One has said to me that it is you who would for a son have an army-rank hero.  Heorot, the finest of bright gold collars, is cleansed; you must stretch out, possess an earned reward of much more, and the people and nation are left with your abilities, then you will go forth with distinction, a fate to see.  I know how Hrothulf can gladden me, that he will cunningly hold the young ones to the oars, if you, contender of the Shieldings, are left off the world ere than he; I imagine that he would not hesitate with golden good desire for the heirs, if he remembers all that, which intelligence also desires, and to the worthy-minded ere from the umbilical cord to wizened old age is celebrated as of eagles.

Heorot Narrator:         Then she returned to be by the bench where her boys were, Hrothric and Hrothmund, and noble’s sons, all together in healthy youth; 

The Narrator:                 that good man, Beowulf the Geat, sat between the brothers.  And with words by the wagonload a full, friendly wooden bowl was carried to him, and wound gold bestowed for honors, with two red arm bands, reel and rings, a neck chain, of which I have been told is the most broad of these.  I have heard of no one with finer healthy hoard-treasures under absolute ownership, than when Hama moved against the men of the Brosings, there to the buried burden, signet and scepter-cup; fleeing from Eormenric’s chainmail-wars; choosing the eternal road.  Then Hygelac of the Geats, the grandson of Swerting, had the ring for the next journey, when under his banner he defended his dominion, the mighty spoils for the troops; and so for him a fate, when he, with courage corroded, was diminished to a blood-feud with the Frisians.  Full beyond the waves he moved, the master of the nation with the treasured war gear, stones the herald of nobles; he fell under the noise of battle.  The return of this kin’s battle garment breastplate, and the neck-chain, was seemingly into the outstretched arms of the Franks; made worse by stalwart dangers, the mighty are plundered, afterwards the war-share; a yielding rawness held onto by the leader of the Geats.

Heorot Narrator:         The hall was taken over by swaying.  Wealhtheow spoke before that troop of men, she said.

Wealhtheow:                 Take possession, dear Beowulf, of this collar, hoist it, with health, and make use of this bracelet of rings, a nation of rewards, and revel in it, as good as it is; go forth covered with skill and be gentle in teaching these boys; I am one who will remember this grant.  You, who totally owns the wide-vigor of men far and near, have been brought even so wide as the sea surrounds the wind-yard walls.  Be easy, prince, you with a lifetime stretched out!  The one who is the possessor of rewards is as good as I.  You are owed the holdings of joy by the deeds of my sons!  Here, each noble is true to the other, mild in manner, loyal to the lord; the thanes, an army of fellow retainers, a whole nation at the ready, by a pledge have been sent wherever, they do as I bid.

Heorot Narrator:         She went thus to the chair.  Of the feast there was spared no expense, the men drank wine;

The Interloper:             a fate not knowing, a sturdy shaft of savageness, so it was coming this way too many of the worthy earls, when evening came, and Hrothgar released them to the designated barracks, a nation to rest.

Female Voice:               A cluster of noble warriors guarded the building, as often they ever did; the bench planks borne away; with beds and bolster the worthy were spread out across it.

The Interloper:             Some beer-skulker was laid out, flat at rest, equipment in a circle, and doomed. 

Female Voice:               The bright wooden board-shields, battle-noises, were set at heads-height to them.  There on the bench, above the prince, was a tide chart, a high-pitched helmet, ringed chainmail, a sturdy wooden hunting spear. 

The Narrator:                 Virtue was a way of life, that they were often one with the stalwart gear, either you at home, you onto the plunder, so even those of you at mealtimes, so for their manly lord trouble was made happy; this was a good people.

Heorot Narrator:         The victors then went to sleep. 

The Interloper:             Someone paid sorely for the evening rest, as so full often happened to them when the finest gold-hall became aware of Grendel, the unjust one going on until evening, until in the end death is returned after sins.

Heorot Narrator:         That had become something marked, widely known by men, for that got reckoned with then, having lived after the humiliations, by lengthy woes, after the war-grief.

The Interloper:             Grendel’s mother, a monstrous wife, the one who, by cold streams, should be accustomed to water-action, was mindful of woman’s error, when Cain came to be the sword-edge curse against the brother, the father’s kinsman; he was permitted this doom, to be marked by murder, made aware of wastelands, fleeing the joys of man.  Then woke many of the sturdy-shafted spirits; one of these was Grendel, hatefully cognizant of fate; the one who found at Heorot a man of valor, to await the one who watches.

The Narrator:                 There the monster became a wrestling match for him; for which he was reminded by the strength of force, by the gem-fast gift, which God had given him, and the Ruling One also to him gave a life lived in the oars, in happiness and triumphs; he who had overcome this fiend, taunting the hell-spirit.

Heorot Narrator:         Then he was permitted from a distance to see a yielding death, the fiend of mankind from joy emptied.

The Interloper:             And then his mother got more of the gift, and would arrive by the sorrowful path in a trifling mood, the son’s death to avenge.  She came to Heorot then, where the Ring-Danes yonder were happy in that sleep.  Then there soon became for the earls a reversal, when from inside Grendel’s mother fell.  As is the skill of maidens, a woman’s stalwart defenses, this was at least as great of a defender than is a weaponed man, bound by reason, with blades fit for duty, by hammering through and through, a sword speckled with sweat shears off the unwary, the swine-crest over the helmets.

The Narrator:                 Then in the hall hard-hammered swords were taken from over their place, the ample noise of many tight-fisted hands lifted up; then the terrors were at the gate for him, the helmet, with the wide chainmail, forgotten. 

Heorot Narrator:         She was in a panic, to be out of there, in fear to persevere, that she would be found out.

The Interloper:             Quickly she had one of the princes, overpowered, held tightly, to that fen she went.

Heorot Narrator:         That one, the one who she ambushed at rest, was for Hrothgar the most beloved between the two seas, in the kingdom of noisy valor a warrior in the manner of a wholesome travelling companion with a blade held tight.

Female Voice:               Beowulf was not there, but was in another area, determined beforehand, marked out for the Geat after the gifting of treasures.

The Interloper:             It became unsettled in Heorot; she, under hell-fire, snatched it with the palm of a knowing hand;

Heorot Narrator:         grief was renewed, having been made into yielding things.  This was not a good exchange, that on both halves they should quiver with fears for friends.  This was a commonsense king, a battle-rank head of hair, in an unsettled mood, when he knew the elder-thane, one of the dearest, was short-lived, dead.

The Narrator:                 Quickly to the side room was Beowulf fetched, the sage of easy victory. 

Heorot Narrator:         Some of the earls, noble companions, went out together before day break, himself with the traveling companions, among these he waited there, the great man in doubt as to whether the Almighty ever after desires for him a spell of diminishment.

The Narrator:                 Then across the floor – the wooden hall made a loud noise – the man with his hand-picked went walking after the ancient worthy one, that he needed, from the lord of the Ingwins, words of wisdom; to tell him if there was a night surprise, after the hasty humiliation.

Heorot Narrator:         Hrothgar, protector of the Shieldings, spoke.

Hrothgar:                          You can have no accommodation after this helplessness; sorrow is returned to the leaders of the Danes.  Aeschere is dead, Yrmenlaf’s older brother, a shoulder for wrapping around, my secret wits and my piercing advisor, when we were defenders, the boars-head stuffed, in brow-crest protruding, then we clawed back at the enemy host.  So should an earl be, a prince ever good, such was Aeschere!  It became a mighty ghost of a wafer for him, to be strangled in Heorot; I do not know, have not fully been told, which paths the odious mythical mystic prowess afterwards took.  By this blood-feud she has punished, you who slaughters the night-surge Grendel, through hard bonds in a violent manner, for too long he went forth and fatefully diminished my leaders.  He fell in battle, at the valor of a shield-like elder; and now another comes back, a mighty moan of a harm, the kinsman would be avenged, from afar you have been served with the blood-feud, those who with many a thane may think, after the giving of trophy-gifts, with hardened more splendid bravery, one endures grittily, in a safe haven; now the hand, the one which treats you well of whatever desires, lies at rest.  I have heard, from my people who live in the upland, to say to the most excellent advisors, that they have seen two such, complete spirits, holding to the moors by the great boundary posts; of those who might have been permitted the most discernment of them, the other there was of a resemblance to a lady; another, as of a man, arm-shapes in grown sizes trod the lost wrecks, even not a man, he was larger than any other; in years and days gone by those bound by broad expanse named it “Grendel”; they knew of no father, whether anyone was for him, fathered beforehand by comparatively hidden ghosts.  They avoid the devil land, the wolf-bank, the windy headlands, the dangerous fen-foundation, there the foreign-stream bears blame, a prodding down under the promontory, a flood under broad expanse.  It isn’t that far from the place of the mile-marker that the mere stands, those barrows are overhung by bark; the wood from roots conceals fast water.  There at night one may see a terrible wonder, a fire on the flood; no common sense of a fellow’s offspring loves this, that knows this ground.  You of the heath-post were swung to and fro by the hounds, a trim hart with horns seeks the holt-wood, fled afar, though faraway he is ever helpless, an elder on beyond, ere he desires to hide the brow.  That is not a place capable of being known; up from that place the white-capped wave ascends to the abiding heavens, then the wind stirs a humiliating backlash, the air sobs, heaven’s rafters are soaked.  Now is the advice directed at the ones who long after it.  Both of you cannot know the dwelling place, in a dangerous location, there you might find in much sinfulness a defining statement; seek it if you dare.  I am the one who grants payment for this blood-feud, with coiled gold from old-rewards, as I have done before, if you come back by this way.

The Narrator:                 Beowulf, Ecgtheow’s heir, replied.

Beowulf:                            Do not sorrow among the men!  Always it is better that he avenge his friends, rather than he mourn much.  Each of you in the world shall await your life’s end; those who can must bring to pass fate’s work before death; after life’s cessation, that is the finest thing for soldiers.  Arise, guardian of the nation, move quickly out, to be able to look for Grendel’s pathway.  I guarantee you this; she will not in a hiding place be lost – not in the broad ocean depths, not in foreign groves, not in holes underground – go where she will.  You have this day the endurance of woes whatever, as I hope for you to be.

The Narrator:                 Thus the man spoke,

Heorot Narrator:         then the old man sprang up, thanking God, the Mighty Lord.

Female Voice:               Then a horse was bridled for Hrothgar, a horseback of braided hair; the holder of wise power ends the menacing; the troop of men with linden board shields lifted up advanced.

The Interloper:             Afterwards on the wild swaths the losses were amply apparent, of able thanes borne away, the finest of lost-souls, one who there with Hrothgar gave home counsel, taken forth as wages to a moor beyond murkiness, grounds beyond a pathway.

Female Voice:               The offspring of princes were undismayed, a high precipice in stony-steepness, by a narrow ascent, a single-file pathway, the unknown foundation of many sea-monster houses, promontories with a winding staircase.

The Narrator:                 He went on before with some fewer, the wiser of the men, to look at the lay of the land; and then he finds strange timbers of fearfulness leaning over gray stone, a joy-losing wood; below the water stood, surging onto the goriness.

Heorot Narrator:         For all the Danes, in the workings of the mind, to sorrow was demonstrated in the struggles of the Shieldings by the torment of the earls, many a thane, when they met the brow of Aeschere on top of that sea cliff.

The Interloper:             The people saw it, too – a flood of water in blood wailing, heated hellfire.

Heorot Narrator:         Many times the military horn sang out the ancient loathing.  The whole company of men sat down;

The Interloper:             afterwards they saw on the water these many kinds of serpents, a revealed sea-dragon the sound comes to know, so like the sea monsters on the banks of the headland, serpents and wild beasts become known, a revelation at the appointed time, to those often in a sorrowful journey on the sail road.  On the way they were stirred up by bitterness and frenzy; to go back to play the war-horn in brightness.

The Narrator:                 The chief of the Geats shunted one of them, one of the strugglers on the wave, aside, flung off the bow of fear, that army-whip of hardness stood him into old age; and so it was instantaneously slaughtered by him, the one of soundness who was on the ocean water.

The Interloper:             Quickly it became narrowed, cornered on the waves among the boar-spears, a hard barbed-awareness, evils coughed up and gathered on the promontory, a piercing journey of wonder.

The Narrator:                 the men looked defensively at the essence of it. 

Female Voice:               Beowulf got himself ready, in noble-warrior battle gear; mourning nothing for an old age; the army-chainmail filigreed by hands, ample and forge-splattered, which could keep safe the bone-cage, that a more impressive battle-grip might not harm him, should come to know the ocean-sound, old age overtaken with anger’s awareness; but a helmet of white guarded the brow, one that should mangle the lake-bottoms, seek the ocean-sound mixed together, ennobled by the subjugation, overpowered by something fashioned for a lord, so as the weapons’ smith had made it in former days, with wonders teased out, adorned with swine-bodies, that nothing since, no flame of battle-product, might not bite into it. 

Heorot Narrator:         That wasn’t the most fit of strong-armed trophies, which was laid for him on the troubled plank of Hrothgar; that would be the haft-made thing called Hrunting; that was one of the old-spoils from beforehand; the blade-edge was iron, sparkling with poison-taint, drawing out abundant sweat; it had never failed to lash out for any man at battle, those who have wrapped around it with the palms of a hand, the one who dares to go down the defender-paths, the passageway to the folk-stead.  This was not the first time even that it should complete the work.  Custom was not heaped up on the strength of the prowess of Ecglaf’s craftiness, he that ere would speak from drunken wine, he that laid down the best of weapons, this dangerous sword; of himself not daring a struggle under the waves, to dive to the elders, to suffer at lordship; there he is bereft of an utterly remarkable fate.

The Narrator:                 It was not so with the other, when he had gotten himself ready for to war.  Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, said.

Beowulf:                            Now, Halfdane’s most able one of fame, think about this, from among the holders of power, of the journey I am now equipped, the common man’s gold-contester, what we two have said to you, if I should fail at the trouble of yours to reach old age, that you ever were to me a father in service to the one permitted to be away from home.  If the battle steals me, by changing hands, you will be the hollowed out palm for my able thanes; and so, dear Hrothgar, these treasures you have given to me, you will send on to Hygelac.  Hrethel’s son, then, may gaze on that gold the lord of the Geats had received, then he stares at that which was conquered, that I had been found by a fellow kissed by goodness, a gifter of neck-chains, I must then be covered up.  And you will let Unferth have the inheritance of old age, the dripping wet, hard edged-way sword, widely-known by man, with Hrunting I will work my fate, or death takes me.

The Narrator:                 After these words the chief of the Weather-Geats, immediately in the midst of all, would wait for nothing in answer;

Female Voice:               the overturned surface of the water took in the battle-ranker.

Heorot Narrator:         It was a day’s while ere he might be received by that flat-bottomed ground.

The Interloper:             Soon it was found within, the one, a hound of misery, who had gone out of the flood-waters grim and greedy, kept in a den-hole of awareness, that from above there some fellow came to know the dwelling of such a thing at all.

The Narrator:                 They were matched against each other; the warrior-rank was pounced upon by the clutches of the odious one; however this was not a shuddering of health for the body; an interlocking of the reluctant chainmail-shirt was a shield around the outer ring-mail, by that she might not rip through with fingers of loathsomeness the ancient-home.

The Interloper:             The sea-brim wolf bore this away, to the bottom she came with this, something made of rings, to the arrangements at an enclosure, so that he might not have of weapons a domination, not that he was in a mind for this; but on the ocean-sound these things of many wonders swung back at him, hunting monstrously, many a sea-beast with battle-tusks breaking the armored chainmail shirt. 

Female Voice:               The earl perceived it, that he was in a fine-evil place of which there was no knowledge, there for him the water did no harm, nothing by the small creatures, no flood’s fear grip for him, for the roof of the fine place may not be pierced: he gazed at a fire-light, in pale illumination brightly to shine.

Heorot Narrator:         The one of goodness perceived the mighty mere-wife in the ground-warren; rushing strength was given over to the battle-billhook, the swinging hand did not best, the greedy war-evil brutally attacked the ring-mail on her head.

Female Voice:               The essence of this was discovered, that this battle-torch would not bite, from an old age of injury, alas, the blade-edge from the master beat at trouble; ever before it had endured the sorrow of many hand-to-hand gatherings, a helmet often cut through, an ancient spindle of doom; it was in former times a precious treasure, that now his doom is placed.

The Narrator:                 The kinsman of Hygelac was of one advice, after a remembrance of remarkableness, as of late it was nothing at all. 

Female Voice:               That now it was laid on the earthen ground, anviled and steel-edged, this warp wound mail thrown down, encircled by the slimes of stray scraps;

The Narrator:                 true faith is in strength, the palm-grip of force.

Heorot Narrator:         So shall a man do, when he at long last admirably thinks to go at war;

Female Voice:               nor cares about his life.

The Narrator:                 The chief of the War-Geats pounced suddenly upon Grendel’s mother, taken by the shoulder – this is nothing for a mournful blood-feud; then he was in a frenzy, hard combat moved quickly into faraway troubles, she was looped around onto the flat.

The Interloper:             By grips of sternness soon she quickly bestowed a reward on him, and matched against each other, overtook him.  This weary mood overturned the strongest of fighters, a group of champions, of that he was worthy in full.   Then that finest-essence was afflicted and determined she was to use her sea-axe, a broad brown blade would avenge her child, the only heir.

Female Voice:               A breast-net of fine wire mesh was lying against him, on the shoulder, that withstood the penetration, shielding from fear, against the weapon point and against the blade edge. 

The Narrator:                 The champion of the Geats, the son of Ecgtheow, would have been completely mowed down by this, under yawning ground, naming the hard armored-net, the abundant chainmail, a well-known help to him, and Holy God, Wise Lord, Heavenly-beam Advisor, decided the valiant-victor, easily made the damage on it right, when he soon stood up.

Heorot Narrator:         He gazed, then, at a billhook, an easy victor in arms, an old sword, phantom-like, with firm edges, a worthy mind of valorous things; that was a most valuable of weapons, except it was more than any other man might carry to a battle-offering, good and menacing, the work of giants.  He, the Shielding’s dangerous one, pounced upon this nimble hilt, heeding-grim and something to be regretted, old age’s despair taking hold of the ring-mail, of earrings loosened, he groped that hard against her neck, the bone-rings breaking; the billhook waded through all the doomed flesh-home; in battle she fell onto the flat surface, the sword was sweaty, the wise-sage overjoyed by the work.

Female Voice:               The light of lamps brightly lit stood up inside, even as heaven’s candle-beam shines in the vault of heaven.

The Narrator:                 Afterwards he searched the building; back and forth by the wall, Hygelac’s thane, angry and single-minded, held a hard weapon high by the hilts. 

Heorot Narrator:         For the battle-ranker the blade-edge was not a dangerous thing, but he would quickly strip from Grendel much of the war-rush, he who to the mighty West-Danes more often than on one occasion made this brutal offering, when he in swiftness slew Hrothgar’s warrior-servants, fifteen armed men of the Danish people had slept, and also others offered out.

The Narrator:                 With the quickness of a champion he granted him this reward, he who’s gaze went to this thing at rest, Grendel to lie in war-weariness, an old age lost, so the battle at Heorot forever shuddered him.  A bloody rawness wide-sprung, when after death, in heeding a hard beating, he twisted, drooping downward, and then the head was cut off him.

Heorot Narrator:         Soon the freemen, those who with Hrothgar looked searchingly out on the ocean, were collectively gazing at that, the ocean brim splattered with blood, that was a white-capped wave all mangled.  They spoke a chiseled word as a white-haired elder would about the good one, that of this prince a hasty exit would not oft be delivered, that he, with quick victory, would come to seek the famous leader; then for many of these came an enlightenment, that the sea-wolf had destroyed him.

Female Voice:               Then came the noon day.

Heorot Narrator:         The Shieldings abandoned the white promontory; the gold-contester of the fellows allowed them to go home from there; and they stared out on the mere, the essence of things placed in the refuge of the mind; they knew and were not delivered, that they themselves would alertly catch sight of their struggling lord.

The Narrator:                 Then that sword was extinguished, as an icicle in battle after abundant sweat, a valiant billhook diminished.  It was a thing of wonder, that it was all melting, most ice-like, when the Father lets loose the bonds of frost, unwinds the mighty ropes, the one who has sway over happiness and appointed seasons; that is the True Lord God.

Female Voice:               He, the leader of the Weather-Geats, chose not the ability of possessing the treasures, in those things yielded up, although there he gazed at many, but gathered up that brow and the hilt, subjected to fate; ere the sword had melted, the proclamation in fine wire mesh work burnt; the utterly poisonous demon, who perished there inside, that blood was too hot for these. 

The Narrator:                 Soon he was on the surface of the sound, diving up through the water, the one who had before waited at the sacking for the valiant stirring of the more wrathful one; the white-capped waves were all purified, dwelling places for each, that utter demon was let off of life’s days and this granted condition.

Heorot Narrator:         Then the helmet-covered man, a strong-minded swimmer, came toward the land, he had contended in battle for a sea-offering, the one who among them had by strength been burdened.  Together they went with him, being thankful to God, a third of the thanes in a heap, a joining together of the leader, they who must gaze at him in this good health.  Then the boiling hot helmet and the chainmail were off, loosened before long.  The ocean was calmed, water under the heavens, the mighty-gore doomed. 

Female Voice:               Then they were carried forth, down a well-known street, a broad way fit for service, for stalwart pleasures in a company of footprints;

The Narrator:                 with kingly boldness the men, every one of them in a much better mood, strenuously carried the forehead-brow from that sea-cliff.  The head of Grendel should be brought to that golden fine place on that mighty spear slinger by four workers; or that fourteen of the Geats, of an appearance seemingly striding from an ancient whiteness, they came to the fine place; the lordly fellows trod the mead-flats with a mind on trifles.

Heorot Narrator:         Then in walked the elder of the thanes, the deed-brave man, as good as doom, the battle-beast in health, coming to greet Hrothgar.  Then Grendel’s head was carried by the hair onto the flat open space, there the fellows drank, an inducement for the earls, and there among the ladies; on the beautiful slimy sight the men saw.

The Narrator:                 Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke.

Beowulf:                            And so, son of Halfdane, lord of the Shieldings, we, who with pleasure, have brought you, who are looking forward to it here, this sea-offering, a token of adornment, too.  In a fight under water, the work was dived into strenuously, so as that I would die, not comfortably in old age; God should have taken me, the war put aright, shunted aside.   At the battle with Hrunting I might not make one whit of it work; though that weapon digs in; but  the Ruler of the Ages made it easy for me, that I also saw hanging on the woven room-divider a beautiful old sword – most often directed to those devoid of winnings – that broad weapon, I used it.  The herder of that house was sloughed off, destroyed at that sacking, a happy reward for me.  Then that battle-axe burnt up, a fearful time, so that blood spurted out, the hottest of abundant sweatings.  Thence I carried off that hilt from the fiends, a punishment of the evil foreign-deeds, the death slaughter of the Danish people, as it was expected.  It was I who then called out, that you in Heorot must sleep without sorrow, among your royal company of sages, and whichever of your leader’s thanes, veterans and youth, how that the chief of the Shieldings had no troubles to dread them with, for earls an old age – bold that was by half, as you ever did.

Heorot Narrator:         Then the golden hilt was handed over by rank to the elders with battle-advantaged hair, a massive piece as ever worked; after the stirring of devils it continued on as property of the Danish lords, the workings of a wonder-smith; and the world abandoned these grim-hearted fellows, the accursed of God, the defender of murder, and his mother, also; on return to the dominion of world-kings, it was doled out to these, the finest between two seas, there on the horizons at Sheden Island.  Hrothgar replied, looking at the hilt, the ancient relic.

Female Voice:               All over it was written beforehand of evil struggles, when the flood destroyed the clan of giants, poured into the den-hole; dangerous companions; that was a people dealt with notoriously by the Eternal Lord; the Almighty gave them this ending-grant through the overwhelming of waters.  So it was on these surfaces of gold, shining brightly through rune-staffs rightly marked, recorded and stated for whom that sword was made, of iron kissed, the most that ever was, the hilt entwined and serpent-spangled.

Heorot Narrator:         Then Halfdane’s son spoke these wise words –

Female Voice:               all were silent.

Hrothgar:                          Surprisingly, it may be said, that this earl was born the better, the one who deals truth and justice unto the nation, an old noble warrior, all far off are reminded.  For my struggle, Beowulf, a leaf-blade is raised up beyond wide ways, over whichever of the nations are yours.  You hold it all with patience, with strength among many moods.  I who shall make final my peace, as we two spoke of long ago.  A comfort, too, you shall become for your leaders, in health to help, all for doubly-long time.  Not as Heremod became for the heirs of Ecgwela, the Arrow for the Shieldings; he had no desire for them to increase, but to a mighty fall, and to the death-slaughters for the chieftains of the Danes.  A moody-rage killed the royal retainers, by the shoulder pinned back, or that he alone, a famous master, turned away from the dreams of men, though Mighty God, who had made him lofty in powers, in the joys of strength, celebrated far and away over all men.  However, a breast-hoard of blood-sorrow grew vigorously on him; after the outcome of fortune, neck chains were never given to the Danes.  He was twisted by this work of struggling, dreamlessness awaited that long-time bold leader.  You, who can learn by this, receive it valued fellow!  For winters I was a foolish wreck, by you this is common sense.  A wonder it is to say how Mighty God to mankind, through a wide safe haven, favors among them a place to dwell and nobility; He holds sway over most all possessions.  At times He, in love, lets a man’s insightful mind turn to the clan’s remarkableness, gives over to them to hold onto a noble joy on earth, a protective fortress-shelter of a man; so for him dominion over the portions doled out to an ample nation dies away from the world; that he may not think of himself at an end for his being set apart.  With intensity he is accustomed to dwell in a safe haven, neither illness nor old age lingers a whit, no lurking sorrow has malice for him, no purposeful enmity craves blade-hate, and the whole world wends to his will.  He knows not the worst, or that on the inside of him an over-anxious portion waxes and writhes, then for the soul-herder the guardian sleeps; this sleep is too fast-held, for a business was beginning; a killer very near, the one whose flying-bow shoots off evils.  Quickly then it is dropped in under the helm to pierce with a scourge – he knows not how to defend against them – bored into by the demon’s wondrous-powers to worry.  The things he has held so long he thinks them of little value; the hide-bound man-servant gusts, pride in excess gives out nothing, no neck-chains; he forgets and overlooks that former condition, those who God, the Ruler of Glory, ever gave him, a worthy-minded portion.  Often it collapses onto the staff-end, that the body-home on loan falls away, pleasure topples; the fortune goes to another, the one who ignores no inducements, unmournfully doling out treasures, the earl’s reward as before.  Beowulf of the beloved, sage of the best, who has a defense against that bold-war terror, and who has made that more fortunate choice, eternal advice; a hide-overcoat not ignored, a landmark of champions!  Now the blade of strength is yours for a while; it is soon after that the prowess of yours is shunted aside by old age and the sword’s edge, or the fires overtake, or the flood overwhelms, or affliction grips me, or the spears flight, or odious old age, or the eyes’ brightness is obstructed and darkens; seemingly it is, lordly fellow, that thus death overpowers.  So, over the Ring-Danes I have ruled, a hound of miseries under the heavens, and hastily became locked in a fight beyond this middle-ground, with ash spears and sword blades, that I cannot tell of any under dominion’s sway having had purposefully departed from me.  The puncture wounds of mine are what had come to me, when Grendel became a snarling of old struggles after the yeomen, on this nobility ceased; I was soaked from a mood of great concern, of this singular pathway.  This victory is thanks to the Lord God, Eternal Lord, this which I have waited for in old age that, on this brow of bloody awareness, with eyes I stare beyond the old struggle!  Go, now, to a seat, survive the joyous table, ennobled valiant one; we two shall be clothed with much remarkable treasure, when it is morning.

The Narrator:                 The Geat was glad-minded, going on soon with a need of a place also, so to be among the high born.  It was ever so as often for the whole number, beautifully arranged on the flat-sitting place, like a newly-made prow.

Heorot Narrator:         The night-helm grows black, a darkness over the lordly fellows.  The veterans all arose; the blond-haired elder of the Shieldings would have need of the bed.

Female Voice:               The Geat blessed of unmeasurable numerous noisy valor, at last was to rest.  Soon a fine thane with know-how from long ago guided him forth from the worries of the journey, for all a thane’s trouble has been skillfully vanished by a daily flexing of abundance, such as it should have been.  That spacious heart within him was at rest; the building was eave-gap peaked and gold-flecked; the guest asleep inside, until the black raven foretells the blithe-heart of heaven’s joy. 

The Narrator:                 Then came a shimmering in bright jolts after the shadows.  The princes were equipped to go, oft also the leaders, marching into harm; the stalwart glowing-ember would have need for a longing of keel boats far from that place.

Heorot Narrator:         Next this Hrunting, the lovely iron of hardness, was carried to the son of Ecglaf, and then his sword to take; said thanks to him of this loan, he was told about this good war-struggle, the valiant-craftiness, saying nothing was lagging for words from the maker’s blade-edge: that was a mindful sage.

Female Voice:               And the fighting force was at the ready in armor for this journey forth; the worthy prince went with the Danes to the upper place where the other was, the hale battle-beast would Hrothgar greet.

The Narrator:                 The heir of Ecgtheow, Beowulf, said.

Beowulf:                            Now we, the sea-benders, desire to say, having come from afar, that we find a need to seek out Hygelac.  Here we were as good as in desires thoroughly imagined; you have treated us well.  If, then, I may cultivate on earth a small favor for you, or more, in the spirit of love, lord of men, than I have gotten done, of war-works,  I am soon at the ready.  If, going out over the floods, I learn that sitting all around are incitements of your virtue, as those that have hate for you have done in the meanwhile, I will bring to you a thousand thanes in health to help.  I knew in Hygelac, lord of the Geats, though he is one so young for a nation’s shepherd, that for me he is wily in words and works, well-known, that I will arm you well, and bear to you a spear-holt, a yoke in the triumphs of strength, where there is man’s trouble for you.  If, then, Hrethric, the nation’s offspring,  goes to the enclosures of the Geats to meet them, there he may find many friends; knowledge from afar is more happily sought out for the one who serves himself.

Heorot Narrator:         Hrothgar gave him this answer.

Hrothgar:                          In valiant safe haven the Wise Lord sends to you these words to chew on; I have not heard of anything more agreeable in a fellow so young from afar.  You are quite strong, and in common sense minded, a quoter of wise words.  I talk hope, if it gets out that Hrethel’s heir, your elder, the nation’s shepherd, who the spear takes, a battle heedingly grim, an illness or iron, and you have your future, the Sea-Geats have no choice for any one more fortunate than you, a hoard-keeper of health, to make king, a mighty kingdom if  you will hold it.  Your mood of security is at length so well liked by me, dear Beowulf.  What you have done for these nations, the Geat chieftains and the Spear-Danes, shall give guilt a rest, and kinship remembered, evils alerted, they were drawn together by you, as it ever was before, I ruled over wide kingdoms stretched out, treasures remembered, with many other goods in tribute from beyond the gannet’s bath; the ringed-prow shall bring from over the heaving waves the offering and love-token.  I knew, then, you with fiend and you with friend were made to hold fast in leadership, steadfast without reproach, as in old wisdom.

Heorot Narrator:         Then the kinsman of Halfdane exchanged with him, the protector of the earls, twelve treasures gotten from within, called on him in health to seek out with these offerings such leadership, to come often to the peninsula.  This good king, master of the Shieldings, indicated to the princes the one to be embraced, the thane of superlative goodness, and by the neck; tears welled up to the blond-hairs in him.

Female Voice:               It was a twin vision for him, for an argument within the mind, for old age, for sensibilities, of the other rather, that they must seethe to see them no more.  This was for him the man so beloved, that he might not endure this upset breast, but the warrior longs with blood to be held fast in splendor by the striven-bands after the most precious of men is hidden from him.

The Narrator:                 Then Beowulf, the golden war-rank emblem of courage, trod the grassy sod, a subject to the open spaces.  The sea-going boat, the one which rode at anchor, waited for the passage of the lord.

Female Voice:               They went on their way, repeatedly praising the gifts of Hrothgar.

Heorot Narrator:         That was a unique king, always serious he was, until to him the joys of strength were a summons to old age, who for many often should.

Female Voice:               They came to the flood of waters, this heap of many in an excitedly close state of mind; bearing interlocking ring-net of menacing chain-mail shirts.

The Narrator:                 The land-warden, just as he did before, discovered the journey back of the earls; he will greet the guests with no harmful intent, of noses bent off; but rode together with them; saying to the leaders of the Weather-Geats, that they would be welcome in taking to the ship, for them to go forth from harm to a shining house.

Female Voice:               It was on the sand, the sea-gap bow exposed, laden with ornamental army gear, with mares and treasures in the ringed prow; a mast raised up over the hoard of Hrothgar’s rewards.

Heorot Narrator:         The guard who watched that boat was given a gold-bound sword, so that when he was on the mead-bench this treasure was for a legacy of overwhelming worthiness.

The Narrator:                 With them on the exposed bow of the ship, they were permitted to cast off from the land of the Danes, driven into deep water.

Female Voice:               Then was this fine thing set for sail, by the mast the sail was held taught by the maritime-reel; the sound wood rumbled; the wind over the journey’s waves did not shunt aside that floating-way.

The Narrator:                 The sea-goers went out, the foamy neck of the ship floated forth over the wave, a spiraled prow across the ocean-surface streams, that they might perceive the Geat’s cliff, the well-known promontories; the keel pressed up against the fluttering air, on land it stood.

Geat Narrator:               Quickly the guardhouse-warden was ready at the ocean shore, the one who a long time before kept an eye out for the equipment of the beloved men at the journey afar.  The wide-fathomed ship was given over to the sand, in anchor-bands held fast, less the strength of the waves might punish them, that cheerful wood. 

The Narrator:                 He called for the possessions of the princes, the spoils of war and fat-gold, to be brought up;

Female Voice:               it was not far from that place for them to seek out Hygelac the Hrethling, a subject’s favorite; he dwells there at home near the sea-wall, himself with companions.

Geat Narrator:               The building was goodly, the king a ruler enumerated, high up in the hall, Hygd, although young, was wise, who though of winter’s few, thoughtful,  Haereth’s daughter had waited patiently under the fortress-enclosure;

Female Voice:               it wasn’t as though she disapproved of the gifts to the leaders of the Geats, of treasured-possessions not being needed either;

Geat Storyteller:         the queen of the venturesome folk, Modthrythu’s way was a disappearance into evils.  No one, more so the court companions, not even the lawful lord, dared dive into the wild thing, that any one of the day stared her in the eyes; but it was masterfully told to him in hand-twisting wall-bands; after the palm’s grip began to seethe in the machine, an audience was quickly arranged, that it must be sheared, shed at the appointed time, a bold slaughter made clear.  This is not so queenly a virtue for a lady to even be, though she is the one who is alone in that, for those innocent of fear are in a peaceful web of beloved men after the falsehood is torn away.  The Hemming’s kinsman hog-tied that custom.

Geat Narrator:               The drinkers all had another saying, that she was less well-known for baleful leadership, evils alerted, it stopped when she became a gold-adorned gift to young champions, to princes dear, when she was floated by Offa over the murky flood, a path for training sought out by a father.

Geat Storyteller:         When there she well breeched a long life on a fellow’s throne, for a good landmark of life’s condition, upholding in high devotion alongside the halest of the rulers of all man-kind, for my story goes, this was the best between the two seas, of kinship far and wide.  Away from there Offa was widely acknowledged as worthy, for gifts and wars, a spear-keen man; for wisdom held as a noble assignment.  From thence Eomer awoke, to help in healthiness, the Hemming’s kinsman, the grandson of Garmund, a craftsman of wars. 

Female Voice:               The watchmen permitted them to afterwards widely tread the sandy seashore, himself the one of hardness with his hand-picked host; the world-candle, the signal equipment of the south, shone.  The path drew them together, completely dignified, to that young war-king, the one who is the protective shelter of the earls, the killer of Ongentheow within the inner fortresses, having heard of the goodness of the rings to give out.

Geat Narrator:               Hygelac was informed of Beowulf’s journey to the peninsula, that long-life had come there in the worthy protective shelter of the more valiant one, lindenwood penned up, a hale of luxurious offerings striding to the enclosure.  Quickly room was made on the inward flat space for the fighting essence, so the nation was under orders.  They sat across from and facing themselves, the strong opposite the strong, the ones who would not be destroyed, then through high-vaulted speech the lord of men was steadfastly saluted by words from a pack sack.

Female Voice:               Haereth’s daughter, loved by that leader, turned round about that yonder hall-building with mead pitchers, carried in a gentle manner by hand to the clan of the Haethyns.

Geat Narrator:               Hygelac went out to the appointed place of exchange in the finest of distant places, to be told the fair tale; he was anxious to learn what were the Sea-Geat’s journeys.

Hygelac:                             How and what happened to you, dear Beowulf, on the course, of these farings from afar, you abruptly decided to seek out a sacking over the salt water, a battle to Heorot?  But did you give assistance to Hrothgar, a master remarkable, widely known to have been diminished by the creature?  I had no faith in the journey, of the dear man, for the grieving mind sees upsetting sorrows.  I who long had bade, that you not greet this mighty demon-creature, let it become for the South-Dane himself to war against Grendel.  Wisely I am thankful to God, for this I must gaze on you, who is in sound health.

The Narrator:                 Beowulf, Ecgtheow’s heir, replied.

Beowulf:                            That which of the two of us was worthy, Lord Hygelac, is a revelation from the beginning, lying awhile beforehand on Grendel’s plain, there he caused much sorrow to the worn-out Victory-Shieldings, to many more face-to-face, error into old age; I made a shipwreck of all of that, so Grendel’s trouble was this, a thrashed possession, unable to boast of anything over the earth, the one who has taken hold of betrayal longest loves the humiliation of man-kind.  When I first arrived there, I went to the fine ring-palace to salute Hrothgar; when he was made knowledgeable of my mind to give safe haven, the famous strength of the Halfdanes soon pointed out to me a place to set opposite his own self’s sons.  In joy was excellence: from afar to wide-away I had not seen under heaven’s vault a mead-dream for more hall-sitters.  At times the famous queen, a kinship of peace to the nation, wound back and forth across the whole flat floor, with commanding demeanor for a youth; often she gave out to the wise a twisting neck-chain, before arriving to settle in her place; at times for the veterans Hrothgar’s daughter bore to the earls on the end an ale-pathway; I heard the sitters on the flat floor call this “Freawaru”, a finger-nailed subject, she was given over to health.  “Young” this is called, gold-fluted, in gladness for Froda’s son; for the Struggler of the Shieldings, the nation’s shepherd, this has been made, and tells of this advice, that with this woman he dispenses with the mighty-feud, the seat of a sacking.  Often it is given, where after a little while the killer-spear bends, for a leader is stirring, though the bride is admirable.  For the nation of the Heathobards may think about this, then, the torment of those leaders and of the thanes, when he, the lord-born of the Danes, goes with the lady to the flat floor on which the veterans are entertained.  On them the relics of the elders are gladsome, the possessions of the Heathobard’s, hardened and ring-mailed, for those weapons must be wielded to stretch them out, until they were led out to the linden-board sword-play, such as themselves far away, the travelling companions and a way of life.  Then speaks an old ash-valor at beer, the one who glimpses the neck-chain, the one who remembers it all, the spear-slaughter of the fellows – it is a grim safe haven for him – the saddened mood of the champion goes out to the youth, through splendid anxiety, coming to know of haste, a bold-valor woken up, and announces this word.  “You, my victor of struggles, might recall for me how the Shieldings ruled the mighty-place, when Wethergeld lay after health boiled out, this precious iron your father bore to the fight under the army-mask for the road ahead, of those Danes slain by him?  Now, of these killers, many of which are here in unwise demeanor, they boast of murder and bear off these treasures, the spacious spoils of war going onto the flat floor, those which you, by right, should have been advised.”  He complains and so recalls with sour words of times whichever, until humbleness comes, that for the deeds of the father, the lady’s thane sleeps in bloody offence after the billhook’s bite, shielded from old age; the other then hides him from life, the land is readily known to him.  Then was breached in half the oath-swearing of both earls; then for Ingeld the mighty troubles surround and a wife-love becomes cooled off for him after being covered in grief.  Thus I cannot tell, if the favor of the Heathobards, in lordly kinship, in friendship fastened, was apportioned in good faith.  I shall speak further, again, about Grendel, that you, giver of gifts to the subjects, readily come to know also when, then, it became a scrape for health by hand.  When heaven’s gem gladdens over the grounds, an angry spirit came, a terrible evening-servant, repugnant to us, there we kept guard, safely happy.  There the battle for Handscio was pre-ordained from far-off bold hostilities; he was the foremost to be laid out, a champion geared up; to him Grendel became a remarkably able thane, into the mouth of the killer, the body of the beloved man all consumed.  Still, now, the bloody-toothed killer, a memorial to balefulness, would not ever walk out of that fine-gold place empty-handed, but he was matched against a number of my strengths, the ready-palm groped.  A glove, wide and beam-like, hung, held fast by forged bands; it was made ready in all gratitude by devil’s crafts and dragon’s hides.  He would get something done, the advantage of many a fierce deed, there on the inside, an unnoticed me; it might not be so, when I stood upright in anger.  Too long it is to recount how I bestowed a reward on those injured leaders from evils whatever, there I made worthy in works your leadership, my lord.  He was lost from view on the pathway, in a little while life’s joys were broken; whether the very trace kept watch for him, and then he was distant from that hand in Heorot, sad of mood the lake-bottom ground was overthrown.  For that mighty-scrape much was granted to me by the Struggler of the Shieldings, with plump gold, many treasures, when morning had come and we had taken a seat up at the feast table.  There was foolish merriment and musical entertainment; a Shielding elder, much a storyteller, gave a true account from long ago; meanwhile the fierce-battler would greet with joy the wood-harped yeoman, meanwhile a foolish merriment cast out, true and distressing, meanwhile the beam-like spacious-hearted king would for a spell give a true account after righteousness, meanwhile an elder war-valiant encircled by old men announced as a youth he often went out to the battle of the strong; the inner wailing more splendid when he is worn down into a heap by the common sense of winters.   And so we were in there the whole long day, needing to be called out, until it became another night to the old agers.  Then quickly Grendel’s mother was made ready, journeyed sorrowfully, often with snarling-punishment; and so a son is dead, the hated valor of the Weather-Geats.  The woman was made miserable for her offspring, a way of life left unpaid, completely overpowered a warrior; that was Aeshere, a foremost advisor for common sense, torn open far away.  When the morning had come for the death-weary leader of the Danes, neither must they burn him up in the flame, nor load the beloved man onto the casket-pyre; she had carried that body to the fiend’s ocean depths under foreign streams.  That was for Hrothgar a most torn regret, the one who had long begotten an advantageous leadership.  The master suffers from this mind of regret for me, that I press on against the ocean, to even out, by your leave, the earlship; diving to the elders, a remarkable cause; he guaranteed me with earnings.  I encountered it in the herder-ground, in defensive grimness, as of an overwhelmer, which is widely known.  There for a while the two of us had a hand in common, the ocean hell-fire wailed, and in that war-fine place, with blades extended, I carved off the head of Grendel’s mother.  Then I made an uncomfortable escape to far away; I was not to get that fate; but the kinsman of the Halfdanes, the shelter of the earls, thereafter gave me many treasures.  So the nation-king lived by the personal virtues; I had nothing deprived from those grants, of earned rewards guaranteed; but he gave me the treasures, the son of Halfdane, himself, in judgment of me; I, warrior-king, will bring these to you, to look on with favor.  All at a loss are still longing for you; except for Hygelac, I have few patriarch-kinsmen to shelter with!”

The Narrator:                 He called for the boar-head standard to be carried in, an amply-steep helmet, chainmail of hoary-gray, a menacing war-sword, foolish pleasure after punishment. 

Beowulf:                            Hrothgar gave me this battle-sharp gear, among the holders of power; he called for some word, that I will stop to tell you of his favorite:  He had said it had been King Heorogar’s for a long while, Chief of the Shieldings.  This would not ever cross over in assignment to the son, to Heoroweard what so ever, though he was the keeper of them, the breast-plate battle gear.  Possess all of it well!

The Narrator:                 I heard that four mares, apple-yellow brown in color, hoof prints alike in length, kept watch over these spoils of war; he was determined for them to be the favorite of mares and treasures.  So shall the mighty do, nothing of the alert-entanglements moved swiftly by others with crafty secrets, hand-strangled death to rain down.  The nephew of Hygelac was just such a one to take hold of troubles, through hard resolve, and either one had rather plentiful remembrances for the other.  I heard that he presented to Hygd that neck-chain, a wonder dripping in treasures, a group of three on horseback, supple and saddle-bright, the one which Wealhtheow, the master’s daughter, had given him; afterwards was when, in a manner,  the breast was ennobled by the clasped necklace. 

Female Voice:               So the offspring of Ecgtheow was bold, with good deeds suffered after judgment, known in the wars of fellow men, of nothing, no hearth-companions, slain in drunkenness; a safe harbor was not regretted him, but he was with skill at the mast of man-kind, by a gift snare-tight, which God had given over to him, battle fierceness held onto.  So it was distant for a long time, the offspring of the Geats had not been told of the goodness in him, nor would the lord of the Weather-Geats do for him any great worthiness on the mead-bench; they very much believed he was a slacker, a princeling from nowhere.

Geat Narrator:               It came to a stop, an honorable man in auspicious attire of whichever way torn.  Then the king of luxurious abundance called for the protective shelter of the earls, ordered this, Hrethel’s remainder, to be brought in, readied with gold; wasn’t this among the Geats the finest manner of sword in the treasures of the subjects; this he laid upon Beowulf’s lap, and presented him seven thousand, a hall and throne-stool.  The land, the earth, knew how it was for them both, an assemblage, a noble birth-right, in this leadership the ample kingdom was there for the finer one of those rather than the other.  After that in future days, they met with many battle-thrashings, when Hygelac lay and the battle-implements killed Heardred, too, guarded under the sorrowful shield-board, these Heatho-Shylfings sought him out, in hard battle-dangers a victorious nation, the grandson of Hereric coughed up evils: then the hand on the broad kingdom was turned over to Beowulf.  He kept it well for fifty winters – he was that common sense king, the old noble guardian – until one, a dragon, went out to rule the dark nights, the one who was a skilled hoard master on a lofty enclosure, a stone mountain steepness, it lay under an upward passage unknown to an older generation;

A Youth:                             a youngster, unaware of what kind of evils, was on the inside there....

Geat Narrator:               a hand on the heathen hoard suddenly captures....

A Youth:                             sparkling subjects, that he then....

The Narrator:                 by word of the thief’s craft, he who schemed against the sleeping one, though....

Geat Narrator:               that was he in a frenzy,

A Youth:                             the people, the dwelling-folk of warriors, had discovered it.

Geat Narrator:               The serpent-hoard was breached by nobody with authority, the one who, by his own self’s desires, shudders at him in distress, but personal virtue fled before the hate-beatings, a needy threat of whichever unwise healthy children, of a lodge full of troubles, and was fallen upon there inside, a sin-busy sage.

Female Voice:               Soon found out within, that....

The Narrator:                 stood by that ghost of defender-terrors, which of two arm-shapes....

A Youth:                             an apparition....

Geat Narrator:               this captured cup,

A Youth:                             the fear begat him....

Geat Narrator:               there were many such forever-possessions in that earth-house,

Geat Storyteller:         so they, in the days and years of fellow men, whomever unknown, princes of the clan, had hidden there the heirlooms of their wide open arms, precious treasures, those that are pulled by gratitude.  And so in times past death was for them all, and one of these remained, a veteran of the chiefs, the one who wandered there longest, a sad-struggling guardian, entrusted with each of these, that in going back and forth he must use few of the long-time rewards.  A barrow, made all ready, abided on the plain near the water-waves, a new thing by the headland, held fast by crafty narrows.  There a portion of the earl-rewards was borne inside by the shepherd of the rings, a hoard of worthiness, a plumpness of gold, a few words spoke:

Hoard Keeper:              Hold you, now, in praise of what earls owned, must not now be in good health!  What it was before was in goodness begotten for you.  And so it was a war-death, a dangerous far away boldness, whichever of my leaders went first, those who this life abandoned, sewn up in the fine dream-house; who removes the sword I do not own, or that I am made to be a polishing pathway for a precious goblet; a veteran completely shaken.  The helmet of hardness shall fall from the workshop for golden cups; the shop foreman sleeps, the one who should be near the battle-mask; at the battle you endured, just such an army path, the bite of the iron breaks over the board-shield, afterwards the warrior shatters; the ring of chainmail may not widely travel after the advantage of valor, for in half is its health.  The joy of the harp it wasn’t, an amusement by the entertainer’s beam, no good hawk yonder happy flutters, no swift mare beats at the fortress-stead.  The baleful slaughter has cast forth many a faraway kin!

Geat Storyteller:         So the sad mood wanders unhappily, a recovery from being hunted, alone after all others, of days and nights, until death’s overturning pierced at the heart. 

Hoard Narrator:            The old one, a possessor of harm, the one who seeks to burn barrows, found the joyous hoard standing open, a naked evil dragon, fire flees him, taking hold of the night; a broad-bound expanse intensely dreads him.  He shall in praise of the hoard seek it out, there he guards the heathen gold through common sense winters; this is no small thing given to him.  So this nation of harm held onto the praiseworthy hoard-rooms some three hundred winters, crafty as always;

A Youth:                             until one in mean mood exploded at him, he bore on the pathway the polished things to the lord of men, bade the lord-keeper for an arrangement of peaceful existence.

Geat Narrator:               Then the hoard was raised, the hoard of necklace chains carried away, for wretched men a request spreads out like manure.  The lord looked on the ancient works for the first time from the beginning.

Hoard Narrator:            Then the serpent awoke, aroused emotions were renewed; the stiff-hearted one discovered the footprints of a fiend, afterwards he was positioned on that stone;

A Youth:                             he went onward also approaching near the dragon’s head with crafty stealth.

The Narrator:                 So may the one who keeps the Almighty’s favor die easily, an unlucky fate and a misery-path made small.

Hoard Narrator:            The hoard guardian sought yearningly after the ground, would find the fellow, that which was sorely scattered in swiftness by him; hot and regretful-minded the ignoble one went back and forth often all around the outside; nor was there any man in that wasteland; for which of valor’s workings is overjoyed by combat; at times turning around on the barrow, seeking the trophy cup; he soon discovered that some fellow had stumbled upon the high reward of gold.  The hoard guardian was left with strenuous exertion to wait until the evening came.  Then the barrow’s herder was in a frenzy; would strip bare the falsehood of difficulties for the precious drink cup.  Then was the day shaken off for the serpent in his desires; he would not wait long behind the wall, but went forth from the cache, fire flaring.

Geat Narrator:               The advantaged one was an incitement to the leaders on the land, so for a long time what had become a way of life for the trophy-giver, it ended sorely.  Then this demon went out to spew glowing coals, the sheltered enclosure to burn; he stood a burning-lamplight on old men, everyone; the humiliating sky-flier would not leave there the possessions of the living. 

Female Voice:               The serpent’s valor was widely marked, an evil of narrow foreboding near and far;

The Narrator:                 how for the chieftain of the Geats this war of harms was hated and in hiding.

Hoard Narrator:            Before the day’s while the hoard was afterwards sailed to, in concealment from the finest lord.  The land-watcher in falsehood held onto the chest and the brand; of the barrow and the wall, of valor, he was faithful; this hope was laid aside for him.

Female Voice:               Then Beowulf was informed to the truth of the terrors on the peninsula, that his own self’s home, the finest of halls, the gift-throne of the Geats, was melted by an overwhelming burning.

The Narrator:                 That good man in splendor was rueful about this, a most anxious sorrow.  The Eternal Lord commands the wise, that he, the Ruler over the ancient Law, is in an anguished fury; the inner breast wailed from prowling expectations, so the life force was not in him.

Geat Narrator:               The liar of a dragon had taken hold of the leaders, brought down hot coals on the ground, the outer river-land, earth guardian;

The Narrator:                 misery was taught to him, this war-king, the master of the Weather-Geats.

Geat Narrator:               Next, this was made for him, an all-iron valiant board-shield, a protective shelter of more valor for the lord of the earls; he knows the equipment, that no holt-wood linden board shield might keep him whole against the deceiver. 

Female Voice:               The ever-good prince should face the loan of days to the end, the world of this life, and the serpent the same, though he was the one who held the hoard a long time.  This powerful possessor of rings was overconfident, that he meritoriously sought out that wide-flyer for ample plunder; he did not dread a sacking by him, this serpent’s valor, prowess and everything, did nothing for him, he went forth much as ever, the dweller of the narrow depths, the dying of terrors, a battle-crushing, when he cleansed Hrothgar’s finest hall, the easy-victor sage, and at war with Grendel’s strengths out grappled the clan’s humiliations.

Geat Storyteller:         Not the least of which was a hand to hand encounter when from the scrapes in war the king of the Geats was beaten by a billhook; the man there slew Hygelac, Hrethel’s heir, the lord in the struggles of the people, perished in Friesland, in draughts of awareness.  Then, Beowulf endured, coming with his own self’s skill, free, sound; he rose up to the ocean shore, the battle-gear of thirty he had with him on one arm.  The Hetware found room for trouble, nothing of fighting-valor, who, before him, went backward bearing the linden-board; afterwards few from that battle-danger came by a home’s return.  Then the son of Ecgtheow departed, swam without companion across to his leaders, the arm ever after the only protective hedge; there Hygd offered him kingdom and hoard, neck-chains and throne; had no faith in the child, that he could hold the noble-seats of authority against all nations, Hygelac was then dead.  Not for anything might it be found that he would be lord over Heardred, at that ere weakened prince, or that he would choose this kingdom.  Rather with friendly advice he would keep himself in the nation, with brass-arrowed honor, until he became older, a ruler for the Weather-Geats.  The shipwrecked troops, the sons of Ohtere, sought him out from over the sea; the helm of the Shylfings, the finest of sea-kings, that famous master who in the Swede-Kingdom favors the subjects with gifts, had failed to hold them.  It came to be a boundary marker for him; the son of Hygelac, he came to an end there, from the swinging of a sword, a far-off wound for the body; and afterwards when Heardred lay, Ongentheow’s offspring allowed him a home’s return, let Beowulf that throne to hold, to rule the Geats; this was a good king.  In future days this heaping loan of one stirring-leader became for Eadgils a friend to the weak; from over the wide sea the son of Ohtere was supported by the people with valor and weapons; he, the elder king, was ill-treated, made miserable then by cold grief-journeys.

Geat Narrator:               So the son of Ecgtheow, he had survived by all-encompassing works a slithering slickness of troubles whenever, until one day it was he who should move against that dragon.

The Narrator:                 Then the lord of the Geats permitted some twelve of them to look for the dragon, tearing out in a frenzy.

Female Voice:               The bold-trouble of a warrior, when the blood feud arose, had heard of it; the landmark treasure-cup had come to him, in the lap, through the hand of its discoverer.

A Youth:                             This thirteenth sage was added onto that threat, should guide these to the distant plain, a hasty-sad haft of protrusion placed out before these.  Above desire, he, a common man beneath praise, he alone was the one who had the knowledge, went out to this fine earth-hall nearby to the ocean’s upset, the struggling wave, the inside was full of hammered and wiry metal work.

The Narrator:                 The guardian was unaware, keeping hold of the gold treasures under the old earth with the readiness of war-dangers; that was not an easy bargain for any of the fellows to carry out.

Female Voice:               The hard-troubled king, the gold-struggler of the Geats, was garrisoned with the hearth-companions on the promontory, commanding these to stretch out in health.  The safe-haven was a sadness for him, restless and mightily equipped, an unmeasurable fate near, the old man should greet this, to search the hoard for a soul, a life to give out apart from the body; it would not be long before the prince’s flesh would be encircled far off. 

The Narrator:                 Beowulf, the offspring of Ecgtheow, said:

Beowulf:                            In youth I survived many a war-scrape, prominence for a while; I remember it all.  I was at my seventh winter taken away from my father as an assurance of subjugation to the nation’s lord of the struggle.  King Hrethel took hold of me, and to have, gave me trophy and table, molded into kinship; for a small favor, I was not put into a life of humiliations by them, whichever of his offspring, Herebeald and Haethcyn, or my own Hygelac, a warrior inside the fortresses.  It was the oldest in deeds of strength that unexpectedly gained possession of a murder-bed when Haethcyn flew at him, his lord for the struggle, the other brother, back and forth with an arrow off the horn-bow, and by the bloody spear his strength skated away into the mist of murkiness.  That was a battle unfairly fought, singing out for evils, with a splendor made for haste; whether though the prince should be pardoned or so fail to reach old age.  So it is sadly for the freeman to be faced by the old men, that the youth of his bearing rides on the gallows.  Then he reckons with foolishness, sorrowfully sung, when his son hangs, a raven to the plenty and he can be of no help to him, an old and sensible man of any renown.  The completed-path of the heir is brought to mind in the mornings, whichever  one the same as another; he is not ignorant of others on the inside, to face at the fortresses the over-wardens, then that one has been captured through the terror of death’s deeds.  He glimpses the sorrow-grief in his son’s bower, the finest place of struggle in the wasteland, a windbreak bereft of soaking rain; the rider sleeps, healthy in the cradle; there is no strumming of those harps, yeoman in the yards, so there you are.  He allows himself this, onto the seal-slain couch, he sings the reluctant-sorrow, one after one; in him a recollection, too much space, the plains and open place.  So the helm of the Weather-Geats was sorrowful at heart after Herebeald was a walled off way; might not be one whit of assistance in that feud with a far-off killer; he might not pronounce judgment on that high-rank, for the loathsome deeds, not ere this, though he was not dear to him.  He chose God’s light, with that sorrow there, the one whose distress has come upon him, the joy of man abandoned; so a man at ease does, he is allowed this life, leaving to the heirs land and a chieftain buried.  It was the sin and guilt of the Swedes and Geats; an army of hard trouble wrought in common over the wide water, when Hrethel perished, or the heirs of Ongentheow were at an advantage over them, an ancient haughtiness; a peace would not be kept over the rising and falling, but around Mount Hreosna an odious purposeful shearing was often repeated.  That able-struggler of mine was to be the avenger, in blood feud and evil, so it was told, though the other of his elders made payment, by a hard bargain; war presaged the worth of Haethcyn, lord of the Geats.  I have been told, in the morning this may be served on the killer, by the edges of another’s billhook, that of Eofor returning to Ongentheow;  the war-helmet sliced in two, the old man of the Shylfings in pale-heeding, a rawness; the hand formed in the annoying blood feud does not outlast a prolonged beating.  These treasures I had as payment at war from him, he who gave to me, so it was gifted to me, with a lightning sword; he presented me with land, earth, a noble joy.   It wasn’t any trouble to him, that to the Gifthas, or to the Spear-Danes, or in the Swede nation he would bother to search for a worse stalwart-danger, worthiness to be made known.  From the feast table I would advance before him onto the fighting, the one in command, and so into old age I shall be a notorious cause for a sacking, this stretched out sword endures, that ever often and after, to my last, when for the veterans I came to be by hand the killer of Dayraven, the Hugu’s champion.  He must have brought nothing to the Frisian king, in that war gear, breastplate of worthiness, but in battle the standard’s shepherd fell, a prince in totality; no blade was the killer, but the battle-grip was for him the upsets of the heart, the bone-house wrecked.  Now the billhook’s edge shall fight, hand and hard word, around the hoard.

Female Voice:               Beowulf spoke, a speech in boasting words, next to the last time.

Beowulf:                            In youth, I dived into many of the wars, I desire it, a blood feud to seek, guardian of the people’s common sense, to do remarkable things, if the moaning-harm seeks for me from out of the fine earth-place.

The Narrator:                 Then he saluted whichever of these fellows, of such travelling companions, the haughty helmet-bearers ahead on the path:

Beowulf:                            I would not carry the sword as a weapon toward the serpent, if I was wise enough to know how to wrestle with that monster by the mightiest boast of all, as in youth I did against Grendel; but I imagine there to be an abundance of hot fire, of breath, and of poison; I go forth, a shield-board on my face and chainmail.  Nor for all the foot’s balance would I flee from the warden of the barrow, but what further shall become of the two of us at the wall, so fate, the Lord of Mankind whatsoever, tugs at the two of us.  I am of a mind from that, I set aside pride against that war-flier.  Await you on the barrow, a troop in chainmail, sages in armor, whichever between the two of us may have fortune after the mighty-scrape of a deadly wound.  That is not your path, not even of one of mine, not to man’s suiting, that he doles out prowess, earlship even, against monstrous behavior.   I shall get out with all the gold, or war takes this lord of yours, a far-off boldness to dangers.

The Narrator:                 Then the most numerous of morsels rose up by the round shield, a hardness under a helmet, bearing a watchful-shirt under the stone cliff, having faith in the strength of the one man; such is not the path of a coward.  Then the good fellow of value, the one much worn out by the deadliness of war, the battle-thrashing, that scratching fighter, gazed beside the wall at that standing stone arch, when from off the barrow a stream broke out; there it was hot, an upset in blazing abundant fires; he might not be unburnt near the hoard for any while the deadly dragon lies deep.  The chief of the Weather-Geats let this out of the breast, that he was in a frenzy, the stormy stout-hearted word goes out; inside under gray stone it became an abundantly rugged prow bent over. 

Hoard Narrator:            Hate was boiled up, the hoard-guardian recognized the semblance of a man;

Female Voice:               there was not more time beforehand for peace or to parley.

Hoard Narrator:            From a stop, the breath of monstrous behavior came back out of the stone, hot battle-sweat; a commendable loud noise made.

The Narrator:                 The warrior under the barrow, the lord of the Geats, drew up a noisy shield-board against that demon-defender; that was a search for a sacking, a flaring bow-ring in the heart.  The sword, a legacy of an old man, was ever broad, the good war-king with blade-edges severe;

Female Voice:               for either one of them a great evil of more faltering terrors was from the other.

The Narrator:                 The anvil-minded one stood out against the steep sided round shield, the boldness of a winner, the one who the serpent wound around as into a prominent group; he in armor waited.  He was permitted, then, to creep forward, this arch of burning flame, shaped into a shameful thing.  The shield was a defender for the noble master, in life and body, for a lesser while than his memory sought; from the earliest of days he had been permitted to wield, so that, of this, it was the first time fate did not reconcile him as splendid in battle.  The lord of the Geats opened wide an upheld hand, the blade edge was weak against it, went slack on the lustrous outer defense, the inky-relic, brown on the bone, it cut more weakly than the nation-king had for his trouble, offered up for business. 

Hoard Narrator:            After that abundant scourging, the guardian of the hoard was in a raw mood, throwing out a mighty fire, a widely springing battle lantern. 

Female Voice:               The splendid-victor, the gold-struggler of the Geats boasted not;

The Narrator:                 the war billhook, the iron ever good, became enslaved, naked at the evil, so it should not be.

Female Voice:               It was not an easy path that the famous might of Ecgtheow would abandon the grounded plain; should inhabit an opening beyond the desires of all who worry; so shall each man lease the days on loan.

The Narrator:                 After that it was not long until it was met in battle, that monstrous behavior.

Hoard Narrator:            The hoard-guardian was a hearty new prow to him – the vapor exhaled rather quickly; the one who had ere ruled the nation was twisted, taken hold by a narrow flame.

Geat Narrator:               The offspring of princes, in battles valued, stood around in a heap, for the hand-gathered were of nothing to him, but they collapsed into the woods, to a fortress for old age.  In one heeding they wailed for a safe-haven against sorrows.  For those who are well thought of, kinship may not go on as a small thing for ever.

A Youth:                             He was called Wiglaf, Weohstan’s son, a dearly loved linden tree of valor, chief of the Shylfings, the kinsman of Aelfhere; he looked at his lord of men, throwing off heat from under the army –mask. 

Geat Narrator:               This was he who in memory of that brass work, which had been presented to him beforehand in the satisfactory open-encampment of the Waegmunding’s; whichever of the folk-rights, as was his father owed; no – might these be dispossessed, the round hand- shield in yellow linden wood, for striking suddenly; a determined elder sword, that was among the antiquities, the legacy of Eanmund, son of Ohthere.  Weohstan became a punishment to those at the sacking, by manufactured blade-edges, a killer to those devoid of struggle, and carried off to his kinsmen the brown-sparkling helmet, the ringed chainmail, the old fantastic sword.  Onela presented him this, his war-uniform of ornament, ancient forged equipment; spoke not about the feud, though who he ignored was his brother’s offspring.  He kept the war-gear of much misery; billhook and chainmail, until by his demeanor he might be for an earlship even, as was his father before; that he of old age was permitted common sense in the way forward among the Geats, gave him these for always, a dense pack of war-battle garments.

A Youth:                             This was the first time for the young champion that he should participate in a war-scrape with his free-lord.  The mood of safety in him did not melt away, nor did his legacy of ability weaken at valor.

Hoard Narrator:            This the serpent had discovered, when together they had gone out.

A Youth:                             Wiglaf spoke, many right-words said to the traveling companions – a sad safe-haven it was for them.

Wiglaf:                                I remember that time, there we were gathered at the mead, when we made our pledge to the lord in the fine beer hall, the one who gave us these neck chains, that we would pay tribute to him by this war-equipment, helmets, and a hard sword, if trouble thusly happened to him.  He who desires of himself a fitness for the journey has also made the choice for these, you and I, to be in the army, remarkable things heaped upon us, you and me, and to me gave these treasures, he who told us, you and I, what goodly spearmen of valor, what helmet-bearers we are, though the lord of the hall, the shepherd of the nation, he had before done the most remarkable of the things of men, of foolhardy deeds, he was the one who had us in mind to be the hero, complete the work.  Now the day has come when our lord of many men has need of a strong force, of war-ranks better; to go out also in council, to help in the battle-advantage, by this it will be weakened, the grim burning coal of incitement.  On me, God knows, that the body-home of mine, that is for me greatly beloved, with the golden gift of mine, it will be held at arm’s length from the burning coal.  Methinks it unreasonable that we hereafter carry round shields to a dwelling place, unless we first fane to fulfill strength, to be until the last, a defense of the leader of the Weather-Geats.  I readily know that the works of the old man have spared us, that he alone should throw off to the veteran of the Geats a fate, victory at the sacking; the sword and helmet, chainmail, and combat shroud, for both shall be in common for us. 

A Youth:                             Then he waded through that mighty-reek, bearing a stalwart-brow in triumphs to the lord, speaking few words.

Wiglaf:                                Dear Beowulf, the last is as good as the all, as you have often said of doings in fearsome youth, that you are not let in, to fall away by your long-lived destiny; now shall the prince, the hide-bound resolute one, be defended for a long time by all strength for numerous deeds; I am with you full to the end.

Hoard Narrator:            After those words the serpent came in anger, an odious guest-aware, by another path, splattered with fiery-upsets, a return of fiends, more humiliations of men; a falsehood in waves from afar, the board against the round-shield pierced; the chainmail might not keep the spear-valor in young years from being yoked;

A Youth:                             but, having gone completely under his shield, the strengths of able youths was then his against the bringing down of glowing coals.

The Narrator:                 Then again the war-king was a heap of remarkableness, for the battle-billhook in able-strength went slack, it stood in evil terror upon that brow, Naeling shattered, the sword of Beowulf, elder and gray-timed, beaten at the sacking.  It was never a gift to him that an iron blade might help in the fight; that hand was too strong, when the one who, as is my story, oversaw the manufacture of the scourger, when he is too hard at the sacking, a weapon bearing wounds; that was no fine thing for him.

Hoard Narrator:            Then for the third time the dangerous fire-dragon was a nation of harm to the memorable feud, roused up on those numbers, then the room gave him a reward:

The Narrator:                 hot and abundantly-grim, the neck was engulfed completely, pierced to the bones; he became a bloodied gory-soul; sweat welled up in waves.  I have been told this, at the trouble the earl alongside of the people’s-king made it completely clear, skill and bravery, such as was known to him. 

A Youth:                             He paid no heed to the head, but the hand of the spirited man had been burned, there he had come to the help of his kinsman, how he made the underside of the evil-guest go a little slack, a sage in armors,

The Narrator:                 then that sword dove in, splattered and crammed, then afterwards the fire was gone, burned out.  Again the king himself held sway with his knowledge, a broad saxon wall-axe, piercing and battle-sharp, how he in chainmail moved; the helm of the Weather-Geats ripped the serpent in the midsection.  The fiend was to be fulfilled – a vigorous utter misery –

A Youth:                             and they, this pair of kin-princes, had destroyed him.

The Narrator:                 So should a wise man be, a thane at the trouble!

Female Voice:               In a world of works for that leader, it was by these deeds of yourself, you journey to victory for a while. 

A Youth:                             Thus the wound went, the one the dragon ere wrought for him, to swell and to swallow; that he soon discovered, that on the inside, within the breasts, by baleful evil the poison welled in him.

Female Voice:               Then the prince arrived by the wall, he took a seat on the bulwark, a wise man faltering; he saw in the massive works how the stone arches were held eternally fast by columns inside the earth-building.

A Youth:                             With a hand he washed him, his struggle-lord, with water, the famous master, a thane of unmeasurable goodness, noticeably bloody, battle-sated, and took his helmet off.

Female Voice:               Beowulf spoke – he spoke above the summons from the mighty-whimpering wound; he readily knew that he had been drawn to earthly joy daily for a while; all of the daily rime was shaken, death unmeasurable near: -

Beowulf:                            Now would I the war-garment send over the threshold to a son mine, if such fortune afterwards had given me any to guard over, a body longs for that.  I held this nation for fifty winters; this folk-king was not sitting around for any of these, who dares to meet me with war-struggles, spurred on to earn respect.  I waited in the dwelling, an appointed condition, as good as held by me, sought not the scorching troubles, swore me many an oath, none in bad faith.  I may have the consolation of all this, the far off summoning sickness; from the beginning no trouble, the bold murder of able men, can be blamed on me before the Ruler, then my life shakes off of the body.  Now you, dear Wiglaf, go further, to look at the hoard under gray stone, now the serpent lies, sleeps sorely wounded, a subject deprived.  Now be on into that most far off place, that I, ever blessed, perceive the venerable gold, ready to look for the searing-gems to dominate, that afterwards I may be let in by these soft things, my blessed treasures, life and leadership, that I have long held.

The Narrator:                 Then, as I have prominently been told, after the speech-words, with the wounded lord growing accustomed to abundant sickenings, the son of Weohstan bore the chainmail, the fearful battle-shirt, under the roof of the mountain crag. 

Female Voice:               Then, by the bulwark he arrived, the able-minded thane, gazing on that victory splendor, manifold treasures of signet rings, glittering gold heavy on the ground, a wonder on the wall, and that serpent’s den, standing urns, an out-flowing of the ancients, by the maker-less, in workshops roused to action, a vessel of evil-men.  There were many helmets, old and deformed, arm-bracelets for no few made happy by armors.

A Youth:                             A subject, any kind of a fellow whatsoever, may easily escape with gold on the ground; hide it though they will!

Female Voice:               And so he seemingly gazed at the standard, all gilded, high over the hoard, the most of hand-crafted wonders, linked by loathsome crafts; a lamp stood off of this, that he might perceive that ground-plain, illuminated by the hammered metal.  There wasn’t any sign of the dragon, but the blade had called for him. 

A Youth:                             This I have heard, one man of the common class robbed the hoard, the old massive works, loaded on the lap flagons and dishes, to the doom of himself; the standard also, the brightest of beacons, was called out.

The Narrator:                 The billhook of the old lord ever shuddered – the blade was iron – of those treasures there was a mound-piercing for a long while, a calling for the hoard, made way for deceitful incitement, knowingly walled off in the midnight, until he in murder perished.

A Youth:                             The oar was a yearning after a pathway, into the most far off, the spoils of war returned to the beginning; he was anxious to learn whether he would quickly find the master of the Weather-Geats, the stalwart glowing-ember, in that plain-place in complete sickness, there he would ere let him go.  Then with those treasures he found the famous master, the lord offensively bloody, at the end of old age; afterwards he had gone out to him, a toss of water, until a breast-hoard of a word was commanded to break through.

The Narrator:                 Then the old man, the warrior on the hunt – looking at the gold – expressed in words:

Beowulf:                            With sage words I give thanks to the Lord of All, the Glory-King, Eternal Lord, for these spoils of war, which I here stare upon, of these such which I must hand down to my chieftains before the slaughter day.  Now, laid out in a far-off place, I have traded in my common sense for a hoard of treasures, having given cause once again to the troubling of the chieftains!  I may not long be here.  Abounding-fame calls for the common man to make at the wave’s headland a brightness after the casket; that, too, shall raise up memories for my chieftains high on Hron’s Cape, that then the sea-benders will call it Beowulf’s Barrow, those whose fleet of ships are driven from afar over the flood’s prodding.”

A Youth:                             The thrice unbending leader exchanged with the thane, the spear-valor in years of youth, a gold-flecked helmet, neck-chain, and chainmail, the gilded ring from off the neck, did call out to him to possess them well:

Beowulf:                            You are the end that is left, the last of our kind, of the Waegmundings; the fate of all foretold, all of the earls, my kinsmen to the mead-arrangement; I shall be after them.

A Youth:                             That was the old man’s final word, with commotions in the breast, ere he growls the chest, calls out in abundant upsets; of whether the soul allows him to search out a destiny for those who hold fast to truth.  Then, with insensibilities, the fellow went out by strenuous exertion, having seen there on the earth that most beloved one at life’s end, gathered up in a whimper.

Hoard Narrator:            And so, the killer, the instigating earth-dragon, lay bereaved of old age, having been offered great evil.  No longer must the serpent wield a sinuous arch over the neck chain hoards, but to him was ordained from a hammer’s inheritance, to a hard, abundant-shard of iron’s edges, that from wounds the wide-flyer lay still near the hoard-lodge, rueful in praise.  Afterwards nothing in the sky would offer up one who roamed back and forth in the middle of each night, a strong-minded one eyeing treasured-properties to be seen; but he fell to earth before the handiworks of that advantageous battler.

A Youth:                             For my story goes that on land few of men, strong in the past, held tight, except he who was to advise of daring deeds, that he would be aroused against left over poison-harms, or that the finest ring-place would be scattered by hands, if he would discover the guardian watchman dwelling on the mountain.  Beowulf had become the lord of treasures, the portion stripped bare by death; either one had been carried to the end of the loan of life. 

Geat Narrator:               It was not too long, then, that these battle-obstructers abandoned the holt, some ten together, opportunely lagging in truth, earlier these had not dared to offer a way out in the man-lord’s mighty trouble; but they were ashamed to bear shields, a war-uniform, to where the old man lay;

A Youth:                             Wiglaf was in the spotlight.  He sat worn out, the fighting-champion, near to the shoulders of the lord; it was a small thing for him not to vomit, for water was a weight on him.  He might not on earth keep hold for much longer in these spear-advantaged ways, though he never-the-less well would, it is no small thing of the Almighty to retreat.  By deeds the destiny of God would be given to whichever of these fellows, as now again He does.

Geat Narrator:               At these youngsters, then, a grim answer was to be, ere from one who was completely deprived of his princely sire.

A Youth:                             Wiglaf, son of Weohstan, spoke, seeking out the painfully far away – looking on them in disfavor:

Wiglaf:                                “Ha!  This may be said, that the man-lord, the one who desires to speak truth, who gave you these treasures, with burnished equipment, which you there are standing in, when he on the ale-bench often presented helmet and chainmail to the hall-sitters, a leader to his thanes, he might be three times as likely to find far or near such gear as ours, that he wrothfully discards the war-uniform of refusal, for him this begotten valor.  The nation-king boasted of nothing at all in troubles from ancient-gatherings; indeed, God, the Victor-Almighty, whether that he, the one with the blade, himself makes a miserable wreck of them, this was of complete trouble to them.  Though, to give effort at the war, little might I help him with the life-spirit, and so going out over my measure of ability.  For you, this meal was more of the same, then with the sword I dropped down vigorous-troubles, a weaker fire welling up, off away from understanding.  Too few of the defenders thronged around the leader, then to him the woe became.  Now shall all noble-joy and sword-gift for your kinsmen in the assembly of the subjects have regard for the loved one; there in the able-fortress of each man the land of the ruler must turn to emptiness, when princes from afar are told about the flight of yours, a deed devoid of judgment.  For whichever of the earls, death is a finer thing than a shameful life!

A Youth:                             Then the high-born one commanded that the abundant-work be brought to the attention of that earl-troop, there, up over the cliff-edge, the board shield possessors, sat sadder-minded for the morning-long day, a pair of hopes at the end of the day, of the beloved man and of returning thereafter.

Geat Narrator:               Few were silent for the newer tale, from the one who was not riding, but he spoke truthfully above all of them.

Messenger:                      Now the lord of the Geats, the Weatherer’s leader of rippling desire, is held fast in the death-bed, a mighty rest by wont from the serpent’s deeds; for the elder of the struggles lies on the level with him, sickened by the requests of the knife-axe; for the sword might not work in any wound on that monstrous thing.  Wiglaf, born of Weohstan, sits over Beowulf, over the short-lived others, the earl holds the head in guardianship for hasty-treasures, of love and loathing.  The hope is now for the leaders to lie low for a while, when the king’s fulfillment becomes widely revealed to the Franks and the Frisians.  This was the condition wrought hard against the Hugs when Hygelac came onto the Frisian’s land with any army-fleet from afar, there the Hetware brayed out the battle to him, going out with over-powering force, that the chainmail-valor should collapse upon itself, cut down in the fighting; the old man gave nothing of the spoils of war to the veteran.  Ever since then the Merovingians were a spleen in enmity to us.  No, I do not imagine for one whit the Swede-people will be good for kinship or faithfulness; but it was widely known, that Ongentheow in old age decimated Haethcyn the Hrethling against the Ravenswood, then the War-Shylfings sought out a stop for the meddling by the leader of the Geats.  Soon Ohthere’s father, one of common sense, old and full of incitement, gave out an onslaught to them, ambushed the wave-brim wise, led out the mother of Onela and Ohthere, the bride of the old man brought down to size, having been bereft of gold; and then they followed to a trouble far away, until they were luckily driven, lord-less, into Ravens-holt.  Then the remnant was wearily beset with the wounds of swords by the assigned-army; called out often the whole night long to belittle those who were taken by the arm, quoth he, that they would be on the receiving end of my blades in the morning, some on the gallows-tree to an amusement for the winged birds.  After the sore-mindedness, comfort happened to the huddled group before the day, when they perceived Hygelac’s horn and pulsating more satisfactorily, then the one of goodness came, traveling in the footprints to the leader’s veterans.  The sweat-swath of these Swedes and Geats was widely marked as a mighty-scrape, a war-strife, how with him, then, the nation was weighed down by a blood feud.  Then the one of goodness with his spear bearers was permitted to search out much more sadness, holding fast to common sense, Ongentheow the earl withdrew to an upper place; he had heard of Hygelac’s prowess, valiant-skill; had no faith that he might keep safe offspring and bride against the sea-men, the abundant-benders, a hoard to withstand; then after, under the old earth-walled stockade.  Then was an ancient foreboding for the leaders of the Swedes, Hygelac’s standard came forth undismayed onto that peaceful-plain, when the Hrethlings thronged to attention.  There the blond-haired Ongentheow became driven out, on command from the edges of the swords, that the nation-king should be stolen away, Eofor’s one destiny.  Wulf the Wonreding avenged him with a weapon of anger, that to him for a beating the sweat with poisons sprung forth from under the hair.  Never-the-less he was not so tamed, the old man of the Shylfings, but that mighty thrashing was quickly rewarded with an exchange of worse, when the nation-king retreated thither.  The bold son of Wonred might not give onslaught to the churlish elders, but ere he cut through the helmet on the head of him, that he should collapse in splattered blood, felled onto the broad expanse; he was not to get that fate, but he was a wonderment to him, although that wound was piercing him.  Then his brother was laid out, Hygelac’s thane let that broad implement of hardness, the fantastic old sword, break through the massive helmet, over the wall of a shield-board; then the king, the shepherd of the nation, was dropped in a faraway place, laid out in a circle.  Then the ruler, the one whose strength had been twisted, was raised up by many, made room for him then, that they must wield the mighty-stowage.  The ranks robbed the weakened others, took the iron-chainmail on Ongentheow, together with the hard hilted sword and his helmet; bore to Hygelac the gray-beard’s accoutrement.  He seized onto those spoils of war and fairly guaranteed to them a grant among the leaders, and so completed it; then the lord of the Geats, Hrethel’s heir, he came to the homeland, that war-scrape made payment to Eofor and Wulf with surplus-treasures; gave to either of them of land and linked metal collars by the hundreds of thousand – the man in the middle of the court would be blameless for not granting him this trouble – when they let loose of those remarkable things; and Eofor was presented that only daughter, for a favor to wed, a home-worthy thing.  This is the blood feud and the enmity, that which I had imagined, a mighty-evil to men, to which the leaders of the Swedes search us out, when they learn about the loss of old age for our lord, the one who ever before kept the hoard against the hatreds of others and afterwards stirring the nation to health, what the Shieldings had for an heroic folk-advisor or went even further still in earlship.  Now it is best to be most far off, that we go to look at the nation-king there, and bring this, the one who to us gave neck-chains, onto the pyre-voyage.  So what was in the mind of anyone of those shall not melt, but there is the treasure hoard, clustered gold, grimly traded; and now at last for himself the neck-collars were fiercely paid for: then shall flame devour, a lid put on to cover it up, nothing to move an earl from treasures to memories, nor for a lustrous maiden to have a ring of worth on the neck, but they all shall often tread sad-minded, bereft of gold, nothing for anyone, now the laughter of the army-wise, the games and gleeful visions are laid aside.  Many a morning-cold spear shall be brought forth encircled by palms, hefted up by hands, the strumming of harps is nothing to awaken the valiant, but the abiding raven is equipped to command much over the forebodings, for the eagle to say how, at the eating, he spit them out, against the wolf the weakened are mightily despoiled.

Geat Narrator:               Such was what news the sage more loathsomely spelled out; he did not much lie of the fate nor of the words.  The defenders all arose, went unhappily under Earness, the Eagle’s Nose, in wooly-tear, to look at the wonder.  Then on the sand they found a frame-bed to hold the lost soul, the one who gave to them rings at the appointed times in the past; then the day-end was extinguished for the good ones, that the war-king, the leader of the Weather-Geats, perished in a wonderful death.  But first they were told of a more pitiable small thing, a serpent on the plain, there like a loathsome thing against justice: the dragon-layer was grim-like, defenses-splattered, for the glowing coals had swelled up.

A Youth:                             It was fifty foot-marks long on being laid out; for a while the air-delighter kept hold of the night, thereafter going down, permitted the den’s return; then he was by death held fast, in the end an earthen-furrow had to be used.  Flagons and pitchers stood by him, layers of dishes and a precious sword, deformed, eaten through, so for a thousand winters they had dwelled there deep against the earth.

Geat Narrator:               That was ever, then, an eternal-skill, the gold of the humans, more coiled gold, that this fine ring-place must not be pierced by any fellow, unless God Himself, the Victorious Truth-King, gave that to one who he would to open the hoard, even so whichever of men as Him thought fit – he is the favored of men.

A Youth:                             Then it was marked, that the path was not closed off for these which were unrightfully hidden inside, wrought works under a wall; first the protector was sloughed off by the fearsome one; then the ennobled blood feud was wrathfully made miserable.  It is a wonder where a totally-complete earl could be brought to the end of life’s condition, then may a man not long dwell with his kinsmen in a mead-fine place.  So it was with Beowulf, he sought out these scorched-evils, the guardian of the barrow; could not safely know what his world-portion should come to;

Geat Narrator:               so the prominent leaders appointed it to be buried deep until doom’s day, then that had been done there, the plain heaped with these, abounding with plunders, the ones who pierced it bore blame, that for the sins the shielded sage was held-fast in hell-bands; he had the grace of the past, for it was not the gold gear what-so-ever on which he gazed.

A Youth:                             Wiglaf, son of Weohstan, spoke:

Wiglaf:                                Often many an earl shall long suffer misery by the will of one man, so it is, what was made for us.  We might not have any advice for the beloved leader, the nation’s herder, to learn, that he not greet that gold-warden, he was to long let him lie there, to grow accustomed to weakness until the end of the world; holding to a high-form.  The hoard is gazed upon, grimly put out; that was also a very great fortune, which forced the leader-king thither.  I was there inside and yonder saw that all, the building’s equipment, there was room for me, as thusly afterwards nothing was alive inside under the earth-wall.  I pounced on that, the most far-off hoard-possessions, with the palm of the hand, a burden to strength, carried out hither to the king of mine: then he was still alive, wise and aware.  The old man was all worn out on the hunt, and called out to greet you, bade that you fashion on that distant barrow a casket-place after the deeds of the struggle, for greatness and fame, so he was of men the most full-worthy valiant one in yon wide world, weakened he must possess the blessed-fortress.  After this, now, go out by the other path to see and to search out the troubling fiery gems, the wonder under the wall; I will guide you, that you look closely in annoyance at the neck-chains and broad gold.  When we come out, it will be at the ready, and then to bring with us our lord, the beloved of men, this to be carried with ardor until eventide, there he shall long endure in the Almighty’s protection.

A Youth:                             The offspring of Weohstan called out this instruction, to the hale battle-beast, to the many in health, at the hall-passage, that they bring from afar casket-wood, for the good ones of the gathering, a nation passing away:

Wiglaf:                                Now shall glowing coals devour, - to grow on the dweller laying there – the possessor of strength, of valor, the one who often awaited the scoured iron, then offered with strength the storm of the scourge, a shock over the shield-wall, a shaft neatly held fast, filled up by the arrow, equipment clothed in feathers.

A Youth:                             The son of Weohstan selected from among the means of those remaining seven of the king’s thanes, together as a group, these the finest, the eight-some of the battle-ranks, went under the alert-roof; somebody, the one who on orders went on, bore in the hand an illuminated-placement, a torch. 

Geat Narrator:               By a grant to like, the sages looked to dwell in the finest of places, then it was not in the colors who would pile up that hoard, any portion, when it was unguarded; few of any were mournful, that they would carry out the precious treasures to a most far off place;

A Youth:                             They shoved the full-length dragon, a serpent over the wall-cliff, letting it take a path, the flood makes deep for the herder of the spoils of war.  Then the coiled gold, always dense, was loaded onto the wagon, by princes born, the gray-haired battle-rank to Hrone’s Nose.  Then a pyre was made ready for him, the Geat’s leader, on earth unyielding, with helmets behung, battle-boards, bright chainmails, just as he was requesting; then the famous master, the beloved lord, was laid in the midst, health raised to heaven.  Then on the mountain the most valiant one was to be woken up in victory of the casket-fires: the wood-reek ascending swarthy over the blaze, the billows lay encircled by weeping – a white-wind piled up – until this bone-house he had was broken in more splendid heat.

Geat Narrator:               They were recovering from a grieving-mood, the man-lord’s slaughter uprooted them; just such a maddening-sadness mowed down the Geatish.....

A Youth:                             a grieving-sorrow song for the bound-up shepherd.  Said she, that she was worn out by the nightmare that was approaching, of troops incited to act, her army-youngsters hardly mighty-full, in pain and haft-terror.

Geat Narrator:               Heaven swallowed the reek.  Then a protective shelter was made for the chief of the Weather-Geats, on high ground, it was lofty and broad,

A Youth:                             and in ten days the beacon of the battle-numbered was betimbered, as a wide marker for the benders on the journey; the remains of the brands were expertly worked into the wall, as it might be found most worthy among the foremost of men. On the mountain they took care of doing both, all such works and signet rings, such as beforehand evil-heeding men had drug off from on the hoard; granted leave to the earth to hold the earl’s possessions, gold in the grit, there it now again lives so useless to old men, so it ever was.

Geat Narrator:               Then twelve of the earls, offspring of princes, rode on battle-beasts around the common man and would speak about the man, to drive out a maddening-word, to announce with grief, the king to moan; advice to the earlship and his entire-work; so deemed by the veterans, so it is owed, that a man his struggle-lord will plunder with words, freely with vigor, then he shall become led forth off the body-home.

A Youth:                             So the hearth-companions were made to face the fate for the leader of the Geats, a lord’s stirring; they said of the kings of the world, that he was the mildest of men and a most discerning man, the gentlest of chieftains and the most yearningly admirable.