Here is a saw blade eat up

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Mmmmm, tasty.

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Just like mamma used to make!

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Eh? Huh? Whaaaa?

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Purples special place.

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I want a little red wagon

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So you can pull around your minions to the park?

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No way man they are pulling me!

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In Memoriam A.H.H.
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Strong Son of God, immortal Love,
Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
By faith, and faith alone, embrace,
Believing where we cannot prove;


Thine are these orbs of light and shade;
Thou madest Life in man and brute;
Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot
Is on the skull which thou hast made.


Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:
Thou madest man, he knows not why,
He thinks he was not made to die;
And thou hast made him: thou art just.


Thou seemest human and divine,
The highest, holiest manhood, thou.
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.


Our little systems have their day;
They have their day and cease to be:
They are but broken lights of thee,
And thou, O Lord, art more than they.


We have but faith: we cannot know;
For knowledge is of things we see
And yet we trust it comes from thee,
A beam in darkness: let it grow.


Let knowledge grow from more to more,
But more of reverence in us dwell;
That mind and soul, according well,
May make one music as before,


But vaster. We are fools and slight;
We mock thee when we do not fear:
But help thy foolish ones to bear;
Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.


Forgive what seem'd my sin in me;
What seem'd my worth since I began;
For merit lives from man to man,
And not from man, O Lord, to thee.


Forgive my grief for one removed,
Thy creature, whom I found so fair.
I trust he lives in thee, and there
I find him worthier to be loved.


Forgive these wild and wandering cries,
Confusions of a wasted youth;
Forgive them where they fail in truth,
And in thy wisdom make me wise.


1849.





I
I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things.


But who shall so forecast the years
And find in loss a gain to match?
Or reach a hand thro' time to catch
The far-off interest of tears?


Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd,
Let darkness keep her raven gloss:
Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss,
To dance with death, to beat the ground,


Than that the victor Hours should scorn
The long result of love, and boast,
`Behold the man that loved and lost,
But all he was is overworn.'





II
Old Yew, which graspest at the stones
That name the under-lying dead,
Thy fibres net the dreamless head,
Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.


The seasons bring the flower again,
And bring the firstling to the flock;
And in the dusk of thee, the clock
Beats out the little lives of men.


O, not for thee the glow, the bloom,
Who changest not in any gale,
Nor branding summer suns avail
To touch thy thousand years of gloom:


And gazing on thee, sullen tree,
Sick for thy stubborn hardihood,
I seem to fail from out my blood
And grow incorporate into thee.





III
O Sorrow, cruel fellowship,
O Priestess in the vaults of Death,
O sweet and bitter in a breath,
What whispers from thy lying lip?


'The stars,' she whispers, `blindly run;
A web is wov'n across the sky;
From out waste places comes a cry,
And murmurs from the dying sun:


'And all the phantom, Nature, stands—
With all the music in her tone,
A hollow echo of my own,—
A hollow form with empty hands.'


And shall I take a thing so blind,
Embrace her as my natural good;
Or crush her, like a vice of blood,
Upon the threshold of the mind?





IV
To Sleep I give my powers away;
My will is bondsman to the dark;
I sit within a helmless bark,
And with my heart I muse and say:


O heart, how fares it with thee now,
That thou should'st fail from thy desire,
Who scarcely darest to inquire,
'What is it makes me beat so low?'


Something it is which thou hast lost,
Some pleasure from thine early years.
Break, thou deep vase of chilling tears,
That grief hath shaken into frost!


Such clouds of nameless trouble cross
All night below the darken'd eyes;
With morning wakes the will, and cries,
'Thou shalt not be the fool of loss.'





V
I sometimes hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel;
For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.


But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise,
Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.


In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold:
But that large grief which these enfold
Is given in outline and no more.





VI
One writes, that `Other friends remain,'
That `Loss is common to the race'—
And common is the commonplace,
And vacant chaff well meant for grain.


That loss is common would not make
My own less bitter, rather more:
Too common! Never morning wore
To evening, but some heart did break.


O father, wheresoe'er thou be,
Who pledgest now thy gallant son;
A shot, ere half thy draught be done,
Hath still'd the life that beat from thee.


O mother, praying God will save
Thy sailor,—while thy head is bow'd,
His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud
Drops in his vast and wandering grave.


Ye know no more than I who wrought
At that last hour to please him well;
Who mused on all I had to tell,
And something written, something thought;


Expecting still his advent home;
And ever met him on his way
With wishes, thinking, `here to-day,'
Or `here to-morrow will he come.'


O somewhere, meek, unconscious dove,
That sittest ranging golden hair;
And glad to find thyself so fair,
Poor child, that waitest for thy love!


For now her father's chimney glows
In expectation of a guest;
And thinking `this will please him best,'
She takes a riband or a rose;


For he will see them on to-night;
And with the thought her colour burns;
And, having left the glass, she turns
Once more to set a ringlet right;


And, even when she turn'd, the curse
Had fallen, and her future Lord
Was drown'd in passing thro' the ford,
Or kill'd in falling from his horse.


O what to her shall be the end?
And what to me remains of good?
To her, perpetual maidenhood,
And unto me no second friend.





VII
Dark house, by which once more I stand
Here in the long unlovely street,
Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, waiting for a hand,


A hand that can be clasp'd no more—
Behold me, for I cannot sleep,
And like a guilty thing I creep
At earliest morning to the door.


He is not here; but far away
The noise of life begins again,
And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain
On the bald street breaks the blank day.





VIII
A happy lover who has come
To look on her that loves him well,
Who 'lights and rings the gateway bell,
And learns her gone and far from home;


He saddens, all the magic light
Dies off at once from bower and hall,
And all the place is dark, and all
The chambers emptied of delight:


So find I every pleasant spot
In which we two were wont to meet,
The field, the chamber, and the street,
For all is dark where thou art not.


Yet as that other, wandering there
In those deserted walks, may find
A flower beat with rain and wind,
Which once she foster'd up with care;


So seems it in my deep regret,
O my forsaken heart, with thee
And this poor flower of poesy
Which little cared for fades not yet.


But since it pleased a vanish'd eye,
I go to plant it on his tomb,
That if it can it there may bloom,
Or, dying, there at least may die.





IX
Fair ship, that from the Italian shore
Sailest the placid ocean-plains
With my lost Arthur's loved remains,
Spread thy full wings, and waft him o'er.


So draw him home to those that mourn
In vain; a favourable speed
Ruffle thy mirror'd mast, and lead
Thro' prosperous floods his holy urn.


All night no ruder air perplex
Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright
As our pure love, thro' early light
Shall glimmer on the dewy decks.


Sphere all your lights around, above;
Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow;
Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now,
My friend, the brother of my love;


My Arthur, whom I shall not see
Till all my widow'd race be run;
Dear as the mother to the son,
More than my brothers are to me.





X
I hear the noise about thy keel;
I hear the bell struck in the night:
I see the cabin-window bright;
I see the sailor at the wheel.


Thou bring'st the sailor to his wife,
And travell'd men from foreign lands;
And letters unto trembling hands;
And, thy dark freight, a vanish'd life.


So bring him; we have idle dreams:
This look of quiet flatters thus
Our home-bred fancies. O to us,
The fools of habit, sweeter seems


To rest beneath the clover sod,
That takes the sunshine and the rains,
Or where the kneeling hamlet drains
The chalice of the grapes of God;


Than if with thee the roaring wells
Should gulf him fathom-deep in brine;
And hands so often clasp'd in mine,
Should toss with tangle and with shells.





XI
Calm is the morn without a sound,
Calm as to suit a calmer grief,
And only thro' the faded leaf
The chestnut pattering to the ground:


Calm and deep peace on this high world,
And on these dews that drench the furze,
And all the silvery gossamers
That twinkle into green and gold:


Calm and still light on yon great plain
That sweeps with all its autumn bowers,
And crowded farms and lessening towers,
To mingle with the bounding main:


Calm and deep peace in this wide air,
These leaves that redden to the fall;
And in my heart, if calm at all,
If any calm, a calm despair:


Calm on the seas, and silver sleep,
And waves that sway themselves in rest,
And dead calm in that noble breast
Which heaves but with the heaving deep.





XII
Lo, as a dove when up she springs
To bear thro' Heaven a tale of woe,
Some dolorous message knit below
The wild pulsation of her wings;


Like her I go; I cannot stay;
I leave this mortal ark behind,
A weight of nerves without a mind,
And leave the cliffs, and haste away


O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large,
And reach the glow of southern skies,
And see the sails at distance rise,
And linger weeping on the marge,


And saying; `Comes he thus, my friend?
Is this the end of all my care?'
And circle moaning in the air:
'Is this the end? Is this the end?'


And forward dart again, and play
About the prow, and back return
To where the body sits, and learn
That I have been an hour away.





XIII
Tears of the widower, when he sees
A late-lost form that sleep reveals,
And moves his doubtful arms, and feels
Her place is empty, fall like these;


Which weep a loss for ever new,
A void where heart on heart reposed;
And, where warm hands have prest and closed,
Silence, till I be silent too.


Which weep the comrade of my choice,
An awful thought, a life removed,
The human-hearted man I loved,
A Spirit, not a breathing voice.


Come, Time, and teach me, many years,
I do not suffer in a dream;
For now so strange do these things seem,
Mine eyes have leisure for their tears;


My fancies time to rise on wing,
And glance about the approaching sails,
As tho' they brought but merchants' bales,
And not the burthen that they bring.





XIV
If one should bring me this report,
That thou hadst touch'd the land to-day,
And I went down unto the quay,
And found thee lying in the port;


And standing, muffled round with woe,
Should see thy passengers in rank
Come stepping lightly down the plank,
And beckoning unto those they know;


And if along with these should come
The man I held as half-divine;
Should strike a sudden hand in mine,
And ask a thousand things of home;


And I should tell him all my pain,
And how my life had droop'd of late,
And he should sorrow o'er my state
And marvel what possess'd my brain;


And I perceived no touch of change,
No hint of death in all his frame,
But found him all in all the same,
I should not feel it to be strange.





XV
To-night the winds begin to rise
And roar from yonder dropping day:
The last red leaf is whirl'd away,
The rooks are blown about the skies;


The forest crack'd, the waters curl'd,
The cattle huddled on the lea;
And wildly dash'd on tower and tree
The sunbeam strikes along the world:


And but for fancies, which aver
That all thy motions gently pass
Athwart a plane of molten glass,
I scarce could brook the strain and stir


That makes the barren branches loud;
And but for fear it is not so,
The wild unrest that lives in woe
Would dote and pore on yonder cloud


That rises upward always higher,
And onward drags a labouring breast,
And topples round the dreary west,
A looming bastion fringed with fire.





XVI
What words are these have falle'n from me?
Can calm despair and wild unrest
Be tenants of a single breast,
Or sorrow such a changeling be?


Or cloth she only seem to take
The touch of change in calm or storm;
But knows no more of transient form
In her deep self, than some dead lake


That holds the shadow of a lark
Hung in the shadow of a heaven?
Or has the shock, so harshly given,
Confused me like the unhappy bark


That strikes by night a craggy shelf,
And staggers blindly ere she sink?
And stunn'd me from my power to think
And all my knowledge of myself;


And made me that delirious man
Whose fancy fuses old and new,
And flashes into false and true,
And mingles all without a plan?





XVII
Thou comest, much wept for: such a breeze
Compell'd thy canvas, and my prayer
Was as the whisper of an air
To breathe thee over lonely seas.


For I in spirit saw thee move
Thro' circles of the bounding sky,
Week after week: the days go by:
Come quick, thou bringest all I love.


Henceforth, wherever thou may'st roam,
My blessing, like a line of light,
Is on the waters day and night,
And like a beacon guards thee home.


So may whatever tempest mars
Mid-ocean, spare thee, sacred bark;
And balmy drops in summer dark
Slide from the bosom of the stars.


So kind an office hath been done,
Such precious relics brought by thee;
The dust of him I shall not see
Till all my widow'd race be run.





XVIII
'Tis well; 'tis something; we may stand
Where he in English earth is laid,
And from his ashes may be made
The violet of his native land.


'Tis little; but it looks in truth
As if the quiet bones were blest
Among familiar names to rest
And in the places of his youth.


Come then, pure hands, and bear the head
That sleeps or wears the mask of sleep,
And come, whatever loves to weep,
And hear the ritual of the dead.


Ah yet, ev'n yet, if this might be,
I, falling on his faithful heart,
Would breathing thro' his lips impart
The life that almost dies in me;


That dies not, but endures with pain,
And slowly forms the firmer mind,
Treasuring the look it cannot find,
The words that are not heard again.





XIX
The Danube to the Severn gave
The darken'd heart that beat no more;
They laid him by the pleasant shore,
And in the hearing of the wave.


There twice a day the Severn fills;
The salt sea-water passes by,
And hushes half the babbling Wye,
And makes a silence in the hills.


The Wye is hush'd nor moved along,
And hush'd my deepest grief of all,
When fill'd with tears that cannot fall,
I brim with sorrow drowning song.


The tide flows down, the wave again
Is vocal in its wooded walls;
My deeper anguish also falls,
And I can speak a little then.





XX
The lesser griefs that may be said,
That breathe a thousand tender vows,
Are but as servants in a house
Where lies the master newly dead;


Who speak their feeling as it is,
And weep the fulness from the mind:
`It will be hard,' they say, `to find
Another service such as this.'


My lighter moods are like to these,
That out of words a comfort win;
But there are other griefs within,
And tears that at their fountain freeze;


For by the hearth the children sit
Cold in that atmosphere of Death,
And scarce endure to draw the breath,
Or like to noiseless phantoms flit;


But open converse is there none,
So much the vital spirits sink
To see the vacant chair, and think,
'How good! how kind! and he is gone.'





XXI
I sing to him that rests below,
And, since the grasses round me wave,
I take the grasses of the grave,
And make them pipes whereon to blow.


The traveller hears me now and then,
And sometimes harshly will he speak:
`This fellow would make weakness weak,
And melt the waxen hearts of men.'


Another answers, `Let him be,
He loves to make parade of pain
That with his piping he may gain
The praise that comes to constancy.'


A third is wroth: `Is this an hour
For private sorrow's barren song,
When more and more the people throng
The chairs and thrones of civil power?


'A time to sicken and to swoon,
When Science reaches forth her arms
To feel from world to world, and charms
Her secret from the latest moon?'


Behold, ye speak an idle thing:
Ye never knew the sacred dust:
I do but sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets sing:


And one is glad; her note is gay,
For now her little ones have ranged;
And one is sad; her note is changed,
Because her brood is stol'n away.





XXII
The path by which we twain did go,
Which led by tracts that pleased us well,
Thro' four sweet years arose and fell,
From flower to flower, from snow to snow:


And we with singing cheer'd the way,
And, crown'd with all the season lent,
From April on to April went,
And glad at heart from May to May:


But where the path we walk'd began
To slant the fifth autumnal slope,
As we descended following Hope,
There sat the Shadow fear'd of man;


Who broke our fair companionship,
And spread his mantle dark and cold,
And wrapt thee formless in the fold,
And dull'd the murmur on thy lip,


And bore thee where I could not see
Nor follow, tho' I walk in haste,
And think, that somewhere in the waste
The Shadow sits and waits for me.





XXIII
Now, sometimes in my sorrow shut,
Or breaking into song by fits,
Alone, alone, to where he sits,
The Shadow cloak'd from head to foot,


Who keeps the keys of all the creeds,
I wander, often falling lame,
And looking back to whence I came,
Or on to where the pathway leads;


And crying, How changed from where it ran
Thro' lands where not a leaf was dumb;
But all the lavish hills would hum
The murmur of a happy Pan:


When each by turns was guide to each,
And Fancy light from Fancy caught,
And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought
Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech;


And all we met was fair and good,
And all was good that Time could bring,
And all the secret of the Spring
Moved in the chambers of the blood;


And many an old philosophy
On Argive heights divinely sang,
And round us all the thicket rang
To many a flute of Arcady.





XXIV
And was the day of my delight
As pure and perfect as I say?
The very source and fount of Day
Is dash'd with wandering isles of night.


If all was good and fair we met,
This earth had been the Paradise
It never look'd to human eyes
Since our first Sun arose and set.


And is it that the haze of grief
Makes former gladness loom so great?
The lowness of the present state,
That sets the past in this relief?


Or that the past will always win
A glory from its being far;
And orb into the perfect star
We saw not, when we moved therein?





XXV
I know that this was Life,—the track
Whereon with equal feet we fared;
And then, as now, the day prepared
The daily burden for the back.


But this it was that made me move
As light as carrier-birds in air;
I loved the weight I had to bear,
Because it needed help of Love:


Nor could I weary, heart or limb,
When mighty Love would cleave in twain
The lading of a single pain,
And part it, giving half to him.





XXVI
Still onward winds the dreary way;
I with it; for I long to prove
No lapse of moons can canker Love,
Whatever fickle tongues may say.


And if that eye which watches guilt
And goodness, and hath power to see
Within the green the moulder'd tree,
And towers fall'n as soon as built—


Oh, if indeed that eye foresee
Or see (in Him is no before)
In more of life true life no more
And Love the indifference to be,


Then might I find, ere yet the morn
Breaks hither over Indian seas,
That Shadow waiting with the keys,
To shroud me from my proper scorn.





XXVII
I envy not in any moods
The captive void of noble rage,
The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods:


I envy not the beast that takes
His license in the field of time,
Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,
To whom a conscience never wakes;


Nor, what may count itself as blest,
The heart that never plighted troth
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;
Nor any want-begotten rest.


I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.





XXVIII
The time draws near the birth of Christ:
The moon is hid; the night is still;
The Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the mist.


Four voices of four hamlets round,
From far and near, on mead and moor,
Swell out and fail, as if a door
Were shut between me and the sound:


Each voice four changes on the wind,
That now dilate, and now decrease,
Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace,
Peace and goodwill, to all mankind.


This year I slept and woke with pain,
I almost wish'd no more to wake,
And that my hold on life would break
Before I heard those bells again:


But they my troubled spirit rule,
For they controll'd me when a boy;
They bring me sorrow touch'd with joy,
The merry merry bells of Yule.





XXIX
With such compelling cause to grieve
As daily vexes household peace,
And chains regret to his decease,
How dare we keep our Christmas-eve;


Which brings no more a welcome guest
To enrich the threshold of the night
With shower'd largess of delight
In dance and song and game and jest?


Yet go, and while the holly boughs
Entwine the cold baptismal font,
Make one wreath more for Use and Wont,
That guard the portals of the house;


Old sisters of a day gone by,
Gray nurses, loving nothing new;
Why should they miss their yearly due
Before their time? They too will die.





XXX
With trembling fingers did we weave
The holly round the Chrismas hearth;
A rainy cloud possess'd the earth,
And sadly fell our Christmas-eve.


At our old pastimes in the hall
We gambol'd, making vain pretence
Of gladness, with an awful sense
Of one mute Shadow watching all.


We paused: the winds were in the beech:
We heard them sweep the winter land;
And in a circle hand-in-hand
Sat silent, looking each at each.


Then echo-like our voices rang;
We sung, tho' every eye was dim,
A merry song we sang with him
Last year: impetuously we sang:br>

We ceased:a gentler feeling crept
Upon us: surely rest is meet:
`They rest,' we said, `their sleep is sweet,'
And silence follow'd, and we wept.


Our voices took a higher range;
Once more we sang: `They do not die
Nor lose their mortal sympathy,
Nor change to us, although they change;


'Rapt from the fickle and the frail
With gather'd power, yet the same,
Pierces the keen seraphic flame
From orb to orb, from veil to veil.'


Rise, happy morn, rise, holy morn,
Draw forth the cheerful day from night:
O Father, touch the east, and light
The light that shone when Hope was born.





XXXI
When Lazarus left his charnel-cave,
And home to Mary's house return'd,
Was this demanded—if he yearn'd
To hear her weeping by his grave?


'Where wert thou, brother, those four days?'
There lives no record of reply,
Which telling what it is to die
Had surely added praise to praise.


From every house the neighbours met,
The streets were fill'd with joyful sound,
A solemn gladness even crown'd
The purple brows of Olivet.


Behold a man raised up by Christ!
The rest remaineth unreveal'd;
He told it not; or something seal'd
The lips of that Evangelist.





XXXII
Her eyes are homes of silent prayer,
Nor other thought her mind admits
But, he was dead, and there he sits,
And he that brought him back is there.


Then one deep love doth supersede
All other, when her ardent gaze
Roves from the living brother's face,
And rests upon the Life indeed.


All subtle thought, all curious fears,
Borne down by gladness so complete,
She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet
With costly spikenard and with tears.


Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers,
Whose loves in higher love endure;
What souls possess themselves so pure,
Or is there blessedness like theirs?





XXXIII
O thou that after toil and storm
Mayst seem to have reach'd a purer air,
Whose faith has centre everywhere,
Nor cares to fix itself to form,


Leave thou thy sister when she prays,
Her early Heaven, her happy views;
Nor thou with shadow'd hint confuse
A life that leads melodious days.


Her faith thro' form is pure as thine,
Her hands are quicker unto good:
Oh, sacred be the flesh and blood
To which she links a truth divine!


See thou, that countess reason ripe
In holding by the law within,
Thou fail not in a world of sin,
And ev'n for want of such a type.





XXXIV
My own dim life should teach me this,
That life shall live for evermore,
Else earth is darkness at the core,
And dust and ashes all that is;


This round of green, this orb of flame,
Fantastic beauty such as lurks
In some wild Poet, when he works
Without a conscience or an aim.


What then were God to such as I?
'Twere hardly worth my while to choose
Of things all mortal, or to use
A tattle patience ere I die;


'Twere best at once to sink to peace,
Like birds the charming serpent draws,
To drop head-foremost in the jaws
Of vacant darkness and to cease.





XXXV
Yet if some voice that man could trust
Should murmur from the narrow house,
`The cheeks drop in; the body bows;
Man dies: nor is there hope in dust:'


Might I not say? `Yet even here,
But for one hour, O Love, I strive
To keep so sweet a thing alive:'
But I should turn mine ears and hear


The moanings of the homeless sea,
The sound of streams that swift or slow
Draw down Æonian hills, and sow
The dust of continents to be;


And Love would answer with a sigh,
`The sound of that forgetful shore
Will change my sweetness more and more,
Half-dead to know that I shall die.'


O me, what profits it to put
An idle case? If Death were seen
At first as Death, Love had not been,
Or been in narrowest working shut,


Mere fellowship of sluggish moods,
Or in his coarsest Satyr-shape
Had bruised the herb and crush'd the grape,
And bask'd and batten'd in the woods.





XXXVI
Tho' truths in manhood darkly join,
Deep-seated in our mystic frame,
We yield all blessing to the name
Of Him that made them current coin;


For Wisdom dealt with mortal powers,
Where truth in closest words shall fail,
When truth embodied in a tale
Shall enter in at lowly doors.


And so the Word had breath, and wrought
With human hands the creed of creeds
In loveliness of perfect deeds,
More strong than all poetic thought;


Which he may read that binds the sheaf,
Or builds the house, or digs the grave,
And those wild eyes that watch the wave
In roarings round the coral reef.





XXXVII
Urania speaks with darken'd brow:
`Thou pratest here where thou art least;
This faith has many a purer priest,
And many an abler voice than thou.


'Go down beside thy native rill,
On thy Parnassus set thy feet,
And hear thy laurel whisper sweet
About the ledges of the hill.'


And my Melpomene replies,
A touch of shame upon her cheek:
`I am not worthy ev'n to speak
Of thy prevailing mysteries;


'For I am but an earthly Muse,
And owning but a little art
To lull with song an aching heart,
And render human love his dues;


'But brooding on the dear one dead,
And all he said of things divine,
(And dear to me as sacred wine
To dying lips is all he said),


'I murmur'd, as I came along,
Of comfort clasp'd in truth reveal'd;
And loiter'd in the master's field,
And darken'd sanctities with song.'





XXXVIII
With weary steps I loiter on,
Tho' always under alter'd skies
The purple from the distance dies,
My prospect and horizon gone.


No joy the blowing season gives,
The herald melodies of spring,
But in the songs I love to sing
A doubtful gleam of solace lives.


If any care for what is here
Survive in spirits render'd free,
Then are these songs I sing of thee
Not all ungrateful to thine ear.





XXXIX
Old warder of these buried bones,
And answering now my random stroke
With fruitful cloud and living smoke,
Dark yew, that graspest at the stones


And dippest toward the dreamless head,
To thee too comes the golden hour
When flower is feeling after flower;
But Sorrow—fixt upon the dead,


And darkening the dark graves of men,—
What whisper'd from her lying lips?
Thy gloom is kindled at the tips,
And passes into gloom again.





XL
Could we forget the widow'd hour
And look on Spirits breathed away,
As on a maiden in the day
When first she wears her orange-flower!


When crown'd with blessing she doth rise
To take her latest leave of home,
And hopes and light regrets that come
Make April of her tender eyes;


And doubtful joys the father move,
And tears are on the mother's face,
As parting with a long embrace
She enters other realms of love;


Her office there to rear, to teach,
Becoming as is meet and fit
A link among the days, to knit
The generations each with each;


And, doubtless, unto thee is given
A life that bears immortal fruit
In those great offices that suit
The full-grown energies of heaven.


Ay me, the difference I discern!
How often shall her old fireside
Be cheer'd with tidings of the bride,
How often she herself return,


And tell them all they would have told,
And bring her babe, and make her boast,
Till even those that miss'd her most
Shall count new things as dear as old:


But thou and I have shaken hands,
Till growing winters lay me low;
My paths are in the fields I know.
And thine in undiscover'd lands.





XLI
Thy spirit ere our fatal loss
Did ever rise from high to higher;
As mounts the heavenward altar-fire,
As flies the lighter thro' the gross.


But thou art turn'd to something strange,
And I have lost the links that bound
Thy changes; here upon the ground,
No more partaker of thy change.


Deep folly! yet that this could be—
That I could wing my will with might
To leap the grades of life and light,
And flash at once, my friend, to thee.


For tho' my nature rarely yields
To that vague fear implied in death;
Nor shudders at the gulfs beneath,
The howlings from forgotten fields;


Yet oft when sundown skirts the moor
An inner trouble I behold,
A spectral doubt which makes me cold,
That I shall be thy mate no more,


Tho' following with an upward mind
The wonders that have come to thee,
Thro' all the secular to-be,
But evermore a life behind.





XLII
I vex my heart with fancies dim:
He still outstript me in the race;
It was but unity of place
That made me dream I rank'd with him.


And so may Place retain us still,
And he the much-beloved again,
A lord of large experience, train
To riper growth the mind and will:


And what delights can equal those
That stir the spirit's inner deeps,
When one that loves but knows not, reaps
A truth from one that loves and knows?





XLIII
If Sleep and Death be truly one,
And every spirit's folded bloom
Thro' all its intervital gloom
In some long trance should slumber on;


Unconscious of the sliding hour,
Bare of the body, might it last,
And silent traces of the past
Be all the colour of the flower:


So then were nothing lost to man;
So that still garden of the souls
In many a figured leaf enrolls
The total world since life began;


And love will last as pure and whole
As when he loved me here in Time,
And at the spiritual prime
Rewaken with the dawning soul.





XLIV
How fares it with the happy dead?
For here the man is more and more;
But he forgets the days before
God shut the doorways of his head.


The days have vanish'd, tone and tint,
And yet perhaps the hoarding sense
Gives out at times (he knows not whence)
A little flash, a mystic hint;


And in the long harmonious years
(If Death so taste Lethean springs
May some dim touch of earthly things)
Surprise thee ranging with thy peers.


If such a dreamy touch should fall,
O, turn thee round, resolve the doubt;
My guardian angel will speak out
In that high place, and tell thee all.





XLV
The baby new to earth and sky,
What time his tender palm is prest
Against the circle of the breast,
Has never thought that `this is I:'


But as he grows he gathers much,
And learns the use of `I' and `me,'
And finds `I am not what I see,
And other than the things I touch.'


So rounds he to a separate mind
From whence clear memory may begin,
As thro' the frame that binds him in
His isolation grows defined.


This use may lie in blood and breath,
Which else were fruitless of their due,
Had man to learn himself anew
Beyond the second birth of Death.





XLVI
We ranging down this lower track,
The path we came by, thorn and flower,
Is shadow'd by the growing hour,
Lest life should fail in looking back.


So be it: there no shade can last
In that deep dawn behind the tomb,
But clear from marge to marge shall bloom
The eternal landscape of the past;


A lifelong tract of time reveal'd;
The fruitful hours of still increase;
Days order'd in a wealthy peace,
And those five years its richest field.


O Love, thy province were not large,
A bounded field, nor stretching far;
Look also, Love, a brooding star,
A rosy warmth from marge to marge.





XLVII
That each, who seems a separate whole,
Should move his rounds, and fusing all
The skirts of self again, should fall
Remerging in the general Soul,


Is faith as vague as all unsweet:
Eternal form shall still divide
The eternal soul from all beside;
And I shall know him when we meet:


And we shall sit at endless feast,
Enjoying each the other's good:
What vaster dream can hit the mood
Of Love on earth? He seeks at least


Upon the last and sharpest height,
Before the spirits fade away,
Some landing-place, to clasp and say,
'Farewell! We lose ourselves in light.'





XLVIII
If these brief lays, of Sorrow born,
Were taken to be such as closed
Grave doubts and answers here proposed,
Then these were such as men might scorn:


Her care is not to part and prove;
She takes, when harsher moods remit,
What slender shade of doubt may flit,
And makes it vassal unto love:


And hence, indeed, she sports with words,
But better serves a wholesome law,
And holds it sin and shame to draw
The deepest measure from the chords:


Nor dare she trust a larger lay,
But rather loosens from the lip
Short swallow-flights of song, that dip
Their wings in tears, and skim away.





XLIX
From art, from nature, from the schools,
Let random influences glance,
Like light in many a shiver'd lance
That breaks about the dappled pools:


The lightest wave of thought shall lisp,
The fancy's tenderest eddy wreathe,
The slightest air of song shall breathe
To make the sullen surface crisp.


And look thy look, and go thy way,
But blame not thou the winds that make
The seeming-wanton ripple break,
The tender-pencil'd shadow play.


Beneath all fancied hopes and fears
Ay me, the sorrow deepens down.
Whose muffled motions blindly drown
The bases of my life in tears.





L
Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of Being slow.


Be near me when the sensuous frame
Is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust;
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And Life, a Fury slinging flame.


Be near me when my faith is dry,
And men the flies of latter spring,
That lay their eggs, and sting and sing
And weave their petty cells and die.


Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife,
And on the low dark verge of life
The twilight of eternal day.





LI
Do we indeed desire the dead
Should still be near us at our side?
Is there no baseness we would hide?
No inner vileness that we dread?


Shall he for whose applause I strove,
I had such reverence for his blame,
See with clear eye some hidden shame
And I be lessen'd in his love?


I wrong the grave with fears untrue:
Shall love be blamed for want of faith?
There must be wisdom with great Death:
The dead shall look me thro' and thro'.


Be near us when we climb or fall:
Ye watch, like God, the rolling hours
With larger other eyes than ours,
To make allowance for us all.





LII
I cannot love thee as I ought,
For love reflects the thing beloved;
My words are only words, and moved
Upon the topmost froth of thought.


'Yet blame not thou thy plaintive song,'
The Spirit of true love replied;
`Thou canst not move me from thy side,
Nor human frailty do me wrong.


'What keeps a spirit wholly true
To that ideal which he bears?
What record? not the sinless years
That breathed beneath the Syrian blue:


'So fret not, like an idle girl,
That life is dash'd with flecks of sin.
Abide: thy wealth is gather'd in,
When Time hath sunder'd shell from pearl.'





LIII
How many a father have I seen,
A sober man, among his boys,
Whose youth was full of foolish noise,
Who wears his manhood hale and green:


And dare we to this fancy give,
That had the wild oat not been sown,
The soil, left barren, scarce had grown
The grain by which a man may live?


Or, if we held the doctrine sound
For life outliving heats of youth,
Yet who would preach it as a truth
To those that eddy round and round?


Hold thou the good: define it well:
For fear divine Philosophy
Should push beyond her mark, and be
Procuress to the Lords of Hell.





LIV
Oh yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;


That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroy'd,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;


That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shrivell'd in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another's gain.


Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last—far off—at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.


So runs my dream: but what am I?
An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.





LV
The wish, that of the living whole
No life may fail beyond the grave,
Derives it not from what we have
The likest God within the soul?


Are God and Nature then at strife,
That Nature lends such evil dreams?
So careful of the type she seems,
So careless of the single life;


That I, considering everywhere
Her secret meaning in her deeds,
And finding that of fifty seeds
She often brings but one to bear,


I falter where I firmly trod,
And falling with my weight of cares
Upon the great world's altar-stairs
That slope thro' darkness up to God,


I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,
And gather dust and chaff, and call
To what I feel is Lord of all,
And faintly trust the larger hope.





LVI
'So careful of the type?' but no.
From scarped cliff and quarried stone
She cries, `A thousand types are gone:
I care for nothing, all shall go.


'Thou makest thine appeal to me:
I bring to life, I bring to death:
The spirit does but mean the breath:
I know no more.' And he, shall he,


Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair,
Such splendid purpose in his eyes,
Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies,
Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer,


Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation's final law—
Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shriek'd against his creed—


Who loved, who suffer'd countless ills,
Who battled for the True, the Just,
Be blown about the desert dust,
Or seal'd within the iron hills?


No more? A monster then, a dream,
A discord. Dragons of the prime,
That tare each other in their slime,
Were mellow music match'd with him.


O life as futile, then, as frail!
O for thy voice to soothe and bless!
What hope of answer, or redress?
Behind the veil, behind the veil.





LVII
Peace; come away: the song of woe
Is after all an earthly song:
Peace; come away: we do him wrong
To sing so wildly: let us go.


Come; let us go: your cheeks are pale;
But half my life I leave behind:
Methinks my friend is richly shrined;
But I shall pass; my work will fail.


Yet in these ears, till hearing dies,
One set slow bell will seem to toll
The passing of the sweetest soul
That ever look'd with human eyes.


I hear it now, and o'er and o'er,
Eternal greetings to the dead;
And `Ave, Ave, Ave,' said,
'Adieu, adieu,' for evermore.





LVIII
In those sad words I took farewell:
Like echoes in sepulchral halls,
As drop by drop the water falls
In vaults and catacombs, they fell;


And, falling, idly broke the peace
Of hearts that beat from day to day,
Half-conscious of their dying clay,
And those cold crypts where they shall cease.


The high Muse answer'd: `Wherefore grieve
Thy brethren with a fruitless tear?
Abide a little longer here,
And thou shalt take a nobler leave.'





LIX
O Sorrow, wilt thou live with me
No casual mistress, but a wife,
My bosom-friend and half of life;
As I confess it needs must be;


O Sorrow, wilt thou rule my blood,
Be sometimes lovely like a bride,
And put thy harsher moods aside,
If thou wilt have me wise and good.


My centred passion cannot move,
Nor will it lessen from to-day;
But I'll have leave at times to play
As with the creature of my love;


And set thee forth, for thou art mine,
With so much hope for years to come,
That, howsoe'er I know thee, some
Could hardly tell what name were thine.





LX
He past; a soul of nobler tone:
My spirit loved and loves him yet,
Like some poor girl whose heart is set
On one whose rank exceeds her own.


He mixing with his proper sphere,
She finds the baseness of her lot,
Half jealous of she knows not what,
And envying all that meet him there.


The little village looks forlorn;
She sighs amid her narrow days,
Moving about the household ways,
In that dark house where she was born.


The foolish neighbors come and go,
And tease her till the day draws by:
At night she weeps, `How vain am I!'
How should he love a thing so low?'





LXI
If, in thy second state sublime,
Thy ransom'd reason change replies
With all the circle of the wise,
The perfect flower of human time;


And if thou cast thine eyes below,
How dimly character'd and slight,
How dwarf'd a growth of cold and night,
How blanch'd with darkness must I grow!


Yet turn thee to the doubtful shore,
Where thy first form was made a man;
I loved thee, Spirit, and love, nor can
The soul of Shakspeare love thee more.





LXII
Tho' if an eye that's downward cast
Could make thee somewhat blench or fail,
Then be my love an idle tale,
And fading legend of the past;


And thou, as one that once declined,
When he was little more than boy,
On some unworthy heart with joy,
But lives to wed an equal mind;


And breathes a novel world, the while
His other passion wholly dies,
Or in the light of deeper eyes
Is matter for a flying smile.





LXIII
Yet pity for a horse o'er-driven,
And love in which my hound has part,
Can hang no weight upon my heart
In its assumptions up to heaven;


And I am so much more than these,
As thou, perchance, art more than I,
And yet I spare them sympathy,
And I would set their pains at ease.


So mayst thou watch me where I weep,
As, unto vaster motions bound,
The circuits of thine orbit round
A higher height, a deeper deep.





LXIV
Dost thou look back on what hath been,
As some divinely gifted man,
Whose life in low estate began
And on a simple village green;


Who breaks his birth's invidious bar,
And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance,
And grapples with his evil star;


Who makes by force his merit known
And lives to clutch the golden keys,
To mould a mighty state's decrees,
And shape the whisper of the throne;


And moving up from high to higher,
Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope
The pillar of a people's hope,
The centre of a world's desire;


Yet feels, as in a pensive dream,
When all his active powers are still,
A distant dearness in the hill,
A secret sweetness in the stream,


The limit of his narrower fate,
While yet beside its vocal springs
He play'd at counsellors and kings,
With one that was his earliest mate;


Who ploughs with pain his native lea
And reaps the labour of his hands,
Or in the furrow musing stands;
'Does my old friend remember me?'





LXV
Sweet soul, do with me as thou wilt;
I lull a fancy trouble-tost
With `Love's too precious to be lost,
A little grain shall not be spilt.'


And in that solace can I sing,
Till out of painful phases wrought
There flutters up a happy thought,
Self-balanced on a lightsome wing:


Since we deserved the name of friends,
And thine effect so lives in me,
A part of mine may live in thee
And move thee on to noble ends.





LXVI
You thought my heart too far diseased;
You wonder when my fancies play
To find me gay among the gay,
Like one with any trifle pleased.


The shade by which my life was crost,
Which makes a desert in the mind,
Has made me kindly with my kind,
And like to him whose sight is lost;


Whose feet are guided thro' the land,
Whose jest among his friends is free,
Who takes the children on his knee,
And winds their curls about his hand:


He plays with threads, he beats his chair
For pastime, dreaming of the sky;
His inner day can never die,
His night of loss is always there.





LXVII
When on my bed the moonlight falls,
I know that in thy place of rest
By that broad water of the west,
There comes a glory on the walls;


Thy marble bright in dark appears,
As slowly steals a silver flame
Along the letters of thy name,
And o'er the number of thy years.


The mystic glory swims away;
From off my bed the moonlight dies;
And closing eaves of wearied eyes
I sleep till dusk is dipt in gray;


And then I know the mist is drawn
A lucid veil from coast to coast,
And in the dark church like a ghost
Thy tablet glimmers to the dawn.





LXVIII
When in the down I sink my head,
Sleep, Death's twin-brother, times my breath;
Sleep, Death's twin-brother, knows not Death,
Nor can I dream of thee as dead:


I walk as ere I walk'd forlorn,
When all our path was fresh with dew,
And all the bugle breezes blew
Reveillée to the breaking morn.


But what is this? I turn about,
I find a trouble in thine eye,
Which makes me sad I know not why,
Nor can my dream resolve the doubt:


But ere the lark hath left the lea
I wake, and I discern the truth;
It is the trouble of my youth
That foolish sleep transfers to thee.





LXIX
I dream'd there would be Spring no more,
That Nature's ancient power was lost:
The streets were black with smoke and frost,
They chatter'd trifles at the door:


I wander'd from the noisy town,
I found a wood with thorny boughs:
I took the thorns to bind my brows,
I wore them like a civic crown:


I met with scoffs, I met with scorns
From youth and babe and hoary hairs:
They call'd me in the public squares
The fool that wears a crown of thorns:


They call'd me fool, they call'd me child:
I found an angel of the night;
The voice was low, the look was bright;
He look'd upon my crown and smiled:


He reach'd the glory of a hand,
That seem'd to touch it into leaf:
The voice was not the voice of grief,
The words were hard to understand.





LXX
I cannot see the features right,
When on the gloom I strive to paint
The face I know; the hues are faint
And mix with hollow masks of night;


Cloud-towers by ghostly masons wrought,
A gulf that ever shuts and gapes,
A hand that points, and palled shapes
In shadowy thoroughfares of thought;


And crowds that stream from yawning doors,
And shoals of pucker'd faces drive;
Dark bulks that tumble half alive,
And lazy lengths on boundless shores;


Till all at once beyond the will
I hear a wizard music roll,
And thro' a lattice on the soul
Looks thy fair face and makes it still.





LXXI
Sleep, kinsman thou to death and trance
And madness, thou hast forged at last
A night-long Present of the Past
In which we went thro' summer France.


Hadst thou such credit with the soul?
Then bring an opiate trebly strong,
Drug down the blindfold sense of wrong
That so my pleasure may be whole;


While now we talk as once we talk'd
Of men and minds, the dust of change,
The days that grow to something strange,
In walking as of old we walk'd


Beside the river's wooded reach,
The fortress, and the mountain ridge,
The cataract flashing from the bridge,
The breaker breaking on the beach.





LXXII
Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again,
And howlest, issuing out of night,
With blasts that blow the poplar white,
And lash with storm the streaming pane?


Day, when my crown'd estate begun
To pine in that reverse of doom,
Which sicken'd every living bloom,
And blurr'd the splendour of the sun;


Who usherest in the dolorous hour
With thy quick tears that make the rose
Pull sideways, and the daisy close
Her crimson fringes to the shower;


Who might'st have heaved a windless flame
Up the deep East, or, whispering, play'd
A chequer-work of beam and shade
Along the hills, yet look'd the same.


As wan, as chill, as wild as now;
Day, mark'd as with some hideous crime,
When the dark hand struck down thro' time,
And cancell'd nature's best: but thou,


Lift as thou may'st thy burthen'd brows
Thro' clouds that drench the morning star,
And whirl the ungarner'd sheaf afar,
And sow the sky with flying boughs,


And up thy vault with roaring sound
Climb thy thick noon, disastrous day;
Touch thy dull goal of joyless gray,
And hide thy shame beneath the ground.





LXXIII
So many worlds, so much to do,
So little done, such things to be,
How know I what had need of thee,
For thou wert strong as thou wert true?


The fame is quench'd that I foresaw,
The head hath miss'd an earthly wreath:
I curse not nature, no, nor death;
For nothing is that errs from law.


We pass; the path that each man trod
Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds:
What fame is left for human deeds
In endless age? It rests with God.


O hollow wraith of dying fame,
Fade wholly, while the soul exults,
And self-infolds the large results
Of force that would have forged a name.





LXXIV
As sometimes in a dead man's face,
To those that watch it more and more,
A likeness, hardly seen before,
Comes out—to some one of his race:


So, dearest, now thy brows are cold,
I see thee what thou art, and know
Thy likeness to the wise below,
Thy kindred with the great of old.


But there is more than I can see,
And what I see I leave unsaid,
Nor speak it, knowing Death has made
His darkness beautiful with thee.


I leave thy praises unexpress'd
In verse that brings myself relief,
And by the measure of my grief
I leave thy greatness to be guess'd;


What practice howsoe'er expert
In fitting aptest words to things,
Or voice the richest-toned that sings,
Hath power to give thee as thou wert?


I care not in these fading days
To raise a cry that lasts not long,
And round thee with the breeze of song
To stir a little dust of praise.


Thy leaf has perish'd in the green,
And, while we breathe beneath the sun,
The world which credits what is done
Is cold to all that might have been.


So here shall silence guard thy fame;
But somewhere, out of human view,
Whate'er thy hands are set to do
Is wrought with tumult of acclaim.





LXXVI
Take wings of fancy, and ascend,
And in a moment set thy face
Where all the starry heavens of space
Are sharpen'd to a needle's end;


Take wings of foresight; lighten thro'
The secular abyss to come,
And lo, thy deepest lays are dumb
Before the mouldering of a yew;


And if the matin songs, that woke
The darkness of our planet, last,
Thine own shall wither in the vast,
Ere half the lifetime of an oak.


Ere these have clothed their branchy bowers
With fifty Mays, thy songs are vain;
And what are they when these remain
The ruin'd shells of hollow towers?





LXXVII
What hope is here for modern rhyme
To him, who turns a musing eye
On songs, and deeds, and lives, that lie
Foreshorten'd in the tract of time?


These mortal lullabies of pain
May bind a book, may line a box,
May serve to curl a maiden's locks;
Or when a thousand moons shall wane


A man upon a stall may find,
And, passing, turn the page that tells
A grief, then changed to something else,
Sung by a long-forgotten mind.


But what of that? My darken'd ways
Shall ring with music all the same;
To breathe my loss is more than fame,
To utter love more sweet than praise.





LXXVIII
Again at Christmas did we weave
The holly round the Christmas hearth;
The silent snow possess'd the earth,
And calmly fell our Christmas-eve:


The yule-clog sparkled keen with frost,
No wing of wind the region swept,
But over all things brooding slept
The quiet sense of something lost.


As in the winters left behind,
Again our ancient games had place,
The mimic picture's breathing grace,
And dance and song and hoodman-blind.


Who show'd a token of distress?
No single tear, no mark of pain:
O sorrow, then can sorrow wane?
O grief, can grief be changed to less?


O last regret, regret can die!
No—mixt with all this mystic frame,
Her deep relations are the same,
But with long use her tears are dry.





LXXIX
'More than my brothers are to me,'—
Let this not vex thee, noble heart!
I know thee of what force thou art
To hold the costliest love in fee.


But thou and I are one in kind,
As moulded like in Nature's mint;
And hill and wood and field did print
The same sweet forms in either mind.


For us the same cold streamlet curl'd
Thro' all his eddying coves, the same
All winds that roam the twilight came
In whispers of the beauteous world.


At one dear knee we proffer'd vows,
One lesson from one book we learn'd,
Ere childhood's flaxen ringlet turn'd
To black and brown on kindred brows.


And so my wealth resembles thine,
But he was rich where I was poor,
And he supplied my want the more
As his unlikeness fitted mine.





LXXX
If any vague desire should rise,
That holy Death ere Arthur died
Had moved me kindly from his side,
And dropt the dust on tearless eyes;


Then fancy shapes, as fancy can,
The grief my loss in him had wrought,
A grief as deep as life or thought,
But stay'd in peace with God and man.


I make a picture in the brain;
I hear the sentence that he speaks;
He bears the burthen of the weeks
But turns his burthen into gain.


His credit thus shall set me free;
And, influence-rich to soothe and save,
Unused example from the grave
Reach out dead hands to comfort me.





LXXXI
Could I have said while he was here,
`My love shall now no further range;
There cannot come a mellower change,
For now is love mature in ear'?


Love, then, had hope of richer store:
What end is here to my complaint?
This haunting whisper makes me faint,
'More years had made me love thee more.'


But Death returns an answer sweet:
`My sudden frost was sudden gain,
And gave all ripeness to the grain,
It might have drawn from after-heat.'





LXXXII
I wage not any feud with Death
For changes wrought on form and face;
No lower life that earth's embrace
May breed with him, can fright my faith.


Eternal process moving on,
From state to state the spirit walks;
And these are but the shatter'd stalks,
Or ruin'd chrysalis of one.


Nor blame I Death, because he bare
The use of virtue out of earth:
I know transplanted human worth
Will bloom to profit, otherwhere.


For this alone on Death I wreak
The wrath that garners in my heart;
He put our lives so far apart
We cannot hear each other speak.





LXXIII
Dip down upon the northern shore,
O sweet new-year delaying long;
Thou doest expectant nature wrong;
Delaying long, delay no more.


What stays thee from the clouded noons,
Thy sweetness from its proper place?
Can trouble live with April days,
Or sadness in the summer moons?


Bring orchis, bring the foxglove spire,
The little speedwell's darling blue,
Deep tulips dash'd with fiery dew,
Laburnums, dropping-wells of fire.


O thou, new-year, delaying long,
Delayest the sorrow in my blood,
That longs to burst a frozen bud
And flood a fresher throat with song.





LXXXIV
When I contemplate all alone
The life that had been thine below,
And fix my thoughts on all the glow
To which thy crescent would have grown;


I see thee sitting crown'd with good,
A central warmth diffusing bliss
In glance and smile, and clasp and kiss,
On all the branches of thy blood;


Thy blood, my friend, and partly mine;
For now the day was drawing on,
When thou should'st link thy life with one
Of mine own house, and boys of thine


Had babbled `Uncle' on my knee;
But that remorseless iron hour
Made cypress of her orange flower,
Despair of Hope, and earth of thee.


I seem to meet their least desire,
To clap their cheeks, to call them mine.
I see their unborn faces shine
Beside the never-lighted fire.


I see myself an honor'd guest,
Thy partner in the flowery walk
Of letters, genial table-talk,
Or deep dispute, and graceful jest;


While now thy prosperous labor fills
The lips of men with honest praise,
And sun by sun the happy days
Descend below the golden hills


With promise of a morn as fair;
And all the train of bounteous hours
Conduct by paths of growing powers,
To reverence and the silver hair;


Till slowly worn her earthly robe,
Her lavish mission richly wrought,
Leaving great legacies of thought,
Thy spirit should fail from off the globe;


What time mine own might also flee,
As link'd with thine in love and fate,
And, hovering o'er the dolorous strait
To the other shore, involved in thee,


Arrive at last the blessed goal,
And He that died in Holy Land
Would reach us out the shining hand,
And take us as a single soul.


What reed was that on which I leant?
Ah, backward fancy, wherefore wake
The old bitterness again, and break
The low beginnings of content.





LXXXV
This truth came borne with bier and pall,
I felt it, when I sorrow'd most,
'Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all—


O true in word, and tried in deed,
Demanding, so to bring relief
To this which is our common grief,
What kind of life is that I lead;


And whether trust in things above
Be dimm'd of sorrow, or sustain'd;
And whether love for him have drain'd
My capabilities of love;


Your words have virtue such as draws
A faithful answer from the breast,
Thro' light reproaches, half exprest,
And loyal unto kindly laws.


My blood an even tenor kept,
Till on mine ear this message falls,
That in Vienna's fatal walls
God's finger touch'd him, and he slept.


The great Intelligences fair
That range above our mortal state,
In circle round the blessed gate,
Received and gave him welcome there;


And led him thro' the blissful climes,
And show'd him in the fountain fresh
All knowledge that the sons of flesh
Shall gather in the cycled times.


But I remain'd, whose hopes were dim,
Whose life, whose thoughts were little worth,
To wander on a darken'd earth,
Where all things round me breathed of him. '


O friendship, equal-poised control,
O heart, with kindliest motion warm,
O sacred essence, other form,
O solemn ghost, O crowned soul!


Yet none could better know than I,
How much of act at human hands
The sense of human will demands
By which we dare to live or die.


Whatever way my days decline,
I felt and feel, tho' left alone,
His being working in mine own,
The footsteps of his life in mine;


A life that all the Muses deck'd
With gifts of grace, that might express
All-comprehensive tenderness,
All-subtilising intellect:


And so my passion hath not swerved
To works of weakness, but I find
An image comforting the mind,
And in my grief a strength reserved.


Likewise the imaginative woe,
That loved to handle spiritual strife
Diffused the shock thro' all my life,
But in the present broke the blow.


My pulses therefore beat again
For other friends that once I met;
Nor can it suit me to forget
The mighty hopes that make us men.


I woo your love: I count it crime
To mourn for any overmuch;
I, the divided half of such
A friendship as had master'd Time;


Which masters Time indeed, and is
Eternal, separate from fears:
The all-assuming months and years
Can take no part away from this:


But Summer on the steaming floods,
And Spring that swells the narrow brooks,
And Autumn, with a noise of rooks,
That gather in the waning woods,


And every pulse of wind and wave
Recalls, in change of light or gloom,
My old affection of the tomb,
And my prime passion in the grave:


My old affection of the tomb,
A part of stillness, yearns to speak:
`Arise, and get thee forth and seek
A friendship for the years to come.


'I watch thee from the quiet shore;
Thy spirit up to mine can reach;
But in dear words of human speech
We two communicate no more.'


And I, `Can clouds of nature stain
The starry clearness of the free?
How is it? Canst thou feel for me
Some painless sympathy with pain?'


And lightly does the whisper fall:
`'Tis hard for thee to fathom this;
I triumph in conclusive bliss,
And that serene result of all.'


So hold I commerce with the dead;
Or so methinks the dead would say;
Or so shall grief with symbols play
And pining life be fancy-fed.


Now looking to some settled end,
That these things pass, and I shall prove
A meeting somewhere, love with love,
I crave your pardon, O my friend;


If not so fresh, with love as true,
I, clasping brother-hands, aver
I could not, if I would, transfer
The whole I felt for him to you.


For which be they that hold apart
The promise of the golden hours?
First love, first friendship, equal powers,
That marry with the virgin heart.


Still mine, that cannot but deplore,
That beats within a lonely place,
That yet remembers his embrace,
But at his footstep leaps no more,


My heart, tho' widow'd, may not rest
Quite in the love of what is gone,
But seeks to beat in time with one
That warms another living breast.


Ah, take the imperfect gift I bring,
Knowing the primrose yet is dear,
The primrose of the later year,
As not unlike to that of Spring.





LXXXVI
Sweet after showers, ambrosial air,
That rollest from the gorgeous gloom
Of evening over brake and bloom
And meadow, slowly breathing bare


The round of space, and rapt below
Thro' all the dewy-tassell'd wood,
And shadowing down the horned flood
In ripples, fan my brows and blow


The fever from my cheek, and sigh
The full new life that feeds thy breath
Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death,
Ill brethren, let the fancy fly


From belt to belt of crimson seas
On leagues of odour streaming far,
To where in yonder orient star
A hundred spirits whisper `Peace.'





LXXXVII
I past beside the reverend walls
In which of old I wore the gown;
I roved at random thro' the town,
And saw the tumult of the halls;


And heard once more in college fanes
The storm their high-built organs make,
And thunder-music, rolling, shake
The prophet blazon'd on the panes;


And caught once more the distant shout,
The measured pulse of racing oars
Among the willows; paced the shores
And many a bridge, and all about


The same gray flats again, and felt
The same, but not the same; and last
Up that long walk of limes I past
To see the rooms in which he dwelt.


Another name was on the door:
I linger'd; all within was noise
Of songs, and clapping hands, and boys
That crash'd the glass and beat the floor;


Where once we held debate, a band
Of youthful friends, on mind and art,
And labour, and the changing mart,
And all the framework of the land;


When one would aim an arrow fair,
But send it slackly from the string;
And one would pierce an outer ring,
And one an inner, here and there;


And last the master-bowman, he,
Would cleave the mark. A willing ear
We lent him. Who, but hung to hear
The rapt oration flowing free


From point to point, with power and grace
And music in the bounds of law,
To those conclusions when we saw
The God within him light his face,


And seem to lift the form, and glow
In azure orbits heavenly-wise;
And over those ethereal eyes
The bar of Michael Angelo?





LXXXVIII
Wild bird, whose warble, liquid sweet,
Rings Eden thro' the budded quicks,
O tell me where the senses mix,
O tell me where the passions meet,


Whence radiate: fierce extremes employ
Thy spirits in the darkening leaf,
And in the midmost heart of grief
Thy passion clasps a secret joy:


And I—my harp would prelude woe—
I cannot all command the strings;
The glory of the sum of things
Will flash along the chords and go.





LXXXIX
Witch-elms that counterchange the floor
Of this flat lawn with dusk and bright;
And thou, with all thy breadth and height
Of foliage, towering sycamore;


How often, hither wandering down,
My Arthur found your shadows fair,
And shook to all the liberal air
The dust and din and steam of town:


He brought an eye for all he saw;
He mixt in all our simple sports;
They pleased him, fresh from brawling courts
And dusty purlieus of the law.


O joy to him in this retreat,
Inmantled in ambrosial dark,
To drink the cooler air, and mark
The landscape winking thro' the heat:


O sound to rout the brood of cares,
The sweep of scythe in morning dew,
The gust that round the garden flew,
And tumbled half the mellowing pears!


O bliss, when all in circle drawn
About him, heart and ear were fed
To hear him, as he lay and read
The Tuscan poets on the lawn:


Or in the all-golden afternoon
A guest, or happy sister, sung,
Or here she brought the harp and flung
A ballad to the brightening moon:


Nor less it pleased in livelier moods,
Beyond the bounding hill to stray,
And break the livelong summer day
With banquet in the distant woods;


Whereat we glanced from theme to theme,
Discuss'd the books to love or hate,
Or touch'd the changes of the state,
Or threaded some Socratic dream;


But if I praised the busy town,
He loved to rail against it still,
For `ground in yonder social mill
We rub each other's angles down,


'And merge,' he said, `in form and gloss
The picturesque of man and man.'
We talk'd: the stream beneath us ran,
The wine-flask lying couch'd in moss,


Or cool'd within the glooming wave;
And last, returning from afar,
Before the crimson-circled star
Had fall'n into her father's grave,


And brushing ankle-deep in flowers,
We heard behind the woodbine veil
The milk that bubbled in the pail,
And buzzings of the honied hours.





XC
He tasted love with half his mind,
Nor ever drank the inviolate spring
Where nighest heaven, who first could fling
This bitter seed among mankind;


That could the dead, whose dying eyes
Were closed with wail, resume their life,
They would but find in child and wife
An iron welcome when they rise:


'Twas well, indeed, when warm with wine,
To pledge them with a kindly tear,
To talk them o'er, to wish them here,
To count their memories half divine;


But if they came who past away,
Behold their brides in other hands;
The hard heir strides about their lands,
And will not yield them for a day.


Yea, tho' their sons were none of these,
Not less the yet-loved sire would make
Confusion worse than death, and shake
The pillars of domestic peace.


Ah dear, but come thou back to me:
Whatever change the years have wrought,
I find not yet one lonely thought
That cries against my wish for thee.





XCI
When rosy plumelets tuft the larch,
And rarely pipes the mounted thrush;
Or underneath the barren bush
Flits by the sea-blue bird of March;


Come, wear the form by which I know
Thy spirit in time among thy peers;
The hope of unaccomplish'd years
Be large and lucid round thy brow.


When summer's hourly-mellowing change
May breathe, with many roses sweet,
Upon the thousand waves of wheat,
That ripple round the lonely grange;


Come: not in watches of the night,
But where the sunbeam broodeth warm,
Come, beauteous in thine after form,
And like a finer light in light.





XCII
If any vision should reveal
Thy likeness, I might count it vain
As but the canker of the brain;
Yea, tho' it spake and made appeal


To chances where our lots were cast
Together in the days behind,
I might but say, I hear a wind
Of memory murmuring the past.


Yea, tho' it spake and bared to view
A fact within the coming year;
And tho' the months, revolving near,
Should prove the phantom-warning true,


They might not seem thy prophecies,
But spiritual presentiments,
And such refraction of events
As often rises ere they rise.





XCIII
I shall not see thee. Dare I say
No spirit ever brake the band
That stays him from the native land
Where first he walk'd when claspt in clay?


No visual shade of some one lost,
But he, the Spirit himself, may come
Where all the nerve of sense is numb;
Spirit to Spirit, Ghost to Ghost.


O, therefore from thy sightless range
With gods in unconjectured bliss,
O, from the distance of the abyss
Of tenfold-complicated change,


Descend, and touch, and enter; hear
The wish too strong for words to name;
That in this blindness of the frame
My Ghost may feel that thine is near.





XCIV
How pure at heart and sound in head,
With what divine affections bold
Should be the man whose thought would hold
An hour's communion with the dead.


In vain shalt thou, or any, call
The spirits from their golden day,
Except, like them, thou too canst say,
My spirit is at peace with all.


They haunt the silence of the breast,
Imaginations calm and fair,
The memory like a cloudless air,
The conscience as a sea at rest:


But when the heart is full of din,
And doubt beside the portal waits,
They can but listen at the gates
And hear the household jar within.





XCV
By night we linger'd on the lawn,
For underfoot the herb was dry;
And genial warmth; and o'er the sky
The silvery haze of summer drawn;


And calm that let the tapers burn
Unwavering: not a cricket chirr'd:
The brook alone far-off was heard,
And on the board the fluttering urn:


And bats went round in fragrant skies,
And wheel'd or lit the filmy shapes
That haunt the dusk, with ermine capes
And woolly breasts and beaded eyes;


While now we sang old songs that peal'd
From knoll to knoll, where, couch'd at ease,
The white kine glimmer'd, and the trees
Laid their dark arms about the field.


But when those others, one by one,
Withdrew themselves from me and night,
And in the house light after light
Went out, and I was all alone,


A hunger seized my heart; I read
Of that glad year which once had been,
In those fall'n leaves which kept their green,
The noble letters of the dead:


And strangely on the silence broke
The silent-speaking words, and strange
Was love's dumb cry defying change
To test his worth; and strangely spoke


The faith, the vigour, bold to dwell
On doubts that drive the coward back,
And keen thro' wordy snares to track
Suggestion to her inmost cell.


So word by word, and line by line,
The dead man touch'd me from the past,
And all at once it seem'd at last
The living soul was flash'd on mine,


And mine in his was wound, and whirl'd
About empyreal heights of thought,
And came on that which is, and caught
The deep pulsations of the world,


Æonian music measuring out
The steps of Time—the shocks of Chance--
The blows of Death. At length my trance
Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt.


Vague words! but ah, how hard to frame
In matter-moulded forms of speech,
Or ev'n for intellect to reach
Thro' memory that which I became:


Till now the doubtful dusk reveal'd
The knolls once more where, couch'd at ease,
The white kine glimmer'd, and the trees
Laid their dark arms about the field;


And suck'd from out the distant gloom
A breeze began to tremble o'er
The large leaves of the sycamore,
And fluctuate all the still perfume,


And gathering freshlier overhead,
Rock'd the full-foliaged elms, and swung
The heavy-folded rose, and flung
The lilies to and fro, and said,


'The dawn, the dawn,' and died away;
And East and West, without a breath,
Mixt their dim lights, like life and death,
To broaden into boundless day.





XCVI
You say, but with no touch of scorn,
Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue eyes
Are tender over drowning flies,
You tell me, doubt is Devil-born.


I know not: one indeed I knew
In many a subtle question versed,
Who touch'd a jarring lyre at first,
But ever strove to make it true:


Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds,
At last he beat his music out.
There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds.


He fought his doubts and gather'd strength,
He would not make his judgment blind,
He faced the spectres of the mind
And laid them: thus he came at length


To find a stronger faith his own;
And Power was with him in the night,
Which makes the darkness and the light,
And dwells not in the light alone,


But in the darkness and the cloud,
As over Sinaï's peaks of old,
While Israel made their gods of gold,
Altho' the trumpet blew so loud.





XCVII
My love has talk'd with rocks and trees;
He finds on misty mountain-ground
His own vast shadow glory-crown'd;
He sees himself in all he sees.


Two partners of a married life—
I look'd on these and thought of thee
In vastness and in mystery,
And of my spirit as of a wife.


These two—they dwelt with eye on eye,
Their hearts of old have beat in tune,
Their meetings made December June
Their every parting was to die.


Their love has never past away;
The days she never can forget
Are earnest that he loves her yet,
Whate'er the faithless people say.


Her life is lone, he sits apart,
He loves her yet, she will not weep,
Tho' rapt in matters dark and deep
He seems to slight her simple heart.


He thrids the labyrinth of the mind,
He reads the secret of the star,
He seems so near and yet so far,
He looks so cold: she thinks him kind.


She keeps the gift of years before
A wither'd violet is her bliss
She knows not what his greatness is,
For that, for all, she loves him more.


For him she plays, to him she sings
Of early faith and plighted vows;
She knows but matters of the house,
And he, he knows a thousand things.


Her faith is fixt and cannot move,
She darkly feels him great and wise,
She dwells on him with faithful eyes,
'I cannot understand: I love.'





XCVIII
You leave us: you will see the Rhine,
And those fair hills I sail'd below,
When I was there with him; and go
By summer belts of wheat and vine


To where he breathed his latest breath,
That City. All her splendour seems
No livelier than the wisp that gleams
On Lethe in the eyes of Death.


Let her great Danube rolling fair
Enwind her isles, unmark'd of me:
I have not seen, I will not see
Vienna; rather dream that there,


A treble darkness, Evil haunts
The birth, the bridal; friend from friend
Is oftener parted, fathers bend
Above more graves, a thousand wants


Gnarr at the heels of men, and prey
By each cold hearth, and sadness flings
Her shadow on the blaze of kings:
And yet myself have heard him say,


That not in any mother town
With statelier progress to and fro
The double tides of chariots flow
By park and suburb under brown


Of lustier leaves; nor more content,
He told me, lives in any crowd,
When all is gay with lamps, and loud
With sport and song, in booth and tent,


Imperial halls, or open plain;
And wheels the circled dance, and breaks
The rocket molten into flakes
Of crimson or in emerald rain.





XCIX
Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again,
So loud with voices of the birds,
So thick with lowings of the herds,
Day, when I lost the flower of men;


Who tremblest thro' thy darkling red
On yon swoll'n brook that bubbles fast
By meadows breathing of the past,
And woodlands holy to the dead;


Who murmurest in the foliaged eaves
A song that slights the coming care,
And Autumn laying here and there
A fiery finger on the leaves;


Who wakenest with thy balmy breath
To myriads on the genial earth,
Memories of bridal, or of birth,
And unto myriads more, of death.


O, wheresoever those may be,
Betwixt the slumber of the poles,
To-day they count as kindred souls;
They know me not, but mourn with me.





C
I climb the hill: from end to end
Of all the landscape underneath,
I find no place that does not breathe
Some gracious memory of my friend;


No gray old grange, or lonely fold,
Or low morass and whispering reed,
Or simple stile from mead to mead,
Or sheepwalk up the windy wold;


Nor hoary knoll of ash and hew
That hears the latest linnet trill,
Nor quarry trench'd along the hill
And haunted by the wrangling daw;


Nor runlet tinkling from the rock;
Nor pastoral rivulet that swerves
To left and right thro' meadowy curves,
That feed the mothers of the flock;


But each has pleased a kindred eye,
And each reflects a kindlier day;
And, leaving these, to pass away,
I think once more he seems to die.





CI
Unwatch'd, the garden bough shall sway,
The tender blossom flutter down,
Unloved, that beech will gather brown,
This maple burn itself away;


Unloved, the sun-flower, shining fair,
Ray round with flames her disk of seed,
And many a rose-carnation feed
With summer spice the humming air;


Unloved, by many a sandy bar,
The brook shall babble down the plain,
At noon or when the lesser wain
Is twisting round the polar star;


Uncared for, gird the windy grove,
And flood the haunts of hern and crake;
Or into silver arrows break
The sailing moon in creek and cove;


Till from the garden and the wild
A fresh association blow,
And year by year the landscape grow
Familiar to the stranger's child;


As year by year the labourer tills
His wonted glebe, or lops the glades;
And year by year our memory fades
From all the circle of the hills.





CII
We leave the well-beloved place
Where first we gazed upon the sky;
The roofs, that heard our earliest cry,
Will shelter one of stranger race.


We go, but ere we go from home,
As down the garden-walks I move,
Two spirits of a diverse love
Contend for loving masterdom.


One whispers, `Here thy boyhood sung
Long since its matin song, and heard
The low love-language of the bird
In native hazels tassel-hung.'


The other answers, `Yea, but here
Thy feet have stray'd in after hours
With thy lost friend among the bowers,
And this hath made them trebly dear.'


These two have striven half the day,
And each prefers his separate claim,
Poor rivals in a losing game,
That will not yield each other way.


I turn to go: my feet are set
To leave the pleasant fields and farms;
They mix in one another's arms
To one pure image of regret.





CIII
On that last night before we went
From out the doors where I was bred,
I dream'd a vision of the dead,
Which left my after-morn content.


Methought I dwelt within a hall,
And maidens with me: distant hills
From hidden summits fed with rills
A river sliding by the wall.


The hall with harp and carol rang.
They sang of what is wise and good
And graceful. In the centre stood
A statue veil'd, to which they sang;


And which, tho' veil'd, was known to me,
The shape of him I loved, and love
For ever: then flew in a dove
And brought a summons from the sea:


And when they learnt that I must go
They wept and wail'd, but led the way
To where a little shallop lay
At anchor in the flood below;


And on by many a level mead,
And shadowing bluff that made the banks,
We glided winding under ranks
Of iris, and the golden reed;


And still as vaster grew the shore
And roll'd the floods in grander space,
The maidens gather'd strength and grace
And presence, lordlier than before;


And I myself, who sat apart
And watch'd them, wax'd in every limb;
I felt the thews of Anakim,
The pulses of a Titan's heart;


As one would sing the death of war,
And one would chant the history
Of that great race, which is to be,
And one the shaping of a star;


Until the forward-creeping tides
Began to foam, and we to draw
From deep to deep, to where we saw
A great ship lift her shining sides.


The man we loved was there on deck,
But thrice as large as man he bent
To greet us. Up the side I went,
And fell in silence on his neck;


Whereat those maidens with one mind
Bewail'd their lot; I did them wrong:
`We served thee here,' they said, `so long,
And wilt thou leave us now behind?'


So rapt I was, they could not win
An answer from my lips, but he
Replying, `Enter likewise ye
And go with us:' they enter'd in.


And while the wind began to sweep
A music out of sheet and shroud,
We steer'd her toward a crimson cloud
That landlike slept along the deep.





CIV
The time draws near the birth of Christ;
The moon is hid, the night is still;
A single church below the hill
Is pealing, folded in the mist.


A single peal of bells below,
That wakens at this hour of rest
A single murmur in the breast,
That these are not the bells I know.


Like strangers' voices here they sound,
In lands where not a memory strays,
Nor landmark breathes of other days,
But all is new unhallow'd ground.





CV
To-night ungather'd let us leave
This laurel, let this holly stand:
We live within the stranger's land,
And strangely falls our Christmas-eve.


Our father's dust is left alone
And silent under other snows:
There in due time the woodbine blows,
The violet comes, but we are gone.


No more shall wayward grief abuse
The genial hour with mask and mime,
For change of place, like growth of time,
Has broke the bond of dying use.


Let cares that petty shadows cast,
By which our lives are chiefly proved,
A little spare the night I loved,
And hold it solemn to the past.


But let no footstep beat the floor,
Nor bowl of wassail mantle warm;
For who would keep an ancient form
Thro' which the spirit breathes no more?


Be neither song, nor game, nor feast;
Nor harp be touch'd, nor flute be blown;
No dance, no motion, save alone
What lightens in the lucid east


Of rising worlds by yonder wood.
Long sleeps the summer in the seed;
Run out your measured arcs, and lead
The closing cycle rich in good.





CVI
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.


Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.


Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.


Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.


Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.


Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.


Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.


Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.





CVII
It is the day when he was born,
A bitter day that early sank
Behind a purple-frosty bank
Of vapour, leaving night forlorn.


The time admits not flowers or leaves
To deck the banquet. Fiercely flies
The blast of North and East, and ice
Makes daggers at the sharpen'd eaves,


And bristles all the brakes and thorns
To yon hard crescent, as she hangs
Above the wood which grides and clangs
Its leafless ribs and iron horns


Together, in the drifts that pass
To darken on the rolling brine
That breaks the coast. But fetch the wine,
Arrange the board and brim the glass;


Bring in great logs and let them lie,
To make a solid core of heat;
Be cheerful-minded, talk and treat
Of all things ev'n as he were by;


We keep the day. With festal cheer,
With books and music, surely we
Will drink to him, whate'er he be,
And sing the songs he loved to hear.





CVIII
I will not shut me from my kind,
And, lest I stiffen into stone,
I will not eat my heart alone,
Nor feed with sighs a passing wind:


What profit lies in barren faith,
And vacant yearning, tho' with might
To scale the heaven's highest height,
Or dive below the wells of Death?


What find I in the highest place,
But mine own phantom chanting hymns?
And on the depths of death there swims
The reflex of a human face.


I'll rather take what fruit may be
Of sorrow under human skies:
'Tis held that sorrow makes us wise,
Whatever wisdom sleep with thee.





CIX
Heart-affluence in discursive talk
From household fountains never dry;
The critic clearness of an eye,
That saw thro' all the Muses' walk;


Seraphic intellect and force
To seize and throw the doubts of man;
Impassion'd logic, which outran
The hearer in its fiery course;


High nature amorous of the good,
But touch'd with no ascetic gloom;
And passion pure in snowy bloom
Thro' all the years of April blood;


A love of freedom rarely felt,
Of freedom in her regal seat
Of England; not the schoolboy heat,
The blind hysterics of the Celt;


And manhood fused with female grace
In such a sort, the child would twine
A trustful hand, unask'd, in thine,
And find his comfort in thy face;


All these have been, and thee mine eyes
Have look'd on: if they look'd in vain,
My shame is greater who remain,
Nor let thy wisdom make me wise.





CX
Thy converse drew us with delight,
The men of rathe and riper years:
The feeble soul, a haunt of fears,
Forgot his weakness in thy sight.


On thee the loyal-hearted hung,
The proud was half disarm'd of pride,
Nor cared the serpent at thy side
To flicker with his double tongue.


The stern were mild when thou wert by,
The flippant put himself to school
And heard thee, and the brazen fool
Was soften'd, and he knew not why;


While I, thy nearest, sat apart,
And felt thy triumph was as mine;
And loved them more, that they were thine,
The graceful tact, the Christian art;


Nor mine the sweetness or the skill,
But mine the love that will not tire,
And, born of love, the vague desire
That spurs an imitative will.





CXI
The churl in spirit, up or down
Along the scale of ranks, thro' all,
To him who grasps a golden ball,
By blood a king, at heart a clown;


The churl in spirit, howe'er he veil
His want in forms for fashion's sake,
Will let his coltish nature break
At seasons thro' the gilded pale:


For who can always act? but he,
To whom a thousand memories call,
Not being less but more than all
The gentleness he seem'd to be,


Best seem'd the thing he was, and join'd
Each office of the social hour
To noble manners, as the flower
And native growth of noble mind;


Nor ever narrowness or spite,
Or villain fancy fleeting by,
Drew in the expression of an eye,
Where God and Nature met in light;


And thus he bore without abuse
The grand old name of gentleman,
Defamed by every charlatan,
And soil'd with all ignoble use.





CXII
High wisdom holds my wisdom less,
That I, who gaze with temperate eyes
On glorious insufficiencies,
Set light by narrower perfectness.


But thou, that fillest all the room
Of all my love, art reason why
I seem to cast a careless eye
On souls, the lesser lords of doom.


For what wert thou? some novel power
Sprang up for ever at a touch,
And hope could never hope too much,
In watching thee from hour to hour,


Large elements in order brought,
And tracts of calm from tempest made,
And world-wide fluctuation sway'd
In vassal tides that follow'd thought.





CXIII
'Tis held that sorrow makes us wise;
Yet how much wisdom sleeps with thee
Which not alone had guided me,
But served the seasons that may rise;


For can I doubt, who knew thee keen
In intellect, with force and skill
To strive, to fashion, to fulfil—
I doubt not what thou wouldst have been:


A life in civic action warm,
A soul on highest mission sent,
A potent voice of Parliament,
A pillar steadfast in the storm,


Should licensed boldness gather force,
Becoming, when the time has birth,
A lever to uplift the earth
And roll it in another course,


With thousand shocks that come and go,
With agonies, with energies,
With overthrowings, and with cries
And undulations to and fro.





CXIV
Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail
Against her beauty? May she mix
With men and prosper! Who shall fix
Her pillars? Let her work prevail.


But on her forehead sits a fire:
She sets her forward countenance
And leaps into the future chance,
Submitting all things to desire.


Half-grown as yet, a child, and vain—
She cannot fight the fear of death.
What is she, cut from love and faith,
But some wild Pallas from the brain


Of Demons? fiery-hot to burst
All barriers in her onward race
For power. Let her know her place;
She is the second, not the first.


A higher hand must make her mild,
If all be not in vain; and guide
Her footsteps, moving side by side
With wisdom, like the younger child:


For she is earthly of the mind,
But Wisdom heavenly of the soul.
O, friend, who camest to thy goal
So early, leaving me behind,


I would the great world grew like thee,
Who grewest not alone in power
And knowledge, but by year and hour
In reverence and in charity.





CXV
Now fades the last long streak of snow,
Now burgeons every maze of quick
About the flowering squares, and thick
By ashen roots the violets blow.


Now rings the woodland loud and long,
The distance takes a lovelier hue,
And drown'd in yonder living blue
The lark becomes a sightless song.


Now dance the lights on lawn and lea,
The flocks are whiter down the vale,
And milkier every milky sail
On winding stream or distant sea;


Where now the seamew pipes, or dives
In yonder greening gleam, and fly
The happy birds, that change their sky
To build and brood; that live their lives


From land to land; and in my breast
Spring wakens too; and my regret
Becomes an April violet,
And buds and blossoms like the rest.





CXVI
Is it, then, regret for buried time
That keenlier in sweet April wakes,
And meets the year, and gives and takes
The colours of the crescent prime?


Not all: the songs, the stirring air,
The life re-orient out of dust
Cry thro' the sense to hearten trust
In that which made the world so fair.


Not all regret: the face will shine
Upon me, while I muse alone;
And that dear voice, I once have known,
Still speak to me of me and mine:


Yet less of sorrow lives in me
For days of happy commune dead;
Less yearning for the friendship fled,
Than some strong bond which is to be.





CXVII
O days and hours, your work is this
To hold me from my proper place,
A little while from his embrace,
For fuller gain of after bliss:


That out of distance might ensue
Desire of nearness doubly sweet;
And unto meeting when we meet,
Delight a hundredfold accrue,


For every grain of sand that runs,
And every span of shade that steals,
And every kiss of toothed wheels,
And all the courses of the suns.





CXVIII
Contemplate all this work of Time,
The giant labouring in his youth;
Nor dream of human love and truth,
As dying Nature's earth and lime;


But trust that those we call the dead
Are breathers of an ampler day
For ever nobler ends. They say,
The solid earth whereon we tread


In tracts of fluent heat began,
And grew to seeming-random forms,
The seeming prey of cyclic storms,
Till at the last arose the man;


Who throve and branch'd from clime to clime,
The herald of a higher race,
And of himself in higher place,
If so he type this work of time


Within himself, from more to more;
Or, crown'd with attributes of woe
Like glories, move his course, and show
That life is not as idle ore,


But iron dug from central gloom,
And heated hot with burning fears,
And dipt in baths of hissing tears,
And batter'd with the shocks of doom


To shape and use. Arise and fly
The reeling Faun, the sensual feast;
Move upward, working out the beast,
And let the ape and tiger die.





CXIX
Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, not as one that weeps
I come once more; the city sleeps;
I smell the meadow in the street;


I hear a chirp of birds; I see
Betwixt the black fronts long-withdrawn
A light-blue lane of early dawn,
And think of early days and thee,


And bless thee, for thy lips are bland,
And bright the friendship of thine eye;
And in my thoughts with scarce a sigh
I take the pressure of thine hand.





CXX
I trust I have not wasted breath:
I think we are not wholly brain,
Magnetic mockeries; not in vain,
Like Paul with beasts, I fought with Death;


Not only cunning casts in clay:
Let Science prove we are, and then
What matters Science unto men,
At least to me? I would not stay.


Let him, the wiser man who springs
Hereafter, up from childhood shape
His action like the greater ape,
But I was born to other things.





CXXI
Sad Hesper o'er the buried sun
And ready, thou, to die with him,
Thou watchest all things ever dim
And dimmer, and a glory done:


The team is loosen'd from the wain,
The boat is drawn upon the shore;
Thou listenest to the closing door,
And life is darken'd in the brain.


Bright Phosphor, fresher for the night,
By thee the world's great work is heard
Beginning, and the wakeful bird;
Behind thee comes the greater light:


The market boat is on the stream,
And voices hail it from the brink;
Thou hear'st the village hammer clink,
And see'st the moving of the team.


Sweet Hesper-Phosphor, double name
For what is one, the first, the last,
Thou, like my present and my past,
Thy place is changed; thou art the same.





CXXII
Oh, wast thou with me, dearest, then,
While I rose up against my doom,
And yearn'd to burst the folded gloom,
To bare the eternal Heavens again,


To feel once more, in placid awe,
The strong imagination roll
A sphere of stars about my soul,
In all her motion one with law;


If thou wert with me, and the grave
Divide us not, be with me now,
And enter in at breast and brow,
Till all my blood, a fuller wave,


Be quicken'd with a livelier breath,
And like an inconsiderate boy,
As in the former flash of joy,
I slip the thoughts of life and death;


And all the breeze of Fancy blows,
And every dew-drop paints a bow,
The wizard lightnings deeply glow,
And every thought breaks out a rose.





CXXIII
There rolls the deep where grew the tree.
O earth, what changes hast thou seen!
There where the long street roars, hath been
The stillness of the central sea.


The hills are shadows, and they flow
From form to form, and nothing stands;
They melt like mist, the solid lands,
Like clouds they shape themselves and go.


But in my spirit will I dwell,
And dream my dream, and hold it true;
For tho' my lips may breathe adieu,
I cannot think the thing farewell.





CXXIV
That which we dare invoke to bless;
Our dearest faith; our ghastliest doubt;
He, They, One, All; within, without;
The Power in darkness whom we guess;


I found Him not in world or sun,
Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye;
Nor thro' the questions men may try,
The petty cobwebs we have spun:


If e'er when faith had fall'n asleep,
I heard a voice `believe no more'
And heard an ever-breaking shore
That tumbled in the Godless deep;


A warmth within the breast would melt
The freezing reason's colder part,
And like a man in wrath the heart
Stood up and answer'd `I have felt.'


No, like a child in doubt and fear:
But that blind clamour made me wise;
Then was I as a child that cries,
But, crying, knows his father near;


And what I am beheld again
What is, and no man understands;
And out of darkness came the hands
That reach thro' nature, moulding men.





CXXV
Whatever I have said or sung,
Some bitter notes my harp would give,
Yea, tho' there often seem'd to live
A contradiction on the tongue,


Yet Hope had never lost her youth;
She did but look through dimmer eyes;
Or Love but play'd with gracious lies,
Because he felt so fix'd in truth:


And if the song were full of care,
He breathed the spirit of the song;
And if the words were sweet and strong
He set his royal signet there;


Abiding with me till I sail
To seek thee on the mystic deeps,
And this electric force, that keeps
A thousand pulses dancing, fail.





CXXVI
Love is and was my Lord and King,
And in his presence I attend
To hear the tidings of my friend,
Which every hour his couriers bring.


Love is and was my King and Lord,
And will be, tho' as yet I keep
Within his court on earth, and sleep
Encompass'd by his faithful guard,


And hear at times a sentinel
Who moves about from place to place,
And whispers to the worlds of space,
In the deep night, that all is well.





CXXVII
And all is well, tho' faith and form
Be sunder'd in the night of fear;
Well roars the storm to those that hear
A deeper voice across the storm,


Proclaiming social truth shall spread,
And justice, ev'n tho' thrice again
The red fool-fury of the Seine
Should pile her barricades with dead.


But ill for him that wears a crown,
And him, the lazar, in his rags:
They tremble, the sustaining crags;
The spires of ice are toppled down,


And molten up, and roar in flood;
The fortress crashes from on high,
The brute earth lightens to the sky,
And the great Æon sinks in blood,


And compass'd by the fires of Hell;
While thou, dear spirit, happy star,
O'erlook'st the tumult from afar,
And smilest, knowing all is well.





CXXVIII
The love that rose on stronger wings,
Unpalsied when he met with Death,
Is comrade of the lesser faith
That sees the course of human things.


No doubt vast eddies in the flood
Of onward time shall yet be made,
And throned races may degrade;
Yet, O ye mysteries of good,


Wild Hours that fly with Hope and Fear,
If all your office had to do
With old results that look like new;
If this were all your mission here,


To draw, to sheathe a useless sword,
To fool the crowd with glorious lies,
To cleave a creed in sects and cries,
To change the bearing of a word,


To shift an arbitrary power,
To cramp the student at his desk,
To make old bareness picturesque
And tuft with grass a feudal tower;


Why then my scorn might well descend
On you and yours. I see in part
That all, as in some piece of art,
Is toil cöoperant to an end.





CXXIX
Dear friend, far off, my lost desire,
So far, so near in woe and weal;
O loved the most, when most I feel
There is a lower and a higher;


Known and unknown; human, divine;
Sweet human hand and lips and eye;
Dear heavenly friend that canst not die,
Mine, mine, for ever, ever mine;


Strange friend, past, present, and to be;
Loved deeplier, darklier understood;
Behold, I dream a dream of good,
And mingle all the world with thee.





CXXX
Thy voice is on the rolling air;
I hear thee where the waters run;
Thou standest in the rising sun,
And in the setting thou art fair.


What art thou then? I cannot guess;
But tho' I seem in star and flower
To feel thee some diffusive power,
I do not therefore love thee less:


My love involves the love before;
My love is vaster passion now;
Tho' mix'd with God and Nature thou,
I seem to love thee more and more.


Far off thou art, but ever nigh;
I have thee still, and I rejoice;
I prosper, circled with thy voice;
I shall not lose thee tho' I die.





CXXXI
O living will that shalt endure
When all that seems shall suffer shock,
Rise in the spiritual rock,
Flow thro' our deeds and make them pure,


That we may lift from out of dust
A voice as unto him that hears,
A cry above the conquer'd years
To one that with us works, and trust,


With faith that comes of self-control,
The truths that never can be proved
Until we close with all we loved,
And all we flow from, soul in soul.





[Epilogue]
O true and tried, so well and long,
Demand not thou a marriage lay;
In that it is thy marriage day
Is music more than any song.


Nor have I felt so much of bliss
Since first he told me that he loved
A daughter of our house; nor proved
Since that dark day a day like this;


Tho' I since then have number'd o'er
Some thrice three years: they went and came,
Remade the blood and changed the frame,
And yet is love not less, but more;


No longer caring to embalm
In dying songs a dead regret,
But like a statue solid-set,
And moulded in colossal calm.


Regret is dead, but love is more
Than in the summers that are flown,
For I myself with these have grown
To something greater than before;


Which makes appear the songs I made
As echoes out of weaker times,
As half but idle brawling rhymes,
The sport of random sun and shade.


But where is she, the bridal flower,
That must be made a wife ere noon?
She enters, glowing like the moon
Of Eden on its bridal bower:


On me she bends her blissful eyes
And then on thee; they meet thy look
And brighten like the star that shook
Betwixt the palms of paradise.


O when her life was yet in bud,
He too foretold the perfect rose.
For thee she grew, for thee she grows
For ever, and as fair as good.


And thou art worthy; full of power;
As gentle; liberal-minded, great,
Consistent; wearing all that weight
Of learning lightly like a flower.


But now set out: the noon is near,
And I must give away the bride;
She fears not, or with thee beside
And me behind her, will not fear.


For I that danced her on my knee,
That watch'd her on her nurse's arm,
That shielded all her life from harm
At last must part with her to thee;


Now waiting to be made a wife,
Her feet, my darling, on the dead
Their pensive tablets round her head,
And the most living words of life


Breathed in her ear. The ring is on,
The `wilt thou' answer'd, and again
The `wilt thou' ask'd, till out of twain
Her sweet `I will' has made you one.


Now sign your names, which shall be read,
Mute symbols of a joyful morn,
By village eyes as yet unborn;
The names are sign'd, and overhead


Begins the clash and clang that tells
The joy to every wandering breeze;
The blind wall rocks, and on the trees
The dead leaf trembles to the bells.


O happy hour, and happier hours
Await them. Many a merry face
Salutes them—maidens of the place,
That pelt us in the porch with flowers.


O happy hour, behold the bride
With him to whom her hand I gave.
They leave the porch, they pass the grave
That has to-day its sunny side.


To-day the grave is bright for me,
For them the light of life increased,
Who stay to share the morning feast,
Who rest to-night beside the sea.


Let all my genial spirits advance
To meet and greet a whiter sun;
My drooping memory will not shun
The foaming grape of eastern France.


It circles round, and fancy plays,
And hearts are warm'd and faces bloom,
As drinking health to bride and groom
We wish them store of happy days.


Nor count me all to blame if I
Conjecture of a stiller guest,
Perchance, perchance, among the rest,
And, tho' in silence, wishing joy.


But they must go, the time draws on,
And those white-favour'd horses wait;
They rise, but linger; it is late;
Farewell, we kiss, and they are gone.


A shade falls on us like the dark
From little cloudlets on the grass,
But sweeps away as out we pass
To range the woods, to roam the park,


Discussing how their courtship grew,
And talk of others that are wed,
And how she look'd, and what he said,
And back we come at fall of dew.


Again the feast, the speech, the glee,
The shade of passing thought, the wealth
Of words and wit, the double health,
The crowning cup, the three-times-three,


And last the dance;—till I retire:
Dumb is that tower which spake so loud,
And high in heaven the streaming cloud,
And on the downs a rising fire:


And rise, O moon, from yonder down,
Till over down and over dale
All night the shining vapour sail
And pass the silent-lighted town,


The white-faced halls, the glancing rills,
And catch at every mountain head,
And o'er the friths that branch and spread
Their sleeping silver thro' the hills;


And touch with shade the bridal doors,
With tender gloom the roof, the wall;
And breaking let the splendour fall
To spangle all the happy shores


By which they rest, and ocean sounds,
And, star and system rolling past,
A soul shall draw from out the vast
And strike his being into bounds,


And, moved thro' life of lower phase,
Result in man, be born and think,
And act and love, a closer link
Betwixt us and the crowning race


Of those that, eye to eye, shall look
On knowledge, under whose command
Is Earth and Earth's, and in their hand
Is Nature like an open book;


No longer half-akin to brute,
For all we thought and loved and did,
And hoped, and suffer'd, is but seed
Of what in them is flower and fruit;


Whereof the man, that with me trod
This planet, was a noble type
Appearing ere the times were ripe,
That friend of mine who lives in God,


That God, which ever lives and loves,
One God, one law, one element,
And one far-off divine event,
To which the whole creation moves.

_________________

hi

Can you make me a cliff notes version?

_________________

No

Link


Now here is another one
Song of Roland

Part I

Section I

The Treason Of Ganelon

Saragossa. The Council of King Marsil

I

The king our Emperor Carlemaine,
Hath been for seven full years in Spain.
From highland to sea hath he won the land;
City was none might his arm withstand;
Keep and castle alike went down
Save Saragossa, the mountain town.
The King Marsilius holds the place,
Who loveth not God, nor seeks His grace:
He prays to Apollin, and serves Mahound;
But he saved him not from the fate he found.

II

In Saragossa King Marsil made
His council - seat in the orchard shade,
On a stair of marble of azure hue.
There his courtiers round him drew;
While there stood, the king before,
Twenty thousand men and more.
Thus to his dukes and his counts he said,
"Hear ye, my lords, we are sore bested.
The Emperor Karl of gentle France
Hither hath come for our dire mischance.
Nor host to meet him in battle line,
Nor power to shatter his power, is mine.
Speak, my sages; your counsel lend:
My doom of shame and death forefend."
But of all the heathens none spake word
Save Blancandrin, Val Fonde's lord.

III

Blancandrin was a heathen wise,
Knightly and valiant of enterprise,
Sage in counsel his lord to aid;
And he said to the king, "Be not dismayed:
Proffer to Karl, the haughty and high,
Lowly friendship and fealty;
Ample largess lay at his feet,
Bear and lion and greyhound fleet.
Seven hundred camels his tribute be,
A thousand hawks that have moulted free.
Let full four hundred mules be told,
Laden with silver enow and gold
For fifty waggons to bear away;
So shall his soldiers receive their pay.
Say, too long hath he warred in Spain,
Let him turn to France - to his Aix - again.
At Saint Michael's feast you will thither speed,
Bend your heart to the Christian creed,
And his liegeman be in duty and deed.
Hostages he may demand
Ten or twenty at your hand.
We will send him the sons whom our wives have nursed; Were death to follow, mine own the first.
Better by far that they there should die
Than be driven all from our land to fly,
Flung to dishonor and beggary.

IV

"Yea," said Blancandrin, "by this right hand,
And my floating beard by the free wind fanned,
Ye shall see the host of the Franks disband
And hie them back into France their land;
Each to his home as beseemeth well, And
Karl unto Aix - to his own Chapelle.
He will hold high feast on Saint Michael's day
And the time of your tryst shall pass away.
Tale nor tidings of us shall be;
Fiery and sudden, I know, is he:
He will smite off the heads of our hostages all:
Better, I say, that their heads should fall
Than we the fair land of Spain forego,
And our lives be laden with shame and woe."
"Yea," said the heathens, "it may be so."

V

King Marsil's council is over that day,
And he called to him Clarin of Balaguet,
Estramarin, and Eudropin his peer,
Bade Garlon and Priamon both draw near,
Machiner and his uncle Maheu - with these
Joimer and Malbien from overseas,
Blancandrin for spokesman, - of all his men
He hath summoned there the most felon ten.
"Go ye to Carlemaine," spake their liege,
"At Cordres city he sits in siege,
While olive branches in hand ye press,
Token of peace and of lowliness.
Win him to make fair treaty with me,
Silver and gold shall your guerdon be,
Land and lordship in ample fee."
"Nay," said the heathens, "enough have we."

VI

So did King Marsil his council end.
"Lords," he said, "on my errand wend;
While olive branches in hand ye bring,
Say from me unto Karl the king,
For sake of his God let him pity show;
And ere ever a month shall come and go,
With a thousand faithful of my race,
I will follow swiftly upon his trace,
Freely receive his Christian law,
And his liegemen be in love and awe.
Hostages asks he? it shall be done."
Blancandrin answered, "Your peace is won."

VII

Then King Marsil bade be dight
Ten fair mules of snowy white,
Erst from the King of Sicily brought
Their trappings with silver and gold inwrought
Gold the bridle, and silver the selle.
On these are the messengers mounted well;
And they ride with olive boughs in hand,
To seek the Lord of the Frankish land.
Well let him watch; he shall be trepanned.


At Cordres. Carlemaine's Council

VIII

King Karl is jocund and gay of mood,
He hath Cordres city at last subdued;
Its shattered walls and turrets fell
By Catapult and mangonel;
Not a heathen did there remain
But confessed him Christian or else was slain.
The Emperor sits in an orchard wide,
Roland and Olivier by his side:
Samson the duke, and Anseis proud;
Geoffrey of Anjou, whose arm was vowed
The royal gonfalon to rear;
Gerein, and his fellow in arms, Gerier;
With them many a gallant lance,
Full fifteen thousand of gentle France.
The cavaliers sit upon carpets white,
Playing at tables for their delight:
The older and sager sit at the chess,
The bachelors fence with a light address.
Seated underneath a pine,
Close beside an eglantine,
Upon a throne of beaten gold,
The lord of ample France behold;
White his hair and beard were seen,
Fair of body, and proud of mien,
Who sought him needed not ask, I ween
The ten alight before his feet,
And him in all observance greet.

IX

Blancandrin first his errand gave,
And he said to the king, "May God you save,
The God of glory, to whom you bend!
Marsil, our king, doth his greeting send.
Much hath he mused on the law of grace.
Much of his wealth at your feet will place
Bears and lions, and dogs of chase,
Seven hundred camels that bend the knee,
A thousand hawks that have moulted free,
Four hundred mules, with silver and gold
Which fifty wains might scantly hold,
So shall you have of the red bezants
To pay the soldiers of gentle France.
Overlong have you dwelt in Spain,
To Aix, your city, return again.
The lord I serve will thither come,
Accept the law of Christendom,
With clasped hands your liegeman be,
And hold his realm of you in fee."
The Emperor raised his hands on high,
Bent and bethought him silently.

X

The Emperor bent his head full low;
Never hasty of speech I trow;
Leisurely came his words, and slow,
Lofty his look as he raised his head:
"Thou hast spoken well," at length he said.
"King Marsil was ever my deadly foe,
And of all these words, so fair in show,
How may I the fulfilment know?"
Hostages will you?" the heathen cried,
"Ten or twenty, or more beside.
I will send my son, were his death at hand,
With the best and noblest of all our land;
And when you sit in your palace halls,
And the feast of St. Michael of Peril falls,
Unto the waters will come our king,
Which God commanded for you to spring;
There in the laver of Christ be laved.'
"Yea!" said Karl, "he may yet be saved."

XI

Fair and bright did the evening full:
The ten white mules were stabled in stall;
On the sward was a fair pavilion dressed,
To give to the Saracens cheer of the best;
Servitors twelve at their bidding bide,
And they rest all night until morning tide.
The Emperor rose with the day - dawn clear,
Failed not Matins and Mass to hear,
Then betook him beneath a pine,
Summoned his barons by word and sign:
As his Franks advise will his choice incline.

XII

Under a pine is the Emperor gone,
And his barons to council come forth anon:
Archbishop Turpin, Duke Ogier bold
With his nephew Henry was Richard the old,
Gascony's gallant Count Acelin,
Tybalt of Rheims, and Milo his kin,
Gerein and his brother in arms, Gerier,
Count Roland and his faithful fere,
The gentle and valiant Olivier:
More than a thousand Franks of France
And Ganelon came, of woful chance;
By him was the deed of treason done.
So was the fatal consult begun.

XIII

"Lords my barons," the Emperor said,
"King Marsil to me hath his envoys sped.
He proffers treasure surpassing bounds,
Bears and lions, and leashed hounds;
Seven hundred camels that bend the knee;
A thousand hawks that have moulted free;
Four hundred mules with Arab gold,
Which fifty wains might scantly hold.
But he saith to France must I wend my way:
He will follow to Aix with brief delay,
Bend his heart unto Christ's belief,
And hold his marches of me in fief;
Yet I know not what in his heart may lie."
"Beware! beware!" was the Franks' outcry.

XIV

Scarce his speech did the Emperor close,
When in high displeasure Count Roland rose,
Fronted his uncle upon the spot,
And said, "This Marsil, believe him not:
Seven full years have we warred in Spain;
Commibles and Noples for you have I ta'en,
Tudela and Sebilie, cities twain;
Valtierra I won, and the land of Pine,
And Balaguet fell to this arm of mine.
King Marsil hath ever a traitor been:
He sent of his heathens, at first fifteen.
Bearing each one on olive bough,
Speaking the self - same words as now.
Into council with your Franks you went,
Lightly they flattered your heart's intent;
Two of your barons to him you sent,
They were Basan and Basil, the brother knights:
He smote off their heads on Haltoia's heights.
War, I say! - end as you well began,
Unto Saragossa lead on your van;
Were the siege to last your lifetime through,
Avenge the nobles this felon slew."

XV

The Emperor bent him and mused within,
Twisted his beard upon lip and chin,
Answered his nephew nor good nor ill;
And the Franks, save Ganelon, all were still:
Hastily to his feet he sprang,
Haughtily his words outrang:
"By me or others be not misled,
Look to your own good ends," he said.
"Since now King Marsil his faith assures,
That, with hands together clasped in yours,
He will henceforth your vassal be,
Receive the Christian law as we,
And hold his realm of you in fee,
Whoso would treaty like this deny,
Recks not, sire, by what death we die:
Good never came from counsel of pride,
List to the wise, and let madmen bide."

XVI

Then his form Duke Naimes upreared, White of hair and hoary of beard. Better vassal in court was none. "You have hearkened," he said, "unto Ganelon. Well hath Count Ganelon made reply; Wise are his words, if you bide thereby. King Marsil is beaten and broken in war; You have captured his castles anear and far, With your engines shattered his walls amain, His cities burned, his soldiers slain: Respite and ruth if he now implore, Sin it were to molest him more. Let his hostages vouch for the faith he plights, And send him one of your Christian knights. 'Twere time this war to an ending came." "Well saith the duke!" the Franks exclaim.

XVII

"Lords my barons, who then were best In Saragossa to do our hest?" "I," said Naimes, "of your royal grace, Yield me in token your glove and mace." "Nay - my sagest of men art thou: By my beard upon lip and chin I vow Thou shalt never depart so far from me: Sit thee down till I summon thee.

XVIII

"Lords my barons, whom send we, then, To Saragossa, the Saracen den?" "I," said Roland, "will blithely go." "Nay," said Olivier; "nay, not so. All too fiery of mood thou art; Thou wouldst play, I fear me, a perilous part. I go myself, if the king but will." "I command," said Karl, "that ye both be still. Neither shall be on this errand bound, Nor one of the twelve - my peers around; So by my blanching beard I swear." The Franks are abashed and silent there.

XIX

Turpin of Rheims from amid the ranks Said: "Lolk, my liege, on your faithful Franks: Seven full years have they held this land, With pain and peril on every hand. To me be the mace and the glove consigned; I will go this Saracen lord to find, And freely forth will I speak my mind." The Emperor answered in angry plight, "Sit thee down on that carpet white; Speak not till I thy speech invite.

XX

"My cavaliers," he began anew, "Choose of my marches a baron true, Before King Marsil my hest to do." "Be it, then," said Roland, "my stepsire Gan, In vain ye seek for a meeter man." The Franks exclaim, "He is worth the trust, So it please the king it is right and just." Count Ganelon then was with anguish wrung, His mantle of fur from his neck he flung, Stood all stark in his silken vest, And his grey eyes gleamed with a fierce unrest. Fair of body and large of limb, All in wonderment gazed on him. "Thou madman," thus he to Roland cried, "What may this rage against me betide? I am thy stepsire, as all men know, And thou doom'st me on hest like this to go; But so God my safe return bestow, I promise to work thee scathe and strife Long as thou breathest the breath of life." "Pride and folly!" said Roland, then. "Am I known to wreck of the threats of men? But this is work for the sagest head. So it please the king, I will go instead."

XXI

"In my stead? - never, of mine accord. Thou art not my vassal nor I thy lord. Since Karl commands me his hest to fill, Unto Saragossa ride forth I will; Yet I fear me to wreak some deed of ill, Thereby to slake this passion's might." Roland listened, and laughed outright.

XXII

At Roland's laughter Count Ganelon's pain Was as though his bosom were cleft in twain. He turned to his stepson as one distraught: "I do not love thee," he said, "in aught; Thou hast false judgment against me wrought. O righteous Emperor, here I stand To execute your high command.

XXIII

"Unto Saragossa I needs must go; Who goeth may never return, I know; Yet withal, your sister is spouse of mine, And our son - no fairer of mortal line Baldwin bids to be goodly knight; I leave him my honors and fiefs of right. Guard him - no more shall he greet my sight." Saith Karl, "Thou art over tender of heart. Since I command it, thou shalt depart.

XXIV

"Fair Sir Gan," the Emperor spake, "This my message to Marsil take: He shall make confession of Christ's belief, And I yield him, full half of Spain in fief; In the other half shall Count Roland reign. If he choose not the terms I now ordain, I will march unto Saragossa's gate, Besiege and capture the city straight, Take and bind him both hands and feet, Lead him to Aix, to my royal seat, There to be tried and judged and slain, Dying a death of disgrace and pain. I have sealed the scroll of my command. Deliver it into the heathen's hand.


Section II.

XXV

"Gan," said the Emperor, "draw thou near: Take my glove and my baton here; On thee did the choice of thy fellows fall." "Sire, 'twas Roland who wrought it all. I shall not love him while life may last, Nor Olivier his comrade fast, Nor the peers who cherish and prize him so, Gage of defiance to all I throw." Saith Karl, "Thine anger hath too much sway. Since I ordain it, thou must obey." "I go, but warranty none have I That I may not like Basil and Basan die."

XXVI

The Emperor reached him his right - hand glove; Gan for his office had scanty love; As he bent him forward, it fell to ground: "God, what is this?" said the Franks around; "Evil will come of this quest we fear." "My lords," said Ganelon, "ye shall hear."

XXVII

"Sire," he said, "let me wend my way; Since go I must, what boots delay?" Said the king, "In Jesus' name and mine!" And his right hand sained him with holy sign. Then he to Ganelon's grasp did yield His royal mace and missive sealed.

XXVIII

Home to his hostel is Ganelon gone, His choicest of harness and arms to don; On his charger Taschebrun to mount and ride, With his good sword Murgleis girt at side. On his feet are fastened the spurs of gold, And his uncle Guinemer doth his stirrup hold. Then might ye look upon cavaliers A - many round him who spake in tears. "Sir," they said, "what a woful day! Long were you ranked in the king's array, A noble vassal as none gainsay. For him who doomed you to journey hence Carlemagne's self shall be scant defence; Foul was the thought in Count Roland's mind, When you and he are so high affined. Sir," they said, "let us with you wend." "Nay," said Ganelon, "God forefend. Liefer alone to my death I go, Than such brave bachelors perish so. Sirs, ye return into France the fair; Greeting from me to my lady bear, To my friend and peer Sir Pinabel, And to Baldwin, my son, whom ye all know well, Cherish him, own him your lord of right." He hath passed on his journey and left their sight.


The Embassy And Crime Of Ganelon

XXIX

Ganelon rides under olives high, And comes the Saracen envoys nigh.

Blancandrin lingers until they meet, And in cunning converse each other greet. The Saracen thus began their parle. "What a man, what a wondrous man is Karl! Apulia - Calabria - all subdued, Unto England crossed he the salt sea rude, Won for Saint Peter his tribute fee; But what in our marches maketh he?" Ganelon said, "He is great of heart, Never man shall fill so mighty a part."

XXX

Said Blancandrin, "Your Franks are high of fame, But your dukes and counts are sore to blame. Such counsel to their lord they give, Nor he nor others in peace may live." Ganelon answered, "I know of none, Save Roland, who thus to his shame hath done. Last morn the Emperor sat in the shade, His nephew came in his mail arrayed, He had plundered Carcassonne just before, And a vermeil apple in hand he bore: 'Sire,' he said, 'to your feet I bring The crown of every earthly king.' Disaster is sure such pride to blast; He setteth his life on a daily cast. Were he slain, we all should have peace at last."

XXXI

"Ruthless is Roland," Blancandrin spake, "Who every race would recreant make, And on all possessions of men would seize; But in whom doth he trust for feats like these?" "The Franks! the Franks!" Count Ganelon cried; "They love him, and never desert his side; For he lavisheth gifts that seldom fail, Gold and silver in countless tale, Mules and chargers, and silks and mail, The king himself may have spoil at call. From hence to the East he will conquer all."

XXXII

Thus Blancandrin and Ganelon rode, Till each on other his faith bestowed That Roland should be by practice slain, And so they journeyed by path and plain, Till in Saragossa they bridle drew, There alighted beneath a yew. In a pine - tree's shadow a throne was set; Alexandrian silk was the coverlet: There the monarch of Spain they found, With twenty thousand Saracens round, Yet from them came nor breath nor sound; All for the tidings they strained to hear, As they saw Blancandrin and Ganelon near.

XXXIII

Blancandrin stepped before Marsil's throne, Ganelon's hand was in his own. "Mahound you save," to the king he said, "And Apollin, whose holy law we dread! Fairly your errand to Karl was done; But other answer made he none, Save that his hands to Heaven he raised, Save that a space his God he praised; He sends a baron of his court, Knight of France, and of high report, Of him your tidings of peace receive." "Let him speak," said Marsil, "we yield him leave."

XXXIV

Gan had bethought him, and mused with art; Well was he skilled to play his part; And he said to Marsil, "May God you save, The God of glory, whose grace we crave! Thus saith the noble Carlemaine: You shall make in Christ confession plain. And he gives you in fief full half of Spain; The other half shall be Roland's share (Right haughty partner, he yields you there); And should you slight the terms I bear, He will come and gird Saragossa round, You shall be taken by force and bound, Led unto Aix, to his royal seat, There to perish by judgment meet, Dying a villainous death of shame." Over King Marsil a horror came; He grasped his javelin, plumed with gold, In act to smite, were he not controlled.

XXXV

King Marsil's cheek the hue hath left, And his right hand grasped his weapon's heft. When Ganelon saw it, his sword he drew Finger lengths from the scabbard two. "Sword," he said, "thou art clear and bright; I have borne thee long in my fellows' sight, Mine emperor never shall say of me, That I perished afar, in a strange country, Ere thou in the blood of their best wert dyed." "Dispart the mellay," the heathens cried.

XXXVI

The noblest Saracens thronged amain, Seated the king on his throne again, And the Algalif said, "'Twas a sorry prank, Raising your weapon to slay the Frank. It was yours to hearken in silence there." "Sir," said Gan, "I may meetly bear, But for all the wealth of your land arrayed, For all the gold that God hath made, Would I not live and leave unsaid, What Karl, the mightiest king below, Sends, through me, to his mortal foe," His mantle of fur, that was round him twined, With silk of Alexandria lined, Down at Blancandrin's feet he cast, But still he held by his good sword fast, Grasping the hilt by its golden ball. "A noble knight," say the heathens all.

XXXVII

Ganelon came to the king once more. "Your anger," he said, "misserves you sore. As the princely Carlemaine saith, I say, You shall the Christian law obey. And half of Spain you shall hold in fee, The other half shall Count Roland's be, (And a haughty partner 'tis yours to see). Reject the treaty I here propose, Round Saragossa his lines will close; Your shall be bound in fetters strong, Led to his city of Aix along. Nor steed nor palfrey shall you bestride, Nor mule nor jennet be yours to ride; On a sorry sumpter you shall be cast, And your head by doom stricken off at last. So is the Emperor's mandate traced," And the scroll in the heathen's hand he placed.

XXXVIII

Discolored with ire was King Marsil's hue; The seal he brake and to earth he threw, Read of the scroll the tenor clear. "So Karl the Emperor writes me here. Bids me remember his wrath and pain For sake of Basan and Basil slain, Whose necks I smote on Haltoia's hill; Yet, if my life I would ransom still, Mine uncle the Algalif must I send, Or love between us were else at end." Then outspakes Jurfalez, Marsil's son: "This is but madness of Ganelon. For crime so deadly his life shall pay; Justice be mine on his head this day." Ganelon heard him, and waved his blade, While his back against a pine he stayed.

XXXIX

Into his orchard King Marsil stepped. His nobles round him their station kept: There was Jurfalez, his son and heir, Blancandrin of the hoary hair, The Algalif, truest of all his kin. Said Blancandrin, "Summon the Christian in; His troth he pledged me upon our side." "Go," said Marsil, "be thou his guide." Blancandrin led him, hand - in - hand, Before King Marsil's face to stand. Then was the villainous treason planned.

XL

"Fair Sir Ganelon," spake the king, "I did a rash and despighteous thing, Raising against thee mine arm to smite. Richly will I the wrong requite. See these sables whose worth were told At full five hundred pounds of gold: Thine shall they be ere the coming day." "I may not," said Gan, "your grace gainsay. God in His pleasure will you repay."

XLI

"Trust me I love thee, Sir Gan, and fain Would I hear thee discourse of Carlemaine. He is old, methinks, exceedingly old; And full two hundred years hath told; With toil his body spent and worn, So many blows on his buckler borne, So many a haughty king laid low, When will he weary of warring so?" "Such is not Carlemaine," Gan replied; "Man never knew him, nor stood beside, But will say how noble a lord is he, Princely and valiant in high degree. Never could words of mine express His honor, his bounty, his gentleness, 'Twas God who graced him with gifts so high. Ere I leave his vassalage I will die."

XLII

The heathen said, "I marvel sore Of Carlemaine, so old and hoar, Who counts I ween two hundred years, Hath borne such strokes of blades and spears, So many lands hath overrun, So many mighty kings undone, When will he tire of war and strife?" "Not while his nephew breathes in life. Beneath the cope of heaven this day Such vassal leads not king's array. Gallant and sage is Olivier, And all the twelve, to Karl so dear, With twenty thousand Franks in van, He feareth not the face of man."

XLIII

"Strange," said Marsil, "seems to me, Karl, so white with eld is he, Twice a hundred years, men say, Since his birth have passed away. All his wars in many lands, All the strokes of trenchant brands, All the kings despoiled and slain, When will he from war refrain?" "Not till Roland breathes no more, For from hence to eastern shore, Where is chief with him may vie? Olivier his comrades by, And the peers, of Karl the pride, Twenty thousand Franks beside, Vanguard of his host, and flower: Karl may mock at mortal power."

XLIV

"I tell thee, Sir Gan, that a power is mine; Fairer did never in armor shine, Four hundred thousand cavaliers, With the Franks of Karl to measure spears." "Fling such folly," said Gan, "away; Sorely your heathen would rue the day. Proffer the Emperor ample prize, A sight to dazzle the Frankish eyes; Send him hostages full of score, So returns he to France once more. But his rear will tarry behind the host; There, I trow, will be Roland's post There will Sir Olivier remain. Hearken to me, and the counts lie slain; The pride of Karl shall be crushed that day, And his wars be ended with you for aye."

XLV

"Speak, then, and tell me, Sir Ganelon, How may Roland to death be done?" "Through Cizra's pass will the Emperor wind, But his rear will linger in march behind; Roland and Olivier there shall be, With twenty thousand in company. Muster your battle against them then, A hundred thousand heathen men. Till worn and spent be the Frankish bands, Though your bravest perish beneath their hands. For another battle your powers be massed, Roland will sink, overcome at last. There were a feat of arms indeed, And your life from peril thenceforth be freed.

XLVI

"For whoso Roland to death shall bring, From Karl his good right aim will wring, The marvellous host will melt away, No more shall he muster a like array, And the mighty land will in peace repose." King Marsil heard him to the close; Then kissed him on the neck, and bade His royal treasures be displayed.

XLVII

What said they more? Why tell the rest? Said Marsil, "Fastest bound is best; Come, swear me here to Roland's fall." "Your will," said Gan, "be mine in all." He swore on the relics in the hilt Of his sword Murgleis, and crowned his guilt.

XLVIII

A stool was there of ivory wrought. King Marsil bade a book be brought, Wherein was all the law contained Mahound and Termagaunt ordained. The Saracen hath sworn thereby, If Roland in the rear - guard lie, With all his men - at - arms to go, And combat till the count lay low. Sir Gan repeated, "Be it so."

XLIX

King Marsil's foster - father came, A heathen, Valdabrun by name. He spake to Gan with laughter clear. "My sword, that never found its peer, A thousand pieces would not buy The riches in the hilt that lie, To you I give in guerdon free; Your aid in Roland's fall to see, Let but the rear - guard be his place." "I trust," said Gan, "to do you grace." Then each kissed other on the face.

L

Next broke with jocund laughter in, Another heathen, Climorin. To Gan he said, "Accept my helm, The best and trustiest in the realm, Conditioned that your aid we claim To bring the marchman unto shame." "Be it," said Ganelon, "as you list." And then on cheek and mouth they kissed.

LI

Now Bramimonde, King Marsil's queen, To Ganelon came with gentle mien. "I love thee well, Sir Count," she spake, "For my lord the king and his nobles' sake. See these clasps for a lady's wrist, Of gold, and jacinth, and amethyst, That all the jewels of Rome outshine; Never your Emperor owned so fine; These by the queen to your spouse are sent." The gems within his boot he pent.

LII

Then did the king on his treasurer call, "My gifts for Karl, are they ready all?" "Yea, sire, seven hundred camels' load Of gold and silver well bestowed, And twenty hostages thereby, The noblest underneath the sky."

LIII

On Ganelon's shoulder King Marsil leant. "Thou art sage," he said, "and of gallant bent; But by all thy holiest law deems dear, Let not thy thought from our purpose veer. Ten mules' burthen I give to thee Of gold, the finest of Araby; Nor ever year henceforth shall pass But it brings thee riches in equal mass Take the keys of my city gates, Take the treasure that Karl awaits Render them all; but oh, decide That Roland in the rear - guard bide; So may I find him by pass or height, As I swear to meet him in mortal fight." Cried Gan, "Meseemeth too long we stay," Sprang on his charger and rode away.

LIV

The Emperor homeward hath turned his face, To Gailne city he marched apace, (By Roland erst in ruins strown Deserted thence it lay and lone, Until a hundred years had flown). Here waits he, word of Gan to gain With tribute of the land of Spain; And here, at earliest break of day, Came Gan where the encampment lay.

LV

The Emperor rose with the day dawn clear, Failed not Matins and Mass to hear, Sate at his tent on the fair green sward, Roland and Olivier nigh their lord, Duke Naimes and all his peers of fame. Gan the felon, the perjured, came False was the treacherous tale he gave, And these his words, "May God you save! I bear you Saragossa's keys, Vast the treasure I bring with these, And twenty hostages; guard them well, The noble Marsil bids me tell Not on him shall your anger fall, If I fetch not the Algalif here withal; For mine eyes beheld, beneath their ken, Three hundred thousand armed men, With sword and casque and coat of mail, Put forth with him on the sea to sail, All for hate of the Christian creed, Which they would neither hold nor heed. They had not floated a league but four, When a tempest down on their galleys bore. Drowned they lie to be seen no more. If the Algalif were but living wight, He had stood this morn before your sight. Sire, for the Saracen king I say, Ere ever a month shall pass away, On into France he will follow free, Bend to our Christian law the knee, Homage swear for his Spanish land, And hold the realm at your command." "Now praise to God," the Emperor said, "And thanks, my Ganelon, well you sped," A thousand clarions then resound, The sumpter - mules are girt on ground, For France, for France the Franks are bound.


Section III.

LVI

Karl the Great hath wasted Spain, Her cities sacked, her castles ta'en; But now "My wars are done," he cried, "And home to gentle France we ride." Count Roland plants his standard high Upon a peak against the sky; The Franks around encamping lie. Alas! the heathen host the while, Through valley deep and dark defile, Are riding on the Christians' track, All armed in steel from breast to back; Their lances poised, their helmets laced, Their falchions glittering from the waist, Their bucklers from the shoulder swung, And so they ride the steeps among, Till, in a forest on the height, They rest to wait the morning light, Four hundred thousand crouching there. O God! the Franks are unaware.

LVII

The day declined, night darkling crept, And Karl, the mighty Emperor, slept. He dreamt a dream: he seemed to stand In Cizra's pass, with lance in hand. Count Ganelon came athwart, and lo, He wrenched the aspen spear him fro, Brandished and shook it aloft with might, Till it brake in pieces before his sight; High towards heaven the splinters flew; Karl awoke not, he dreamed anew.

LVIII

In his second dream he seemed to dwell In his palace of Aix, at his own Chapelle. A bear seized grimly his right arm on, And bit the flesh to the very bone. Anon a leopard from Arden wood, Fiercely flew at him where he stood. When lo! from his hall, with leap and bound, Sprang to the rescue a gallant hound. First from the bear the ear he tore, Then on the leopard his fangs he bore. The Franks exclaim, "'Tis a stirring fray, But who the victor none may say." Karl awoke not - he slept away.

LIX

The night wore by, the day dawn glowed, Proudly the Emperor rose and rode, Keenly and oft his host he scanned. "Lords, my barons, survey this land, See the passes so straight and steep: To whom shall I trust the rear to keep?" "To my stepson Roland:" Count Gan replied. "Knight like him have you none beside." The Emperor heard him with moody brow. "A living demon," he said, "art thou; Some mortal rage hath thy soul possessed. To head my vanguard, who then were best?" "Ogier," he answered, "the gallant Dane, Braver baron will none remain,"

LX

Roland, when thus the choice he saw, Spake, full knightly, by knightly law: "Sir Stepsire, well may I hold thee dear, That thou hast named me to guard the rear; Karl shall lose not, if I take heed, Charger, or palfrey, or mule or steed, Hackney or sumpter that groom may lead; The reason else our swords shall tell." "It is sooth," said Gan, "and I know it well."

LXI

Fiercely once more Count Roland turned To speak the scorn that in him burned.

"Ha! deem'st thou, dastard, of dastard race, That I shall drop the glove in place, As in sight of Karl thou didst the mace?"

LXII

Then of his uncle he made demand: "Yield me the bow that you hold in hand; Never of me shall the tale be told, As of Ganelon erst, that it failed my hold." Sadly the Emperor bowed his head, With working finger his beard he spread, Tears in his own despite he shed.

LXIII

But soon Duke Naimes doth by him stand No better vassal in all his band. "You have seen and heard it all, O sire, Count Roland waxeth much in ire. On him the choice for the rear - guard fell, And where is baron could speed so well? Yield him the bow that your arm hath bent, And let good succor to him be lent." The Emperor reached it forth, and lo! He gave, and Roland received, the bow.

LXIV

"Fair Sir Nephew, I tell thee free. Half of my host will I leave with thee." "God be my judge," was the count's reply, "If ever I thus my race belie. But twenty thousand with me shall rest, Bravest of all your Franks and best; The mountain passes in safety tread, While I breathe in life you have nought to dread."

LXV

Count Roland sprang to a hill - top's height, And donned his peerless armor bright; Laced his helm, for a baron made; Girt Durindana, gold - hilted blade; Around his neck he hung the shield, With flowers emblazoned was the field; Nor steed but Veillantif will ride; And he grasped his lance with its pennon's pride. White was the pennon, with rim of gold; Low to the handle the fringes rolled. Who are his lovers men now may see; And the Franks exclaim, "We will follow thee."

LXVI

Roland hath mounted his charger on; Sir Olivier to his side hath gone; Gerein and his fellow in arms, Gerier; Otho the Count, and Berengier, Samson, and with him Anseis old, Gerard of Roussillon, the bold. Thither the Gascon Engelier sped; "I go," said Turpin, "I pledge my head;" "And I with thee," Count Walter said; "I am Roland's man, to his service bound." So twenty thousand knights were found.

LXVII

Roland beckoned Count Walter then. "Take of our Franks a thousand men; Sweep the heights and the passes clear, That the Emperor's host may have nought to fear." "I go," said Walter, "at your behest," And a thousand Franks around him pressed. They ranged the heights and passes through, Nor for evil tidings backward drew, Until seven hundred swords outflew. The Lord of Belferna's land, that day, King Almaris met him in deadly fray.

LXVIII

Through Roncesvalles the march began; Ogier, the baron, led the van; For them was neither doubt nor fear, Since Roland rested to guard the rear, With twenty thousand in full array: Theirs the battle - be God their stay. Gan knows all; in his felon heart Scarce hath he courage to play his part.

LXIX

High were the peaks, and the valleys deep, The mountains wondrous dark and steep; Sadly the Franks through the passes wound, Full fifteen leagues did their tread resound. To their own great land they are drawing nigh, And they look on the fields of Gascony. They think of their homes and their manors there, Their gentle spouses and damsels fair. Is none but for pity the tear lets fall; But the anguish of Karl is beyond them all. His sister's son at the gates of Spain Smites on his heart, and he weeps amain.

LXX

On the Spanish marches the twelve abide, With twice ten thousand Franks beside. Fear to die have they none, nor care: But Karl returns into France the fair; Beneath his mantle his face he hides. Naimes, the duke, at his bridle rides. "Say, sire, what grief doth your heart oppress?" "To ask," he said, "brings worse distress; I cannot but weep for heaviness. By Gan the ruin of France is wrought. In an angel's vision, last night, methought He wrested forth from my hand the spear: 'Twas he gave Roland to guard the rear. God! should I lose him, my nephew dear, Whom I left on a foreign soil behind, His peer on earth I shall never find!"

LXXI

Karl the Great cannot choose but weep, For him hath his host compassion deep; And for Roland, a marvellous boding dread. It was Gan, the felon, this treason bred; He hath heathen gifts of silver and gold, Costly raiment, and silken fold, Horses and camels, and mules and steeds. But lo! King Marsil the mandate speeds, To his dukes, his counts, and his vassals all, To each almasour and amiral. And so, before three suns had set, Four hundred thousand in muster met. Through Saragossa the tabors sound; On the loftiest turret they raise Mahound: Before him the Pagans bend and pray, Then mount and fiercely ride away, Across Cerdagna, by vale and height, Till stream the banners of France in sight, Where the peers of Carlemaine proudly stand, And the shock of battle is hard at hand.

LXXII

Up to King Marsil his nephew rode, With a mule for steed, and a staff for goad: Free and joyous his accents fell, "Fair Sir King, I have served you well. So let my toils and my perils tell. I have fought and vanquished for you in field. One good boon for my service yield, Be it mine on Roland to strike the blow; At point of lance will I lay him low; And so Mohammed to aid me deign, Free will I sweep the soil of Spain, From the gorge of Aspra to Dourestan, Till Karl grows weary such wars to plan. Then for your life have you won repose." King Marsil on him his glove bestows.

LXXIII

His nephew, while the glove he pressed, Proudly once more the king addressed. "Sire, you have crowned my dearest vow; Name me eleven of your barons now, In battle against the twelve to bide." Falsaron first to the call replied; Brother to Marsil, the king, was he; "Fair Sir nephew, I go with thee; In mortal combat we front, to - day, The rear - guard of the grand array. Foredoomed to die by our spears are they,"

LXXIV

King Corsablis the next drew nigh, Miscreant Monarch of Barbary; Yet he spake like vassal staunch and bold Blench would he not for all God's gold. The third, Malprimis, of Brigal's breed, More fleet of foot than the fleetest steed, Before King Marsil he raised his cry, "On unto Roncesvalles I: In mine encounter shall Roland die."

LXXV

An Emir of Balaguet came in place, Proud of body, and fair of face; Since first he sprang on steed to ride, To wear his harness was all his pride; For feats of prowess great laud he won; Were he Christian, nobler baron none. To Marsil came he, and cried aloud, "Unto Roncesvalles mine arm is vowed; May I meet with Roland and Olivier, Or the twelve together, their doom is near. The Franks shall perish in scathe and scorn; Karl the Great, who is old and worn, Weary shall grow his hosts to lead, And the land of Spain be for ever freed." King Marsil's thanks were his gracious meed.

LXXVI

A Mauritanian Almasour (Breathed not in Spain such a felon Moor) Stepped unto Marsil, with braggart boast: "Unto Roncesvalles I lead my host, Full twenty thousand, with lance and shield. Let me meet with Roland upon the field, Lifelong tears for him Karl shall yield."

LXXVII

Turgis, Count of Tortosa came. Lord of the city, he bears its name. Scathe to the Christian to him is best, And in Marsil's presence he joined the rest. To the king he said. "Be fearless found; Peter of Rome cannot mate Mahound. If we serve him truly, we win this day; Unto Roncesvalles I ride straightway. No power shall Roland from slaughter save: See the length of my peerless glaive, That with Durindana to cross I go, And who the victor, ye then shall know. Sorrow and shame old Karl shall share, Crown on earth never more shall wear."

LXXVIII

Lord of Valtierra was Escremis; Saracen he, and the region his; He cried to Marsil, amid the throng, "Unto Roncesvalles I spur along, The pride of Roland in dust to tread, Nor shall he carry from thence his head; Nor Olivier who leads the band. And of all the twelve is the doom at hand. The Franks shall perish, and France be lorn, And Karl of his bravest vassals shorn."

LXXIX

Estorgan next to Marsil hied, With Estramarin his mate beside. Hireling traitors and felons they. Aloud cried Marsil, "My lords, away Unto Roncesvalles, the pass to gain, Of my people's captains ye shall be twain." "Sire, full welcome to us the call, On Roland and Olivier we fall. None the twelve from their death shall screen, The swords we carry are bright and keen; We will dye them red with the hot blood's vent, The Franks shall perish and Karl lament. We will yield all France as your tribute meet. Come, that the vision your eyes may greet; The Emperor's self shall be at your feet."

LXXX

With speed came Margaris - lord was he Of the land of Sibilie to the sea; Beloved of dames for his beauty's sake, Was none but joy in his look would take, The goodliest knight of heathenesse, And he cried to the king over all the press, "Sire, let nothing your heart dismay; I will Roland in Roncesvalles slay, Nor thence shall Olivier scathless come, The peers await but their martyrdom. The Emir of Primis bestowed this blade; Look on its hilt, with gold inlaid: It shall crimsoned be with the red blood's trace: Death to the Franks, and to France disgrace! Karl the old, with he's beard to white, Shall have pain and sorrow both day and night; France shall be ours ere a year go by; At Saint Denys' bourg shall our leaguer lie." King Marsil bent him reverently.

LXXXI

Chernubles is there, from the valley black, His long hair makes on the earth its track; A load, when it lists him, he bears in play, Which four mules' burthen would well outweigh. Men say, in the land where he was born Nor shineth sun, nor springeth corn, Nor falleth rain, nor droppeth dew; The very stones are of sable hue. 'Tis the home of demons, as some assert. And he cried, "My good sword have I girt, In Roncesvalles to dye it red. Let Roland but in my pathway tread, Trust ye to me that I strike him dead, His Durindana beat down with mine. The Franks shall perish and France decline." Thus were mustered King Marsil's peers, With a hundred thousand heathen spears. In haste to press to the battle on, In a pine - tree forest their arms they don.

LXXXII

They don their hauberks of Saracen mould, Wrought for the most with a triple fold; In Saragossa their helms were made; Steel of Vienne was each girded blade; Valentia lances and targets bright, Pennons of azure and red and white. The leave their sumpters and mules aside, Leap on their chargers and serried ride. Bright was the sunshine and fair the day; Their arms resplendent gave back the ray. Then sound a thousand clarions clear, Till the Franks the mighty clangor hear, "Sir Comrade," said Olivier, "I trow There is battle at hand with the Saracen foe." "God grant," said Roland, "it may be so. Here our post for our king we hold; For his lord the vassal bears heat and cold, Toil and peril endures for him, Risks in his service both life and limb. For mighty blows let our arms be strung, Lest songs of scorn be against us sung. With the Christian is good, with the heathen ill: No dastard part shall ye see me fill."


Part II

Section I.

The Prelude Of The Great Battle

Roncesvalles

LXXXIII

Olivier clomb to a mountain height, Glanced through the valley that stretched to right; He saw advancing the Saracen men, And thus to Roland he spake agen: "What sights and sounds from the Spanish side, White gleaming hauberks and helms in pride? In deadliest wrath our Franks shall be! Ganelon wrought this perfidy; It was he who doomed us to hold the rear." "Hush," said Roland; "O Olivier, No word be said of my stepsire here."

LXXXIV

Sir Olivier to the peak hath clomb, Looks far on the realm of Spain therefrom; He sees the Saracen power arrayed, Helmets gleaming with gold inlaid, Shields and hauberks in serried row, Spears with pennons that from them flow. He may not reckon the mighty mass, So far their numbers his thought surpass. All in bewilderment and dismay, Down from the mountain he takes his way, Comes to the Franks the tale to say.

LXXXV

"I have seen the paynim," said Olivier. "Never on earth did such host appear: A hundred thousand with targets bright, With helmets laced and hauberks white, Erect and shining their lances tall; Such battle as waits you did ne'er befall. My Lords of France, be God your stay, That you be not vanquished in field to - day." "Accursed," say the Franks, "be they who fly None shall blench from the fear to die."


Roland's Pride

LXXXVI

"In mighty strength are the heathen crew," Olivier said, "and our Franks are few; My comrade, Roland, sound on your horn; Karl will hear and his host return." "I were mad," said Roland, "to do such deed; Lost in France were my glory's meed. My Durindana shall smite full hard, And her hilt be red to the golden guard. The heathen felons shall find their fate; Their death, I swear, in the pass they wait."

LXXXVII

"O Roland, sound on your ivory horn, To the ear of Karl shall the blast be borne: He will bid his legions backward bend, And all his barons their aid will lend." "Now God forbid it, for very shame, That for me my kindred were stained with blame, Or that gentle France to such vileness fell: This good sword that hath served me well, My Durindana such strokes shall deal, That with blood encrimsoned shall be the steel. By their evil star are the felons led; They shall all be numbered among the dead."

LXXXVIII

"Roland, Roland, yet wind one blast! Karl will hear ere the gorge be passed, And the Franks return on their path full fast." "I will not sound on mine ivory horn: It shall never be spoken of me in scorn, That for heathen felons one blast I blew; I may not dishonor my Lineage true. But I will strike, ere this fight be o'er, A thousand strokes and seven hundred more, And my Durindana shall drip with gore. Our Franks will bear them like vassals brave The Saracens flock but to find a grave."

LXXXIX

"I deem of neither reproach nor stain. I have seen the Saracen host of Spain, Over plain and valley and mountain spread, And the regions hidden beneath their tread. Countless the swarm of the foe, and we A marvellous little company." Roland answered him, "All the more My spirit within me burns therefore. God and his angels of heaven defend That France through me from her glory bend. Death were better than fame laid low. Our Emperor loveth a downright blow."

XC

Roland is daring and Olivier wise, Both of marvellous high emprise; On their chargers mounted, and girt in mail, To the death in battle they will not quail. Brave are the counts, and their words are high, And the Pagans are fiercely riding nigh. "See, Roland, see them, how close they are, The Saracen foemen, and Karl how far! Thou didst disdain on thy horn to blow. Were the king but here we were spared this woe. Look up through Aspra's dread defile, Where standeth our doomed rear - guard the while; They will do their last brave feat this day, No more to mingle in mortal fray." "Hush!" said Roland, "the craven tale Foul fall who carries a heart so pale; Foot to foot shall we hold the place, And rain our buffets and blows apace."

XCI

When Roland felt that the battle came, Lion or leopard to him were tame; He shouted aloud to his Franks, and then Called to his gentle compeer agen. "My friend, my comrade, my Olivier, The Emperor left us his bravest here; Twice ten thousand he set apart, And he knew among them no dastard heart. For his lord the vassal must bear the stress Of the winter's cold and the sun's excess Peril his flesh and his blood thereby: Strike thou with thy good lance - point and I, With Durindana, the matchless glaive Which the king himself to my keeping gave, That he who wears it when I lie cold May say 'twas the sword of a vassal bold."

XCII

Archbishop Turpin, above the rest, Spurred his steed to a jutting crest. His sermon thus to the Franks he spake: "Lords, we are here for our monarch's sake; Hold we for him, though our death should come; Fight for the succor of Christendom. The battle approaches - ye know it well, For ye see the ranks of the infidel. Cry mea culpa, and lowly kneel; I will assoil you, your souls to heal. In death ye are holy martyrs crowned." The Franks alighted, and knelt on ground; In God's high name the host he blessed, And for penance gave them - to smite their best.

XCIII

The Franks arose from bended knee, Assoiled, and from their sins set free; The archbishop blessed them fervently: Then each one sprang on his bounding barb, Armed and laced in knightly garb, Apparelled all for the battle line. At last said Roland, "Companion mine, Too well the treason is now displayed, How Ganelon hath our band betrayed. To him the gifts and the treasures fell; But our Emperor will avenge us well. King Marsil deemeth us bought and sold; The price shall be with our good swords told."

XCIV

Roland rideth the passes through, On Veillantif, his charger true; Girt in his harness that shone full fair, And baron - like his lance he bare. The steel erect in the sunshine gleamed, With the snow - white pennon that from it streamed; The golden fringes beat on his hand. Joyous of visage was he, and bland, Exceeding beautiful of frame; And his warriors hailed him with glad acclaim. Proudly he looked on the heathen ranks, Humbly and sweetly upon his Franks. Courteously spake he, in words of grace "Ride. my barons, at gentle pace. The Saracens here to their slaughter toil: Reap we, to - day, a glorious spoil, Never fell to Monarch of France the like." At his words, the hosts are in act to strike.

XCV

Said Olivier, "Idle is speech, I trow; Thou didst disdain on thy horn to blow. Succor of Karl is far apart; Our strait he knows not, the noble heart: Not to him nor his host be blame; Therefore, barons, in God's good name, Press ye onward, and strike your best, Make your stand on this field to rest; Think but of blows, both to give and take, Never the watchword of Karl forsake. Then from the Franks resounded high "Montjoie!" Whoever had heard that cry Would hold remembrance of chivalry. Then ride they - how proudly, O God, they ride! With rowels dashed in their coursers' side. Fearless, too, are their paynim foes. Frank and Saracen, thus they close.


The Mellay

XCVI

King Marsil's nephew, Aelroth his name, Vaunting in font of the battle came, Words of scorn on our Franks he cast: "Felon Franks, ye are met at last, By your chosen guardian betrayed and sold, By your king left madly the pass to hold. This day shall France of her fame be shorn, And from Karl the mighty his right arm torn." Roland heard him in wrath and pain! He spurred his steed, he slacked the rein, Drave at the heathen with might and main, Shattered his shield and his hauberk broke, Right to the breast - bone went the stroke; Pierced him, spine and marrow through, And the felon's soul from his body flew. A moment reeled he upon his horse, Then all heavily dropped the corse; Wrenched was his neck as on earth he fell, Yet would Roland scorn with scorn repel. "Thou dastard! never hath Karl been mad, Nor love for treason or traitors had. To guard the passes he left us here, Like a noble king and chevalier. Nor shall France this day her fame forego. Strike in, my barons; the foremost blow Dealt in the fight doth to us belong: We have the right and these dogs the wrong."

XCVII

A duke was there, named Falsaron, Of the land of Dathan and Abiron; Brother to Marsil, the king, was he; More miscreant felon ye might not see. Huge of forehead, his eyes between, A span of a full half - foot, I ween. Bitter sorrow was his, to mark His nephew before him lie slain and stark. Hastily came he from forth the press, Raising the war - cry of heathenesse. Braggart words from his lips were tost: "This day the honour of France is lost." Hotly Sir Olivier's anger stirs; He pricked his steed with golden spurs, Fairly dealt him a baron's blow, And hurled him dead from the saddle - blow. Buckler and mail were reft and rent, And the pennon's flaps to his heart's blood went. He saw the miscreant stretched on eath: "Caitiff, thy threats are of little worth. On, Franks! the felons before us fall; Montjoie!" 'Tis the Emperor's battle - call.

XCVIII

A king was there of a strange countrie, King Corsablis of Barbary; Before the Saracen van he cried, "Right well may we in this battle bide; Puny the host of the Franks I deem, And those that front us, of vile esteem. Not one by succor of Karl shall fly; The day hath dawned that shall see them die." Archbishop Turpin hath heard him well; No mortal hates he with hate so fell: He pricked with spurs of the fine gold wrought, And in deadly passage the heathen sought; Shield and corselet were pierced and riven, And the lance's point through his body driven; To and fro, at the mighty thrust, He reeled, and then fell stark in dust. Turpin looked on him, stretched on ground. "Loud thou liest, thou heathen hound! King Karl is ever our pride and stay; Nor one of the Franks shall blench this day, But your comrades here on the field shall lie; I bring you tidings: ye all shall die. Strike, Franks! remember your chivalry; First blows are ours, high God be praised!" Once more the cry, "Montjoie!" he raised.

XCIX

Gerein to Malprimis of Brigal sped, Whose good shield stood him no whit in stead; Its knob of crystal was cleft in twain, And one half fell on the battle plain. Right through the hauberk, and through the skin, He drave the lance to the flesh within; Prone and sudden the heathen fell, And Satan carried his soul to hell.

C

Anon, his comrade in arms, Gerier, Spurred at the Emir with levelled spear, Severed his shield and his mail apart, The lance went through them, to pierce his heart. Dead on the field at the blow he lay. Olivier said, "'Tis a stirring fray."

CI

At the Almasour's shield Duke Samson rode With blazon of flowers and gold it glowed; But nor shield nor cuirass availed to save, When through heart and lungs the lance he drave. Dead lies he, weep him who list or no. The Archbishop said. "Tis a baron's blow."

CII

Anseis cast his bridle free; At Turgis, Tortosa's lord, rode he: Above the centre his shield he smote, Brake his mail with its double coat, Speeding the lance with a stroke so true, That the iron traversed his body through. So lay he lifeless, at point of spear. Said Roland, "Struck like a cavalier."

CIII

Engelier, Gascon of Bordeaux, On his courser's mane let the bridle flow; Smote Escremis, from Valtierra sprung, Shattered the shield from his neck that swung; On through his hauberk's vental pressed, And betwixt his shoulders pierced his breast. Forth from the saddle he cast him dead. "So shall ye perish all," he said.

CIV

The heathen Estorgan was Otho's aim: Right in front of his shield he came; Rent its colors of red and white, Pierced the joints of his harness bright, Flung him dead from his bridle rein. Said Otho, "Thus shall ye all be slain."

CV

Berengier smote Estramarin, Planting his lance his heart within, Through shivered shield and hauberk torn. The Saracen to earth was borne Amid a thousand of his train. Thus ten of the heathen twelve are slain; But two are left alive I wis Chernubles and Count Margaris

CVI

Count Margaris was a valiant knight, Stalwart of body, and lithe and light: He spurred his steed unto Olivier, Brake his shield at the golden sphere, Pushed the lance till it touched his side; God of his grace made it harmless glide. Margaris rideth unhurt withal, Sounding his trumpet, his men to call.

CVII

Mingled and marvellous grows the fray, And in Roland's heart is no dismay. He fought with lance while his good lance stood; Fifteen encounters have strained its wood. At the last it brake; then he grasped in hand His Durindana, his naked brand. He smote Chernubles' helm upon, Where, in the centre, carbuncles shone: Down through his coif and his fell of hair, Betwixt his eyes came the falchion bare, Down through his plated harness fine, Down through the Saracen's chest and chine, Down through the saddle with gold inlaid, Till sank in the living horse the blade, Severed the spine where no joint was found, And horse and rider lay dead on ground. "Caitiff, thou camest in evil hour; To save thee passeth Mohammed's power. Never to miscreants like to thee Shall come the guerdon of victory."

CVIII

Count Roland rideth the battle through, With Durindana, to cleave and hew; Havoc fell of the foe he made, Saracen corse upon corse was laid, The field all flowed with the bright blood shed; Roland, to corselet and arm, was red Red his steed to the neck and flank. Nor is Olivier niggard of blows as frank; Nor to one of the peers be blame this day, For the Franks are fiery to smite and slay. "Well fought," said Turpin, "our barons true!" And he raised the war - cry, "Montjoie" anew.

CIX

Through the storm of battle rides Olivier, His weapon, the butt of his broken spear, Down upon Malseron's shield he beat, Where flowers and gold emblazoned meet, Dashing his eyes from forth his head: Low at his feet were the brains bespread, And the heathen lies with seven hundred dead! Estorgus and Turgin next he slew, Till the shaft he wielded in splinters flew. "Comrade!" said Roland, "what makest thou? Is it time to fight with a truncheon now? Steel and iron such strife may claim; Where is thy sword, Hauteclere by name, With its crystal pommel and golden guard?" "Of time to draw it I stood debarred, Such stress was on me of smiting hard."

CX

Then drew Sir Olivier forth his blade, As had his comrade Roland prayed. He proved it in knightly wise straightway, On the heathen Justin of Val Ferree. At a stroke he severed his head in two, Cleft him body and harness through; Down through the gold - incrusted selle, To the horse's chine, the falchion fell: Dead on the sward lay man and steed. Said Roland, "My brother, henceforth, indeed The Emperor loves us for such brave blows!" Around them the cry of "Montjoie!" arose.

CXI

Gerein his Sorel rides; Gerier Is mounted on his own Pass - deer: The reins they slacken, and prick full well Against the Saracen Timozel. One smites his cuirass, and one his shield, Break in his body the spears they wield; They cast him dead on the fallow mould. I know not, nor yet to mine ear was told, Which of the twain was more swift and bold. Then Espreveris, Borel's son, By Engelier unto death was done. Archbishop Turpin slew Siglorel, The wizard, who erst had been in hell, By Jupiter thither in magic led. "Well have we 'scaped," the archbishop said: "Crushed is the caitiff," Count Roland replies, "Olivier, brother, such strokes I prize!"

CXII

Furious waxeth the fight, and strange; Frank and heathen their blows exchange; While these defend, and those assail, And their lances broken and bloody fail. Ensign and pennon are rent and cleft, And the Franks of their fairest youth bereft, Who will look on mother or spouse no more, Or the host that waiteth the gorge before. Karl the Mighty may weep and wail; What skilleth sorrow, if succour fail? An evil service was Gan's that day, When to Saragossa he bent his way, His faith and kindred to betray. But a doom thereafter awaited him Amerced in Aix, of life and limb, With thirty of his kin beside, To whom was hope of grace denied.


Section II

CXIII

King Almaris with his band, the while, Wound through a marvellous strait defile, Where doth Count Walter the heights maintain And the passes that lie at the gates of Spain. "Gan, the traitor, hath made of us," Said Walter, "a bargain full dolorous."

CXIV

King Almaris to the mount hath clomb, With sixty thousand of heathendom. In deadly wrath on the Franks they fall, And with furious onset smite them all: Routed, scattered or slain they lie. Then rose the wrath of Count Walter high; His sword he drew, his helm he laced, Slowly in front of the line he paced, And with evil greeting his foeman faced.

CXV

Right on his foemen doth Walter ride, And the heathen assail him on every side; Broken down was his shield of might, Bruised and pierced was his hauberk white; Four lances at once did his body wound: No longer bore he - four times he swooned; He turned perforce from the field aside, Slowly adown the mount he hied, And aloud to Roland for succour cried.

CXVI

Wild and fierce is the battle still: Roland and Olivier fight their fill; The Archbishop dealeth a thousand blows Nor knoweth one of the peers repose; The Franks are fighting commingled all, And the foe in hundreds and thousands fall; Choice have they none but to flee or die, Leaving their lives despighteously. Yet the Franks are reft of their chivalry, Who will see nor parent nor kindred fond, Nor Karl who waits them the pass beyond.

CXVII

Now a wondrous storm o'er France hath passed, With thunder - stroke and whirlwind's blast; Rain unmeasured, and hail, there came, Sharp and sudden the lightning's flame; And an earthquake ran - the sooth I say, From Besancon city to Wissant Bay; From Saint Michael's Mount to thy shrine, Cologne, House unrifted was there none. And a darkness spread in the noontide high No light, save gleams from the cloven sky. On all who saw came a mighty fear. They said, "The end of the world is near." Alas, they spake but with idle breath, 'Tis the great lament for Roland's death.

CXVIII

Dread are the omens and fierce the storm, Over France the signs and wonders swarm: From noonday on to the vesper hour, Night and darkness alone have power; Nor sun nor moon one ray doth shed, Who sees it ranks him among the dead. Well may they suffer such pain and woe, When Roland, captain of all, lies low. Never on earth hath his fellow been, To slay the heathen or realms to win.

CXIX

Stern and stubborn is the fight; Staunch are the Franks with the sword to smite; Nor is there one but whose blade is red, "Montjoie!" is ever their war - cry dread. Through the land they ride in hot pursuit, And the heathens feel 'tis a fierce dispute.

CXX

In wrath and anguish, the heathen race Turn in flight from the field their face; The Franks as hotly behind them strain. Then might ye look on a cumbered plain: Saracens stretched on the green grass bare, Helms and hauberks that shone full fair, Standards riven and arms undone: So by the Franks was the battle won. The foremost battle that then befell O God, what sorrow remains to tell!

CXXI

With heart and prowess the Franks have stood; Slain was the heathen multitude; Of a hundred thousand survive not two: The archbishop crieth, "O staunch and true! Written it is in the Frankish geste, That out Emperor's vassals shall bear them best." To seek their dead through the field they press, And their eyes drop tears of tenderness: Their hearts are turned to their kindred dear. Marsil the while with his host is near.

CXXII

Distraught was Roland with wrath and pain; Distraught were the twelve of Carlemaine With deadly strokes the Franks have striven, And the Saracen horde to the slaughter given; Of a hundred thousand escaped but one King Margaris fled from the field alone; But no disgrace in his flight he bore Wounded was he by lances four. To the side of Spain did he take his way, To tell King Marsil what chanced that day.

CXXIII

Alone King Margaris left the field, With broken spear and pierced shield, Scarce half a foot from the knob remained, And his brand of steel with blood was stained; On his body were four lance wounds to see: Were he Christian, what a baron he! He sped to Marsil his tale to tell; Swift at the feet of the king he fell: "Ride, sire, on to the field forthright, You will find the Franks in an evil plight; Full half and more of their host lies slain, And sore enfeebled who yet remain; Nor arms have they in their utmost need: To crush them now were an easy deed," Marsil listened with heart aflame. Onward in search of the Franks he came.

CXXIV

King Marsil on through the valley sped, With the mighty host he has marshalled. Twice ten battalions the king arrayed: Helmets shone, with their gems displayed. Bucklers and braided hauberks bound, Seven thousand trumpets the onset sound; Dread was the clangor afar to hear. Said Roland, "My brother, my Olivier, Gan the traitor our death hath sworn, Nor may his treason be now forborne. To our Emperor vengeance may well belong, To us the battle fierce and strong; Never hath mortal beheld the like. With my Durindana I trust to strike; And thou, my comrade, with thy Hauteclere: We have borne them gallantly otherwhere. So many fields 'twas ours to gain, They shall sing against us no scornful strain."

CXXV

As the Franks the heathen power descried, Filling the champaign from side to side, Loud unto Roland they made their call, And to Olivier and their captains all, Spake the archbishop as him became: "O barons, think not one thought of shame; Fly not, for sake of our God I pray. That on you be chaunted no evil lay. Better by far on the field to die; For in sooth I deem that our end is nigh. But in holy Paradise ye shall meet, And with the innocents be your seat." The Franks exult his words to hear, And the cry "Montjoie;" resoundeth clear.

CXXVI

King Marsil on the hill - top bides, While Grandonie with his legion rides. He nails his flag with three nails of gold: "Ride ye onwards, my barons bold." Then loud a thousand clarions rang. And the Franks exclaimed as they heard the clang "O God, our Father, what cometh on! Woe that we ever saw Ganelon: Foully, by treason, he us betrayed." Gallantly then the archbishop said, "Soldiers and lieges of God are ye, And in Paradise shall your guerdon be. To lie on its holy flowerets fair, Dastard never shall enter there." Say the Franks, "We will win it every one." The archbishop bestoweth his benison. Proudly mounted they at his word, And, like lions chafed, at the heathen spurred.

CXXVII

Thus doth King Marsil divide his men: He keeps around him battalions ten. As the Franks the other ten descry, "What dark disaster," they said, "is nigh? What doom shall now our peers betide?" Archbishop Turpin full well replied. "My cavaliers, of God the friends, Your crown of glory to - day He sends, To rest on the flowers of Paradise, That never were won by cowardice." The Franks made answer, "No cravens we, Nor shall we gainsay God's decree; Against the enemy yet we hold, Few may we be, but staunch and bold." Their spurs against the foe they set, Frank and paynim - once more they met.

CXXVIII

A heathen of Saragossa came. Full half the city was his to claim. It was Climorin: hollow of heart was he, He had plighted with Gan in perfidy, What time each other on mouth they kissed, And he gave him his helm and amethyst. He would bring fair France from her glory down And from the Emperor wrest his crown. He sate upon Barbamouche, his steed, Than hawk or swallow more swift in speed. Pricked with the spur, and the rein let flow, To strike at the Gascon of Bordeaux, Whom shield nor cuirass availed to save. Within his harness the point he drave, The sharp steel on through his body passed, Dead on the field was the Gascon cast. Said Climorin, "Easy to lay them low: Strike in, my pagans, give blow for blow." For their champion slain, the Franks cry woe.

CXXIX

Sir Roland called unto Olivier, "Sir Comrade, dead lieth Engelier; Braver knight had we none than he." "God grant," he answered, "revenge to me." His spurs of gold to his horse he laid, Grasping Hauteclere with his bloody blade. Climorin smote he, with stroke so fell, Slain at the blow was the infidel. Whose soul the Enemy bore away. Then turned he, Alphaien,the duke, to slay; From Escababi the head he shore, And Arabs seven to the earth he bore. Saith Roland, "My comrade is much in wrath; Won great laud by my side he hath; Us such prowess to Karl endears. Fight on, fight ever, my cavaliers."

CXXX

Then came the Saracen Valdabrun, Of whom King Marsil was foster - son. Four hundred galleys he owned at sea, And of all the mariners lord was he. Jerusalem erst he had falsely won, Profaned the temple of Solomon, Slaying the patriarch at the fount. 'Twas he who in plight unto Gan the count, His sword with a thousond coins bestowed. Gramimond named he the steed he rode, Swifter than ever was falcon's flight; Well did he prick with the sharp spurs bright, To strike Duke Samson, the fearless knight. Buckler and cuirass at once he rent, And his pennon's flaps through his body sent; Dead he cast him, with levelled spear. "Strike, ye heathens; their doom is near." The Franks cry woe for their cavalier.

CXXXI

When Roland was ware of Samson slain, Well may you weet of his bitter pain. With bloody spur he his steed impelled, While Durindana aloft he held, The sword more costly than purest gold; And he smote, with passion uncontrolled, On the heathen's helm, with its jewelled crown, Through head, and cuirass, and body down, And the saddle embossed with gold, till sank The griding steel in the charger's flank; Blame or praise him, the twain he slew. "A fearful stroke!" said the heathen crew. "I shall never love you," Count Roland cried. "With you are falsehood and evil pride."

CXXXII

From Afric's shore, of Afric's brood, Malquiant, son of King Malcus stood; Wrought of the beaten gold, his vest Flamed to the sun over all the rest. Saut - perdu hath he named his horse, Fleeter than ever was steed in course; He smote Anseis upon the shield, Cleft its vermeil and azure field, Severed the joints of his hauberk good, In his body planted both steel and wood. Dead he lieth, his day is o'er, And the Franks the loss of their peer deplore.

CXXXIII

Turpin rideth the press among; Never such priest the Mass had sung, Nor who hath such feats of his body done. "God send thee'" he said, "His Malison! For the knight thou slewest my heart is sore." He sets the spur to his steed once more, Smites the shield in Toledo made, And the heathen low on the sward is laid.

CXXXIV

Forth came the Saracen Grandonie, Bestriding his charger Marmorie; He was son unto Cappadocia's king, And his steed was fleeter than bird on wing. He let the rein on his neck decline, And spurred him hard against Count Gerein, Shattered the vermeil shield he bore, And his armor of proof all open tore; In went the pennon, so fierce the shock, And he cast him, dead, on a loft rock; Then he slew his comrade, in arms, Gerier, Guy of Saint Anton and Berengier. Next lay the great Duke Astor prone. The Lord of Valence upon the Rhone. Among the heathen great joy he cast. Say the Franks, lamenting, "We perish fast."

CXXXV

Count Roland graspeth his bloody sword: Well hath he heard how the Franks deplored; His heart is burning within his breast. "God's malediction upon thee rest! Right dearly shalt thou this blood repay." His war - horse springs to the spur straightway, And they come together - go down who may.

CXXXVI

A gallant captain was Grandonie, Great in arms and in chivalry. Never, till then, had he Roland seen, But well he knew him by form and mien, By the stately bearing and glance of pride, And a fear was on him he might not hide. Fain would he fly, but it skills not here; Roland smote him with stroke so sheer, That it cleft the nasal his helm beneath, Slitting nostril and mouth and teeth, Cleft his body and mail of plate, And the gilded saddle whereon he sate, Deep the back of the charger through: Beyond all succor the twain he slew. From the Spanish ranks a wail arose, And the Franks exult in their champion's blows.

CXXXVII

The battle is wondrous yet, and dire, And the Franks are cleaving in deadly ire; Wrists and ribs and chines afresh, And vestures, in to the living flesh; On the green grass streaming the bright blood ran, "O mighty country, Mahound thee ban! For thy sons are strong over might of man." And one and all unto Marsil cried, "Hither, O king, to our succor ride."

CXXXVIII

Marvellous yet is the fight around, The Franks are thrusting with spears embrowned; And great the carnage there to ken, Slain and wounded and bleeding men, Flung, each by other, on back or face. Hold no more can the heathen race. They turn and fly from the field apace; The Franks as hotly pursue in chase.

CXXXIX

Knightly the deeds by Roland done, Respite or rest for his Franks is none; Hard they ride on the heathen rear, At trot or gallop in full career. With crimson blood are their bodies stained, And their brands of steel are snapped or strained; And when the weapons their hands forsake, Then unto trumpet and horn they take. Serried they charge, in power and pride; And the Saracens cry - "May ill betide The hour we came on this fatal track!" So on our host do they turn the back, The Christians cleaving them as they fled, Till to Marsil stretcheth the line of dead.

CXL

King Marsil looks on his legions strown, He bids the clarion blast be blown, With all his host he onward speeds: Abime the heathen his vanguard leads. No felon worse in the host than he, Black of hue as a shrivelled pea; He believes not in Holy Mary's Son; Full many an evil deed hath done. Treason and murder he prizeth more Than all the gold of Galicia's shore; Men never knew him to laugh nor jest, But brave and daring among the best Endeared to the felon king therefor; And the dragon flag of his race he bore. The archbishop loathed him - full well he might, And as he saw him he yearned to smite, To himself he speaketh, low and quick, "This heathen seems much a heretic; I go to slay him, or else to die, For I love not dastards or dastardy."

CXLI

The archbishop began the fight once more; He rode the steed he had won of yore, When in Denmark Grossaille the king he slew. Fleet the charger, and fair to view: His feet were small and fashioned fine, Long the flank, and high the chine, Chest and croup full amply spread, With taper ear and tawny head, And snow - white tail and yellow mane: To seek his peer on earth were vain. The archbishop spurred him in fiery haste, And, on the moment Abime he faced, Came down on the wondrous shield the blow, The shield with amethysts all aglow, Carbuncle and topaz, each priceless stone; 'Twas once the Emir Galafir's own; A demon gave it in Metas vale; But when Turpin smote it might nought avail From side to side did his weapon trace, And he flung him dead in an open space. Say the Franks, "Such deeds beseem the brave. Well the archbishop his cross can save."

CXLII

Count Roland Olivier bespake: "Sir comrade, dost thou my thought partake? A braver breathes not this day on earth Than our archbishop in knightly worth. How nobly smites he with lance and blade!" Saith Olivier, "Yea, let us yield him aid;" And the Franks once more the fight essayed. Stern and deadly resound the blows. For the Christians, alas, 'tis a tale of woes!

CXLIII

The Franks of France of their arms are reft, Three hundred blades alone are left. The glittering helms they smite and shred, And cleave asunder full many a head; Through riven helm and hauberk rent, Maim head and foot and lineament. "Disfigured are we," the heathens cry. "Who guards him not hath but choice to die." Right unto Marsil their way they take. "Help, O king, for your people's sake!" King Marsil heard their cry at hand, "Mahound destroy thee, O mighty land; Thy race came hither to crush mine own. What cities wasted and overthrown, Doth Karl of the hoary head possess! Rome and Apulia his power confess, Constantinople and Saxony; Yet better die by the Franks than flee. On, Saracens! recreant heart be none; If Roland live, we are all foredone."

CXLIV

Then with the lance did the heathens smite On shield and gleaming helmet bright; Of steel and iron arose the clang, Towards heaven the flames and sparkles sprang; Brains and blood on the champaign flowed; But on Roland's heart is a dreary load, To see his vassals lie cold in death; His gentle France he remembereth, And his uncle, the good King Carlemaine; And the spirit within him groans for pain.

CXLV

Count Roland entered within the prease, And smote full deadly without surcease; While Durindana aloft he held, Hauberk and helm he pierced and quelled, Intrenching body and hand and head. The Saracens lie by the hundred dead, And the heathen host is discomfited.


Section III.

CXLVI

Valiantly Olivier, otherwhere, Brandished on high his sword Hauteclere Save Durindana, of swords the best. To the battle proudly he him addressed. His arms with the crimson blood were dyed. "God, what a vassal!" Count Roland cried. "O gentle baron, so true and leal, This day shall set on our love the seal! The Emperor cometh to find us dead, For ever parted and severed. France never looked on such woful day; Nor breathes a Frank but for us will pray, From the cloister cells shall the orisons rise, And our souls find rest in Paradise." Olivier heard him, amid the throng, Spurred his steed to his side along. Saith each to other, "Be near me still; We will die together, if God so will."

CXLVII

Roland and Olivier then are seen To lash and hew with their falchions keen; With his lance the archbishop thrusts and slays, And the numbers slain we may well appraise; In charter and writ is the tale expressed Beyond four thousand, saith the geste. In four encounters they sped them well: Dire and grievous the fifth befell. The cavaliers of the Franks are slain All but sixty, who yet remain; God preserved them, that ere they die, They may sell their lives full hardily.


The Horn

CXLVIII

As Roland gazed on his slaughtered men, He bespake his gentle compeer agen: "Ah, dear companion, may God thee shield! Behold, our bravest lie dead on field! Well may we weep for France the fair, Of her noble barons despoiled and bare. Had he been with us, our king and friend! Speak, my brother, thy counsel lend, How unto Karl shall we tidings send?" Olivier answered, "I wist not how. Liefer death than be recreant now."

CXLIX

"I will sound," said Roland, "upon my horn, Karl, as he passeth the gorge, to warn. The Franks, I know, will return apace." Said Olivier, "Nay, it were foul disgrace On your noble kindred to wreak such wrong; They would bear the stain their lifetime long. Erewhile I sought it, and sued in vain; But to sound thy horn thou wouldst not deign. Not now shall mine assent be won, Nor shall I say it is knightly done. Lo! both your arms are streaming red." "In sooth," said Roland, "good strokes I sped."

CL

Said Roland, "Our battle goes hard, I fear; I will sound my horn that Karl may hear." "'Twere a deed unknightly," said Olivier; "Thou didst disdain when I sought and prayed: Saved had we been with our Karl to aid; Unto him and his host no blame shall be: By this my beard, might I hope to see My gentle sister Alda's face, Thou shouldst never hold her in thine embrace."

CLI

"Ah, why on me doth thine anger fall?" "Roland, 'tis thou who hast wrought it all. Valor and madness are scarce allied, Better discretion than daring pride. All of thy folly our Franks lie slain, Nor shall render service to Karl again, As I implored thee, if thou hadst done, The king had come and the field were won; Marsil captive, or slain, I trow. Thy daring, Roland, hath wrought our woe. No service more unto Karl we pay, That first of men till the judgment day; Thou shalt die, and France dishonored be Ended our loyal company A woful parting this eve shall see."

CLII

Archbishop Turpin their strife hath heard, His steed with the spurs of gold he spurred, And thus rebuked them, riding near: "Sir Roland, and thou, Sir Olivier, Contend not, in God's great name, I crave. Not now availeth the horn to save; And yet behoves you to wind its call, Karl will come to avenge our fall, Nor hence the foemen in joyance wend. The Franks will all from their steeds descend; When they find us slain and martyred here, They will raise our bodies on mule and bier, And, while in pity aloud they weep, Lay us in hollowed earth to sleep; Nor wolf nor boar on our limbs shall feed." Said Roland, "Yea, 'tis a goodly rede."

CLIII

Then to his lips the horn he drew, And full and lustily he blew. The mountain peaks soared high around; Thirty leagues was borne the sound. Karl hath heard it, and all his band. "Our men have battle," he said, "on hand." Ganelon rose in front and cried, "If another spake, I would say he lied."

CLIV

With deadly travail, in stress and pain, Count Roland sounded the mighty strain. Forth from his mouth the bright blood sprang, And his temples burst for the very pang. On and onward was borne the blast, Till Karl hath heard as the gorge he passed, And Naimes and all his men of war. "It is Roland's horn," said the Emperor, "And, save in battle, he had not blown." "Battle," said Ganelon, "is there none. Old are you grown - all white and hoar; Such words bespeak you a child once more. Have you, then, forgotten Roland's pride, Which I marvel God should so long abide, How he captured Noples without your hest? Forth from the city the heathen pressed, To your vassal Roland they battle gave, He slew them all with the trenchant glaive, Then turned the waters upon the plain, That trace of blood might none remain. He would sound all day for a single hare: 'Tis a jest with him and his fellows there; For who would battle against him dare? Ride onward - wherefore this chill delay? Your mighty land is yet far away."

CLV

On Roland's mouth is the bloody stain, Burst asunder his temple's vein; His horn he soundeth in anguish drear; King Karl and the Franks around him hear. Said Karl, "That horn is long of breath." Said Naimes, "'Tis Roland who travaileth. There is battle yonder by mine avow. He who betrayed him deceives you now. Arm, sire; ring forth your rallying cry, And stand your noble household by; For your hear your Roland in jeopardy."

CLVI

The king commands to sound the alarm. To the trumpet the Franks alight and arm; With casque and corselet and gilded brand, Buckler and stalwart lance in hand, Pennons of crimson and white and blue, The barons leap on their steeds anew, And onward spur the passes through; Nor is there one but to other saith, "Could we reach but Roland before his death, Blows would we strike for him grim and great." Ah! what availeth! - 'tis all too late.

CLVII

The evening passed into brightening dawn. Against the sun their harness shone; From helm and hauberk glanced the rays, And their painted bucklers seemed all ablaze. The Emperor rode in wrath apart. The Franks were moody and sad of heart; Was none but dropped the bitter tear, For they thought of Roland with deadly fear. Then bade the Emperor take and bind Count Gan, and had him in scorn consigned To Besgun, chief of his kitchen train. "Hold me this felon," he said, "in chain." Then full a hundred round him pressed, Of the kitchen varlets the worst and best; His beard upon lip and chin they tore, Cuffs of the fist each dealt him four,

Roundly they beat him with rods and staves; Then around his neck those kitchen knaves Flung a fetterlock fast and strong, As ye lead a bear in a chain along; On a beast of burthen the count they cast, Till they yield him back to Karl at last.

CLVIII

Dark, vast, and high the summits soar, The waters down through the valleys pour, The trumpets sound in front and rear, And to Roland's horn make answer clear. The Emperor rideth in wrathful mood, The Franks in grievous solicitude; Nor one among them can stint to weep, Beseeching God that He Roland keep, Till they stand beside him upon the field, To the death together their arms to wield. Ah, timeless succor, and all in vain! Too long they tarried, too late they strain.

CLIX

Onward King Karl in his anger goes; Down on his harness his white beard flows. The barons of France spur hard behind; But on all there presseth one grief of mind That they stand not beside Count Roland then, As he fronts the power of the Saracen. Were he hurt in fight, who would then survive? Yet three score barons around him strive. And what a sixty! Nor chief nor king Had ever such gallant following.

CLX

Roland looketh to hill and plain, He sees the lines of his warriors slain, And he weeps like a noble cavalier, "Barons of France, God hold you dear, And take you to Paradise's bowers, Where your souls may lie on the holy flowers; Braver vassals on earth were none, So many kingdoms for Karl ye won; Years a - many your ranks I led, And for end like this were ye nurtured. Land of France, thou art soothly fair; To - day thou liest bereaved and bare; It was all for me your lives you gave, And I was helpless to shield or save. May the great God save you who cannot lie. Olivier, brother, I stand thee by; I die of grief, if I 'scape unslain: In, brother, in to the fight again."

CLXI

Once more pressed Roland within the fight, His Durindana he grasped with might; Faldron of Pui did he cleave in two, And twenty - four of their bravest slew. Never was man on such vengeance bound; And, as flee the roe - deer the hound, So in face of Roland the heathen flee. Saith Turpin, "Right well this liketh me. Such prowess a cavalier befits, Who harness wears, and on charger sits; In battle shall he be strong and great, Or I prize him not at four deniers' rate; Let him else be monk in a cloister cell, His daily prayers for our souls to tell." Cries Roland, "Smite them, and do not spare." Down once more on the foe they bear, But the Christian ranks grow thinned and rare.

CLXII

Who knoweth ransom is none for him, Maketh in battle resistance grim; The Franks like wrathful lions strike, But King Marsil beareth him baron - like; He bestrideth his charger, Gaignon hight, And he pricketh him hard, Sir Beuve to smite, The Lord of Beaune and of Dijon town, Through shield and cuirass, he struck him down: Dead past succor of man he lay. Ivon and Ivor did Marsil slay; Gerard of Roussillon beside. Not far was Roland, and loud he cried, "Be thou forever in God's disgrace, Who hast slain my fellows before my face, Before we part thou shalt blows essay, And learn the name of my sword to - day. Down, at the word, came the trenchant brand, And from Marsil severed his good right hand: With another stroke, the head he won Of the fair - haired Jurfalez, Marsil's son. "Help us, Mahound!" say the heathen train, "May our gods avenge us on Carlemaine! Such daring felons he hither sent, Who will hold the field till their lives be spent." "Let us flee and save us," cry one and all, Unto flight a hundred thousand fall, Nor can aught the fugitives recall.

CLXIII

But what availeth? though Marsil fly, His uncle, the Algalif, still is nigh; Lord of Carthagena is he, Of Alferna's shore and Garmalie, And of Ethiopia, accursed land: The black battalions at his command, With nostrils huge and flattened ears, Outnumber fifty thousand spears; And on they ride in haste and ire, Shouting their heathen war - cry dire. "At last," said Roland, "the hour is come, Here receive we our martyrdom; Yet strike with your burnished brands - accursed Who sells not his life right dearly first; In life or death be your thought the same, That gentle France be not brought to shame. When the Emperor hither his steps hath bent, And he sees the Saracens' chastisement, Fifteen of their dead against our one, He will breathe on our souls his benison."


Death of Olivier

CLXIV

When Roland saw the abhorred race, Than blackest ink more black in face, Who have nothing white but the teeth alone, "Now," he said, "it is truly shown, That the hour of our death is close at hand. Fight, my Franks, 'tis my last command." Said Olivier, "Shame is the laggard's due," And at his word they engage anew.

CLXV

When the heathen saw that the Franks were few, Heart and strength from the sight they drew; They said, "The Emperor hath the worse." The Algalif sat on a sorrel horse; He pricked with spurs of the gold refined, Smote Olivier in the back behind. On through his harness the lance he pressed, Till the steel came out at the baron's breast. "Thou hast it!" the Algalif, vaunting, cried, "Ye were sent by Karl in an evil tide. Of his wrongs against us he shall not boast; In thee alone I avenge our host."

CLXVI

Olivier felt the deadly wound, Yet he grasped Hauteclere, with its steel embrowned; He smote on the Algalif's crest of gold, Gem and flowers to the earth were rolled; Clave his head to the teeth below, And struck him dead with the single blow. "All evil, caitiff, thy soul pursue. Full well our Emperor's loss I Knew; But for thee - thou goest not hence to boast To wife or dame on thy natal coast, Of one denier from the Emperor won, Or of scathe to me or to others done." Then Roland's aid he called upon.

CLXVII

Olivier knoweth him hurt to death; The more to vengeance he hasteneth; Knightly as ever his arms he bore, Staves of lances and shields he shore; Sides and shoulders and hands and feet, Whose eyes soever the sight would greet, How the Saracens all disfigured lie, Corpse upon corpse, each other by, Would think upon gallant deeds; nor yet Doth he the war - cry of Karl forget "Montjoie!" he shouted, shrill and clear; Then called he Roland, his friend and peer, "Sir, my comrade, anear me ride; This day of dolor shall us divide."

CLXVIII

Roland looked Olivier in the face, Ghastly paleness was there to trace; Forth from his wound did the bright blood flow, And rain in showers to the earth below. "O God!" said Roland, "is this the end Of all thy prowess, my gentle friend? Nor know I whither to bear me now: On earth shall never be such as thou. Ah, gentle France, thou art overthrown, Reft of thy bravest, despoiled and lone; The Emperor's loss is full indeed!" At the word he fainted upon his steed.

CLXIX

See Roland there on his charger swooned, Olivier smitten with his death wound. His eyes from bleeding are dimmed and dark, Nor mortal, near or far, can mark; And when his comrade beside him pressed, Fiercely he smote on his golden crest; Down to the nasal the helm he shred, But passed no further, nor pierced his head. Roland marvelled at such a blow, And thus bespake him soft and low: "Hast thou done it, may comrade, wittingly? Roland who loves thee so dear, am I, Thou hast no quarrel with me to seek?" Olivier answered, "I hear thee speak, But I see thee not. God seeth thee. Have I struck thee, brother? Forgive it me." "I am not hurt, O Olivier; And in sight of God, I forgive thee here." Then each to other his head has laid, And in love like this was their parting made.

CLXX

Olivier feeleth his throe begin; His eyes are turning his head within, Sight and hearing alike are gone. He alights and couches the earth upon; His Mea Culpa aloud he cries, And his hands in prayer unto God arise, That he grant him Paradise to share, That he bless King Karl and France the fair, His brother Roland o'er all mankind; Then sank his heart, and his head declined, Stretched at length on the earth he lay, So passed Sir Olivier away. Roland was left to weep alone: Man so woful hath ne'er been known.

CLXXI

When Roland saw that life had fled, And with face to earth his comrade dead, He thus bewept him, soft and still: "Ah, friend, thy prowess wrought thee ill! So many days and years gone by We lived together, thou and I: And thou has never done me wrong, Nor I to thee, our lifetime long. Since thou art dead, to live is pain." He swooned on Veillantif again, Yet may not unto earth be cast, His golden stirrups held him fast.


Section IV.

CLXXII

When passed away had Roland's swoon, With sense restored, he saw full soon What ruin lay beneath his view. His Franks have perished all save two The archbishop and Walter of Hum alone. From the mountain - side hath Walter flown, Where he met in battle the bands of Spain, And the heathen won and his men were slain In his own despite to the vale he came; Called unto Roland, his aid to claim. "Ah, count! brave gentleman, gallant peer! Where art thou? With thee I know not fear. I am Walter, who vanquished Maelgut of yore, Nephew to Drouin, the old and hoar. For knightly deeds I was once thy friend. I fought the Saracen to the end; My lance is shivered, my shield is cleft, Of my broken mail are but fragments left. I bear in my body eight thrusts of spear; I die, but I sold my life right dear." Count Roland heard as he spake the word, Pricked his steed, and anear him spurred.

CLXXIII

"Walter," said Roland, "thou hadst affray With the Saracen foe on the heights to - day. Thou wert wont a valorous knight to be: A thousand horsemen gave I thee; Render them back, for my need is sore." "Alas, thou seest them never more! Stretched they lie on the dolorous ground, Where myriad Saracen swarms we found, Armenians, Turks, and the giant brood Of Balisa, famous for hardihood, Bestriding their Arab coursers fleet, Such host in battle 'twas ours to meet; Nor vaunting thence shall the heathen go, Full sixty thousand on earth lie low. With our brands of steel we avenged us well, But every Frank by the foeman fell. My hauberk plates are riven wide, And I bear such wounds in flank and side, That from every part the bright blood flows, And feebler ever my body grows. I am dying fast, I am well aware: Thy liegeman I, and claim thy care. If I fled perforce, thou wilt forgive, And yield me succor while thou dost live." Roland sweated with wrath and pain, Tore the skirts of his vest in twain, Bound Walter's every bleeding vein.

CLXXIV

In Roland's sorrow his wrath arose, Hotly he struck at the heathen foes, Nor left he one of a score alive; Walter slew six, the archbishop five. The heathens cry, "What a felon three! Look to it, lords, that they shall not flee. Dastard is he who confronts them not; Craven, who lets them depart this spot." Their cries and shoutings begin once more, And from every side on the Franks they pour.

CLXXV

Count Roland in sooth is a noble peer; Count Walter, a valorous cavalier; The archbishop, in battle proved and tried, Each struck as if knight there were none beside. From their steeds a thousand Saracens leap, Yet forty thousand their saddles keep; I trow they dare not approach them near, But they hurl against them lance and spear, Pike and javelin, shaft and dart. Walter is slain as the missiles part; The archbishop's shield in pieces shred, Riven his helm, and pierced his head; His corselet of steel they rent and tore, Wounded his body with lances four; His steed beneath him dropped withal: What woe to see the archbishop fall!

CLXXVI

When Turpin felt him flung to ground, And four lance wounds within him found, He swiftly rose, the dauntless man, To Roland looked, and nigh him ran. Spake but, "I am not overthrown Brave warrior yields with life alone." He drew Almace's burnished steel, A thousand ruthless blows to deal. In after time, the Emperor said He found four hundred round him spread, Some wounded, others cleft in twain; Some lying headless on the plain. So Giles the saint, who saw it, tells, For whom High God wrought miracles. In Laon cell the scroll he wrote; He little weets who knows it not.

CLXXVII

Count Roland combateth nobly yet, His body burning and bathed in sweat; In his brow a mighty pain, since first, When his horn he sounded, his temple burst; But he yearns of Karl's approach to know, And lifts his horn once more - but oh, How faint and feeble a note to blow! The Emperor listened, and stood full still. "My lords," he said, "we are faring ill. This day is Roland my nephew's last; Like dying man he winds that blast. On! Who would aid, for life must press. Sound every trump our ranks possess." Peal sixty thousand clarions high, The hills re - echo, the vales reply. It is now no jest for the heathen band. "Karl!" they cry, "it is Karl at hand!"

CLXXVIII

They said, "'Tis the Emperor's advance, We hear the trumpets resound of France. If he assail us, hope in vain; If Roland live, 'tis war again, And we lose for aye the land of Spain." Four hundred in arms together drew, The bravest of the heathen crew; With serried power they on him press, And dire in sooth is the count's distress.

CLXXIX

When Roland saw his coming foes, All proud and stern his spirit rose; Alive he shall never be brought to yield: Veillantif spurred he across the field, With golden spurs he pricked him well, To break the ranks of the infidel; Archbishop Turpin by his side. "Let us flee, and save us," the heathen cried; "These are the trumpets of France we hear It is Karl, the mighty Emperor, near."

CLXXX

Count Roland never hath loved the base, Nor the proud of heart, nor the dastard race, Nor knight, but if he were vassal good, And he spake to Turpin, as there he stood; "On foot are you, on horseback I; For your love I halt, and stand you by. Together for good and ill we hold; I will not leave you for man of mould. We will pay the heathen their onset back, Nor shall Durindana of blows be slack." "Base," said Turpin, "who spares to smite: When the Emperor comes, he will all requite."

CLXXXI

The heathens said, "We were born to shame. This day for our disaster came: Our lords and leaders in battle lost, And Karl at hand with his marshalled host; We hear the trumpets of France ring out, And the cry 'Montjoie!' their rallying shout. Roland's pride is of such a height, Not to be vanquished by mortal wight; Hurl we our missiles, and hold aloof." And the word they spake, they put in proof, They flung, with all their strength and craft, Javelin, barb, and plumed shaft. Roland's buckler was torn and frayed, His cuirass broken and disarrayed, Yet entrance none to his flesh they made. From thirty wounds Veillantif bled, Beneath his rider they cast him, dead; Then from the field have the heathen flown: Roland remaineth, on foot, alone.


The Last Benediction of the Archbishop

CLXXXII

The heathens fly in rage and dread; To the land of Spain have their footsteps sped; Nor can Count Roland make pursuit Slain is his steed, and he rests afoot; To succor Turpin he turned in haste, The golden helm from his head unlaced, Ungirt the corselet from his breast, In stripes divided his silken vest; The archbishop's wounds hath he staunched and bound, His arms around him softly wound; On the green sward gently his body laid, And, with tender greeting, thus him prayed: "For a little space, let me take farewell; Our dear companions, who round us fell, I go to seek; if I haply find, I will place them at thy feet reclined." "Go," said Turpin; "the field is thine To God the glory, 'tis thine and mine."

CLXXXIII

Alone seeks Roland the field of fight, He searcheth vale, the searcheth height. Ivon and Ivor he found, laid low, And the Gascon Engelier of Bordeaux, Gerein and his fellow in arms, Gerier; Otho he found, and Berengier; Samson the duke, and Anseis bold, Gerard of Roussillon, the old. Their bodies, one after one, he bore, And laid them Turpin's feet before. The archbishop saw them stretched arow, Nor can he hinder the tears that flow; In benediction his hands he spread: "Alas! for your doom, my lords," he said, "That God in mercy your souls may give, On the flowers of Paradise to live; Mines own death comes, with anguish sore That I see mine Emperor never more."

CLXXXIV

Once more to the field doth Roland wend, Till he findeth Olivier his friend; The lifeless form to his heart he strained, Bore him back with what strength remained, On a buckler laid him, beside the rest, The archbishop assoiled them all, and blessed. Their dole and pity anew find vent, And Roland maketh his fond lament: "My Olivier, my chosen one, Thou wert the noble Duke Renier's son, Lord of the March unto Rivier vale. To shiver lance and shatter mail, The brave in council to guide and cheer, To smite the miscreant foe with fear, Was never on earth such cavalier."

CLXXXV

Dead around him his peers to see, And the man he loved so tenderly, Fast the tears of Count Roland ran, His visage discolored became, and wan, He swooned for sorrow beyond control. "Alas," said Turpin, "how great thy dole!"

CLXXXVI

To look on Roland swooning there, Surpassed all sorrow he ever bare; He stretched his hand, the horn he took, Through Roncesvalles thee flowed a brook, A draught to Roland he thought to bring; But his steps were feeble and tottering, Spent his strength, from waste of blood, He struggled on for scarce a rood, When sank his heart, and drooped his frame, And his moral anguish on him came.

CLXXXVII

Roland revived from his swoon again; On his feet he rose, but in deadly pain; He looked on high, and he looked below, Till, a space his other companions fro, He beheld the baron, stretched on sward, The archbishop, vicar of God our Lord. Mea Culpa was Turpin's cry, While he raised his hands to heaven on high, Imploring Paradise to gain. So died the soldier of Carlemaine, With word or weapon, to preach or fight, A champion ever of Christian right, And a deadly foe of the infidel. God's benediction within him dwell!

CLXXXVIII

When Roland saw him stark on earth (His very vitals were bursting forth, And his brain was oozing from out his head), He took the fair white hands outspread, Crossed and clasped them upon his breast, And thus his plaint to the dead addressed, So did his country's law ordain: "Ah, gentleman of noble strain, I trust thee unto God the True, Whose service never man shall do With more devoted heart and mind: To guard the faith, to win mankind, From the apostles' days till now, Such prophet never rose as thou. Nor pain or torment thy soul await, But of Paradise the open gate."


The Death Of Roland

CLXXXIX

Roland feeleth his death is near, His brain is oozing by either ear. For his peers he prayed - God keep them well; Invoked the angel Gabriel. That none reproach him, his horn he clasped; His other hand Durindana grasped; Then, far as quarrel from crossbow sent, Across the march of Spain he went, Where, on a mound, two trees between, Four flights of marble steps were seen; Backward he fell, on the field to lie; And he swooned anon, for the end was nigh.

CXC

High were the mountains and high the trees, Bright shone the marble terraces; On the green grass Roland hath swooned away. A Saracen spied him where he lay: Stretched with the rest he had feigned him dead, His face and body with blood bespread. To his feet he sprang, and in haste he hied, He was fair and strong and of courage tried, In pride and wrath he was overbold, And on Roland, body and arms, laid hold. "The nephew of Karl is overthrown! To Araby bear I this sword, mine own." He stooped to grasp it, but as he drew, Roland returned to his sense anew.

CXCI

He saw the Saracen seize his sword; His eyes he oped, and he spake one word "Thou art not one of our band, I trow," And he clutched the horn he would ne'er forego; On the golden crest he smote him full, Shattering steel and bone and skull, Forth from his head his eyes he beat, And cast him lifeless before his feet. "Miscreant, makest thou then so free, As, right or wrong, to lay hold on me? Who hears it will deem thee a madman born; Behold the mouth of mine ivory horn Broken for thee, and the gems and gold Around its rim to earth are rolled."

CXCII

Roland feeleth his eyesight reft, Yet he stands erect with what strength is left; From his bloodless cheek is the hue dispelled, But his Durindana all bare he held. In front a dark brown rock arose He smote upon it ten grievous blows. Grated the steel as it struck the flint, Yet it brake not, nor bore its edge one dint. "Mary, Mother, be thou mine aid! Ah, Durindana, my ill - starred blade, I may no longer thy guardian be! What fields of battle I won with thee! What realms and regions 'twas ours to gain, Now the lordship of Carlemaine! Never shalt thou possessor know Who would turn from face of mortal foe; A gallant vassal so long thee bore, Such as France the free shall know no more."

CXCIII

He smote anew on the marble stair. It grated, but breach nor notch was there. When Roland found that it would not break, Thus began he his plaint to make. "Ah, Durindana, how fair and bright Thou sparklest, flaming against the light! When Karl in Maurienne valley lay, God sent his angel from heaven to say 'This sword shall a valorous captain's be,' And he girt it, the gentle king, on me. With it I vanquished Poitou and Maine, Provence I conquered and Aquitaine; I conquered Normandy the free, Anjou, and the marches of Brittany; Romagna I won, and Lombardy, Bavaria, Flanders from side to side, And Burgundy, and Poland wide; Constantinople affiance vowed, And the Saxon soil to his bidding bowed; Scotia, and Wales, and Ireland's plain, Of England made he his own domain. What might, regions I won of old, For the hoary - headed Karl to hold! But there presses on me a grievous pain, Lest thou in heathen hands remain. O God our Father, keep France from stain!"

CXCIV

His strokes once more on the brown rock fell, And the steel was bent past words to tell; Yet it brake not, nor was notched the grain, Erect it leaped to the sky again. When he failed at the last to break his blade, His lamentation he inly made. "Oh, fair and holy, my peerless sword, What relics lie in thy pommel stored! Tooth of Saint Peter, Saint Basil's blood, Hair of Saint Denis beside them strewed, Fragment of holy Mary's vest. 'Twere shame that thou with the heathen rest; Thee should the hand of a Christian serve One who would never in battle swerve. What regions won I with thee of yore, The empire now of Karl the hoar! Rich and mighty is he therefore.'

CXCV

That death was on him he knew full well; Down from his head to his heart it fell; On the grass beneath a pine - tree's shade, With face to earth, his form he laid, Beneath him placed he his horn and sword, And turned his face to the heathen horde. Thus hath he done the sooth to show, That Karl and his warriors all may know, That the gentle count a conqueror died. Mea Culpa full oft he cried; And, for all his sins, unto God above, In sign of penance, he raised his glove.

CXCVI

Roland feeleth his hour at hand; On a knoll he lies towards the Spanish land. With one hand beats he upon his breast: "In thy sight, O God, be my sins confessed. From my hour of birth, both the great and small, Down to this day, I repent of all." As his glove he raises to God on high, Angels of heaven descend him nigh.

CXCVII

Beneath a pine was his resting - place, To the land of Spain hath he turned his face, On his memory rose full many a thought Of the lands he won and the fields he fought; Of his gentle France, of his kin and line; Of his nursing father, King Karl benign; He may not the tear and sob control, Nor yet forgets he his parting soul. To God's compassion he makes his cry: "O Father true, who canst not lie, Who didst Lazarus raise unto life agen, And Daniel shield in the lions' den; Shield my soul from its peril, due For the sins I sinned my lifetime through." He did his right - hand glove uplift Saint Gabriel took from his hand the gift; Then drooped his head upon his breast, And with clasped hands he went to rest. God from on high sent down to him One of his angel Cherubim Saint Michael of Peril of the sea, Saint Gabriel in company From heaven they came for that soul of price, And they bore it with them to Paradise.


Part III

Section I.

The Reprisals

The Chastisement of the Saracens

CXCVIII

Dead is Roland; his soul with God. While to Roncesvalles the Emperor rode, Where neither path nor track he found, Nor open space nor rood of ground, But was strewn with Frank or heathen slain, "Where art thou, Roland?" he cried in pain: "The Archbishop where, and Olivier, Gerein and his brother in arms, Gerier? Count Otho where, and Berengier, Ivon and Ivor, so dear to me; And Engelier of Gascony; Samson the duke, and Anseis the bold; Gerard, of Roussillon, the old; My peers, the twelve whom I left behind?" In vain! - No answer may he find. "O God," he cried, "what grief is mine That I was not in front of this battle line!" For very wrath his beard he tore, His knights and barons weeping sore; Aswoon full fifty thousand fall; Duke Naimes hath pity and dole for all.

CXCIX

Nor knight nor baron was there to see But wept full fast, and bitterly; For son and brother their tears descend, For lord and liege, for kin and friend; Aswoon all numberless they fell, But Naimes did gallantly and well. He spake the first to the Emperor "Look onward, sire, two leagues before, See the dust from the ways arise, There the strength of the heathen lies. Ride on; avenge you for this dark day." "O God," said Karl, "they are far away! Yet for right and honor, the sooth ye say. Fair France's flower they have torn from me." To Otun and Gebouin beckoned he, To Tybalt of Rheims, and Milo the count. "Guard the battle - field, vale, and mount Leave the dead as ye see them lie; Watch, that nor lion nor beast come nigh, Nor on them varlet or squire lay hand; None shall touch them, 'tis my command, Till with God's good grace we return again." They answered lowly, in loving strain, "Great lord, fair sire, we will do your hest," And a thousand warriors with them rest.

CC

The Emperor bade his clarions ring, Marched with his host the noble king. They came at last on the heathens' trace, And all together pursued in chase; But the king of the falling eve was ware: He alighted down in a meadow fair, Knelt on the earth unto God to pray That he make the sun in his course delay, Retard the night, and prolong the day. Then his wonted angel who with him spake, Swiftly to Karl did answer make, "Ride on! Light shall not thee forego; God seeth the flower of France laid low; Thy vengeance wreak on the felon crew." The Emperor sprang to his steed anew.

CCI

God wrought for Karl a miracle: In his place in heaven the sun stood still. The heathens fled, the Franks pursued, And in Val Tenebres beside them stood; Towards Saragossa the rout they drave, And deadly were the strokes they gave. They barred against them path and road; In front the water of Ebro flowed: Strong was the current, deep and large, Was neither shallop, nor boat, nor barge. With a cry to their idol Termagaunt, The heathens plunge, but with scanty vaunt. Encumbered with their armor's weight, Sank the most to the bottom, straight; Others floated adown the stream; And the luckiest drank their fill, I deem: All were in marvellous anguish drowned. Cry the Franks, "In Roland your fate ye found."

CCII

As he sees the doom of the heathen host, Slain are some and drowned the most, (Great spoil have won the Christian knights), The gentle king from his steed alights, And kneels, his thanks unto God to pour: The sun had set as he rose once more. "It is time to rest," the Emperor cried, "And to Roncesvalles 'twere late to ride. Our steeds are weary and spent with pain; Strip them of saddle and bridle - rein, Free let them browse on the verdant mead." "Sire," say the Franks, "it were well indeed."

CCIII

The Emperor hath his quarters ta'en, And the Franks alight in the vacant plain; The saddles from their steeds they strip, And the bridle - reins from their heads they slip; They set them free on the green grass fair, Nor can they render them other care. On the ground the weary warriors slept; Watch nor vigil that night they kept.

CCIV

In the mead the Emperor made his bed, With his mighty spear beside his head, Nor will he doff his arms to - night, But lies in his broidered hauberk white. Laced is his helm, with gold inlaid, Girt on Joyeuse, the peerless blade, Which changes thirty times a day The brightness of its varying ray. Nor may the lance unspoken be Which pierced our Saviour on the tree; Karl hath its point - so God him graced Within his golden hilt enchased. And for this honor and boon of heaven, The name Joyeuse to the sword was given; The Franks may hold it in memory. Thence came "Montjoie," their battle - cry, And thence no race with them may vie.

CCV

Clear was the night, and the fair moon shone, But grief weighed heavy King Karl upon; He thought of Roland and Olivier, Of his Franks and every gallant peer, Whom he left to perish in Roncesvale, Nor can he stint but to weep and wail, Imploring God their souls to bless, 'Till, overcome with long distress, He slumbers at last for heaviness. The Franks are sleeping throughout the meads; Nor rest on foot can the weary steeds They crop the herb as they stretch them prone. Much hath he learned who hath sorrow known.

CCVI

The Emperor slumbered like man forespent, While God his angle Gabriel sent The couch of Carlemaine to guard. All night the angel kept watch and ward, And in a vision to Karl presaged A coming battle against him waged. 'Twas shown in fearful augury; The king looked upward to the sky There saw he lightning, and hail, and storm, Wind and tempest in fearful form. A dread apparel of fire and flame, Down at once on his host they came. Their ashen lances the flames enfold, and their bucklers in to the knobs of gold; Grated the steel of helm and mail. Yet other perils the Franks assail, And his cavaliers are in deadly strait. Bears and lions to rend them wait, Wiverns, snakes and fiends of fire, More than a thousand griffins dire; Enfuried at the host they fly. "Help us, Karl!" was the Franks' outcry, Ruth and sorrow the king beset; Fain would he aid, but was sternly let. A lion came from the forest path, Proud and daring, and fierce in wrath; Forward sprang he the king to grasp, And each seized other with deadly clasp; But who shall conquer or who shall fall, None knoweth. Nor woke the king withal.

CCVII

Another vision came him o'er: He was in France, his land, once more; In Aix, upon his palace stair, And held in double chain a bear. When thirty more from Arden ran, Each spake with voice of living man: "Release him, sire!" aloud they call; "Our kinsman shall not rest in thrall. To succor him our arms are bound." Then from the palace leaped a hound, On the mightiest of the bears he pressed, Upon the sward, before the rest. The wondrous fight King Karl may see, But knows not who shall victor be. These did the angel to Karl display; But the Emperor slept till dawning day.

CCVIII

At morning - tide when day - dawn broke, The Emperor from his slumber woke. His holy guardian, Gabriel, With hand uplifted sained him well. The king aside his armor laid, And his warriors all were disarrayed. Then mount they, and in haste they ride, Through lengthening path and highway wide Until they see the doleful sight In Roncesvalles, the field of fight.

CCIX

Unto Roncesvalles King Karl hath sped, And his tears are falling above the dead; "Ride, my barons, at gentle pace, I will go before, a little space, For my nephew's sake, whom I fain would find. It was once in Aix, I recall to mind, When we met at the yearly festal - tide, My cavaliers in vaunting vied Of stricken fields and joustings proud, I heard my Roland declare aloud, In foreign land would he never fall But in front of his peers and his warriors all, He would lie with head to the foeman's shore, And make his end like a conqueror." Then far as man a staff might fling, Clomb to a rising knoll the king.

CCX

As the king in quest of Roland speeds, The flowers and grass throughout the meads He sees all red with our baron's blood, And his tears of pity break forth in flood. He upward climbs, till, beneath two trees, The dints upon the rock he sees. Of Roland's corse he was then aware; Stretched it lay on the green grass bare. No marvel sorrow the king oppressed; He alighted down, and in haste he pressed, Took the body his arms between, And fainted: dire his grief I ween.

CCXI

As did reviving sense begin, Naimes, the duke, and Count Acelin, The noble Geoffrey of Anjou, And his brother Henry nigh him drew. They made a pine - tree's trunk his stay; But he looked to earth where his nephew lay, And thus all gently made his dole: "My friend, my Roland, God guard thy soul! Never on earth such knight hath been, Fields of battle to fight and win. My pride and glory, alas, are gone!" He endured no longer: he swooned anon.

CCXII

As Karl the king revived once more, His hands were held by barons four. He saw his nephew, cold and wan; Stark his frame, but his hue was gone; His eyes turned inward, dark and dim; And Karl in love lamented him: "Dear Roland, God thy spirit rest In Paradise, amongst His blest! In evil hour thou soughtest Spain: No day shall dawn but sees my pain, And me of strength and pride bereft. No champion of mine honor left; Without a friend beneath the sky; And though my kindred still be nigh, Is none like thee their ranks among." With both his hands his beard he wrung. The Franks bewailed in unison; A hundred thousand wept like one.

CCXIII

"Dear Roland, I return again To Laon, to mine own domain; Where men will come from many a land, And seek Count Roland at my hand. A bitter tale must I unfold 'In Spanish earth he lieth cold,' A joyless realm henceforth I hold, And weep with daily tears untold.

CCXIV

"Dear Roland, beautiful and brave, All men of me will tidings crave, When I return to La Chapelle. Oh, what a tale is mine to tell! That low my glorious nephew lies. Now will the Saxon foeman rise; Bulgar and Hun in arms will come, Apulia's power, the might of Rome, Palermitan and Afric bands, And men from fierce and distant lands. To sorrow, sorrow must succeed; My hosts to battle who shall lead, When the mighty captain is overthrown? Ah! France deserted now, and lone. Come, death, before such grief I bear." Once more his beard and hoary hair Began he with his hands to tear; A hundred thousand fainted there.

CCXV

"Dear Roland, and was this thy fate? May Paradise thy soul await. Who slew thee wrought fair France's bane: I cannot live, so deep my pain. For me my kindred lie undone; And would to Holy Mary's Son, Ere I at Cizra's gorge alight, My soul may take its parting flight: My spirit would with theirs abide; My body rest their dust beside." With sobs his hoary beard he tore. "Alas!" said Naimes, "for the Emperor."

CCXVI

"Sir Emperor," Geoffrey of Anjou said, "Be not by sorrow so sore misled. Let us seek our comrades throughout the plain, Who fell by the hands of the men of Spain; And let their bodies on biers be borne." "Yea," said the Emperor. "Sound your horn."

CCXVII

Now doth Count Geoffrey his bugle sound, And the Franks from their steeds alight to ground As they their dead companions find, They lay them low on biers reclined; Nor prayers of bishop or abbot ceased, Of monk or canon, or tonsured priest. The dead they blessed in God's great name, Set myrrh and frankincense aflame. Their incense to the dead they gave, Then laid them, as beseemed the brave What could they more? - in honored grave.

CCXVIII

But the king kept watch o'er Roland's bier O'er Turpin and Sir Olivier. He bade their bodies opened be, Took the hearts of the barons three, Swathed them in silken cerements light, Laid them in urns of the marble white. Their bodies did the Franks enfold In skins of deer, around them rolled; Laved them with spices and with wine, Till the king to Milo gave his sign, To Tybalt, Otun, and Gebouin; Their bodies three on biers they set, Each in its silken coverlet.

CCXIX

To Saragossa did Marsil flee. He alighted beneath an olive tree, And sadly to his serfs he gave His helm, his cuirass, and his glaive, Then flung him on the herbage green; Came nigh him Bramimonde his queen. Shorn from his wrist was his right hand good; He swooned for pain and waste of blood. The queen, in anguish, wept and cried, With twenty thousand by her side. King Karl and gentle France they cursed; Then on their gods their anger burst. Unto Apollin's crypt they ran, And with revilings thus began: "Ah, evil - hearted god, to bring Such dark dishonor on our king. Thy servants ill dost thou repay." His crown and wand they wrench away, They bind him to a pillar fast, And then his form to earth they cast, His limbs with staves they bruise and break: From Termagaunt his gem they take: Mohammed to a trench they bear, For dogs and boars to tread and tear.

CCXX

Within his vaulted hall they bore King Marsil, when his swoon was o'er; The hall with colored writings stained. And loud the queen in anguish plained, The while she tore her streaming hair, "Ah, Saragossa, reft and bare, Thou seest thy noble king o'erthrown! Such felony our gods have shown, Who failed in fight his aids to be. The Emir comes - a dastard he, Unless he will that race essay, Who proudly fling their lives away. Their Emperor of the hoary beard, In valor's desperation reared, Will never fly for mortal foe. Till he be slain, how deep my woe!"1

[Footnote 1: Here intervenes the episode of the great battle fought between Charlemagne and Baligant, Emir of Babylon, who had come with a mighty army, to the succor of King Marsil, his vassal. This episode has been suspected of being a later interpolation. The translation is resumed at the end of the battle, after the Emir had been slain by Charlemagne's own hand, and when the Franks enter Saragossa in pursuit of the Saracens.]

CCXXI

Fierce is the heat and thick the dust. The Franks the flying Arabs thrust. To Saragossa speeds their flight. The queen ascends a turret's height. The clerks and canons on her wait, Of that false law God holds in hate. Order or tonsure have they none. And when she thus beheld undone The Arab power, all disarrayed, Aloud she cried, "Mahound us aid! My king! defeated is our race, The Emir slain in foul disgrace." King Marsil turns him to the wall, And weeps - his visage darkened all. He dies for grief - in sin he dies, His wretched soul the demon's prize.

CCXXII

Dead lay the heathens, or turned to flight, And Karl was victor in the fight. Down Saragossa's wall he brake Defense he knew was none to make. And as the city law subdued, The hoary king all proudly stood, There rested his victorious powers. The queen hath yielded up the towers Ten great towers and fifty small. Well strives he whom God aids withal.


Section II

CCXXIII

Day passed; the shades of night drew on, And moon and stars refulgent shone. Now Karl is Saragossa's lord, And a thousand Franks, by the king's award, Roam the city, to search and see Where mosque or synagogue may be. With axe and mallet of steel in hand, They let nor idol nor image stand; The shrines of sorcery down they hew, For Karl hath faith in God the True, And will Him righteous service do. The bishops have the water blessed, The heathen to the font are pressed. If any Karl's command gainsay, He has him hanged or burned straightway. So a hundred thousand to Christ are won; But Bramimonde the queen alone Shall unto France be captive brought, And in love be her conversion wrought.

CCXXIV

Night passed, and came the daylight hours, Karl garrisoned the city's towers; He left a thousand valiant knights, To sentinel their Emperor's rights. Then all his Franks ascend their steeds, While Bramimonde in bonds he leads, To work her good his sole intent. And so, in pride and strength, they went; They passed Narbonne in gallant show, And reached by stately walls, Bordeaux. There, on Saint Severin's alter high, Karl placed Count Roland's horn to lie, With mangons filled, and coins of gold, As pilgrims to this hour behold. Across Garonne he bent his way, In ships within the stream that lay, And brought his nephew unto Blaye, With his noble comrade, Olivier, And Turpin sage, the gallant peer. Of the marble white their tombs were made; In Saint Roman's shrine are the baron's laid, Whom the Franks to God and his saints commend. And Karl by hill and vale doth wend, Nor stays till Aix is reached, and there Alighteth on his marble stair. When sits he in his palace hall, He sends around to his judges all, From Frisia, Saxony, Loraine, From Burgundy and Allemaine, From Normandy, Brittaine, Poitou: The realm of France he searches through, The summons every sagest man. The plea of Ganelon then began.

CCXXV

From Spain the Emperor made retreat, To Aix in France, his kingly seat; And thither, to his halls, there came, Alda, the fair and gentle dame. "Where is my Roland, sire," she cried, "Who vowed to take me for his bride?" O'er Karl the flood of sorrow swept; He tore his beard and loud he wept. "Dear sister, gentle friend," he said, "Thou seekest one who lieth dead: I plight to thee my son instead, Louis, who lord of my realm shall be." "Strange," she said, "seems this to me. God and his angels forbid that I Should live on earth if Roland die." Pale grew her cheek - she sank amain, Down at the feet of Carlemaine. So died she. God receive her soul! The Franks bewail her in grief and dole.

CCXXVI

So to her death went Alda fair. The king but deemed she fainted there. While dropped his tears of pity warm, He took her hands and raised her form. Upon his shoulder drooped her head, And Karl was ware that she was dead. When thus he saw that life was o'er, He summoned noble ladies four. Within a cloister was she borne; They watched beside her until morn; Beneath a shrine her limbs were laid; Such honor Karl to Alda paid.

CCXXVII

The Emperor sitteth in Aix again, With Gan, the felon, in iron chain, The very palace walls beside, By serfs unto a stake was tied. They bound his hands with leathern thong, Beat him with staves and cordage strong; Nor hath he earned a better fee. And there in pain awaits his plea.

CCXXVIII

'Tis written in the ancient geste, How Karl hath summoned east and west. At La Chapelle assembled they; High was the feast and great the day Saint Sylvester's, the legend ran. The plea and judgment then began Of Ganelon, who the treason wrought, Now face to face with his Emperor brought.

CCXXIX

"Lords, my barons," said Karl the king, "On Gan be righteous reckoning: He followed in my host to Spain; Through him ten thousand Franks lie slain And slain was he, my sister's son, Whom never more ye look upon, With Olivier the sage and bold, And all my peers, betrayed for gold." "Shame befall me," said Gan, "if I Now or ever the deed deny; Foully he wronged me in wealth and land, And I his death and ruin planned: Therein, I say, was treason none." They said, "We will advise thereon."

CCXXX

Count Gan to the Emperor's presence came, Fresh of hue and lithe of frame, With a baron's mien, were his heart but true. On his judges round his glance he threw, And on thirty kinsmen by his side, And thus, with mighty voice, he cried: "Hear me, barons, for love of God. In the Emperor's host was I abroad Well I served him, and loyally, But his nephew, Roland, hated me: He doomed my doom of death and woe, That I to Marsil's court should go. My craft the danger put aside, But Roland loudly I defied, With Olivier, and all their crew, As Karl, and these his barons, knew. Vengeance, not treason, have I wrought." "Thereon," they answered, "take we thought."

CCXXXI

When Ganelon saw the plea begin, He mustered thirty of his kin, With one revered by all the rest Pinabel of Sorrence's crest. Well can his tongue his cause unfold, And a vassal brave his arms to hold. "Thine aid," said Ganelon, "I claim; To rescue me from death and shame." Said Pinabel, "Rescued shalt thou be. Let any Frank thy death decree, And, wheresoe'er the king deems meet, I will him body to body greet, Give him the lie with my brand of steel." Ganelon sank at his feet to kneel.

CCXXXII

Come Frank and Norman to council in, Bavarian, Saxon, and Poitevin, With all the barons of Teuton blood; But the men of Auvergne are mild of mood Their hearts are swayed unto Pinabel. Saith each to other, "Pause we well. Let us leave this plea, and the king implore To set Count Ganelon free once more, Henceforth to serve him in love and faith: Count Roland lieth cold in death: Not all the gold beneath the sky Can give him back to mortal eye; Such battle would but madness be." They all applauded his decree, Save Thierry - Geoffrey's brother he.

CCXXXIII

The barons came the king before. "Fair Sire, we all thy grace implore, That Gan be suffered free to go, His faith and love henceforth to show. Oh, let him live - a noble he. Your Roland you shall never see: No wealth of gold may him recall." Karl answered, "Ye are felons all."

CCXXXIV

When Karl saw all forsake him now, Dark grew his face and drooped his brow. He said, "Of men most wretched I!" Stepped forth Thierry speedily, Duke Geoffrey's brother, a noble knight, Spare of body, and lithe and light, Dark his hair and his hue withal, Nor low of stature, nor over tall: To Karl, in courteous wise, he said, "Fair Sire, be not disheartened. I have served you truly, and, in the name Of my lineage, I this quarrel claim. If Roland wronged Sir Gan in aught, Your service had his safeguard wrought. Ganelon bore him like caitiff base, A perjured traitor before your face. I adjudge him to die on the gallows tree; Flung to the hounds let his carcase be, The doom of treason and felony. Let kin of his but say I lie, And with this girded sword will I My plighted word in fight maintain." "Well spoken," cry the Franks amain.

CCXXXV

Sir Pinabel stood before Karl in place, Vast of body and swift of pace, Small hope hath he whom his sword may smite. "Sire, it is yours to decide the right. Bid this clamor around to pause. Thierry hath dared to adjudge the cause; He lieth. Battle thereon I do." And forth his right - hand glove he drew. But the Emperor said, "In bail to me Shall thirty of his kinsmen be; I yield him pledges on my side: Be they guarded well till the right be tried." When Thierry saw the fight shall be, To Karl his right glove reacheth he; The Emperor gave his pledges o'er. And set in place were benches four Thereon the champions take their seat, And all is ranged in order meet, The preparations Ogier speeds, And both demand their arms and steeds.

CCXXXVI

But yet, ere lay they lance in rest, They make their shrift, are sained and blessed; They hear the Mass, the Host receive, Great gifts to church and cloister leave. They stand before the Emperor's face; The spurs upon their feet they lace; Gird on their corselets, strong and light; Close on their heads the helmets bright. The golden hilts at belt are hung; Their quartered shields from shoulder swung. In hand the mighty spears they lift, Then spring they on their chargers swift. A hundred thousand cavaliers The while for Thierry drop their tears; They pity him for Roland's sake. God knows what end the strife will take.

CCXXXVII

At Aix is a wide and grassy plain, Where met in battle the baron's twain. Both of valorous knighthood are, Their chargers swift and apt for war. They prick them hard with slackened rein; Drive each at other with might and main. Their bucklers are in fragments flung, Their hauberks rent, their girths unstrung; With saddles turned, they earthward rolled. A hundred thousand in tears behold.

CCXXXVIII

Both cavaliers to earth are gone, Both rise and leap on foot anon. Strong is Pinabel, swift and light; Each striketh other, unhorsed they fight; With golden - hilted swords, they deal Fiery strokes on the helms of steel. Trenchant and fierce is their every blow. The Franks look on in wondrous woe. "O God," saith Karl, "Thy judgment show."

CCXXXIX

"Yield thee, Thierry," said Pinabel. "In love and faith will I serve thee well, And all my wealth to thy feet will bring, Win Ganelon's pardon from the king." "Never," Thierry in scorn replied, "Shall thought so base in may bosom bide! God betwixt us this day decide."

CCXL

"Ah, Pinabel!" so Thierry spake, "Thou art a baron of stalwart make, Thy knighthood known to every peer, Come, let us cease this battle here. With Karl thy concord shall be won, But on Ganelon be justice done; Of him henceforth let speech be none." "No," said Pinabel; "God forefend! My kinsman I to the last defend; Nor will I blench for mortal face, Far better death than such disgrace." Began they with their glaves anew The gold - encrusted helms to hew; Towards heaven the fiery sparkles flew. They shall not be disjoined again, Nor end the strife till one be slain.

CCXLI

Pinabel, lord of Sorrence's keep, Smote Thierry's helm with stroke so deep The very fire that from it came Hath set the prairie round in flame; The edge of steel did his forehead trace Adown the middle of his face; His hauberk to the centre clave. God deigned Thierry from death to save.

CCXLII

When Thierry felt him wounded so, For his bright blood flowed on the grass below, He smote on Pinabel's helmet brown, Cut and clave to the nasal down; Dashed his brains from forth his head, And, with stroke of prowess, cast him dead. Thus, at a blow, was the battle won: "God," say the Franks, "hath this marvel done."

CCXLIII

When Thierry thus was conqueror, He came the Emperor Karl before. Full fifty barons were in his train, Duke Naimes, and Ogier the noble Dane, Geoffrey of Anjou and William of Blaye. Karl clasped him in his arms straightway With skin of sable he wiped his face; Then cast it from him, and, in its place, Bade him in fresh attire be drest. His armor gently the knights divest; On an Arab mule they make him ride: So returns he, in joy and pride. To the open plain of Aix they come, Where the kin of Ganelon wait their doom.

CCXLIV

Karl his dukes and his counts addressed: "Say, what of those who in bondage rest Who came Count Ganelon's plea to aid, And for Pinabel were bailsmen made?" "One and all let them die the death." And the king to Basbrun, his provost, saith, "Go, hang them all on the gallows tree. By my beard I swear, so white to see, If one escape, thou shalt surely die." "Mine be the task," he made reply. A hundred men - at - arms are there: The thirty to their doom they bear. The traitor shall his guilt atone, With blood of others and his own.

CCXLV

The men of Bavaria and Allemaine, Norman and Breton return again, And with all the Franks aloud they cry, That Gan a traitor's death shall die. They bade be brought four stallions fleet; Bound to them Ganelon, hands and feet: Wild and swift was each savage steed, And a mare was standing within the mead; Four grooms impelled the coursers on, A fearful ending for Ganelon. His every nerve was stretched and torn, And the limbs of his body apart were borne; The bright blood, springing from every vein, Left on the herbage green its stain. He died a felon and recreant: Never shall traitor his treason vaunt.

CCXLVI

Now was the Emperor's vengeance done, And he called to the bishops of France anon With those of Bavaria and Allemaine. "A noble captive is in my train. She hath hearkened to sermon and homily, And a true believer in Christ will be; Baptize her so that her soul have grace." They say, "Let ladies of noble race, At her christening, be her sponsors vowed." And so there gathered a mighty crowd. At the baths of Aix was the wondrous scene There baptized they the Spanish queen; Julienne they have named her name. In faith and truth unto Christ she came.

CCXLVII

When the Emperor's justice was satisfied, His mighty wrath did awhile subside. Queen Bramimonde was a Christian made, The day passed on into night's dark shade; As the king in his vaulted chamber lay, Saint Gabriel came from God to say, "Karl, thou shalt summon thine empire's host And march in haste to Bira's coast; Unto Impha city relief to bring, And succor Vivian, the Christian king. The heathens in siege have the town essayed, And the shattered Christians invoke thine aid." Fain would Karl such task decline. "God! what a life of toil is mine!" He wept; his hoary beard he wrung.

So ends the lay Turoldus sung

_________________

BEOWULF.

I.
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF SCYLD.

The famous race of Spear-Danes.
Lo! the Spear-Danes’ glory through splendid achievements
The folk-kings’ former fame we have heard of,
How princes displayed then their prowess-in-battle.
Scyld, their mighty king, in honor of whom they are often called Scyldings. He is the great-grandfather of Hrothgar, so prominent in the poem.
Oft Scyld the Scefing from scathers in numbers
5
From many a people their mead-benches tore.
Since first he found him friendless and wretched,
The earl had had terror: comfort he got for it,
Waxed ’neath the welkin, world-honor gained,
Till all his neighbors o’er sea were compelled to
10
Bow to his bidding and bring him their tribute:
An excellent atheling! After was borne him
A son is born to him, who receives the name of Beowulf—a name afterwards made so famous by the hero of the poem.
A son and heir, young in his dwelling,
Whom God-Father sent to solace the people.
He had marked the misery malice had caused them,
15
1That reaved of their rulers they wretched had erstwhile2
Long been afflicted. The Lord, in requital,
Wielder of Glory, with world-honor blessed him.
Famed was Beowulf, far spread the glory
Of Scyld’s great son in the lands of the Danemen.
[2]The ideal Teutonic king lavishes gifts on his vassals.20
So the carle that is young, by kindnesses rendered
The friends of his father, with fees in abundance
Must be able to earn that when age approacheth
Eager companions aid him requitingly,
When war assaults him serve him as liegemen:
25
By praise-worthy actions must honor be got
’Mong all of the races. At the hour that was fated
Scyld dies at the hour appointed by Fate.
Scyld then departed to the All-Father’s keeping
Warlike to wend him; away then they bare him
To the flood of the current, his fond-loving comrades,
30
As himself he had bidden, while the friend of the Scyldings
Word-sway wielded, and the well-lovèd land-prince
Long did rule them.3 The ring-stemmèd vessel,
Bark of the atheling, lay there at anchor,
Icy in glimmer and eager for sailing;
By his own request, his body is laid on a vessel and wafted seaward.35
The belovèd leader laid they down there,
Giver of rings, on the breast of the vessel,
The famed by the mainmast. A many of jewels,
Of fretted embossings, from far-lands brought over,
Was placed near at hand then; and heard I not ever
40
That a folk ever furnished a float more superbly
With weapons of warfare, weeds for the battle,
Bills and burnies; on his bosom sparkled
Many a jewel that with him must travel
On the flush of the flood afar on the current.
45
And favors no fewer they furnished him soothly,
Excellent folk-gems, than others had given him
He leaves Daneland on the breast of a bark.
Who when first he was born outward did send him
Lone on the main, the merest of infants:
And a gold-fashioned standard they stretched under heaven
[3]50
High o’er his head, let the holm-currents bear him,
Seaward consigned him: sad was their spirit,
Their mood very mournful. Men are not able
No one knows whither the boat drifted.
Soothly to tell us, they in halls who reside,4
Heroes under heaven, to what haven he hied.
[1] For the ‘Þæt’ of verse 15, Sievers suggests ‘Þá’ (= which). If this be accepted, the sentence ‘He had … afflicted’ will read: He (i.e. God) had perceived the malice-caused sorrow which they, lordless, had formerly long endured.
[2] For ‘aldor-léase’ (15) Gr. suggested ‘aldor-ceare’: He perceived their distress, that they formerly had suffered life-sorrow a long while.
[3] A very difficult passage. ‘Áhte’ (31) has no object. H. supplies ‘geweald’ from the context; and our translation is based upon this assumption, though it is far from satisfactory. Kl. suggests ‘lændagas’ for ‘lange’: And the beloved land-prince enjoyed (had) his transitory days (i.e. lived). B. suggests a dislocation; but this is a dangerous doctrine, pushed rather far by that eminent scholar.
[4] The reading of the H.-So. text has been quite closely followed; but some eminent scholars read ‘séle-rædenne’ for ‘sele-rædende.’ If that be adopted, the passage will read: Men cannot tell us, indeed, the order of Fate, etc. ‘Sele-rædende’ has two things to support it: (1) v. 1347; (2) it affords a parallel to ‘men’ in v. 50.
II.
SCYLD’S SUCCESSORS.—HROTHGAR’S GREAT MEAD-HALL.

Beowulf succeeds his father Scyld
In the boroughs then Beowulf, bairn of the Scyldings,
Belovèd land-prince, for long-lasting season
Was famed mid the folk (his father departed,
The prince from his dwelling), till afterward sprang
5
Great-minded Healfdene; the Danes in his lifetime
He graciously governed, grim-mooded, agèd.
Healfdene’s birth.
Four bairns of his body born in succession
Woke in the world, war-troopers’ leader
Heorogar, Hrothgar, and Halga the good;
10
Heard I that Elan was Ongentheow’s consort,
He has three sons—one of them, Hrothgar—and a daughter named Elan. Hrothgar becomes a mighty king.
The well-beloved bedmate of the War-Scylfing leader.
Then glory in battle to Hrothgar was given,
Waxing of war-fame, that willingly kinsmen
Obeyed his bidding, till the boys grew to manhood,
15
A numerous band. It burned in his spirit
To urge his folk to found a great building,
A mead-hall grander than men of the era
He is eager to build a great hall in which he may feast his retainers
Ever had heard of, and in it to share
With young and old all of the blessings
20
The Lord had allowed him, save life and retainers.
Then the work I find afar was assigned
[4]
To many races in middle-earth’s regions,
To adorn the great folk-hall. In due time it happened
Early ’mong men, that ’twas finished entirely,
25
The greatest of hall-buildings; Heorot he named it
The hall is completed, and is called Heort, or Heorot.
Who wide-reaching word-sway wielded ’mong earlmen.
His promise he brake not, rings he lavished,
Treasure at banquet. Towered the hall up
High and horn-crested, huge between antlers:
30
It battle-waves bided, the blasting fire-demon;
Ere long then from hottest hatred must sword-wrath
Arise for a woman’s husband and father.
Then the mighty war-spirit1 endured for a season,
The Monster Grendel is madly envious of the Danemen’s joy.
Bore it bitterly, he who bided in darkness,
35
That light-hearted laughter loud in the building
Greeted him daily; there was dulcet harp-music,
Clear song of the singer. He said that was able
[The course of the story is interrupted by a short reference to some old account of the creation.]
To tell from of old earthmen’s beginnings,
That Father Almighty earth had created,
40
The winsome wold that the water encircleth,
Set exultingly the sun’s and the moon’s beams
To lavish their lustre on land-folk and races,
And earth He embellished in all her regions
With limbs and leaves; life He bestowed too
45
On all the kindreds that live under heaven.
The glee of the warriors is overcast by a horrible dread.
So blessed with abundance, brimming with joyance,
The warriors abided, till a certain one gan to
Dog them with deeds of direfullest malice,
A foe in the hall-building: this horrible stranger2
50
Was Grendel entitled, the march-stepper famous
Who3 dwelt in the moor-fens, the marsh and the fastness;
The wan-mooded being abode for a season
[5]
In the land of the giants, when the Lord and Creator
Had banned him and branded. For that bitter murder,
55
The killing of Abel, all-ruling Father
Cain is referred to as a progenitor of Grendel, and of monsters in general.
The kindred of Cain crushed with His vengeance;
In the feud He rejoiced not, but far away drove him
From kindred and kind, that crime to atone for,
Meter of Justice. Thence ill-favored creatures,
60
Elves and giants, monsters of ocean,
Came into being, and the giants that longtime
Grappled with God; He gave them requital.
[1] R. and t. B. prefer ‘ellor-gæst’ to ‘ellen-gæst’ (86): Then the stranger from afar endured, etc.
[2] Some authorities would translate ‘demon’ instead of ‘stranger.’
[3] Some authorities arrange differently, and render: Who dwelt in the moor-fens, the marsh and the fastness, the land of the giant-race.
III.
GRENDEL THE MURDERER.

Grendel attacks the sleeping heroes
When the sun was sunken, he set out to visit
The lofty hall-building, how the Ring-Danes had used it
For beds and benches when the banquet was over.
Then he found there reposing many a noble
5
Asleep after supper; sorrow the heroes,1
Misery knew not. The monster of evil
Greedy and cruel tarried but little,
He drags off thirty of them, and devours them
Fell and frantic, and forced from their slumbers
Thirty of thanemen; thence he departed
10
Leaping and laughing, his lair to return to,
With surfeit of slaughter sallying homeward.
In the dusk of the dawning, as the day was just breaking,
Was Grendel’s prowess revealed to the warriors:
A cry of agony goes up, when Grendel’s horrible deed is fully realized.
Then, his meal-taking finished, a moan was uplifted,
15
Morning-cry mighty. The man-ruler famous,
The long-worthy atheling, sat very woful,
Suffered great sorrow, sighed for his liegemen,
[6]
When they had seen the track of the hateful pursuer,
The spirit accursèd: too crushing that sorrow,
The monster returns the next night.20
Too loathsome and lasting. Not longer he tarried,
But one night after continued his slaughter
Shameless and shocking, shrinking but little
From malice and murder; they mastered him fully.
He was easy to find then who otherwhere looked for
25
A pleasanter place of repose in the lodges,
A bed in the bowers. Then was brought to his notice
Told him truly by token apparent
The hall-thane’s hatred: he held himself after
Further and faster who the foeman did baffle.
30
2So ruled he and strongly strove against justice
Lone against all men, till empty uptowered
King Hrothgar’s agony and suspense last twelve years.
The choicest of houses. Long was the season:
Twelve-winters’ time torture suffered
The friend of the Scyldings, every affliction,
35
Endless agony; hence it after3 became
Certainly known to the children of men
Sadly in measures, that long against Hrothgar
Grendel struggled:—his grudges he cherished,
Murderous malice, many a winter,
40
Strife unremitting, and peacefully wished he
4Life-woe to lift from no liegeman at all of
The men of the Dane-folk, for money to settle,
No counsellor needed count for a moment
[7]
On handsome amends at the hands of the murderer;
Grendel is unremitting in his persecutions.45
The monster of evil fiercely did harass,
The ill-planning death-shade, both elder and younger,
Trapping and tricking them. He trod every night then
The mist-covered moor-fens; men do not know where
Witches and wizards wander and ramble.
50
So the foe of mankind many of evils
Grievous injuries, often accomplished,
Horrible hermit; Heort he frequented,
Gem-bedecked palace, when night-shades had fallen
God is against the monster.
(Since God did oppose him, not the throne could he touch,5
55
The light-flashing jewel, love of Him knew not).
’Twas a fearful affliction to the friend of the Scyldings
The king and his council deliberate in vain.
Soul-crushing sorrow. Not seldom in private
Sat the king in his council; conference held they
What the braves should determine ’gainst terrors unlooked for.
They invoke the aid of their gods.60
At the shrines of their idols often they promised
Gifts and offerings, earnestly prayed they
The devil from hell would help them to lighten
Their people’s oppression. Such practice they used then,
Hope of the heathen; hell they remembered
65
In innermost spirit, God they knew not,
The true God they do not know.
Judge of their actions, All-wielding Ruler,
No praise could they give the Guardian of Heaven,
The Wielder of Glory. Woe will be his who
Through furious hatred his spirit shall drive to
70
The clutch of the fire, no comfort shall look for,
Wax no wiser; well for the man who,
Living his life-days, his Lord may face
And find defence in his Father’s embrace!
[1] The translation is based on ‘weras,’ adopted by H.-So.—K. and Th. read ‘wera’ and, arranging differently, render 119(2)-120: They knew not sorrow, the wretchedness of man, aught of misfortune.—For ‘unhælo’ (120) R. suggests ‘unfælo’: The uncanny creature, greedy and cruel, etc.
[2] S. rearranges and translates: So he ruled and struggled unjustly, one against all, till the noblest of buildings stood useless (it was a long while) twelve years’ time: the friend of the Scyldings suffered distress, every woe, great sorrows, etc.
[3] For ‘syððan,’ B. suggests ‘sárcwidum’: Hence in mournful words it became well known, etc. Various other words beginning with ‘s’ have been conjectured.
[4] The H.-So. glossary is very inconsistent in referring to this passage.—‘Sibbe’ (154), which H.-So. regards as an instr., B. takes as accus., obj. of ‘wolde.’ Putting a comma after Deniga, he renders: He did not desire peace with any of the Danes, nor did he wish to remove their life-woe, nor to settle for money.
[5] Of this difficult passage the following interpretations among others are given: (1) Though Grendel has frequented Heorot as a demon, he could not become ruler of the Danes, on account of his hostility to God. (2) Hrothgar was much grieved that Grendel had not appeared before his throne to receive presents. (3) He was not permitted to devastate the hall, on account of the Creator; i.e. God wished to make his visit fatal to him.—Ne … wisse (169) W. renders: Nor had he any desire to do so; ‘his’ being obj. gen. = danach.
[8]
IV.
BEOWULF GOES TO HROTHGAR’S ASSISTANCE.

Hrothgar sees no way of escape from the persecutions of Grendel.
So Healfdene’s kinsman constantly mused on
His long-lasting sorrow; the battle-thane clever
Was not anywise able evils to ’scape from:
Too crushing the sorrow that came to the people,
5
Loathsome and lasting the life-grinding torture,
Beowulf, the Geat, hero of the poem, hears of Hrothgar’s sorrow, and resolves to go to his assistance.
Greatest of night-woes. So Higelac’s liegeman,
Good amid Geatmen, of Grendel’s achievements
Heard in his home:1 of heroes then living
He was stoutest and strongest, sturdy and noble.
10
He bade them prepare him a bark that was trusty;
He said he the war-king would seek o’er the ocean,
The folk-leader noble, since he needed retainers.
For the perilous project prudent companions
Chided him little, though loving him dearly;
15
They egged the brave atheling, augured him glory.
With fourteen carefully chosen companions, he sets out for Dane-land.
The excellent knight from the folk of the Geatmen
Had liegemen selected, likest to prove them
Trustworthy warriors; with fourteen companions
The vessel he looked for; a liegeman then showed them,
20
A sea-crafty man, the bounds of the country.
Fast the days fleeted; the float was a-water,
The craft by the cliff. Clomb to the prow then
Well-equipped warriors: the wave-currents twisted
The sea on the sand; soldiers then carried
25
On the breast of the vessel bright-shining jewels,
Handsome war-armor; heroes outshoved then,
Warmen the wood-ship, on its wished-for adventure.
[9]The vessel sails like a bird
The foamy-necked floater fanned by the breeze,
Likest a bird, glided the waters,
In twenty four hours they reach the shores of Hrothgar’s dominions30
Till twenty and four hours thereafter
The twist-stemmed vessel had traveled such distance
That the sailing-men saw the sloping embankments,
The sea cliffs gleaming, precipitous mountains,
Nesses enormous: they were nearing the limits
35
At the end of the ocean.2 Up thence quickly
The men of the Weders clomb to the mainland,
Fastened their vessel (battle weeds rattled,
War burnies clattered), the Wielder they thanked
That the ways o’er the waters had waxen so gentle.
They are hailed by the Danish coast guard40
Then well from the cliff edge the guard of the Scyldings
Who the sea-cliffs should see to, saw o’er the gangway
Brave ones bearing beauteous targets,
Armor all ready, anxiously thought he,
Musing and wondering what men were approaching.
45
High on his horse then Hrothgar’s retainer
Turned him to coastward, mightily brandished
His lance in his hands, questioned with boldness.
His challenge
“Who are ye men here, mail-covered warriors
Clad in your corslets, come thus a-driving
50
A high riding ship o’er the shoals of the waters,
3And hither ’neath helmets have hied o’er the ocean?
[10]
I have been strand-guard, standing as warden,
Lest enemies ever anywise ravage
Danish dominions with army of war-ships.
55
More boldly never have warriors ventured
Hither to come; of kinsmen’s approval,
Word-leave of warriors, I ween that ye surely
He is struck by Beowulf’s appearance.
Nothing have known. Never a greater one
Of earls o’er the earth have I had a sight of
60
Than is one of your number, a hero in armor;
No low-ranking fellow4 adorned with his weapons,
But launching them little, unless looks are deceiving,
And striking appearance. Ere ye pass on your journey
As treacherous spies to the land of the Scyldings
65
And farther fare, I fully must know now
What race ye belong to. Ye far-away dwellers,
Sea-faring sailors, my simple opinion
Hear ye and hearken: haste is most fitting
Plainly to tell me what place ye are come from.”
[1] ‘From hám’ (194) is much disputed. One rendering is: Beowulf, being away from home, heard of Hrothgar’s troubles, etc. Another, that adopted by S. and endorsed in the H.-So. notes, is: B. heard from his neighborhood (neighbors), i.e. in his home, etc. A third is: B., being at home, heard this as occurring away from home. The H.-So. glossary and notes conflict.
[2] ‘Eoletes’ (224) is marked with a (?) by H.-So.; our rendering simply follows his conjecture.—Other conjectures as to ‘eolet’ are: (1) voyage, (2) toil, labor, (3) hasty journey.
[3] The lacuna of the MS at this point has been supplied by various conjectures. The reading adopted by H.-So. has been rendered in the above translation. W., like H.-So., makes ‘ic’ the beginning of a new sentence, but, for ‘helmas bæron,’ he reads ‘hringed stefnan.’ This has the advantage of giving a parallel to ‘brontne ceol’ instead of a kenning for ‘go.’—B puts the (?) after ‘holmas’, and begins a new sentence at the middle of the line. Translate: What warriors are ye, clad in armor, who have thus come bringing the foaming vessel over the water way, hither over the seas? For some time on the wall I have been coast guard, etc. S. endorses most of what B. says, but leaves out ‘on the wall’ in the last sentence. If W.’s ‘hringed stefnan’ be accepted, change line 51 above to, A ring-stemmed vessel hither o’ersea.
[4] ‘Seld-guma’ (249) is variously rendered: (1) housecarle; (2) home-stayer; (3) common man. Dr. H. Wood suggests a man-at-arms in another’s house.
V.
THE GEATS REACH HEOROT.

Beowulf courteously replies.
The chief of the strangers rendered him answer,
War-troopers’ leader, and word-treasure opened:
We are Geats.
“We are sprung from the lineage of the people of Geatland,
And Higelac’s hearth-friends. To heroes unnumbered
My father Ecgtheow was well-known in his day.5
My father was known, a noble head-warrior
Ecgtheow titled; many a winter
He lived with the people, ere he passed on his journey,
Old from his dwelling; each of the counsellors
Widely mid world-folk well remembers him.
Our intentions towards King Hrothgar are of the kindest.10
We, kindly of spirit, the lord of thy people,
The son of King Healfdene, have come here to visit,
[11]
Folk-troop’s defender: be free in thy counsels!
To the noble one bear we a weighty commission,
The helm of the Danemen; we shall hide, I ween,
Is it true that a monster is slaying Danish heroes?15
Naught of our message. Thou know’st if it happen,
As we soothly heard say, that some savage despoiler,
Some hidden pursuer, on nights that are murky
By deeds very direful ’mid the Danemen exhibits
Hatred unheard of, horrid destruction
20
And the falling of dead. From feelings least selfish
I can help your king to free himself from this horrible creature.
I am able to render counsel to Hrothgar,
How he, wise and worthy, may worst the destroyer,
If the anguish of sorrow should ever be lessened,1
Comfort come to him, and care-waves grow cooler,
25
Or ever hereafter he agony suffer
And troublous distress, while towereth upward
The handsomest of houses high on the summit.”
The coast-guard reminds Beowulf that it is easier to say than to do.
Bestriding his stallion, the strand-watchman answered,
The doughty retainer: “The difference surely
30
’Twixt words and works, the warlike shield-bearer
Who judgeth wisely well shall determine.
This band, I hear, beareth no malice
I am satisfied of your good intentions, and shall lead you to the palace.
To the prince of the Scyldings. Pass ye then onward
With weapons and armor. I shall lead you in person;
35
To my war-trusty vassals command I shall issue
To keep from all injury your excellent vessel,
Your boat shall be well cared for during your stay here.
Your fresh-tarred craft, ’gainst every opposer
Close by the sea-shore, till the curved-neckèd bark shall
Waft back again the well-beloved hero
40
O’er the way of the water to Weder dominions.
He again compliments Beowulf.
To warrior so great ’twill be granted sure
In the storm of strife to stand secure.”
Onward they fared then (the vessel lay quiet,
The broad-bosomed bark was bound by its cable,
[12]45
Firmly at anchor); the boar-signs glistened2
Bright on the visors vivid with gilding,
Blaze-hardened, brilliant; the boar acted warden.
The heroes hastened, hurried the liegemen,
The land is perhaps rolling.
Descended together, till they saw the great palace,
50
The well-fashioned wassail-hall wondrous and gleaming:
Heorot flashes on their view.
’Mid world-folk and kindreds that was widest reputed
Of halls under heaven which the hero abode in;
Its lustre enlightened lands without number.
Then the battle-brave hero showed them the glittering
55
Court of the bold ones, that they easily thither
Might fare on their journey; the aforementioned warrior
Turning his courser, quoth as he left them:
The coast-guard, having discharged his duty, bids them God-speed.
“’Tis time I were faring; Father Almighty
Grant you His grace, and give you to journey
60
Safe on your mission! To the sea I will get me
’Gainst hostile warriors as warden to stand.”
[1] ‘Edwendan’ (280) B. takes to be the subs. ‘edwenden’ (cf. 1775); and ‘bisigu’ he takes as gen. sing., limiting ‘edwenden’: If reparation for sorrows is ever to come. This is supported by t.B.
[2] Combining the emendations of B. and t.B., we may read: The boar-images glistened … brilliant, protected the life of the war-mooded man. They read ‘ferh-wearde’ (305) and ‘gúðmódgum men’ (306).
VI.
BEOWULF INTRODUCES HIMSELF AT THE PALACE.

The highway glistened with many-hued pebble,
A by-path led the liegemen together.
1Firm and hand-locked the war-burnie glistened,
The ring-sword radiant rang ’mid the armor
5
As the party was approaching the palace together
They set their arms and armor against the wall.
In warlike equipments. ’Gainst the wall of the building
Their wide-fashioned war-shields they weary did set then,
[13]
Battle-shields sturdy; benchward they turned then;
Their battle-sarks rattled, the gear of the heroes;
10
The lances stood up then, all in a cluster,
The arms of the seamen, ashen-shafts mounted
With edges of iron: the armor-clad troopers
A Danish hero asks them whence and why they are come.
Were decked with weapons. Then a proud-mooded hero
Asked of the champions questions of lineage:
15
“From what borders bear ye your battle-shields plated,
Gilded and gleaming, your gray-colored burnies,
Helmets with visors and heap of war-lances?—
To Hrothgar the king I am servant and liegeman.
’Mong folk from far-lands found I have never
He expresses no little admiration for the strangers.20
Men so many of mien more courageous.
I ween that from valor, nowise as outlaws,
But from greatness of soul ye sought for King Hrothgar.”
Beowulf replies.
Then the strength-famous earlman answer rendered,
The proud-mooded Wederchief replied to his question,
We are Higelac’s table-companions, and bear an important commission to your prince.25
Hardy ’neath helmet: “Higelac’s mates are we;
Beowulf hight I. To the bairn of Healfdene,
The famous folk-leader, I freely will tell
To thy prince my commission, if pleasantly hearing
He’ll grant we may greet him so gracious to all men.”
30
Wulfgar replied then (he was prince of the Wendels,
His boldness of spirit was known unto many,
His prowess and prudence): “The prince of the Scyldings,
Wulfgar, the thane, says that he will go and ask Hrothgar whether he will see the strangers.
The friend-lord of Danemen, I will ask of thy journey,
The giver of rings, as thou urgest me do it,
35
The folk-chief famous, and inform thee early
What answer the good one mindeth to render me.”
He turned then hurriedly where Hrothgar was sitting,
2Old and hoary, his earlmen attending him;
The strength-famous went till he stood at the shoulder
40
Of the lord of the Danemen, of courteous thanemen
The custom he minded. Wulfgar addressed then
His friendly liegelord: “Folk of the Geatmen
[14]He thereupon urges his liegelord to receive the visitors courteously.
O’er the way of the waters are wafted hither,
Faring from far-lands: the foremost in rank
45
The battle-champions Beowulf title.
They make this petition: with thee, O my chieftain,
To be granted a conference; O gracious King Hrothgar,
Friendly answer refuse not to give them!
Hrothgar, too, is struck with Beowulf’s appearance.
In war-trappings weeded worthy they seem
50
Of earls to be honored; sure the atheling is doughty
Who headed the heroes hitherward coming.”
[1] Instead of the punctuation given by H.-So, S. proposed to insert a comma after ‘scír’ (322), and to take ‘hring-íren’ as meaning ‘ring-mail’ and as parallel with ‘gúð-byrne.’ The passage would then read: The firm and hand-locked war-burnie shone, bright ring-mail, rang ’mid the armor, etc.
[2] Gr. and others translate ‘unhár’ by ‘bald’; old and bald.
VII.
HROTHGAR AND BEOWULF.

Hrothgar remembers Beowulf as a youth, and also remembers his father.
Hrothgar answered, helm of the Scyldings:
“I remember this man as the merest of striplings.
His father long dead now was Ecgtheow titled,
Him Hrethel the Geatman granted at home his
5
One only daughter; his battle-brave son
Is come but now, sought a trustworthy friend.
Seafaring sailors asserted it then,
Beowulf is reported to have the strength of thirty men.
Who valuable gift-gems of the Geatmen1 carried
As peace-offering thither, that he thirty men’s grapple
10
Has in his hand, the hero-in-battle.
God hath sent him to our rescue.
The holy Creator usward sent him,
To West-Dane warriors, I ween, for to render
’Gainst Grendel’s grimness gracious assistance:
I shall give to the good one gift-gems for courage.
15
Hasten to bid them hither to speed them,2
To see assembled this circle of kinsmen;
Tell them expressly they’re welcome in sooth to
The men of the Danes.” To the door of the building
[15]Wulfgar invites the strangers in.
Wulfgar went then, this word-message shouted:
20
“My victorious liegelord bade me to tell you,
The East-Danes’ atheling, that your origin knows he,
And o’er wave-billows wafted ye welcome are hither,
Valiant of spirit. Ye straightway may enter
Clad in corslets, cased in your helmets,
25
To see King Hrothgar. Here let your battle-boards,
Wood-spears and war-shafts, await your conferring.”
The mighty one rose then, with many a liegeman,
An excellent thane-group; some there did await them,
And as bid of the brave one the battle-gear guarded.
30
Together they hied them, while the hero did guide them,
’Neath Heorot’s roof; the high-minded went then
Sturdy ’neath helmet till he stood in the building.
Beowulf spake (his burnie did glisten,
His armor seamed over by the art of the craftsman):
Beowulf salutes Hrothgar, and then proceeds to boast of his youthful achievements.35
“Hail thou, Hrothgar! I am Higelac’s kinsman
And vassal forsooth; many a wonder
I dared as a stripling. The doings of Grendel,
In far-off fatherland I fully did know of:
Sea-farers tell us, this hall-building standeth,
40
Excellent edifice, empty and useless
To all the earlmen after evenlight’s glimmer
’Neath heaven’s bright hues hath hidden its glory.
This my earls then urged me, the most excellent of them,
Carles very clever, to come and assist thee,
45
Folk-leader Hrothgar; fully they knew of
His fight with the nickers.
The strength of my body. Themselves they beheld me
When I came from the contest, when covered with gore
Foes I escaped from, where five3 I had bound,
[16]
The giant-race wasted, in the waters destroying
50
The nickers by night, bore numberless sorrows,
The Weders avenged (woes had they suffered)
Enemies ravaged; alone now with Grendel
He intends to fight Grendel unaided.
I shall manage the matter, with the monster of evil,
The giant, decide it. Thee I would therefore
55
Beg of thy bounty, Bright-Danish chieftain,
Lord of the Scyldings, this single petition:
Not to refuse me, defender of warriors,
Friend-lord of folks, so far have I sought thee,
That I may unaided, my earlmen assisting me,
60
This brave-mooded war-band, purify Heorot.
I have heard on inquiry, the horrible creature
Since the monster uses no weapons,
From veriest rashness recks not for weapons;
I this do scorn then, so be Higelac gracious,
My liegelord belovèd, lenient of spirit,
65
To bear a blade or a broad-fashioned target,
A shield to the onset; only with hand-grip
I, too, shall disdain to use any.
The foe I must grapple, fight for my life then,
Foeman with foeman; he fain must rely on
The doom of the Lord whom death layeth hold of.
Should he crush me, he will eat my companions as he has eaten thy thanes.70
I ween he will wish, if he win in the struggle,
To eat in the war-hall earls of the Geat-folk,
Boldly to swallow4 them, as of yore he did often
The best of the Hrethmen! Thou needest not trouble
A head-watch to give me;5 he will have me dripping
[17]In case of my defeat, thou wilt not have the trouble of burying me.75
And dreary with gore, if death overtake me,6
Will bear me off bleeding, biting and mouthing me,
The hermit will eat me, heedless of pity,
Marking the moor-fens; no more wilt thou need then
Should I fall, send my armor to my lord, King Higelac.
Find me my food.7 If I fall in the battle,
80
Send to Higelac the armor that serveth
To shield my bosom, the best of equipments,
Richest of ring-mails; ’tis the relic of Hrethla,
Weird is supreme
The work of Wayland. Goes Weird as she must go!”
[1] Some render ‘gif-sceattas’ by ‘tribute.’—‘Géata’ B. and Th. emended to ‘Géatum.’ If this be accepted, change ‘of the Geatmen’ to ‘to the Geatmen.’
[2] If t.B.’s emendation of vv. 386, 387 be accepted, the two lines, ‘Hasten … kinsmen’ will read: Hasten thou, bid the throng of kinsmen go into the hall together.
[3] For 420 (b) and 421 (a), B. suggests: Þær ic (on) fífelgeban ýðde eotena cyn = where I in the ocean destroyed the eoten-race.—t.B. accepts B.’s “brilliant” ‘fífelgeban,’ omits ‘on,’ emends ‘cyn’ to ‘hám,’ arranging: Þær ic fífelgeban ýðde, eotena hám = where I desolated the ocean, the home of the eotens.—This would be better but for changing ‘cyn’ to ‘hám.’—I suggest: Þær ic fífelgeband (cf. nhd. Bande) ýðde, eotena cyn = where I conquered the monster band, the race of the eotens. This makes no change except to read ‘fífel’ for ‘fífe.’
[4] ‘Unforhte’ (444) is much disputed.—H.-So. wavers between adj. and adv. Gr. and B. take it as an adv. modifying etan: Will eat the Geats fearlessly.—Kl. considers this reading absurd, and proposes ‘anforhte’ = timid.—Understanding ‘unforhte’ as an adj. has this advantage, viz. that it gives a parallel to ‘Geátena leóde’: but to take it as an adv. is more natural. Furthermore, to call the Geats ‘brave’ might, at this point, seem like an implied thrust at the Danes, so long helpless; while to call his own men ‘timid’ would be befouling his own nest.
[5] For ‘head-watch,’ cf. H.-So. notes and cf. v. 2910.—Th. translates: Thou wilt not need my head to hide (i.e., thou wilt have no occasion to bury me, as Grendel will devour me whole).—Simrock imagines a kind of dead-watch.—Dr. H. Wood suggests: Thou wilt not have to bury so much as my head (for Grendel will be a thorough undertaker),—grim humor.
[6] S. proposes a colon after ‘nimeð’ (l. 447). This would make no essential change in the translation.
[7] Owing to the vagueness of ‘feorme’ (451), this passage is variously translated. In our translation, H.-So.’s glossary has been quite closely followed. This agrees substantially with B.’s translation (P. and B. XII. 87). R. translates: Thou needst not take care longer as to the consumption of my dead body. ‘Líc’ is also a crux here, as it may mean living body or dead body.
VIII.
HROTHGAR AND BEOWULF.—Continued.

Hrothgar responds.
Hrothgar discoursed, helm of the Scyldings:
“To defend our folk and to furnish assistance,1
Thou soughtest us hither, good friend Beowulf.
Reminiscences of Beowulf’s father, Ecgtheow.
The fiercest of feuds thy father engaged in,
5
Heatholaf killed he in hand-to-hand conflict
’Mid Wilfingish warriors; then the Wederish people
For fear of a feud were forced to disown him.
Thence flying he fled to the folk of the South-Danes,
[18]
The race of the Scyldings, o’er the roll of the waters;
10
I had lately begun then to govern the Danemen,
The hoard-seat of heroes held in my youth,
Rich in its jewels: dead was Heregar,
My kinsman and elder had earth-joys forsaken,
Healfdene his bairn. He was better than I am!
15
That feud thereafter for a fee I compounded;
O’er the weltering waters to the Wilfings I sent
Ornaments old; oaths did he swear me.
Hrothgar recounts to Beowulf the horrors of Grendel’s persecutions.
It pains me in spirit to any to tell it,
What grief in Heorot Grendel hath caused me,
20
What horror unlooked-for, by hatred unceasing.
Waned is my war-band, wasted my hall-troop;
Weird hath offcast them to the clutches of Grendel.
God can easily hinder the scather
From deeds so direful. Oft drunken with beer
My thanes have made many boasts, but have not executed them.25
O’er the ale-vessel promised warriors in armor
They would willingly wait on the wassailing-benches
A grapple with Grendel, with grimmest of edges.
Then this mead-hall at morning with murder was reeking,
The building was bloody at breaking of daylight,
30
The bench-deals all flooded, dripping and bloodied,
The folk-hall was gory: I had fewer retainers,
Dear-beloved warriors, whom death had laid hold of.
Sit down to the feast, and give us comfort.
Sit at the feast now, thy intents unto heroes,2
Thy victor-fame show, as thy spirit doth urge thee!”
A bench is made ready for Beowulf and his party.35
For the men of the Geats then together assembled,
In the beer-hall blithesome a bench was made ready;
There warlike in spirit they went to be seated,
Proud and exultant. A liegeman did service,
[19]
Who a beaker embellished bore with decorum,
The gleeman sings40
And gleaming-drink poured. The gleeman sang whilom
The heroes all rejoice together.
Hearty in Heorot; there was heroes’ rejoicing,
A numerous war-band of Weders and Danemen.
[1] B. and S. reject the reading given in H.-So., and suggested by Grtvg. B. suggests for 457-458:
wáere-ryhtum Þú, wine mín Béowulf,
and for ár-stafum úsic sóhtest.
This means: From the obligations of clientage, my friend Beowulf, and for assistance thou hast sought us.—This gives coherence to Hrothgar’s opening remarks in VIII., and also introduces a new motive for Beowulf’s coming to Hrothgar’s aid.

[2] Sit now at the feast, and disclose thy purposes to the victorious heroes, as thy spirit urges.—Kl. reaches the above translation by erasing the comma after ‘meoto’ and reading ‘sige-hrèðsecgum.’—There are other and bolder emendations and suggestions. Of these the boldest is to regard ‘meoto’ as a verb (imperative), and read ‘on sæl’: Think upon gayety, etc.—All the renderings are unsatisfactory, the one given in our translation involving a zeugma.
IX.
UNFERTH TAUNTS BEOWULF.

Unferth, a thane of Hrothgar, is jealous of Beowulf, and undertakes to twit him.
Unferth spoke up, Ecglaf his son,
Who sat at the feet of the lord of the Scyldings,
Opened the jousting (the journey1 of Beowulf,
Sea-farer doughty, gave sorrow to Unferth
5
And greatest chagrin, too, for granted he never
That any man else on earth should attain to,
Gain under heaven, more glory than he):
Did you take part in a swimming-match with Breca?
“Art thou that Beowulf with Breca did struggle,
On the wide sea-currents at swimming contended,
10
Where to humor your pride the ocean ye tried,
’Twas mere folly that actuated you both to risk your lives on the ocean.
From vainest vaunting adventured your bodies
In care of the waters? And no one was able
Nor lief nor loth one, in the least to dissuade you
Your difficult voyage; then ye ventured a-swimming,
15
Where your arms outstretching the streams ye did cover,
The mere-ways measured, mixing and stirring them,
Glided the ocean; angry the waves were,
With the weltering of winter. In the water’s possession,
Ye toiled for a seven-night; he at swimming outdid thee,
20
In strength excelled thee. Then early at morning
On the Heathoremes’ shore the holm-currents tossed him,
Sought he thenceward the home of his fathers,
Beloved of his liegemen, the land of the Brondings,
The peace-castle pleasant, where a people he wielded,
[20]25
Had borough and jewels. The pledge that he made thee
Breca outdid you entirely.
The son of Beanstan hath soothly accomplished.
Then I ween thou wilt find thee less fortunate issue,
Much more will Grendel outdo you, if you vie with him in prowess.
Though ever triumphant in onset of battle,
A grim grappling, if Grendel thou darest
30
For the space of a night near-by to wait for!”
Beowulf retaliates.
Beowulf answered, offspring of Ecgtheow:
“My good friend Unferth, sure freely and wildly,
O friend Unferth, you are fuddled with beer, and cannot talk coherently.
Thou fuddled with beer of Breca hast spoken,
Hast told of his journey! A fact I allege it,
35
That greater strength in the waters I had then,
Ills in the ocean, than any man else had.
We made agreement as the merest of striplings
Promised each other (both of us then were
We simply kept an engagement made in early life.
Younkers in years) that we yet would adventure
40
Out on the ocean; it all we accomplished.
While swimming the sea-floods, sword-blade unscabbarded
Boldly we brandished, our bodies expected
To shield from the sharks. He sure was unable
He could not excel me, and I would not excel him.
To swim on the waters further than I could,
45
More swift on the waves, nor would I from him go.
Then we two companions stayed in the ocean
After five days the currents separated us.
Five nights together, till the currents did part us,
The weltering waters, weathers the bleakest,
And nethermost night, and the north-wind whistled
50
Fierce in our faces; fell were the billows.
The mere fishes’ mood was mightily ruffled:
And there against foemen my firm-knotted corslet,
Hand-jointed, hardy, help did afford me;
My battle-sark braided, brilliantly gilded,
A horrible sea-beast attacked me, but I slew him.55
Lay on my bosom. To the bottom then dragged me,
A hateful fiend-scather, seized me and held me,
Grim in his grapple: ’twas granted me, nathless,
To pierce the monster with the point of my weapon,
My obedient blade; battle offcarried
60
The mighty mere-creature by means of my hand-blow.
[1] It has been plausibly suggested that ‘síð’ (in 501 and in 353) means ‘arrival.’ If so, translate the bracket: (the arrival of Beowulf, the brave seafarer, was a source of great chagrin to Unferth, etc.).
[21]
X.
BEOWULF SILENCES UNFERTH.—GLEE IS HIGH.

“So ill-meaning enemies often did cause me
Sorrow the sorest. I served them, in quittance,
My dear sword always served me faithfully.
With my dear-lovèd sword, as in sooth it was fitting;
They missed the pleasure of feasting abundantly,
5
Ill-doers evil, of eating my body,
Of surrounding the banquet deep in the ocean;
But wounded with edges early at morning
They were stretched a-high on the strand of the ocean,
I put a stop to the outrages of the sea-monsters.
Put to sleep with the sword, that sea-going travelers
10
No longer thereafter were hindered from sailing
The foam-dashing currents. Came a light from the east,
God’s beautiful beacon; the billows subsided,
That well I could see the nesses projecting,
Fortune helps the brave earl.
The blustering crags. Weird often saveth
15
The undoomed hero if doughty his valor!
But me did it fortune1 to fell with my weapon
Nine of the nickers. Of night-struggle harder
’Neath dome of the heaven heard I but rarely,
Nor of wight more woful in the waves of the ocean;
20
Yet I ’scaped with my life the grip of the monsters,
After that escape I drifted to Finland.
Weary from travel. Then the waters bare me
To the land of the Finns, the flood with the current,
I have never heard of your doing any such bold deeds.
The weltering waves. Not a word hath been told me
Of deeds so daring done by thee, Unferth,
25
And of sword-terror none; never hath Breca
At the play of the battle, nor either of you two,
Feat so fearless performèd with weapons
Glinting and gleaming . . . . . . . . . . . .
[22]
. . . . . . . . . . . . I utter no boasting;
You are a slayer of brothers, and will suffer damnation, wise as you may be.30
Though with cold-blooded cruelty thou killedst thy brothers,
Thy nearest of kin; thou needs must in hell get
Direful damnation, though doughty thy wisdom.
I tell thee in earnest, offspring of Ecglaf,
Never had Grendel such numberless horrors,
35
The direful demon, done to thy liegelord,
Harrying in Heorot, if thy heart were as sturdy,
Had your acts been as brave as your words, Grendel had not ravaged your land so long.
Thy mood as ferocious as thou dost describe them.
He hath found out fully that the fierce-burning hatred,
The edge-battle eager, of all of your kindred,
40
Of the Victory-Scyldings, need little dismay him:
Oaths he exacteth, not any he spares
The monster is not afraid of the Danes,
Of the folk of the Danemen, but fighteth with pleasure,
Killeth and feasteth, no contest expecteth
but he will soon learn to dread the Geats.
From Spear-Danish people. But the prowess and valor
45
Of the earls of the Geatmen early shall venture
To give him a grapple. He shall go who is able
Bravely to banquet, when the bright-light of morning
On the second day, any warrior may go unmolested to the mead-banquet.
Which the second day bringeth, the sun in its ether-robes,
O’er children of men shines from the southward!”
50
Then the gray-haired, war-famed giver of treasure
Hrothgar’s spirits are revived.
Was blithesome and joyous, the Bright-Danish ruler
Expected assistance; the people’s protector
The old king trusts Beowulf. The heroes are joyful.
Heard from Beowulf his bold resolution.
There was laughter of heroes; loud was the clatter,
55
The words were winsome. Wealhtheow advanced then,
Queen Wealhtheow plays the hostess.
Consort of Hrothgar, of courtesy mindful,
Gold-decked saluted the men in the building,
And the freeborn woman the beaker presented
She offers the cup to her husband first.
To the lord of the kingdom, first of the East-Danes,
60
Bade him be blithesome when beer was a-flowing,
Lief to his liegemen; he lustily tasted
Of banquet and beaker, battle-famed ruler.
The Helmingish lady then graciously circled
’Mid all the liegemen lesser and greater:
[23]She gives presents to the heroes.65
Treasure-cups tendered, till time was afforded
That the decorous-mooded, diademed folk-queen
Then she offers the cup to Beowulf, thanking God that aid has come.
Might bear to Beowulf the bumper o’errunning;
She greeted the Geat-prince, God she did thank,
Most wise in her words, that her wish was accomplished,
70
That in any of earlmen she ever should look for
Solace in sorrow. He accepted the beaker,
Battle-bold warrior, at Wealhtheow’s giving,
Beowulf states to the queen the object of his visit.
Then equipped for combat quoth he in measures,
Beowulf spake, offspring of Ecgtheow:
75
“I purposed in spirit when I mounted the ocean,
I determined to do or die.
When I boarded my boat with a band of my liegemen,
I would work to the fullest the will of your people
Or in foe’s-clutches fastened fall in the battle.
Deeds I shall do of daring and prowess,
80
Or the last of my life-days live in this mead-hall.”
These words to the lady were welcome and pleasing,
The boast of the Geatman; with gold trappings broidered
Went the freeborn folk-queen her fond-lord to sit by.
Glee is high.
Then again as of yore was heard in the building
85
Courtly discussion, conquerors’ shouting,
Heroes were happy, till Healfdene’s son would
Go to his slumber to seek for refreshing;
For the horrid hell-monster in the hall-building knew he
A fight was determined,2 since the light of the sun they
90
No longer could see, and lowering darkness
O’er all had descended, and dark under heaven
Shadowy shapes came shying around them.
Hrothgar retires, leaving Beowulf in charge of the hall.
The liegemen all rose then. One saluted the other,
Hrothgar Beowulf, in rhythmical measures,
95
Wishing him well, and, the wassail-hall giving
To his care and keeping, quoth he departing:
[24]
“Not to any one else have I ever entrusted,
But thee and thee only, the hall of the Danemen,
Since high I could heave my hand and my buckler.
100
Take thou in charge now the noblest of houses;
Be mindful of honor, exhibiting prowess,
Watch ’gainst the foeman! Thou shalt want no enjoyments,
Survive thou safely adventure so glorious!”
[1] The repetition of ‘hwæðere’ (574 and 578) is regarded by some scholars as a defect. B. suggests ‘swá Þær’ for the first: So there it befell me, etc. Another suggestion is to change the second ‘hwæðere’ into ‘swá Þær’: So there I escaped with my life, etc.
[2] Kl. suggests a period after ‘determined.’ This would give the passage as follows: Since they no longer could see the light of the sun, and lowering darkness was down over all, dire under the heavens shadowy beings came going around them.
XI.
ALL SLEEP SAVE ONE.

Hrothgar retires.
Then Hrothgar departed, his earl-throng attending him,
Folk-lord of Scyldings, forth from the building;
The war-chieftain wished then Wealhtheow to look for,
The queen for a bedmate. To keep away Grendel
God has provided a watch for the hall.5
The Glory of Kings had given a hall-watch,
As men heard recounted: for the king of the Danemen
He did special service, gave the giant a watcher:
And the prince of the Geatmen implicitly trusted
Beowulf is self-confident
His warlike strength and the Wielder’s protection.
He prepares for rest.10
His armor of iron off him he did then,
His helmet from his head, to his henchman committed
His chased-handled chain-sword, choicest of weapons,
And bade him bide with his battle-equipments.
The good one then uttered words of defiance,
15
Beowulf Geatman, ere his bed he upmounted:
Beowulf boasts of his ability to cope with Grendel.
“I hold me no meaner in matters of prowess,
In warlike achievements, than Grendel does himself;
Hence I seek not with sword-edge to sooth him to slumber,
Of life to bereave him, though well I am able.
We will fight with nature’s weapons only.20
No battle-skill1 has he, that blows he should strike me,
To shatter my shield, though sure he is mighty
[25]
In strife and destruction; but struggling by night we
Shall do without edges, dare he to look for
Weaponless warfare, and wise-mooded Father
25
The glory apportion, God ever-holy,
God may decide who shall conquer
On which hand soever to him seemeth proper.”
Then the brave-mooded hero bent to his slumber,
The pillow received the cheek of the noble;
The Geatish warriors lie down.
And many a martial mere-thane attending
30
Sank to his slumber. Seemed it unlikely
They thought it very unlikely that they should ever see their homes again.
That ever thereafter any should hope to
Be happy at home, hero-friends visit
Or the lordly troop-castle where he lived from his childhood;
They had heard how slaughter had snatched from the wine-hall,
35
Had recently ravished, of the race of the Scyldings
But God raised up a deliverer.
Too many by far. But the Lord to them granted
The weaving of war-speed, to Wederish heroes
Aid and comfort, that every opponent
By one man’s war-might they worsted and vanquished,
God rules the world.40
By the might of himself; the truth is established
That God Almighty hath governed for ages
Kindreds and nations. A night very lurid
Grendel comes to Heorot.
The trav’ler-at-twilight came tramping and striding.
The warriors were sleeping who should watch the horned-building,
Only one warrior is awake.45
One only excepted. ’Mid earthmen ’twas ’stablished,
Th’ implacable foeman was powerless to hurl them
To the land of shadows, if the Lord were unwilling;
But serving as warder, in terror to foemen,
He angrily bided the issue of battle.2
[1] Gr. understood ‘gódra’ as meaning ‘advantages in battle.’ This rendering H.-So. rejects. The latter takes the passage as meaning that Grendel, though mighty and formidable, has no skill in the art of war.
[2] B. in his masterly articles on Beowulf (P. and B. XII.) rejects the division usually made at this point, ‘Þá.’ (711), usually rendered ‘then,’ he translates ‘when,’ and connects its clause with the foregoing sentence. These changes he makes to reduce the number of ‘cóm’s’ as principal verbs. (Cf. 703, 711, 721.) With all deference to this acute scholar, I must say that it seems to me that the poet is exhausting his resources to bring out clearly the supreme event on which the whole subsequent action turns. First, he (Grendel) came in the wan night; second, he came from the moor; third, he came to the hall. Time, place from which, place to which, are all given.
[26]
XII.
GRENDEL AND BEOWULF.

Grendel comes from the fens.
’Neath the cloudy cliffs came from the moor then
Grendel going, God’s anger bare he.
The monster intended some one of earthmen
In the hall-building grand to entrap and make way with:
He goes towards the joyous building.5
He went under welkin where well he knew of
The wine-joyous building, brilliant with plating,
Gold-hall of earthmen. Not the earliest occasion
This was not his first visit there.
He the home and manor of Hrothgar had sought:
Ne’er found he in life-days later nor earlier
10
Hardier hero, hall-thanes1 more sturdy!
Then came to the building the warrior marching,
His horrid fingers tear the door open.
Bereft of his joyance. The door quickly opened
On fire-hinges fastened, when his fingers had touched it;
The fell one had flung then—his fury so bitter—
15
Open the entrance. Early thereafter
The foeman trod the shining hall-pavement,
He strides furiously into the hall.
Strode he angrily; from the eyes of him glimmered
A lustre unlovely likest to fire.
He beheld in the hall the heroes in numbers,
20
A circle of kinsmen sleeping together,
He exults over his supposed prey.
A throng of thanemen: then his thoughts were exultant,
He minded to sunder from each of the thanemen
The life from his body, horrible demon,
Ere morning came, since fate had allowed him
Fate has decreed that he shall devour no more heroes. Beowulf suffers from suspense.25
The prospect of plenty. Providence willed not
To permit him any more of men under heaven
To eat in the night-time. Higelac’s kinsman
Great sorrow endured how the dire-mooded creature
[27]
In unlooked-for assaults were likely to bear him.
30
No thought had the monster of deferring the matter,
Grendel immediately seizes a sleeping warrior, and devours him.
But on earliest occasion he quickly laid hold of
A soldier asleep, suddenly tore him,
Bit his bone-prison, the blood drank in currents,
Swallowed in mouthfuls: he soon had the dead man’s
35
Feet and hands, too, eaten entirely.
Nearer he strode then, the stout-hearted warrior
Beowulf and Grendel grapple.
Snatched as he slumbered, seizing with hand-grip,
Forward the foeman foined with his hand;
Caught he quickly the cunning deviser,
40
On his elbow he rested. This early discovered
The master of malice, that in middle-earth’s regions,
’Neath the whole of the heavens, no hand-grapple greater
The monster is amazed at Beowulf’s strength.
In any man else had he ever encountered:
Fearful in spirit, faint-mooded waxed he,
45
Not off could betake him; death he was pondering,
He is anxious to flee.
Would fly to his covert, seek the devils’ assembly:
His calling no more was the same he had followed
Long in his lifetime. The liege-kinsman worthy
Beowulf recalls his boast of the evening, and determines to fulfil it.
Of Higelac minded his speech of the evening,
50
Stood he up straight and stoutly did seize him.
His fingers crackled; the giant was outward,
The earl stepped farther. The famous one minded
To flee away farther, if he found an occasion,
And off and away, avoiding delay,
55
To fly to the fen-moors; he fully was ware of
The strength of his grapple in the grip of the foeman.
’Twas a luckless day for Grendel.
’Twas an ill-taken journey that the injury-bringing,
Harrying harmer to Heorot wandered:
The hall groans.
The palace re-echoed; to all of the Danemen,
60
Dwellers in castles, to each of the bold ones,
Earlmen, was terror. Angry they both were,
Archwarders raging.2 Rattled the building;
[28]
’Twas a marvellous wonder that the wine-hall withstood then
The bold-in-battle, bent not to earthward,
65
Excellent earth-hall; but within and without it
Was fastened so firmly in fetters of iron,
By the art of the armorer. Off from the sill there
Bent mead-benches many, as men have informed me,
Adorned with gold-work, where the grim ones did struggle.
70
The Scylding wise men weened ne’er before
That by might and main-strength a man under heaven
Might break it in pieces, bone-decked, resplendent,
Crush it by cunning, unless clutch of the fire
In smoke should consume it. The sound mounted upward
Grendel’s cries terrify the Danes.75
Novel enough; on the North Danes fastened
A terror of anguish, on all of the men there
Who heard from the wall the weeping and plaining,
The song of defeat from the foeman of heaven,
Heard him hymns of horror howl, and his sorrow
80
Hell-bound bewailing. He held him too firmly
Who was strongest of main-strength of men of that era.
[1] B. and t.B. emend so as to make lines 9 and 10 read: Never in his life, earlier or later, had he, the hell-thane, found a braver hero.—They argue that Beowulf’s companions had done nothing to merit such encomiums as the usual readings allow them.
[2] For ‘réðe rén-weardas’ (771), t.B. suggests ‘réðe, rénhearde.’ Translate: They were both angry, raging and mighty.
XIII.
GRENDEL IS VANQUISHED.

Beowulf has no idea of letting Grendel live.
For no cause whatever would the earlmen’s defender
Leave in life-joys the loathsome newcomer,
He deemed his existence utterly useless
To men under heaven. Many a noble
5
Of Beowulf brandished his battle-sword old,
Would guard the life of his lord and protector,
The far-famous chieftain, if able to do so;
While waging the warfare, this wist they but little,
Brave battle-thanes, while his body intending
No weapon would harm Grendel; he bore a charmed life.10
To slit into slivers, and seeking his spirit:
That the relentless foeman nor finest of weapons
Of all on the earth, nor any of war-bills
[29]
Was willing to injure; but weapons of victory
Swords and suchlike he had sworn to dispense with.
15
His death at that time must prove to be wretched,
And the far-away spirit widely should journey
Into enemies’ power. This plainly he saw then
Who with mirth1 of mood malice no little
Had wrought in the past on the race of the earthmen
20
(To God he was hostile), that his body would fail him,
But Higelac’s hardy henchman and kinsman
Held him by the hand; hateful to other
Grendel is sorely wounded.
Was each one if living. A body-wound suffered
The direful demon, damage incurable
His body bursts.25
Was seen on his shoulder, his sinews were shivered,
His body did burst. To Beowulf was given
Glory in battle; Grendel from thenceward
Must flee and hide him in the fen-cliffs and marshes,
Sick unto death, his dwelling must look for
30
Unwinsome and woful; he wist the more fully
The monster flees away to hide in the moors.
The end of his earthly existence was nearing,
His life-days’ limits. At last for the Danemen,
When the slaughter was over, their wish was accomplished.
The comer-from-far-land had cleansed then of evil,
35
Wise and valiant, the war-hall of Hrothgar,
Saved it from violence. He joyed in the night-work,
In repute for prowess; the prince of the Geatmen
For the East-Danish people his boast had accomplished,
Bettered their burdensome bale-sorrows fully,
40
The craft-begot evil they erstwhile had suffered
And were forced to endure from crushing oppression,
Their manifold misery. ’Twas a manifest token,
Beowulf suspends Grendel’s hand and arm in Heorot.
When the hero-in-battle the hand suspended,
The arm and the shoulder (there was all of the claw
45
Of Grendel together) ’neath great-stretching hall-roof.
[1] It has been proposed to translate ‘myrðe’ by with sorrow; but there seems no authority for such a rendering. To the present translator, the phrase ‘módes myrðe’ seems a mere padding for gladly; i.e., he who gladly harassed mankind.
[30]
XIV.
REJOICING OF THE DANES.

At early dawn, warriors from far and near come together to hear of the night’s adventures.
In the mist of the morning many a warrior
Stood round the gift-hall, as the story is told me:
Folk-princes fared then from far and from near
Through long-stretching journeys to look at the wonder,
5
The footprints of the foeman. Few of the warriors
Few warriors lamented Grendel’s destruction.
Who gazed on the foot-tracks of the inglorious creature
His parting from life pained very deeply,
How, weary in spirit, off from those regions
In combats conquered he carried his traces,
10
Fated and flying, to the flood of the nickers.
Grendel’s blood dyes the waters.
There in bloody billows bubbled the currents,
The angry eddy was everywhere mingled
And seething with gore, welling with sword-blood;1
He death-doomed had hid him, when reaved of his joyance
15
He laid down his life in the lair he had fled to,
His heathenish spirit, where hell did receive him.
Thence the friends from of old backward turned them,
And many a younker from merry adventure,
Striding their stallions, stout from the seaward,
20
Heroes on horses. There were heard very often
Beowulf is the hero of the hour.
Beowulf’s praises; many often asserted
That neither south nor north, in the circuit of waters,
He is regarded as a probable successor to Hrothgar.
O’er outstretching earth-plain, none other was better
’Mid bearers of war-shields, more worthy to govern,
25
’Neath the arch of the ether. Not any, however,
’Gainst the friend-lord muttered, mocking-words uttered
But no word is uttered to derogate from the old king
Of Hrothgar the gracious (a good king he).
Oft the famed ones permitted their fallow-skinned horses
[31]
To run in rivalry, racing and chasing,
30
Where the fieldways appeared to them fair and inviting,
Known for their excellence; oft a thane of the folk-lord,2
The gleeman sings the deeds of heroes.
3A man of celebrity, mindful of rhythms,
Who ancient traditions treasured in memory,
New word-groups found properly bound:
35
The bard after ’gan then Beowulf’s venture
He sings in alliterative measures of Beowulf’s prowess.
Wisely to tell of, and words that were clever
To utter skilfully, earnestly speaking,
Everything told he that he heard as to Sigmund’s
Also of Sigemund, who has slain a great fire-dragon.
Mighty achievements, many things hidden,
40
The strife of the Wælsing, the wide-going ventures
The children of men knew of but little,
The feud and the fury, but Fitela with him,
When suchlike matters he minded to speak of,
Uncle to nephew, as in every contention
45
Each to other was ever devoted:
A numerous host of the race of the scathers
They had slain with the sword-edge. To Sigmund accrued then
No little of glory, when his life-days were over,
Since he sturdy in struggle had destroyed the great dragon,
50
The hoard-treasure’s keeper; ’neath the hoar-grayish stone he,
The son of the atheling, unaided adventured
The perilous project; not present was Fitela,
Yet the fortune befell him of forcing his weapon
Through the marvellous dragon, that it stood in the wall,
55
Well-honored weapon; the worm was slaughtered.
The great one had gained then by his glorious achievement
To reap from the ring-hoard richest enjoyment,
[32]
As best it did please him: his vessel he loaded,
Shining ornaments on the ship’s bosom carried,
60
Kinsman of Wæls: the drake in heat melted.
Sigemund was widely famed.
He was farthest famed of fugitive pilgrims,
Mid wide-scattered world-folk, for works of great prowess,
War-troopers’ shelter: hence waxed he in honor.4
Heremod, an unfortunate Danish king, is introduced by way of contrast.
Afterward Heremod’s hero-strength failed him,
65
His vigor and valor. ’Mid venomous haters
To the hands of foemen he was foully delivered,
Offdriven early. Agony-billows
Unlike Sigemund and Beowulf, Heremod was a burden to his people.
Oppressed him too long, to his people he became then,
To all the athelings, an ever-great burden;
70
And the daring one’s journey in days of yore
Many wise men were wont to deplore,
Such as hoped he would bring them help in their sorrow,
That the son of their ruler should rise into power,
Holding the headship held by his fathers,
75
Should govern the people, the gold-hoard and borough,
The kingdom of heroes, the realm of the Scyldings.
Beowulf is an honor to his race.
He to all men became then far more beloved,
Higelac’s kinsman, to kindreds and races,
To his friends much dearer; him malice assaulted.—
The story is resumed.80
Oft running and racing on roadsters they measured
The dun-colored highways. Then the light of the morning
Was hurried and hastened. Went henchmen in numbers
To the beautiful building, bold ones in spirit,
To look at the wonder; the liegelord himself then
85
From his wife-bower wending, warden of treasures,
Glorious trod with troopers unnumbered,
Famed for his virtues, and with him the queen-wife
Measured the mead-ways, with maidens attending.
[1] S. emends, suggesting ‘déop’ for ‘déog,’ and removing semicolon after ‘wéol.’ The two half-lines ‘welling … hid him’ would then read: The bloody deep welled with sword-gore. B. accepts ‘déop’ for ‘déog,’ but reads ‘déað-fæges’: The deep boiled with the sword-gore of the death-doomed one.
[2] Another and quite different rendering of this passage is as follows: Oft a liegeman of the king, a fame-covered man mindful of songs, who very many ancient traditions remembered (he found other word-groups accurately bound together) began afterward to tell of Beowulf’s adventure, skilfully to narrate it, etc.
[3] Might ‘guma gilp-hladen’ mean ‘a man laden with boasts of the deeds of others’?
[4] t.B. accepts B.’s ‘hé þæs áron þáh’ as given by H.-So., but puts a comma after ‘þáh,’ and takes ‘siððan’ as introducing a dependent clause: He throve in honor since Heremod’s strength … had decreased.
[33]
XV.
HROTHGAR’S GRATITUDE.

Hrothgar discoursed (to the hall-building went he,
He stood by the pillar,1 saw the steep-rising hall-roof
Gleaming with gold-gems, and Grendel his hand there):
Hrothgar gives thanks for the overthrow of the monster.
“For the sight we behold now, thanks to the Wielder
5
Early be offered! Much evil I bided,
Snaring from Grendel:2 God can e’er ’complish
Wonder on wonder, Wielder of Glory!
I had given up all hope, when this brave liegeman came to our aid.
But lately I reckoned ne’er under heaven
Comfort to gain me for any of sorrows,
10
While the handsomest of houses horrid with bloodstain
Gory uptowered; grief had offfrightened3
Each of the wise ones who weened not that ever
The folk-troop’s defences ’gainst foes they should strengthen,
’Gainst sprites and monsters. Through the might of the Wielder
15
A doughty retainer hath a deed now accomplished
Which erstwhile we all with our excellent wisdom
If his mother yet liveth, well may she thank God for this son.
Failed to perform. May affirm very truly
What woman soever in all of the nations
Gave birth to the child, if yet she surviveth,
20
That the long-ruling Lord was lavish to herward
In the birth of the bairn. Now, Beowulf dear,
Hereafter, Beowulf, thou shalt be my son.
Most excellent hero, I’ll love thee in spirit
As bairn of my body; bear well henceforward
The relationship new. No lack shall befall thee
25
Of earth-joys any I ever can give thee.
Full often for lesser service I’ve given
[34]
Hero less hardy hoard-treasure precious,
Thou hast won immortal distinction.
To a weaker in war-strife. By works of distinction
Thou hast gained for thyself now that thy glory shall flourish
30
Forever and ever. The All-Ruler quite thee
With good from His hand as He hitherto did thee!”
Beowulf replies: I was most happy to render thee this service.
Beowulf answered, Ecgtheow’s offspring:
“That labor of glory most gladly achieved we,
The combat accomplished, unquailing we ventured
35
The enemy’s grapple; I would grant it much rather
Thou wert able to look at the creature in person,
Faint unto falling, the foe in his trappings!
On murder-bed quickly I minded to bind him,
With firm-holding fetters, that forced by my grapple
40
Low he should lie in life-and-death struggle
’Less his body escape; I was wholly unable,
I could not keep the monster from escaping, as God did not will that I should.
Since God did not will it, to keep him from going,
Not held him that firmly, hated opposer;
Too swift was the foeman. Yet safety regarding
45
He suffered his hand behind him to linger,
His arm and shoulder, to act as watcher;
He left his hand and arm behind.
No shadow of solace the woe-begone creature
Found him there nathless: the hated destroyer
Liveth no longer, lashed for his evils,
50
But sorrow hath seized him, in snare-meshes hath him
Close in its clutches, keepeth him writhing
In baleful bonds: there banished for evil
The man shall wait for the mighty tribunal,
God will give him his deserts.
How the God of glory shall give him his earnings.”
55
Then the soldier kept silent, son of old Ecglaf,
Unferth has nothing more to say, for Beowulf’s actions speak louder than words.
From boasting and bragging of battle-achievements,
Since the princes beheld there the hand that depended
’Neath the lofty hall-timbers by the might of the nobleman,
Each one before him, the enemy’s fingers;
60
Each finger-nail strong steel most resembled,
The heathen one’s hand-spur, the hero-in-battle’s
Claw most uncanny; quoth they agreeing,
[35]No sword will harm the monster.
That not any excellent edges of brave ones
Was willing to touch him, the terrible creature’s
65
Battle-hand bloody to bear away from him.
[1] B. and t.B. read ‘staþole,’ and translate stood on the floor.
[2] For ‘snaring from Grendel,’ ‘sorrows at Grendel’s hands’ has been suggested. This gives a parallel to ‘láðes.’ ‘Grynna’ may well be gen. pl. of ‘gyrn,’ by a scribal slip.
[3] The H.-So punctuation has been followed; but B. has been followed in understanding ‘gehwylcne’ as object of ‘wíd-scofen (hæfde).’ Gr. construes ‘wéa’ as nom abs.
XVI.
HROTHGAR LAVISHES GIFTS UPON HIS DELIVERER.

Heorot is adorned with hands.
Then straight was ordered that Heorot inside1
With hands be embellished: a host of them gathered,
Of men and women, who the wassailing-building
The guest-hall begeared. Gold-flashing sparkled
5
Webs on the walls then, of wonders a many
To each of the heroes that look on such objects.
The hall is defaced, however.
The beautiful building was broken to pieces
Which all within with irons was fastened,
Its hinges torn off: only the roof was
10
Whole and uninjured when the horrible creature
Outlawed for evil off had betaken him,
Hopeless of living. ’Tis hard to avoid it
[A vague passage of five verses.]
(Whoever will do it!); but he doubtless must come to2
The place awaiting, as Wyrd hath appointed,
15
Soul-bearers, earth-dwellers, earls under heaven,
Where bound on its bed his body shall slumber
Hrothgar goes to the banquet.
When feasting is finished. Full was the time then
That the son of Healfdene went to the building;
[36]
The excellent atheling would eat of the banquet.
20
Ne’er heard I that people with hero-band larger
Bare them better tow’rds their bracelet-bestower.
The laden-with-glory stooped to the bench then
(Their kinsmen-companions in plenty were joyful,
Many a cupful quaffing complaisantly),
25
Doughty of spirit in the high-tow’ring palace,
Hrothgar’s nephew, Hrothulf, is present.
Hrothgar and Hrothulf. Heorot then inside
Was filled with friendly ones; falsehood and treachery
The Folk-Scyldings now nowise did practise.
Hrothgar lavishes gifts upon Beowulf.
Then the offspring of Healfdene offered to Beowulf
30
A golden standard, as reward for the victory,
A banner embossed, burnie and helmet;
Many men saw then a song-famous weapon
Borne ’fore the hero. Beowulf drank of
The cup in the building; that treasure-bestowing
35
He needed not blush for in battle-men’s presence.
Four handsomer gifts were never presented.
Ne’er heard I that many men on the ale-bench
In friendlier fashion to their fellows presented
Four bright jewels with gold-work embellished.
’Round the roof of the helmet a head-guarder outside
40
Braided with wires, with bosses was furnished,
That swords-for-the-battle fight-hardened might fail
Boldly to harm him, when the hero proceeded
Hrothgar commands that eight finely caparisoned steeds be brought to Beowulf.
Forth against foemen. The defender of earls then
Commanded that eight steeds with bridles
45
Gold-plated, gleaming, be guided to hallward,
Inside the building; on one of them stood then
An art-broidered saddle embellished with jewels;
’Twas the sovereign’s seat, when the son of King Healfdene
Was pleased to take part in the play of the edges;
50
The famous one’s valor ne’er failed at the front when
Slain ones were bowing. And to Beowulf granted
The prince of the Ingwins, power over both,
O’er war-steeds and weapons; bade him well to enjoy them.
In so manly a manner the mighty-famed chieftain,
[37]55
Hoard-ward of heroes, with horses and jewels
War-storms requited, that none e’er condemneth
Who willeth to tell truth with full justice.
[1] Kl. suggests ‘hroden’ for ‘háten,’ and renders: Then quickly was Heorot adorned within, with hands bedecked.—B. suggests ‘gefrætwon’ instead of ‘gefrætwod,’ and renders: Then was it commanded to adorn Heorot within quickly with hands.—The former has the advantage of affording a parallel to ‘gefrætwod’: both have the disadvantage of altering the text.
[2] The passage 1005-1009 seems to be hopeless. One difficult point is to find a subject for ‘gesacan.’ Some say ‘he’; others supply ‘each,’ i.e., every soul-bearer … must gain the inevitable place. The genitives in this case are partitive.—If ‘he’ be subj., the genitives are dependent on ‘gearwe’ (= prepared).—The ‘he’ itself is disputed, some referring it to Grendel; but B. takes it as involved in the parenthesis.
XVII.
BANQUET (continued).—THE SCOP’S SONG OF FINN AND HNÆF.

Each of Beowulf’s companions receives a costly gift.
And the atheling of earlmen to each of the heroes
Who the ways of the waters went with Beowulf,
A costly gift-token gave on the mead-bench,
Offered an heirloom, and ordered that that man
The warrior killed by Grendel is to be paid for in gold.5
With gold should be paid for, whom Grendel had erstwhile
Wickedly slaughtered, as he more of them had done
Had far-seeing God and the mood of the hero
The fate not averted: the Father then governed
All of the earth-dwellers, as He ever is doing;
10
Hence insight for all men is everywhere fittest,
Forethought of spirit! much he shall suffer
Of lief and of loathsome who long in this present
Useth the world in this woful existence.
There was music and merriment mingling together
Hrothgar’s scop recalls events in the reign of his lord’s father.15
Touching Healfdene’s leader; the joy-wood was fingered,
Measures recited, when the singer of Hrothgar
On mead-bench should mention the merry hall-joyance
Of the kinsmen of Finn, when onset surprised them:
Hnæf, the Danish general, is treacherously attacked while staying at Finn’s castle.
“The Half-Danish hero, Hnæf of the Scyldings,
20
On the field of the Frisians was fated to perish.
Sure Hildeburg needed not mention approving
The faith of the Jutemen: though blameless entirely,
Queen Hildeburg is not only wife of Finn, but a kinswoman of the murdered Hnæf.
When shields were shivered she was shorn of her darlings,
Of bairns and brothers: they bent to their fate
25
With war-spear wounded; woe was that woman.
Not causeless lamented the daughter of Hoce
The decree of the Wielder when morning-light came and
She was able ’neath heaven to behold the destruction
[38]
Of brothers and bairns, where the brightest of earth-joys
Finn’s force is almost exterminated.30
She had hitherto had: all the henchmen of Finn
War had offtaken, save a handful remaining,
That he nowise was able to offer resistance1
Hengest succeeds Hnæf as Danish general.
To the onset of Hengest in the parley of battle,
Nor the wretched remnant to rescue in war from
35
The earl of the atheling; but they offered conditions,
Compact between the Frisians and the Danes.
Another great building to fully make ready,
A hall and a high-seat, that half they might rule with
The sons of the Jutemen, and that Folcwalda’s son would
Day after day the Danemen honor
40
When gifts were giving, and grant of his ring-store
To Hengest’s earl-troop ever so freely,
Of his gold-plated jewels, as he encouraged the Frisians
Equality of gifts agreed on.
On the bench of the beer-hall. On both sides they swore then
A fast-binding compact; Finn unto Hengest
45
With no thought of revoking vowed then most solemnly
The woe-begone remnant well to take charge of,
His Witan advising; the agreement should no one
By words or works weaken and shatter,
By artifice ever injure its value,
50
Though reaved of their ruler their ring-giver’s slayer
They followed as vassals, Fate so requiring:
No one shall refer to old grudges.
Then if one of the Frisians the quarrel should speak of
In tones that were taunting, terrible edges
Should cut in requital. Accomplished the oath was,
55
And treasure of gold from the hoard was uplifted.
Danish warriors are burned on a funeral-pyre.
The best of the Scylding braves was then fully
Prepared for the pile; at the pyre was seen clearly
The blood-gory burnie, the boar with his gilding,
The iron-hard swine, athelings many
60
Fatally wounded; no few had been slaughtered.
Hildeburg bade then, at the burning of Hnæf,
[39]Queen Hildeburg has her son burnt along with Hnæf.
The bairn of her bosom to bear to the fire,
That his body be burned and borne to the pyre.
The woe-stricken woman wept on his shoulder,2
65
In measures lamented; upmounted the hero.3
The greatest of dead-fires curled to the welkin,
On the hill’s-front crackled; heads were a-melting,
Wound-doors bursting, while the blood was a-coursing
From body-bite fierce. The fire devoured them,
70
Greediest of spirits, whom war had offcarried
From both of the peoples; their bravest were fallen.
[1] For 1084, R. suggests ‘wiht Hengeste wið gefeohtan.’—K. suggests ‘wið Hengeste wiht gefeohtan.’ Neither emendation would make any essential change in the translation.
[2] The separation of adjective and noun by a phrase (cf. v. 1118) being very unusual, some scholars have put ‘earme on eaxle’ with the foregoing lines, inserting a semicolon after ‘eaxle.’ In this case ‘on eaxe’ (i.e., on the ashes, cinders) is sometimes read, and this affords a parallel to ‘on bæl.’ Let us hope that a satisfactory rendering shall yet be reached without resorting to any tampering with the text, such as Lichtenheld proposed: ‘earme ides on eaxle gnornode.’
[3] For ‘gúð-rinc,’ ‘gúð-réc,’ battle-smoke, has been suggested.
XVIII.
THE FINN EPISODE (continued).—THE BANQUET CONTINUES.

The survivors go to Friesland, the home of Finn.
“Then the warriors departed to go to their dwellings,
Reaved of their friends, Friesland to visit,
Their homes and high-city. Hengest continued
Hengest remains there all winter, unable to get away.
Biding with Finn the blood-tainted winter,
5
Wholly unsundered;1 of fatherland thought he
Though unable to drive the ring-stemmèd vessel
[40]
O’er the ways of the waters; the wave-deeps were tossing,
Fought with the wind; winter in ice-bonds
Closed up the currents, till there came to the dwelling
10
A year in its course, as yet it revolveth,
If season propitious one alway regardeth,
World-cheering weathers. Then winter was gone,
Earth’s bosom was lovely; the exile would get him,
He devises schemes of vengeance.
The guest from the palace; on grewsomest vengeance
15
He brooded more eager than on oversea journeys,
Whe’r onset-of-anger he were able to ’complish,
The bairns of the Jutemen therein to remember.
Nowise refused he the duties of liegeman
When Hun of the Frisians the battle-sword Láfing,
20
Fairest of falchions, friendly did give him:
Its edges were famous in folk-talk of Jutland.
And savage sword-fury seized in its clutches
Bold-mooded Finn where he bode in his palace,
Guthlaf and Oslaf revenge Hnæf’s slaughter.
When the grewsome grapple Guthlaf and Oslaf
25
Had mournfully mentioned, the mere-journey over,
For sorrows half-blamed him; the flickering spirit
Could not bide in his bosom. Then the building was covered2
Finn is slain.
With corpses of foemen, and Finn too was slaughtered,
The king with his comrades, and the queen made a prisoner.
The jewels of Finn, and his queen are carried away by the Danes.30
The troops of the Scyldings bore to their vessels
All that the land-king had in his palace,
Such trinkets and treasures they took as, on searching,
At Finn’s they could find. They ferried to Daneland
The excellent woman on oversea journey,
The lay is concluded, and the main story is resumed.35
Led her to their land-folk.” The lay was concluded,
The gleeman’s recital. Shouts again rose then,
Bench-glee resounded, bearers then offered
Skinkers carry round the beaker.
Wine from wonder-vats. Wealhtheo advanced then
Going ’neath gold-crown, where the good ones were seated
[41]Queen Wealhtheow greets Hrothgar, as he sits beside Hrothulf, his nephew.40
Uncle and nephew; their peace was yet mutual,
True each to the other. And Unferth the spokesman
Sat at the feet of the lord of the Scyldings:
Each trusted his spirit that his mood was courageous,
Though at fight he had failed in faith to his kinsmen.
45
Said the queen of the Scyldings: “My lord and protector,
Treasure-bestower, take thou this beaker;
Joyance attend thee, gold-friend of heroes,
Be generous to the Geats.
And greet thou the Geatmen with gracious responses!
So ought one to do. Be kind to the Geatmen,
50
In gifts not niggardly; anear and afar now
Peace thou enjoyest. Report hath informed me
Thou’lt have for a bairn the battle-brave hero.
Now is Heorot cleansèd, ring-palace gleaming;
Have as much joy as possible in thy hall, once more purified.
Give while thou mayest many rewards,
55
And bequeath to thy kinsmen kingdom and people,
On wending thy way to the Wielder’s splendor.
I know good Hrothulf, that the noble young troopers
I know that Hrothulf will prove faithful if he survive thee.
He’ll care for and honor, lord of the Scyldings,
If earth-joys thou endest earlier than he doth;
60
I reckon that recompense he’ll render with kindness
Our offspring and issue, if that all he remember,
What favors of yore, when he yet was an infant,
We awarded to him for his worship and pleasure.”
Then she turned by the bench where her sons were carousing,
65
Hrethric and Hrothmund, and the heroes’ offspring,
Beowulf is sitting by the two royal sons.
The war-youth together; there the good one was sitting
’Twixt the brothers twain, Beowulf Geatman.
[1] For 1130 (1) R. and Gr. suggest ‘elne unflitme’ as 1098 (1) reads. The latter verse is undisputed; and, for the former, ‘elne’ would be as possible as ‘ealles,’ and ‘unflitme’ is well supported. Accepting ‘elne unflitme’ for both, I would suggest ‘very peaceably’ for both places: (1) Finn to Hengest very peaceably vowed with oaths, etc. (2) Hengest then still the slaughter-stained winter remained there with Finn very peaceably. The two passages become thus correlatives, the second a sequel of the first. ‘Elne,’ in the sense of very (swíðe), needs no argument; and ‘unflitme’ (from ‘flítan’) can, it seems to me, be more plausibly rendered ‘peaceful,’ ‘peaceable,’ than ‘contestable,’ or ‘conquerable.’
[2] Some scholars have proposed ‘roden’; the line would then read: Then the building was reddened, etc., instead of ‘covered.’ The ‘h’ may have been carried over from the three alliterating ‘h’s.’
XIX.
BEOWULF RECEIVES FURTHER HONOR.

More gifts are offered Beowulf.
A beaker was borne him, and bidding to quaff it
Graciously given, and gold that was twisted
Pleasantly proffered, a pair of arm-jewels,
[42]
Rings and corslet, of collars the greatest
5
I’ve heard of ’neath heaven. Of heroes not any
More splendid from jewels have I heard ’neath the welkin,
A famous necklace is referred to, in comparison with the gems presented to Beowulf.
Since Hama off bore the Brosingmen’s necklace,
The bracteates and jewels, from the bright-shining city,1
Eormenric’s cunning craftiness fled from,
10
Chose gain everlasting. Geatish Higelac,
Grandson of Swerting, last had this jewel
When tramping ’neath banner the treasure he guarded,
The field-spoil defended; Fate offcarried him
When for deeds of daring he endured tribulation,
15
Hate from the Frisians; the ornaments bare he
O’er the cup of the currents, costly gem-treasures,
Mighty folk-leader, he fell ’neath his target;
The2 corpse of the king then came into charge of
The race of the Frankmen, the mail-shirt and collar:
20
Warmen less noble plundered the fallen,
When the fight was finished; the folk of the Geatmen
The field of the dead held in possession.
The choicest of mead-halls with cheering resounded.
Wealhtheo discoursed, the war-troop addressed she:
Queen Wealhtheow magnifies Beowulf’s achievements.25
“This collar enjoy thou, Beowulf worthy,
Young man, in safety, and use thou this armor,
Gems of the people, and prosper thou fully,
Show thyself sturdy and be to these liegemen
Mild with instruction! I’ll mind thy requital.
30
Thou hast brought it to pass that far and near
Forever and ever earthmen shall honor thee,
Even so widely as ocean surroundeth
The blustering bluffs. Be, while thou livest,
[43]
A wealth-blessèd atheling. I wish thee most truly
May gifts never fail thee.35
Jewels and treasure. Be kind to my son, thou
Living in joyance! Here each of the nobles
Is true unto other, gentle in spirit,
Loyal to leader. The liegemen are peaceful,
The war-troops ready: well-drunken heroes,3
40
Do as I bid ye.” Then she went to the settle.
There was choicest of banquets, wine drank the heroes:
They little know of the sorrow in store for them.
Weird they knew not, destiny cruel,
As to many an earlman early it happened,
When evening had come and Hrothgar had parted
45
Off to his manor, the mighty to slumber.
Warriors unnumbered warded the building
As erst they did often: the ale-settle bared they,
’Twas covered all over with beds and pillows.
A doomed thane is there with them.
Doomed unto death, down to his slumber
50
Bowed then a beer-thane. Their battle-shields placed they,
Bright-shining targets, up by their heads then;
O’er the atheling on ale-bench ’twas easy to see there
Battle-high helmet, burnie of ring-mail,
They were always ready for battle.
And mighty war-spear. ’Twas the wont of that people
55
To constantly keep them equipped for the battle,4
At home or marching—in either condition—
At seasons just such as necessity ordered
As best for their ruler; that people was worthy.
[1] C. suggests a semicolon after ‘city,’ with ‘he’ as supplied subject of ‘fled’ and ‘chose.’
[2] For ‘feorh’ S. suggests ‘feoh’: ‘corpse’ in the translation would then be changed to ‘possessions,’ ‘belongings.’ This is a better reading than one joining, in such intimate syntactical relations, things so unlike as ‘corpse’ and ‘jewels.’
[3] S. suggests ‘wine-joyous heroes,’ ‘warriors elated with wine.’
[4] I believe this translation brings out the meaning of the poet, without departing seriously from the H.-So. text. ‘Oft’ frequently means ‘constantly,’ ‘continually,’ not always ‘often.’—Why ‘an (on) wíg gearwe’ should be written ‘ánwíg-gearwe’ (= ready for single combat), I cannot see. ‘Gearwe’ occurs quite frequently with ‘on’; cf. B. 1110 (ready for the pyre), El. 222 (ready for the glad journey). Moreover, what has the idea of single combat to do with B. 1247 ff.? The poet is giving an inventory of the arms and armor which they lay aside on retiring, and he closes his narration by saying that they were always prepared for battle both at home and on the march.
[44]
XX.
THE MOTHER OF GRENDEL.

They sank then to slumber. With sorrow one paid for
His evening repose, as often betid them
While Grendel was holding1 the gold-bedecked palace,
Ill-deeds performing, till his end overtook him,
5
Death for his sins. ’Twas seen very clearly,
Grendel’s mother is known to be thirsting for revenge.
Known unto earth-folk, that still an avenger
Outlived the loathed one, long since the sorrow
Caused by the struggle; the mother of Grendel,
Devil-shaped woman, her woe ever minded,
10
Who was held to inhabit the horrible waters,
[Grendel’s progenitor, Cain, is again referred to.]
The cold-flowing currents, after Cain had become a
Slayer-with-edges to his one only brother,
The son of his sire; he set out then banished,
Marked as a murderer, man-joys avoiding,
15
Lived in the desert. Thence demons unnumbered
The poet again magnifies Beowulf’s valor.
Fate-sent awoke; one of them Grendel,
Sword-cursèd, hateful, who at Heorot met with
A man that was watching, waiting the struggle,
Where a horrid one held him with hand-grapple sturdy;
20
Nathless he minded the might of his body,
The glorious gift God had allowed him,
And folk-ruling Father’s favor relied on,
His help and His comfort: so he conquered the foeman,
The hell-spirit humbled: he unhappy departed then,
25
Reaved of his joyance, journeying to death-haunts,
Foeman of man. His mother moreover
Grendel’s mother comes to avenge her son.
Eager and gloomy was anxious to go on
Her mournful mission, mindful of vengeance
For the death of her son. She came then to Heorot
[45]30
Where the Armor-Dane earlmen all through the building
Were lying in slumber. Soon there became then
Return2 to the nobles, when the mother of Grendel
Entered the folk-hall; the fear was less grievous
By even so much as the vigor of maidens,
35
War-strength of women, by warrior is reckoned,
When well-carved weapon, worked with the hammer,
Blade very bloody, brave with its edges,
Strikes down the boar-sign that stands on the helmet.
Then the hard-edgèd weapon was heaved in the building,3
40
The brand o’er the benches, broad-lindens many
Hand-fast were lifted; for helmet he recked not,
For armor-net broad, whom terror laid hold of.
She went then hastily, outward would get her
Her life for to save, when some one did spy her;
She seizes a favorite liegemen of Hrothgar’s.45
Soon she had grappled one of the athelings
Fast and firmly, when fenward she hied her;
That one to Hrothgar was liefest of heroes
In rank of retainer where waters encircle,
A mighty shield-warrior, whom she murdered at slumber,
50
A broadly-famed battle-knight. Beowulf was absent,
Beowulf was asleep in another part of the palace.
But another apartment was erstwhile devoted
To the glory-decked Geatman when gold was distributed.
There was hubbub in Heorot. The hand that was famous
She grasped in its gore;4 grief was renewed then
[46]55
In homes and houses: ’twas no happy arrangement
In both of the quarters to barter and purchase
With lives of their friends. Then the well-agèd ruler,
The gray-headed war-thane, was woful in spirit,
When his long-trusted liegeman lifeless he knew of,
Beowulf is sent for.60
His dearest one gone. Quick from a room was
Beowulf brought, brave and triumphant.
As day was dawning in the dusk of the morning,
He comes at Hrothgar’s summons.
Went then that earlman, champion noble,
Came with comrades, where the clever one bided
65
Whether God all gracious would grant him a respite
After the woe he had suffered. The war-worthy hero
With a troop of retainers trod then the pavement
(The hall-building groaned), till he greeted the wise one,
Beowulf inquires how Hrothgar had enjoyed his night’s rest.
The earl of the Ingwins;5 asked if the night had
70
Fully refreshed him, as fain he would have it.
[1] Several eminent authorities either read or emend the MS. so as to make this verse read, While Grendel was wasting the gold-bedecked palace. So 20 15 below: ravaged the desert.
[2] For ‘sóna’ (1281), t.B. suggests ‘sára,’ limiting ‘edhwyrft.’ Read then: Return of sorrows to the nobles, etc. This emendation supplies the syntactical gap after ‘edhwyrft.’
[3] Some authorities follow Grein’s lexicon in treating ‘heard ecg’ as an adj. limiting ‘sweord’: H.-So. renders it as a subst. (So v. 1491.) The sense of the translation would be the same.
[4] B. suggests ‘under hróf genam’ (v. 1303). This emendation, as well as an emendation with (?) to v. 739, he offers, because ‘under’ baffles him in both passages. All we need is to take ‘under’ in its secondary meaning of ‘in,’ which, though not given by Grein, occurs in the literature. Cf. Chron. 876 (March’s A.-S. Gram. § 355) and Oro. Amaz. I. 10, where ‘under’ = in the midst of. Cf. modern Eng. ‘in such circumstances,’ which interchanges in good usage with ‘under such circumstances.’
[5] For ‘néod-laðu’ (1321) C. suggests ‘néad-láðum,’ and translates: asked whether the night had been pleasant to him after crushing-hostility.
XXI.
HROTHGAR’S ACCOUNT OF THE MONSTERS.

Hrothgar laments the death of Æschere, his shoulder-companion.
Hrothgar rejoined, helm of the Scyldings:
“Ask not of joyance! Grief is renewed to
The folk of the Danemen. Dead is Æschere,
Yrmenlaf’s brother, older than he,
5
My true-hearted counsellor, trusty adviser,
Shoulder-companion, when fighting in battle
Our heads we protected, when troopers were clashing,
He was my ideal hero.
And heroes were dashing; such an earl should be ever,
An erst-worthy atheling, as Æschere proved him.
10
The flickering death-spirit became in Heorot
His hand-to-hand murderer; I can not tell whither
The cruel one turned in the carcass exulting,
[47]This horrible creature came to avenge Grendel’s death.
By cramming discovered.1 The quarrel she wreaked then,
That last night igone Grendel thou killedst
15
In grewsomest manner, with grim-holding clutches,
Since too long he had lessened my liege-troop and wasted
My folk-men so foully. He fell in the battle
With forfeit of life, and another has followed,
A mighty crime-worker, her kinsman avenging,
20
And henceforth hath ‘stablished her hatred unyielding,2
As it well may appear to many a liegeman,
Who mourneth in spirit the treasure-bestower,
Her heavy heart-sorrow; the hand is now lifeless
Which3 availed you in every wish that you cherished.
I have heard my vassals speak of these two uncanny monsters who lived in the moors.25
Land-people heard I, liegemen, this saying,
Dwellers in halls, they had seen very often
A pair of such mighty march-striding creatures,
Far-dwelling spirits, holding the moorlands:
One of them wore, as well they might notice,
30
The image of woman, the other one wretched
In guise of a man wandered in exile,
Except he was huger than any of earthmen;
Earth-dwelling people entitled him Grendel
In days of yore: they know not their father,
35
Whe’r ill-going spirits any were borne him
The inhabit the most desolate and horrible places.
Ever before. They guard the wolf-coverts,
Lands inaccessible, wind-beaten nesses,
Fearfullest fen-deeps, where a flood from the mountains
’Neath mists of the nesses netherward rattles,
40
The stream under earth: not far is it henceward
Measured by mile-lengths that the mere-water standeth,
Which forests hang over, with frost-whiting covered,4
[48]
A firm-rooted forest, the floods overshadow.
There ever at night one an ill-meaning portent
45
A fire-flood may see; ’mong children of men
None liveth so wise that wot of the bottom;
Though harassed by hounds the heath-stepper seek for,
Even the hounded deer will not seek refuge in these uncanny regions.
Fly to the forest, firm-antlered he-deer,
Spurred from afar, his spirit he yieldeth,
50
His life on the shore, ere in he will venture
To cover his head. Uncanny the place is:
Thence upward ascendeth the surging of waters,
Wan to the welkin, when the wind is stirring
The weathers unpleasing, till the air groweth gloomy,
To thee only can I look for assistance.55
And the heavens lower. Now is help to be gotten
From thee and thee only! The abode thou know’st not,
The dangerous place where thou’rt able to meet with
The sin-laden hero: seek if thou darest!
For the feud I will fully fee thee with money,
60
With old-time treasure, as erstwhile I did thee,
With well-twisted jewels, if away thou shalt get thee.”
[1] For ‘gefrægnod’ (1334), K. and t.B. suggest ‘gefægnod,’ rendering ‘rejoicing in her fill.’ This gives a parallel to ‘æse wlanc’ (1333).
[2] The line ‘And … yielding,’ B. renders: And she has performed a deed of blood-vengeance whose effect is far-reaching.
[3] ‘Sé Þe’ (1345) is an instance of masc. rel. with fem. antecedent. So v. 1888, where ‘sé Þe’ refers to ‘yldo.’
[4] For ‘hrímge’ in the H.-So. edition, Gr. and others read ‘hrínde’ (=hrínende), and translate: which rustling forests overhang.
XXII.
BEOWULF SEEKS GRENDEL’S MOTHER.

Beowulf answered, Ecgtheow’s son:
Beowulf exhorts the old king to arouse himself for action.
“Grieve not, O wise one! for each it is better,
His friend to avenge than with vehemence wail him;
Each of us must the end-day abide of
5
His earthly existence; who is able accomplish
Glory ere death! To battle-thane noble
Lifeless lying, ’tis at last most fitting.
Arise, O king, quick let us hasten
To look at the footprint of the kinsman of Grendel!
10
I promise thee this now: to his place he’ll escape not,
To embrace of the earth, nor to mountainous forest,
Nor to depths of the ocean, wherever he wanders.
[49]
Practice thou now patient endurance
Of each of thy sorrows, as I hope for thee soothly!”
Hrothgar rouses himself. His horse is brought.15
Then up sprang the old one, the All-Wielder thanked he,
Ruler Almighty, that the man had outspoken.
Then for Hrothgar a war-horse was decked with a bridle,
Curly-maned courser. The clever folk-leader
They start on the track of the female monster.
Stately proceeded: stepped then an earl-troop
20
Of linden-wood bearers. Her footprints were seen then
Widely in wood-paths, her way o’er the bottoms,
Where she faraway fared o’er fen-country murky,
Bore away breathless the best of retainers
Who pondered with Hrothgar the welfare of country.
25
The son of the athelings then went o’er the stony,
Declivitous cliffs, the close-covered passes,
Narrow passages, paths unfrequented,
Nesses abrupt, nicker-haunts many;
One of a few of wise-mooded heroes,
30
He onward advanced to view the surroundings,
Till he found unawares woods of the mountain
O’er hoar-stones hanging, holt-wood unjoyful;
The water stood under, welling and gory.
’Twas irksome in spirit to all of the Danemen,
35
Friends of the Scyldings, to many a liegeman
The sight of Æschere’s head causes them great sorrow.
Sad to be suffered, a sorrow unlittle
To each of the earlmen, when to Æschere’s head they
Came on the cliff. The current was seething
With blood and with gore (the troopers gazed on it).
40
The horn anon sang the battle-song ready.
The troop were all seated; they saw ’long the water then
The water is filled with serpents and sea-dragons.
Many a serpent, mere-dragons wondrous
Trying the waters, nickers a-lying
On the cliffs of the nesses, which at noonday full often
45
Go on the sea-deeps their sorrowful journey,
Wild-beasts and wormkind; away then they hastened
One of them is killed by Beowulf.
Hot-mooded, hateful, they heard the great clamor,
The war-trumpet winding. One did the Geat-prince
[50]
Sunder from earth-joys, with arrow from bowstring,
50
From his sea-struggle tore him, that the trusty war-missile
The dead beast is a poor swimmer
Pierced to his vitals; he proved in the currents
Less doughty at swimming whom death had offcarried.
Soon in the waters the wonderful swimmer
Was straitened most sorely with sword-pointed boar-spears,
55
Pressed in the battle and pulled to the cliff-edge;
The liegemen then looked on the loath-fashioned stranger.
Beowulf prepares for a struggle with the monster.
Beowulf donned then his battle-equipments,
Cared little for life; inlaid and most ample,
The hand-woven corslet which could cover his body,
60
Must the wave-deeps explore, that war might be powerless
To harm the great hero, and the hating one’s grasp might
Not peril his safety; his head was protected
By the light-flashing helmet that should mix with the bottoms,
Trying the eddies, treasure-emblazoned,
65
Encircled with jewels, as in seasons long past
The weapon-smith worked it, wondrously made it,
With swine-bodies fashioned it, that thenceforward no longer
Brand might bite it, and battle-sword hurt it.
And that was not least of helpers in prowess
He has Unferth’s sword in his hand.70
That Hrothgar’s spokesman had lent him when straitened;
And the hilted hand-sword was Hrunting entitled,
Old and most excellent ’mong all of the treasures;
Its blade was of iron, blotted with poison,
Hardened with gore; it failed not in battle
75
Any hero under heaven in hand who it brandished,
Who ventured to take the terrible journeys,
The battle-field sought; not the earliest occasion
That deeds of daring ’twas destined to ’complish.
Unferth has little use for swords.
Ecglaf’s kinsman minded not soothly,
80
Exulting in strength, what erst he had spoken
Drunken with wine, when the weapon he lent to
A sword-hero bolder; himself did not venture
’Neath the strife of the currents his life to endanger,
[51]
To fame-deeds perform; there he forfeited glory,
85
Repute for his strength. Not so with the other
When he clad in his corslet had equipped him for battle.
XXIII.
BEOWULF’S FIGHT WITH GRENDEL’S MOTHER.

Beowulf makes a parting speech to Hrothgar.
Beowulf spake, Ecgtheow’s son:
“Recall now, oh, famous kinsman of Healfdene,
Prince very prudent, now to part I am ready,
Gold-friend of earlmen, what erst we agreed on,
If I fail, act as a kind liegelord to my thanes,5
Should I lay down my life in lending thee assistance,
When my earth-joys were over, thou wouldst evermore serve me
In stead of a father; my faithful thanemen,
My trusty retainers, protect thou and care for,
Fall I in battle: and, Hrothgar belovèd,
and send Higelac the jewels thou hast given me10
Send unto Higelac the high-valued jewels
Thou to me hast allotted. The lord of the Geatmen
May perceive from the gold, the Hrethling may see it
I should like my king to know how generous a lord I found thee to be.
When he looks on the jewels, that a gem-giver found I
Good over-measure, enjoyed him while able.
15
And the ancient heirloom Unferth permit thou,
The famed one to have, the heavy-sword splendid1
The hard-edgèd weapon; with Hrunting to aid me,
I shall gain me glory, or grim-death shall take me.”
Beowulf is eager for the fray.
The atheling of Geatmen uttered these words and
20
Heroic did hasten, not any rejoinder
Was willing to wait for; the wave-current swallowed
He is a whole day reaching the bottom of the sea.
The doughty-in-battle. Then a day’s-length elapsed ere
He was able to see the sea at its bottom.
Early she found then who fifty of winters
25
The course of the currents kept in her fury,
Grisly and greedy, that the grim one’s dominion
[52]Grendel’s mother knows that some one has reached her domains.
Some one of men from above was exploring.
Forth did she grab them, grappled the warrior
With horrible clutches; yet no sooner she injured
30
His body unscathèd: the burnie out-guarded,
That she proved but powerless to pierce through the armor,
The limb-mail locked, with loath-grabbing fingers.
The sea-wolf bare then, when bottomward came she,
She grabs him, and bears him to her den.
The ring-prince homeward, that he after was powerless
35
(He had daring to do it) to deal with his weapons,
But many a mere-beast tormented him swimming,
Sea-monsters bite and strike him.
Flood-beasts no few with fierce-biting tusks did
Break through his burnie, the brave one pursued they.
The earl then discovered he was down in some cavern
40
Where no water whatever anywise harmed him,
And the clutch of the current could come not anear him,
Since the roofed-hall prevented; brightness a-gleaming
Fire-light he saw, flashing resplendent.
The good one saw then the sea-bottom’s monster,
Beowulf attacks the mother of Grendel.45
The mighty mere-woman; he made a great onset
With weapon-of-battle, his hand not desisted
From striking, that war-blade struck on her head then
A battle-song greedy. The stranger perceived then
The sword will not bite.
The sword would not bite, her life would not injure,
50
But the falchion failed the folk-prince when straitened:
Erst had it often onsets encountered,
Oft cloven the helmet, the fated one’s armor:
’Twas the first time that ever the excellent jewel
Had failed of its fame. Firm-mooded after,
55
Not heedless of valor, but mindful of glory,
Was Higelac’s kinsman; the hero-chief angry
Cast then his carved-sword covered with jewels
That it lay on the earth, hard and steel-pointed;
The hero throws down all weapons, and again trusts to his hand-grip.
He hoped in his strength, his hand-grapple sturdy.
60
So any must act whenever he thinketh
To gain him in battle glory unending,
And is reckless of living. The lord of the War-Geats
[53]
(He shrank not from battle) seized by the shoulder2
The mother of Grendel; then mighty in struggle
65
Swung he his enemy, since his anger was kindled,
That she fell to the floor. With furious grapple
Beowulf falls.
She gave him requital3 early thereafter,
And stretched out to grab him; the strongest of warriors
Faint-mooded stumbled, till he fell in his traces,
The monster sits on him with drawn sword.70
Foot-going champion. Then she sat on the hall-guest
And wielded her war-knife wide-bladed, flashing,
For her son would take vengeance, her one only bairn.
His armor saves his life.
His breast-armor woven bode on his shoulder;
It guarded his life, the entrance defended
75
’Gainst sword-point and edges. Ecgtheow’s son there
Had fatally journeyed, champion of Geatmen,
In the arms of the ocean, had the armor not given,
Close-woven corslet, comfort and succor,
God arranged for his escape.
And had God most holy not awarded the victory,
80
All-knowing Lord; easily did heaven’s
Ruler most righteous arrange it with justice;4
Uprose he erect ready for battle.
[1] Kl. emends ‘wæl-sweord.’ The half-line would then read, ‘the battle-sword splendid.’—For ‘heard-ecg’ in next half-verse, see note to 20 39 above.
[2] Sw., R., and t.B. suggest ‘feaxe’ for ‘eaxle’ (1538) and render: Seized by the hair.
[3] If ‘hand-léan’ be accepted (as the MS. has it), the line will read: She hand-reward gave him early thereafter.
[4] Sw. and S. change H.-So.’s semicolon (v. 1557) to a comma, and translate: The Ruler of Heaven arranged it in justice easily, after he arose again.
XXIV.
BEOWULF IS DOUBLE-CONQUEROR.

Beowulf grasps a giant-sword,
Then he saw mid the war-gems a weapon of victory,
An ancient giant-sword, of edges a-doughty,
Glory of warriors: of weapons ’twas choicest,
Only ’twas larger than any man else was
[54]5
Able to bear to the battle-encounter,
The good and splendid work of the giants.
He grasped then the sword-hilt, knight of the Scyldings,
Bold and battle-grim, brandished his ring-sword,
Hopeless of living, hotly he smote her,
10
That the fiend-woman’s neck firmly it grappled,
and fells the female monster.
Broke through her bone-joints, the bill fully pierced her
Fate-cursèd body, she fell to the ground then:
The hand-sword was bloody, the hero exulted.
The brand was brilliant, brightly it glimmered,
15
Just as from heaven gemlike shineth
The torch of the firmament. He glanced ’long the building,
And turned by the wall then, Higelac’s vassal
Raging and wrathful raised his battle-sword
Strong by the handle. The edge was not useless
20
To the hero-in-battle, but he speedily wished to
Give Grendel requital for the many assaults he
Had worked on the West-Danes not once, but often,
When he slew in slumber the subjects of Hrothgar,
Swallowed down fifteen sleeping retainers
25
Of the folk of the Danemen, and fully as many
Carried away, a horrible prey.
He gave him requital, grim-raging champion,
Beowulf sees the body of Grendel, and cuts off his head.
When he saw on his rest-place weary of conflict
Grendel lying, of life-joys bereavèd,
30
As the battle at Heorot erstwhile had scathed him;
His body far bounded, a blow when he suffered,
Death having seized him, sword-smiting heavy,
And he cut off his head then. Early this noticed
The clever carles who as comrades of Hrothgar
The waters are gory.35
Gazed on the sea-deeps, that the surging wave-currents
Were mightily mingled, the mere-flood was gory:
Of the good one the gray-haired together held converse,
Beowulf is given up for dead.
The hoary of head, that they hoped not to see again
The atheling ever, that exulting in victory
40
He’d return there to visit the distinguished folk-ruler:
[55]
Then many concluded the mere-wolf had killed him.1
The ninth hour came then. From the ness-edge departed
The bold-mooded Scyldings; the gold-friend of heroes
Homeward betook him. The strangers sat down then
45
Soul-sick, sorrowful, the sea-waves regarding:
They wished and yet weened not their well-loved friend-lord
The giant-sword melts.
To see any more. The sword-blade began then,
The blood having touched it, contracting and shriveling
With battle-icicles; ’twas a wonderful marvel
50
That it melted entirely, likest to ice when
The Father unbindeth the bond of the frost and
Unwindeth the wave-bands, He who wieldeth dominion
Of times and of tides: a truth-firm Creator.
Nor took he of jewels more in the dwelling,
55
Lord of the Weders, though they lay all around him,
Than the head and the handle handsome with jewels;
[56]
The brand early melted, burnt was the weapon:2
So hot was the blood, the strange-spirit poisonous
The hero swims back to the realms of day.
That in it did perish. He early swam off then
60
Who had bided in combat the carnage of haters,
Went up through the ocean; the eddies were cleansèd,
The spacious expanses, when the spirit from farland
His life put aside and this short-lived existence.
The seamen’s defender came swimming to land then
65
Doughty of spirit, rejoiced in his sea-gift,
The bulky burden which he bore in his keeping.
The excellent vassals advanced then to meet him,
To God they were grateful, were glad in their chieftain,
That to see him safe and sound was granted them.
70
From the high-minded hero, then, helmet and burnie
Were speedily loosened: the ocean was putrid,
The water ’neath welkin weltered with gore.
Forth did they fare, then, their footsteps retracing,
Merry and mirthful, measured the earth-way,
75
The highway familiar: men very daring3
Bare then the head from the sea-cliff, burdening
Each of the earlmen, excellent-valiant.
It takes four men to carry Grendel’s head on a spear.
Four of them had to carry with labor
The head of Grendel to the high towering gold-hall
80
Upstuck on the spear, till fourteen most-valiant
And battle-brave Geatmen came there going
Straight to the palace: the prince of the people
Measured the mead-ways, their mood-brave companion.
The atheling of earlmen entered the building,
85
Deed-valiant man, adorned with distinction,
Doughty shield-warrior, to address King Hrothgar:
[57]
Then hung by the hair, the head of Grendel
Was borne to the building, where beer-thanes were drinking,
Loth before earlmen and eke ’fore the lady:
90
The warriors beheld then a wonderful sight.
[1] ‘Þæs monige gewearð’ (1599) and ‘hafað þæs geworden’ (2027).—In a paper published some years ago in one of the Johns Hopkins University circulars, I tried to throw upon these two long-doubtful passages some light derived from a study of like passages in Alfred’s prose.—The impersonal verb ‘geweorðan,’ with an accus. of the person, and a þæt-clause is used several times with the meaning ‘agree.’ See Orosius (Sweet’s ed.) 1787; 20434; 20828; 21015; 28020. In the two Beowulf passages, the þæt-clause is anticipated by ‘þæs,’ which is clearly a gen. of the thing agreed on.
The first passage (v. 1599 (b)-1600) I translate literally: Then many agreed upon this (namely), that the sea-wolf had killed him.

The second passage (v. 2025 (b)-2027): She is promised …; to this the friend of the Scyldings has agreed, etc. By emending ‘is’ instead of ‘wæs’ (2025), the tenses will be brought into perfect harmony.

In v. 1997 ff. this same idiom occurs, and was noticed in B.’s great article on Beowulf, which appeared about the time I published my reading of 1599 and 2027. Translate 1997 then: Wouldst let the South-Danes themselves decide about their struggle with Grendel. Here ‘Súð-Dene’ is accus. of person, and ‘gúðe’ is gen. of thing agreed on.

With such collateral support as that afforded by B. (P. and B. XII. 97), I have no hesitation in departing from H.-So., my usual guide.

The idiom above treated runs through A.-S., Old Saxon, and other Teutonic languages, and should be noticed in the lexicons.

[2] ‘Bróden-mæl’ is regarded by most scholars as meaning a damaskeened sword. Translate: The damaskeened sword burned up. Cf. 25 16 and note.
[3] ‘Cyning-balde’ (1635) is the much-disputed reading of K. and Th. To render this, “nobly bold,” “excellently bold,” have been suggested. B. would read ‘cyning-holde’ (cf. 290), and render: Men well-disposed towards the king carried the head, etc. ‘Cynebealde,’ says t.B., endorsing Gr.
XXV.
BEOWULF BRINGS HIS TROPHIES.—HROTHGAR’S GRATITUDE.

Beowulf relates his last exploit.
Beowulf spake, offspring of Ecgtheow:
“Lo! we blithely have brought thee, bairn of Healfdene,
Prince of the Scyldings, these presents from ocean
Which thine eye looketh on, for an emblem of glory.
5
I came off alive from this, narrowly ’scaping:
In war ’neath the water the work with great pains I
Performed, and the fight had been finished quite nearly,
Had God not defended me. I failed in the battle
Aught to accomplish, aided by Hrunting,
10
Though that weapon was worthy, but the Wielder of earth-folk
God was fighting with me.
Gave me willingly to see on the wall a
Heavy old hand-sword hanging in splendor
(He guided most often the lorn and the friendless),
That I swung as a weapon. The wards of the house then
15
I killed in the conflict (when occasion was given me).
Then the battle-sword burned, the brand that was lifted,1
As the blood-current sprang, hottest of war-sweats;
Seizing the hilt, from my foes I offbore it;
I avenged as I ought to their acts of malignity,
20
The murder of Danemen. I then make thee this promise,
Heorot is freed from monsters.
Thou’lt be able in Heorot careless to slumber
With thy throng of heroes and the thanes of thy people
Every and each, of greater and lesser,
And thou needest not fear for them from the selfsame direction
25
As thou formerly fearedst, oh, folk-lord of Scyldings,
[58]
End-day for earlmen.” To the age-hoary man then,
The famous sword is presented to Hrothgar.
The gray-haired chieftain, the gold-fashioned sword-hilt,
Old-work of giants, was thereupon given;
Since the fall of the fiends, it fell to the keeping
30
Of the wielder of Danemen, the wonder-smith’s labor,
And the bad-mooded being abandoned this world then,
Opponent of God, victim of murder,
And also his mother; it went to the keeping
Of the best of the world-kings, where waters encircle,
35
Who the scot divided in Scylding dominion.
Hrothgar looks closely at the old sword.
Hrothgar discoursed, the hilt he regarded,
The ancient heirloom where an old-time contention’s
Beginning was graven: the gurgling currents,
The flood slew thereafter the race of the giants,
40
They had proved themselves daring: that people was loth to
It had belonged to a race hateful to God.
The Lord everlasting, through lash of the billows
The Father gave them final requital.
So in letters of rune on the clasp of the handle
Gleaming and golden, ’twas graven exactly,
45
Set forth and said, whom that sword had been made for,
Finest of irons, who first it was wrought for,
Wreathed at its handle and gleaming with serpents.
The wise one then said (silent they all were)
Hrothgar praises Beowulf.
Son of old Healfdene: “He may say unrefuted
50
Who performs ’mid the folk-men fairness and truth
(The hoary old ruler remembers the past),
That better by birth is this bairn of the nobles!
Thy fame is extended through far-away countries,
Good friend Beowulf, o’er all of the races,
55
Thou holdest all firmly, hero-like strength with
Prudence of spirit. I’ll prove myself grateful
As before we agreed on; thou granted for long shalt
Become a great comfort to kinsmen and comrades,
Heremod’s career is again contrasted with Beowulf’s.
A help unto heroes. Heremod became not
60
Such to the Scyldings, successors of Ecgwela;
He grew not to please them, but grievous destruction,
[59]
And diresome death-woes to Danemen attracted;
He slew in anger his table-companions,
Trustworthy counsellors, till he turned off lonely
65
From world-joys away, wide-famous ruler:
Though high-ruling heaven in hero-strength raised him,
In might exalted him, o’er men of all nations
Made him supreme, yet a murderous spirit
Grew in his bosom: he gave then no ring-gems
A wretched failure of a king, to give no jewels to his retainers.70
To the Danes after custom; endured he unjoyful
Standing the straits from strife that was raging,
Longsome folk-sorrow. Learn then from this,
Lay hold of virtue! Though laden with winters,
I have sung thee these measures. ’Tis a marvel to tell it,
Hrothgar moralizes.75
How all-ruling God from greatness of spirit
Giveth wisdom to children of men,
Manor and earlship: all things He ruleth.
He often permitteth the mood-thought of man of
The illustrious lineage to lean to possessions,
80
Allows him earthly delights at his manor,
A high-burg of heroes to hold in his keeping,
Maketh portions of earth-folk hear him,
And a wide-reaching kingdom so that, wisdom failing him,
He himself is unable to reckon its boundaries;
85
He liveth in luxury, little debars him,
Nor sickness nor age, no treachery-sorrow
Becloudeth his spirit, conflict nowhere,
No sword-hate, appeareth, but all of the world doth
Wend as he wisheth; the worse he knoweth not,
90
Till arrant arrogance inward pervading,
Waxeth and springeth, when the warder is sleeping,
The guard of the soul: with sorrows encompassed,
Too sound is his slumber, the slayer is near him,
Who with bow and arrow aimeth in malice.
[60]
[1] Or rather, perhaps, ‘the inlaid, or damaskeened weapon.’ Cf. 24 57 and note.
XXVI.
HROTHGAR MORALIZES.—REST AFTER LABOR.

A wounded spirit.
“Then bruised in his bosom he with bitter-toothed missile
Is hurt ’neath his helmet: from harmful pollution
He is powerless to shield him by the wonderful mandates
Of the loath-cursèd spirit; what too long he hath holden
5
Him seemeth too small, savage he hoardeth,
Nor boastfully giveth gold-plated rings,1
The fate of the future flouts and forgetteth
Since God had erst given him greatness no little,
Wielder of Glory. His end-day anear,
10
It afterward happens that the bodily-dwelling
Fleetingly fadeth, falls into ruins;
Another lays hold who doleth the ornaments,
The nobleman’s jewels, nothing lamenting,
Heedeth no terror. Oh, Beowulf dear,
15
Best of the heroes, from bale-strife defend thee,
And choose thee the better, counsels eternal;
Be not over proud: life is fleeting, and its strength soon wasteth away.
Beware of arrogance, world-famous champion!
But a little-while lasts thy life-vigor’s fulness;
’Twill after hap early, that illness or sword-edge
20
Shall part thee from strength, or the grasp of the fire,
Or the wave of the current, or clutch of the edges,
Or flight of the war-spear, or age with its horrors,
Or thine eyes’ bright flashing shall fade into darkness:
’Twill happen full early, excellent hero,
Hrothgar gives an account of his reign.25
That death shall subdue thee. So the Danes a half-century
I held under heaven, helped them in struggles
’Gainst many a race in middle-earth’s regions,
With ash-wood and edges, that enemies none
On earth molested me. Lo! offsetting change, now,
[61]Sorrow after joy.30
Came to my manor, grief after joyance,
When Grendel became my constant visitor,
Inveterate hater: I from that malice
Continually travailed with trouble no little.
Thanks be to God that I gained in my lifetime,
35
To the Lord everlasting, to look on the gory
Head with mine eyes, after long-lasting sorrow!
Go to the bench now, battle-adornèd
Joy in the feasting: of jewels in common
We’ll meet with many when morning appeareth.”
40
The Geatman was gladsome, ganged he immediately
To go to the bench, as the clever one bade him.
Then again as before were the famous-for-prowess,
Hall-inhabiters, handsomely banqueted,
Feasted anew. The night-veil fell then
45
Dark o’er the warriors. The courtiers rose then;
The gray-haired was anxious to go to his slumbers,
The hoary old Scylding. Hankered the Geatman,
Beowulf is fagged, and seeks rest.
The champion doughty, greatly, to rest him:
An earlman early outward did lead him,
50
Fagged from his faring, from far-country springing,
Who for etiquette’s sake all of a liegeman’s
Needs regarded, such as seamen at that time
Were bounden to feel. The big-hearted rested;
The building uptowered, spacious and gilded,
55
The guest within slumbered, till the sable-clad raven
Blithely foreboded the beacon of heaven.
Then the bright-shining sun o’er the bottoms came going;2
The warriors hastened, the heads of the peoples
Were ready to go again to their peoples,
The Geats prepare to leave Dane-land.60
The high-mooded farer would faraway thenceward
Look for his vessel. The valiant one bade then,3
[62]Unferth asks Beowulf to accept his sword as a gift. Beowulf thanks him.
Offspring of Ecglaf, off to bear Hrunting,
To take his weapon, his well-beloved iron;
He him thanked for the gift, saying good he accounted
65
The war-friend and mighty, nor chid he with words then
The blade of the brand: ’twas a brave-mooded hero.
When the warriors were ready, arrayed in their trappings,
The atheling dear to the Danemen advanced then
On to the dais, where the other was sitting,
70
Grim-mooded hero, greeted King Hrothgar.
[1] K. says ‘proudly giveth.’—Gr. says, ‘And gives no gold-plated rings, in order to incite the recipient to boastfulness.’—B. suggests ‘gyld’ for ‘gylp,’ and renders: And gives no beaten rings for reward.
[2] If S.’s emendation be accepted, v. 57 will read: Then came the light, going bright after darkness: the warriors, etc.
[3] As the passage stands in H.-So., Unferth presents Beowulf with the sword Hrunting, and B. thanks him for the gift. If, however, the suggestions of Grdtvg. and M. be accepted, the passage will read: Then the brave one (i.e. Beowulf) commanded that Hrunting be borne to the son of Ecglaf (Unferth), bade him take his sword, his dear weapon; he (B.) thanked him (U.) for the loan, etc.
XXVII.
SORROW AT PARTING.

Beowulf’s farewell.
Beowulf spake, Ecgtheow’s offspring:
“We men of the water wish to declare now
Fared from far-lands, we’re firmly determined
To seek King Higelac. Here have we fitly
5
Been welcomed and feasted, as heart would desire it;
Good was the greeting. If greater affection
I am anywise able ever on earth to
Gain at thy hands, ruler of heroes,
Than yet I have done, I shall quickly be ready
I shall be ever ready to aid thee.10
For combat and conflict. O’er the course of the waters
Learn I that neighbors alarm thee with terror,
As haters did whilom, I hither will bring thee
For help unto heroes henchmen by thousands.
My liegelord will encourage me in aiding thee.
I know as to Higelac, the lord of the Geatmen,
15
Though young in years, he yet will permit me,
By words and by works, ward of the people,
Fully to furnish thee forces and bear thee
My lance to relieve thee, if liegemen shall fail thee,
And help of my hand-strength; if Hrethric be treating,
[63]20
Bairn of the king, at the court of the Geatmen,
He thereat may find him friends in abundance:
Faraway countries he were better to seek for
Who trusts in himself.” Hrothgar discoursed then,
Making rejoinder: “These words thou hast uttered
25
All-knowing God hath given thy spirit!
O Beowulf, thou art wise beyond thy years.
Ne’er heard I an earlman thus early in life
More clever in speaking: thou’rt cautious of spirit,
Mighty of muscle, in mouth-answers prudent.
I count on the hope that, happen it ever
30
That missile shall rob thee of Hrethel’s descendant,
Edge-horrid battle, and illness or weapon
Deprive thee of prince, of people’s protector,
Should Higelac die, the Geats could find no better successor than thou wouldst make.
And life thou yet holdest, the Sea-Geats will never
Find a more fitting folk-lord to choose them,
35
Gem-ward of heroes, than thou mightest prove thee,
If the kingdom of kinsmen thou carest to govern.
Thy mood-spirit likes me the longer the better,
Beowulf dear: thou hast brought it to pass that
To both these peoples peace shall be common,
Thou hast healed the ancient breach between our races.40
To Geat-folk and Danemen, the strife be suspended,
The secret assailings they suffered in yore-days;
And also that jewels be shared while I govern
The wide-stretching kingdom, and that many shall visit
Others o’er the ocean with excellent gift-gems:
45
The ring-adorned bark shall bring o’er the currents
Presents and love-gifts. This people I know
Tow’rd foeman and friend firmly established,1
After ancient etiquette everywise blameless.”
Then the warden of earlmen gave him still farther,
Parting gifts50
Kinsman of Healfdene, a dozen of jewels,
Bade him safely seek with the presents
His well-beloved people, early returning.
[64]Hrothgar kisses Beowulf, and weeps.
Then the noble-born king kissed the distinguished,
Dear-lovèd liegeman, the Dane-prince saluted him,
55
And claspèd his neck; tears from him fell,
From the gray-headed man: he two things expected,
Agèd and reverend, but rather the second,
2That bold in council they’d meet thereafter.
The man was so dear that he failed to suppress the
60
Emotions that moved him, but in mood-fetters fastened
The old king is deeply grieved to part with his benefactor.
The long-famous hero longeth in secret
Deep in his spirit for the dear-beloved man
Though not a blood-kinsman. Beowulf thenceward,
Gold-splendid warrior, walked o’er the meadows
65
Exulting in treasure: the sea-going vessel
Riding at anchor awaited its owner.
As they pressed on their way then, the present of Hrothgar
Giving liberally is the true proof of kingship.
Was frequently referred to: a folk-king indeed that
Everyway blameless, till age did debar him
70
The joys of his might, which hath many oft injured.
[1] For ‘geworhte,’ the crux of this passage, B. proposes ‘geþóhte,’ rendering: I know this people with firm thought every way blameless towards foe and friends.
[2] S. and B. emend so as to negative the verb ‘meet.’ “Why should Hrothgar weep if he expects to meet Beowulf again?” both these scholars ask. But the weeping is mentioned before the ‘expectations’: the tears may have been due to many emotions, especially gratitude, struggling for expression.
XXVIII.
THE HOMEWARD JOURNEY.—THE TWO QUEENS.

Then the band of very valiant retainers
Came to the current; they were clad all in armor,
The coast-guard again.
In link-woven burnies. The land-warder noticed
The return of the earlmen, as he erstwhile had seen them;
5
Nowise with insult he greeted the strangers
From the naze of the cliff, but rode on to meet them;
Said the bright-armored visitors1 vesselward traveled
[65]
Welcome to Weders. The wide-bosomed craft then
Lay on the sand, laden with armor,
10
With horses and jewels, the ring-stemmèd sailer:
The mast uptowered o’er the treasure of Hrothgar.
Beowulf gives the guard a handsome sword.
To the boat-ward a gold-bound brand he presented,
That he was afterwards honored on the ale-bench more highly
As the heirloom’s owner. 2Set he out on his vessel,
15
To drive on the deep, Dane-country left he.
Along by the mast then a sea-garment fluttered,
A rope-fastened sail. The sea-boat resounded,
The wind o’er the waters the wave-floater nowise
Kept from its journey; the sea-goer traveled,
20
The foamy-necked floated forth o’er the currents,
The well-fashioned vessel o’er the ways of the ocean,
The Geats see their own land again.
Till they came within sight of the cliffs of the Geatmen,
The well-known headlands. The wave-goer hastened
Driven by breezes, stood on the shore.
The port-warden is anxiously looking for them.25
Prompt at the ocean, the port-ward was ready,
Who long in the past outlooked in the distance,3
At water’s-edge waiting well-lovèd heroes;
He bound to the bank then the broad-bosomed vessel
Fast in its fetters, lest the force of the waters
30
Should be able to injure the ocean-wood winsome.
Bade he up then take the treasure of princes,
Plate-gold and fretwork; not far was it thence
To go off in search of the giver of jewels:
[66]
Hrethel’s son Higelac at home there remaineth,4
35
Himself with his comrades close to the sea-coast.
The building was splendid, the king heroic,
Great in his hall, Hygd very young was,
Hygd, the noble queen of Higelac, lavish of gifts.
Fine-mooded, clever, though few were the winters
That the daughter of Hæreth had dwelt in the borough;
40
But she nowise was cringing nor niggard of presents,
Of ornaments rare, to the race of the Geatmen.
Offa’s consort, Thrytho, is contrasted with Hygd.
Thrytho nursed anger, excellent5 folk-queen,
Hot-burning hatred: no hero whatever
’Mong household companions, her husband excepted
She is a terror to all save her husband.45
Dared to adventure to look at the woman
With eyes in the daytime;6 but he knew that death-chains
Hand-wreathed were wrought him: early thereafter,
When the hand-strife was over, edges were ready,
That fierce-raging sword-point had to force a decision,
50
Murder-bale show. Such no womanly custom
For a lady to practise, though lovely her person,
That a weaver-of-peace, on pretence of anger
A belovèd liegeman of life should deprive.
Soothly this hindered Heming’s kinsman;
55
Other ale-drinking earlmen asserted
That fearful folk-sorrows fewer she wrought them,
Treacherous doings, since first she was given
Adorned with gold to the war-hero youthful,
For her origin honored, when Offa’s great palace
60
O’er the fallow flood by her father’s instructions
She sought on her journey, where she afterwards fully,
Famed for her virtue, her fate on the king’s-seat
[67]
Enjoyed in her lifetime, love did she hold with
The ruler of heroes, the best, it is told me,
65
Of all of the earthmen that oceans encompass,
Of earl-kindreds endless; hence Offa was famous
Far and widely, by gifts and by battles,
Spear-valiant hero; the home of his fathers
He governed with wisdom, whence Eomær did issue
70
For help unto heroes, Heming’s kinsman,
Grandson of Garmund, great in encounters.
[1] For ‘scawan’ (1896), ‘scaðan’ has been proposed. Accepting this, we may render: He said the bright-armored warriors were going to their vessel, welcome, etc. (Cf. 1804.)
[2] R. suggests, ‘Gewát him on naca,’ and renders: The vessel set out, to drive on the sea, the Dane-country left. ‘On’ bears the alliteration; cf. ‘on hafu’ (2524). This has some advantages over the H.-So. reading; viz. (1) It adds nothing to the text; (2) it makes ‘naca’ the subject, and thus brings the passage into keeping with the context, where the poet has exhausted his vocabulary in detailing the actions of the vessel.—B.’s emendation (cf. P. and B. XII. 97) is violent.
[3] B. translates: Who for a long time, ready at the coast, had looked out into the distance eagerly for the dear men. This changes the syntax of ‘léofra manna.’
[4] For ‘wunað’ (v. 1924) several eminent critics suggest ‘wunade’ (=remained). This makes the passage much clearer.
[5] Why should such a woman be described as an ‘excellent’ queen? C. suggests ‘frécnu’ = dangerous, bold.
[6] For ‘an dæges’ various readings have been offered. If ‘and-éges’ be accepted, the sentence will read: No hero … dared look upon her, eye to eye. If ‘án-dæges’ be adopted, translate: Dared look upon her the whole day.
XXIX.
BEOWULF AND HIGELAC.

Then the brave one departed, his band along with him,
Beowulf and his party seek Higelac.
Seeking the sea-shore, the sea-marches treading,
The wide-stretching shores. The world-candle glimmered,
The sun from the southward; they proceeded then onward,
5
Early arriving where they heard that the troop-lord,
Ongentheow’s slayer, excellent, youthful
Folk-prince and warrior was distributing jewels,
Close in his castle. The coming of Beowulf
Was announced in a message quickly to Higelac,
10
That the folk-troop’s defender forth to the palace
The linden-companion alive was advancing,
Secure from the combat courtward a-going.
The building was early inward made ready
For the foot-going guests as the good one had ordered.
Beowulf sits by his liegelord.15
He sat by the man then who had lived through the struggle,
Kinsman by kinsman, when the king of the people
Had in lordly language saluted the dear one,
Queen Hygd receives the heroes.
In words that were formal. The daughter of Hæreth
Coursed through the building, carrying mead-cups:1
[68]20
She loved the retainers, tendered the beakers
To the high-minded Geatmen. Higelac ’gan then
Higelac is greatly interested in Beowulf’s adventures.
Pleasantly plying his companion with questions
In the high-towering palace. A curious interest
Tormented his spirit, what meaning to see in
25
The Sea-Geats’ adventures: “Beowulf worthy,
Give an account of thy adventures, Beowulf dear.
How throve your journeying, when thou thoughtest suddenly
Far o’er the salt-streams to seek an encounter,
A battle at Heorot? Hast bettered for Hrothgar,
The famous folk-leader, his far-published sorrows
30
Any at all? In agony-billows
My suspense has been great.
I mused upon torture, distrusted the journey
Of the belovèd liegeman; I long time did pray thee
By no means to seek out the murderous spirit,
To suffer the South-Danes themselves to decide on2
35
Grappling with Grendel. To God I am thankful
To be suffered to see thee safe from thy journey.”
Beowulf narrates his adventures.
Beowulf answered, bairn of old Ecgtheow:
“’Tis hidden by no means, Higelac chieftain,
From many of men, the meeting so famous,
40
What mournful moments of me and of Grendel
Were passed in the place where he pressing affliction
On the Victory-Scyldings scathefully brought,
Anguish forever; that all I avengèd,
So that any under heaven of the kinsmen of Grendel
Grendel’s kindred have no cause to boast.45
Needeth not boast of that cry-in-the-morning,
Who longest liveth of the loth-going kindred,3
Encompassed by moorland. I came in my journey
To the royal ring-hall, Hrothgar to greet there:
Hrothgar received me very cordially.
Soon did the famous scion of Healfdene,
50
When he understood fully the spirit that led me,
Assign me a seat with the son of his bosom.
[69]
The troop was in joyance; mead-glee greater
’Neath arch of the ether not ever beheld I
The queen also showed up no little honor.
’Mid hall-building holders. The highly-famed queen,
55
Peace-tie of peoples, oft passed through the building,
Cheered the young troopers; she oft tendered a hero
A beautiful ring-band, ere she went to her sitting.
Hrothgar’s lovely daughter.
Oft the daughter of Hrothgar in view of the courtiers
To the earls at the end the ale-vessel carried,
60
Whom Freaware I heard then hall-sitters title,
When nail-adorned jewels she gave to the heroes:
She is betrothed to Ingeld, in order to unite the Danes and Heathobards.
Gold-bedecked, youthful, to the glad son of Froda
Her faith has been plighted; the friend of the Scyldings,
The guard of the kingdom, hath given his sanction,4
65
And counts it a vantage, for a part of the quarrels,
A portion of hatred, to pay with the woman.
5Somewhere not rarely, when the ruler has fallen,
The life-taking lance relaxeth its fury
For a brief breathing-spell, though the bride be charming!
[1] ‘Meodu-scencum’ (1981) some would render ‘with mead-pourers.’ Translate then: The daughter of Hæreth went through the building accompanied by mead-pourers.
[2] See my note to 1599, supra, and B. in P. and B. XII. 97.
[3] For ‘fenne,’ supplied by Grdtvg., B. suggests ‘fácne’ (cf. Jul. 350). Accepting this, translate: Who longest lives of the hated race, steeped in treachery.
[4] See note to v. 1599 above.
[5] This is perhaps the least understood sentence in the poem, almost every word being open to dispute. (1) The ‘nó’ of our text is an emendation, and is rejected by many scholars. (2) ‘Seldan’ is by some taken as an adv. (= seldom), and by others as a noun (= page, companion). (3) ‘Léod-hryre,’ some render ‘fall of the people’; others, ‘fall of the prince.’ (4) ‘Búgeð,’ most scholars regard as the intrans. verb meaning ‘bend,’ ‘rest’; but one great scholar has translated it ‘shall kill.’ (5) ‘Hwær,’ Very recently, has been attacked, ‘wære’ being suggested. (6) As a corollary to the above, the same critic proposes to drop ‘oft’ out of the text.—t.B. suggests: Oft seldan wære after léodhryre: lýtle hwíle bongár búgeð, þéah séo brýd duge = often has a treaty been (thus) struck, after a prince had fallen: (but only) a short time is the spear (then) wont to rest, however excellent the bride may be.
XXX.
BEOWULF NARRATES HIS ADVENTURES TO HIGELAC.

“It well may discomfit the prince of the Heathobards
And each of the thanemen of earls that attend him,
[70]
When he goes to the building escorting the woman,
That a noble-born Daneman the knights should be feasting:
5
There gleam on his person the leavings of elders
Hard and ring-bright, Heathobards’ treasure,
While they wielded their arms, till they misled to the battle
Their own dear lives and belovèd companions.
He saith at the banquet who the collar beholdeth,
10
An ancient ash-warrior who earlmen’s destruction
Clearly recalleth (cruel his spirit),
Sadly beginneth sounding the youthful
Thane-champion’s spirit through the thoughts of his bosom,
War-grief to waken, and this word-answer speaketh:
Ingeld is stirred up to break the truce.15
‘Art thou able, my friend, to know when thou seest it
The brand which thy father bare to the conflict
In his latest adventure, ’neath visor of helmet,
The dearly-loved iron, where Danemen did slay him,
And brave-mooded Scyldings, on the fall of the heroes,
20
(When vengeance was sleeping) the slaughter-place wielded?
E’en now some man of the murderer’s progeny
Exulting in ornaments enters the building,
Boasts of his blood-shedding, offbeareth the jewel
Which thou shouldst wholly hold in possession!’
25
So he urgeth and mindeth on every occasion
With woe-bringing words, till waxeth the season
When the woman’s thane for the works of his father,
The bill having bitten, blood-gory sleepeth,
Fated to perish; the other one thenceward
30
’Scapeth alive, the land knoweth thoroughly.1
Then the oaths of the earlmen on each side are broken,
When rancors unresting are raging in Ingeld
And his wife-love waxeth less warm after sorrow.
So the Heathobards’ favor not faithful I reckon,
35
Their part in the treaty not true to the Danemen,
Their friendship not fast. I further shall tell thee
[71]Having made these preliminary statements, I will now tell thee of Grendel, the monster.
More about Grendel, that thou fully mayst hear,
Ornament-giver, what afterward came from
The hand-rush of heroes. When heaven’s bright jewel
40
O’er earthfields had glided, the stranger came raging,
The horrible night-fiend, us for to visit,
Where wholly unharmed the hall we were guarding.
Hondscio fell first
To Hondscio happened a hopeless contention,
Death to the doomed one, dead he fell foremost,
45
Girded war-champion; to him Grendel became then,
To the vassal distinguished, a tooth-weaponed murderer,
The well-beloved henchman’s body all swallowed.
Not the earlier off empty of hand did
The bloody-toothed murderer, mindful of evils,
50
Wish to escape from the gold-giver’s palace,
But sturdy of strength he strove to outdo me,
Hand-ready grappled. A glove was suspended
Spacious and wondrous, in art-fetters fastened,
Which was fashioned entirely by touch of the craftman
55
From the dragon’s skin by the devil’s devices:
He down in its depths would do me unsadly
One among many, deed-doer raging,
Though sinless he saw me; not so could it happen
When I in my anger upright did stand.
60
’Tis too long to recount how requital I furnished
For every evil to the earlmen’s destroyer;
I reflected honor upon my people.
’Twas there, my prince, that I proudly distinguished
Thy land with my labors. He left and retreated,
He lived his life a little while longer:
65
Yet his right-hand guarded his footstep in Heorot,
And sad-mooded thence to the sea-bottom fell he,
Mournful in mind. For the might-rush of battle
King Hrothgar lavished gifts upon me.
The friend of the Scyldings, with gold that was plated,
With ornaments many, much requited me,
70
When daylight had dawned, and down to the banquet
We had sat us together. There was chanting and joyance:
The age-stricken Scylding asked many questions
[72]
And of old-times related; oft light-ringing harp-strings,
Joy-telling wood, were touched by the brave one;
75
Now he uttered measures, mourning and truthful,
Then the large-hearted land-king a legend of wonder
Truthfully told us. Now troubled with years
The old king is sad over the loss of his youthful vigor.
The age-hoary warrior afterward began to
Mourn for the might that marked him in youth-days;
80
His breast within boiled, when burdened with winters
Much he remembered. From morning till night then
We joyed us therein as etiquette suffered,
Till the second night season came unto earth-folk.
Then early thereafter, the mother of Grendel
Grendel’s mother.85
Was ready for vengeance, wretched she journeyed;
Her son had death ravished, the wrath of the Geatmen.
The horrible woman avengèd her offspring,
And with mighty mainstrength murdered a hero.
Æschere falls a prey to her vengeance.
There the spirit of Æschere, agèd adviser,
90
Was ready to vanish; nor when morn had lightened
Were they anywise suffered to consume him with fire,
Folk of the Danemen, the death-weakened hero,
Nor the belovèd liegeman to lay on the pyre;
She suffered not his body to be burned, but ate it.
She the corpse had offcarried in the clutch of the foeman2
95
’Neath mountain-brook’s flood. To Hrothgar ’twas saddest
Of pains that ever had preyed on the chieftain;
By the life of thee the land-prince then me3
Besought very sadly, in sea-currents’ eddies
To display my prowess, to peril my safety,
100
Might-deeds accomplish; much did he promise.
I sought the creature in her den,
I found then the famous flood-current’s cruel,
Horrible depth-warder. A while unto us two
[73]
Hand was in common; the currents were seething
With gore that was clotted, and Grendel’s fierce mother’s
and hewed her head off.105
Head I offhacked in the hall at the bottom
With huge-reaching sword-edge, hardly I wrested
My life from her clutches; not doomed was I then,
Jewels were freely bestowed upon me.
But the warden of earlmen afterward gave me
Jewels in quantity, kinsman of Healfdene.
[1] For ‘lifigende’ (2063), a mere conjecture, ‘wígende’ has been suggested. The line would then read: Escapeth by fighting, knows the land thoroughly.
[2] For ‘fæðmum,’ Gr.’s conjecture, B. proposes ‘færunga.’ These three half-verses would then read: She bore off the corpse of her foe suddenly under the mountain-torrent.
[3] The phrase ‘þíne lýfe’ (2132) was long rendered ‘with thy (presupposed) permission.’ The verse would read: The land-prince then sadly besought me, with thy (presupposed) permission, etc.
XXXI.
GIFT-GIVING IS MUTUAL.

“So the belovèd land-prince lived in decorum;
I had missed no rewards, no meeds of my prowess,
But he gave me jewels, regarding my wishes,
Healfdene his bairn; I’ll bring them to thee, then,
All my gifts I lay at thy feet.5
Atheling of earlmen, offer them gladly.
And still unto thee is all my affection:1
But few of my folk-kin find I surviving
But thee, dear Higelac!” Bade he in then to carry2
The boar-image, banner, battle-high helmet,
10
Iron-gray armor, the excellent weapon,
This armor I have belonged of yore to Heregar.
In song-measures said: “This suit-for-the-battle
Hrothgar presented me, bade me expressly,
Wise-mooded atheling, thereafter to tell thee3
The whole of its history, said King Heregar owned it,
15
Dane-prince for long: yet he wished not to give then
[74]
The mail to his son, though dearly he loved him,
Hereward the hardy. Hold all in joyance!”
I heard that there followed hard on the jewels
Two braces of stallions of striking resemblance,
20
Dappled and yellow; he granted him usance
Of horses and treasures. So a kinsman should bear him,
No web of treachery weave for another,
Nor by cunning craftiness cause the destruction
Higelac loves his nephew Beowulf.
Of trusty companion. Most precious to Higelac,
25
The bold one in battle, was the bairn of his sister,
And each unto other mindful of favors.
Beowulf gives Hygd the necklace that Wealhtheow had given him.
I am told that to Hygd he proffered the necklace,
Wonder-gem rare that Wealhtheow gave him,
The troop-leader’s daughter, a trio of horses
30
Slender and saddle-bright; soon did the jewel
Embellish her bosom, when the beer-feast was over.
So Ecgtheow’s bairn brave did prove him,
Beowulf is famous.
War-famous man, by deeds that were valiant,
He lived in honor, belovèd companions
35
Slew not carousing; his mood was not cruel,
But by hand-strength hugest of heroes then living
The brave one retained the bountiful gift that
The Lord had allowed him. Long was he wretched,
So that sons of the Geatmen accounted him worthless,
40
And the lord of the liegemen loth was to do him
Mickle of honor, when mead-cups were passing;
They fully believed him idle and sluggish,
He is requited for the slights suffered in earlier days.
An indolent atheling: to the honor-blest man there
Came requital for the cuts he had suffered.
45
The folk-troop’s defender bade fetch to the building
The heirloom of Hrethel, embellished with gold,
Higelac overwhelms the conqueror with gifts.
So the brave one enjoined it; there was jewel no richer
In the form of a weapon ’mong Geats of that era;
In Beowulf’s keeping he placed it and gave him
50
Seven of thousands, manor and lordship.
Common to both was land ’mong the people,
[75]
Estate and inherited rights and possessions,
To the second one specially spacious dominions,
To the one who was better. It afterward happened
55
In days that followed, befell the battle-thanes,
After Heardred’s death, Beowulf becomes king.
After Higelac’s death, and when Heardred was murdered
With weapons of warfare ’neath well-covered targets,
When valiant battlemen in victor-band sought him,
War-Scylfing heroes harassed the nephew
60
Of Hereric in battle. To Beowulf’s keeping
Turned there in time extensive dominions:
He rules the Geats fifty years.
He fittingly ruled them a fifty of winters
(He a man-ruler wise was, manor-ward old) till
A certain one ’gan, on gloom-darkening nights, a
The fire-drake.65
Dragon, to govern, who guarded a treasure,
A high-rising stone-cliff, on heath that was grayish:
A path ’neath it lay, unknown unto mortals.
Some one of earthmen entered the mountain,
The heathenish hoard laid hold of with ardor;
70
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
[1] This verse B. renders, ‘Now serve I again thee alone as my gracious king.’
[2] For ‘eafor’ (2153), Kl. suggests ‘ealdor.’ Translate then: Bade the prince then to bear in the banner, battle-high helmet, etc. On the other hand, W. takes ‘eaforhéafodsegn’ as a compound, meaning ‘helmet’: He bade them bear in the helmet, battle-high helm, gray armor, etc.
[3] The H.-So. rendering (ærest = history, origin; ‘eft’ for ‘est’), though liable to objection, is perhaps the best offered. ‘That I should very early tell thee of his favor, kindness’ sounds well; but ‘his’ is badly placed to limit ‘ést.’—Perhaps, ‘eft’ with verbs of saying may have the force of Lat. prefix ‘re,’ and the H.-So. reading mean, ‘that I should its origin rehearse to thee.’
XXXII.
THE HOARD AND THE DRAGON.

* * * * * * *
He sought of himself who sorely did harm him,
But, for need very pressing, the servant of one of
The sons of the heroes hate-blows evaded,
5
Seeking for shelter and the sin-driven warrior
Took refuge within there. He early looked in it,
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
[76]
* * * * * when the onset surprised him,
The hoard.10
He a gem-vessel saw there: many of suchlike
Ancient ornaments in the earth-cave were lying,
As in days of yore some one of men of
Illustrious lineage, as a legacy monstrous,
There had secreted them, careful and thoughtful,
15
Dear-valued jewels. Death had offsnatched them,
In the days of the past, and the one man moreover
Of the flower of the folk who fared there the longest,
Was fain to defer it, friend-mourning warder,
A little longer to be left in enjoyment
20
Of long-lasting treasure.1 A barrow all-ready
Stood on the plain the stream-currents nigh to,
New by the ness-edge, unnethe of approaching:
The keeper of rings carried within a
2Ponderous deal of the treasure of nobles,
25
Of gold that was beaten, briefly he spake then:3
The ring-giver bewails the loss of retainers.
“Hold thou, O Earth, now heroes no more may,
The earnings of earlmen. Lo! erst in thy bosom
Worthy men won them; war-death hath ravished,
Perilous life-bale, all my warriors,
30
Liegemen belovèd, who this life have forsaken,
Who hall-pleasures saw. No sword-bearer have I,
And no one to burnish the gold-plated vessel,
The high-valued beaker: my heroes are vanished.
The hardy helmet behung with gilding
35
Shall be reaved of its riches: the ring-cleansers slumber
Who were charged to have ready visors-for-battle,
And the burnie that bided in battle-encounter
[77]
O’er breaking of war-shields the bite of the edges
Moulds with the hero. The ring-twisted armor,
40
Its lord being lifeless, no longer may journey
Hanging by heroes; harp-joy is vanished,
The rapture of glee-wood, no excellent falcon
Swoops through the building, no swift-footed charger
Grindeth the gravel. A grievous destruction
45
No few of the world-folk widely hath scattered!”
So, woful of spirit one after all
Lamented mournfully, moaning in sadness
By day and by night, till death with its billows
The fire-dragon
Dashed on his spirit. Then the ancient dusk-scather
50
Found the great treasure standing all open,
He who flaming and fiery flies to the barrows,
Naked war-dragon, nightly escapeth
Encompassed with fire; men under heaven
Widely beheld him. ’Tis said that he looks for4
55
The hoard in the earth, where old he is guarding
The heathenish treasure; he’ll be nowise the better.
The dragon meets his match.
So three-hundred winters the waster of peoples
Held upon earth that excellent hoard-hall,
Till the forementioned earlman angered him bitterly:
60
The beat-plated beaker he bare to his chieftain
And fullest remission for all his remissness
Begged of his liegelord. Then the hoard5 was discovered,
The treasure was taken, his petition was granted
The hero plunders the dragon’s den
The lorn-mooded liegeman. His lord regarded
65
The old-work of earth-folk—’twas the earliest occasion.
When the dragon awoke, the strife was renewed there;
He snuffed ’long the stone then, stout-hearted found he
[78]
The footprint of foeman; too far had he gone
With cunning craftiness close to the head of
70
The fire-spewing dragon. So undoomed he may ’scape from
Anguish and exile with ease who possesseth
The favor of Heaven. The hoard-warden eagerly
Searched o’er the ground then, would meet with the person
That caused him sorrow while in slumber reclining:
75
Gleaming and wild he oft went round the cavern,
All of it outward; not any of earthmen
Was seen in that desert.6 Yet he joyed in the battle,
Rejoiced in the conflict: oft he turned to the barrow,
Sought for the gem-cup;7 this he soon perceived then
The dragon perceives that some one has disturbed his treasure.80
That some man or other had discovered the gold,
The famous folk-treasure. Not fain did the hoard-ward
Wait until evening; then the ward of the barrow
Was angry in spirit, the loathèd one wished to
Pay for the dear-valued drink-cup with fire.
85
Then the day was done as the dragon would have it,
He no longer would wait on the wall, but departed
The dragon is infuriated.
Fire-impelled, flaming. Fearful the start was
To earls in the land, as it early thereafter
To their giver-of-gold was grievously ended.
[1] For ‘long-gestréona,’ B. suggests ‘láengestréona,’ and renders, Of fleeting treasures. S. accepts H.’s ‘long-gestréona,’ but renders, The treasure long in accumulating.
[2] For ‘hard-fyrdne’ (2246), B. first suggested ‘hard-fyndne,’ rendering: A heap of treasures … so great that its equal would be hard to find. The same scholar suggests later ‘hord-wynne dæl’ = A deal of treasure-joy.
[3] Some read ‘fec-word’ (2247), and render: Banning words uttered.
[4] An earlier reading of H.’s gave the following meaning to this passage: He is said to inhabit a mound under the earth, where he, etc. The translation in the text is more authentic.
[5] The repetition of ‘hord’ in this passage has led some scholars to suggest new readings to avoid the second ‘hord.’ This, however, is not under the main stress, and, it seems to me, might easily be accepted.
[6] The reading of H.-So. is well defended in the notes to that volume. B. emends and renders: Nor was there any man in that desert who rejoiced in conflict, in battle-work. That is, the hoard-ward could not find any one who had disturbed his slumbers, for no warrior was there, t.B.’s emendation would give substantially the same translation.
[7] ‘Sinc-fæt’ (2301): this word both here and in v. 2232, t.B. renders ‘treasure.’
XXXIII.
BRAVE THOUGH AGED.—REMINISCENCES.

The dragon spits fire.
The stranger began then to vomit forth fire,
To burn the great manor; the blaze then glimmered
For anguish to earlmen, not anything living
[79]
Was the hateful air-goer willing to leave there.
5
The war of the worm widely was noticed,
The feud of the foeman afar and anear,
How the enemy injured the earls of the Geatmen,
Harried with hatred: back he hied to the treasure,
To the well-hidden cavern ere the coming of daylight.
10
He had circled with fire the folk of those regions,
With brand and burning; in the barrow he trusted,
In the wall and his war-might: the weening deceived him.
Beowulf hears of the havoc wrought by the dragon.
Then straight was the horror to Beowulf published,
Early forsooth, that his own native homestead,1
15
The best of buildings, was burning and melting,
Gift-seat of Geatmen. ’Twas a grief to the spirit
Of the good-mooded hero, the greatest of sorrows:
He fears that Heaven is punishing him for some crime.
The wise one weened then that wielding his kingdom
’Gainst the ancient commandments, he had bitterly angered
20
The Lord everlasting: with lorn meditations
His bosom welled inward, as was nowise his custom.
The fire-spewing dragon fully had wasted
The fastness of warriors, the water-land outward,
The manor with fire. The folk-ruling hero,
25
Prince of the Weders, was planning to wreak him.
The warmen’s defender bade them to make him,
Earlmen’s atheling, an excellent war-shield
He orders an iron shield to be made from him, wood is useless.
Wholly of iron: fully he knew then
That wood from the forest was helpless to aid him,
30
Shield against fire. The long-worthy ruler
Must live the last of his limited earth-days,
Of life in the world and the worm along with him,
Though he long had been holding hoard-wealth in plenty.
He determines to fight alone.
Then the ring-prince disdained to seek with a war-band,
35
With army extensive, the air-going ranger;
He felt no fear of the foeman’s assaults and
He counted for little the might of the dragon,
[80]
His power and prowess: for previously dared he
Beowulf’s early triumphs referred to
A heap of hostility, hazarded dangers,
40
War-thane, when Hrothgar’s palace he cleansèd,
Conquering combatant, clutched in the battle
The kinsmen of Grendel, of kindred detested.2
Higelac’s death recalled.
’Twas of hand-fights not least where Higelac was slaughtered,
When the king of the Geatmen with clashings of battle,
45
Friend-lord of folks in Frisian dominions,
Offspring of Hrethrel perished through sword-drink,
With battle-swords beaten; thence Beowulf came then
On self-help relying, swam through the waters;
He bare on his arm, lone-going, thirty
50
Outfits of armor, when the ocean he mounted.
The Hetwars by no means had need to be boastful
Of their fighting afoot, who forward to meet him
Carried their war-shields: not many returned from
The brave-mooded battle-knight back to their homesteads.
55
Ecgtheow’s bairn o’er the bight-courses swam then,
Lone-goer lorn to his land-folk returning,
Where Hygd to him tendered treasure and kingdom,
Heardred’s lack of capacity to rule.
Rings and dominion: her son she not trusted,
To be able to keep the kingdom devised him
60
’Gainst alien races, on the death of King Higelac.
Beowulf’s tact and delicacy recalled.
Yet the sad ones succeeded not in persuading the atheling
In any way ever, to act as a suzerain
To Heardred, or promise to govern the kingdom;
Yet with friendly counsel in the folk he sustained him,
65
Gracious, with honor, till he grew to be older,
Reference is here made to a visit which Beowulf receives from Eanmund and Eadgils, why they come is not known.
Wielded the Weders. Wide-fleeing outlaws,
Ohthere’s sons, sought him o’er the waters:
They had stirred a revolt ’gainst the helm of the Scylfings,
The best of the sea-kings, who in Swedish dominions
70
Distributed treasure, distinguished folk-leader.
[81]
’Twas the end of his earth-days; injury fatal3
By swing of the sword he received as a greeting,
Offspring of Higelac; Ongentheow’s bairn
Later departed to visit his homestead,
75
When Heardred was dead; let Beowulf rule them,
Govern the Geatmen: good was that folk-king.
[1] ‘Hám’ (2326), the suggestion of B. is accepted by t.B. and other scholars.
[2] For ‘láðan cynnes’ (2355), t.B. suggests ‘láðan cynne,’ apposition to ‘mægum.’ From syntactical and other considerations, this is a most excellent emendation.
[3] Gr. read ‘on feorme’ (2386), rendering: He there at the banquet a fatal wound received by blows of the sword.
XXXIV.
BEOWULF SEEKS THE DRAGON.—BEOWULF’S REMINISCENCES.

He planned requital for the folk-leader’s ruin
In days thereafter, to Eadgils the wretched
Becoming an enemy. Ohthere’s son then
Went with a war-troop o’er the wide-stretching currents
5
With warriors and weapons: with woe-journeys cold he
After avenged him, the king’s life he took.
Beowulf has been preserved through many perils.
So he came off uninjured from all of his battles,
Perilous fights, offspring of Ecgtheow,
From his deeds of daring, till that day most momentous
10
When he fate-driven fared to fight with the dragon.
With eleven comrades, he seeks the dragon.
With eleven companions the prince of the Geatmen
Went lowering with fury to look at the fire-drake:
Inquiring he’d found how the feud had arisen,
Hate to his heroes; the highly-famed gem-vessel
15
Was brought to his keeping through the hand of th’ informer.
A guide leads the way, but
That in the throng was thirteenth of heroes,
That caused the beginning of conflict so bitter,
Captive and wretched, must sad-mooded thenceward
very reluctantly.
Point out the place: he passed then unwillingly
20
To the spot where he knew of the notable cavern,
The cave under earth, not far from the ocean,
The anger of eddies, which inward was full of
Jewels and wires: a warden uncanny,
[82]
Warrior weaponed, wardered the treasure,
25
Old under earth; no easy possession
For any of earth-folk access to get to.
Then the battle-brave atheling sat on the naze-edge,
While the gold-friend of Geatmen gracious saluted
His fireside-companions: woe was his spirit,
30
Death-boding, wav’ring; Weird very near him,
Who must seize the old hero, his soul-treasure look for,
Dragging aloof his life from his body:
Not flesh-hidden long was the folk-leader’s spirit.
Beowulf spake, Ecgtheow’s son:
Beowulf’s retrospect.35
“I survived in my youth-days many a conflict,
Hours of onset: that all I remember.
I was seven-winters old when the jewel-prince took me,
High-lord of heroes, at the hands of my father,
Hrethel the hero-king had me in keeping,
Hrethel took me when I was seven.40
Gave me treasure and feasting, our kinship remembered;
Not ever was I any less dear to him
He treated me as a son.
Knight in the boroughs, than the bairns of his household,
Herebald and Hæthcyn and Higelac mine.
To the eldest unjustly by acts of a kinsman
45
Was murder-bed strewn, since him Hæthcyn from horn-bow
One of the brothers accidentally kills another.
His sheltering chieftain shot with an arrow,
Erred in his aim and injured his kinsman,
One brother the other, with blood-sprinkled spear:
No fee could compound for such a calamity.
’Twas a feeless fight, finished in malice,
50
Sad to his spirit; the folk-prince however
Had to part from existence with vengeance untaken.
[A parallel case is supposed.]
So to hoar-headed hero ’tis heavily crushing1
[83]
To live to see his son as he rideth
Young on the gallows: then measures he chanteth,
55
A song of sorrow, when his son is hanging
For the raven’s delight, and aged and hoary
He is unable to offer any assistance.
Every morning his offspring’s departure
Is constant recalled: he cares not to wait for
60
The birth of an heir in his borough-enclosures,
Since that one through death-pain the deeds hath experienced.
He heart-grieved beholds in the house of his son the
Wine-building wasted, the wind-lodging places
Reaved of their roaring; the riders are sleeping,
65
The knights in the grave; there’s no sound of the harp-wood,
Joy in the yards, as of yore were familiar.
[1] ‘Gomelum ceorle’ (2445).—H. takes these words as referring to Hrethel; but the translator here departs from his editor by understanding the poet to refer to a hypothetical old man, introduced as an illustration of a father’s sorrow.
Hrethrel had certainly never seen a son of his ride on the gallows to feed the crows.

The passage beginning ‘swá bið géomorlic’ seems to be an effort to reach a full simile, ‘as … so.’ ‘As it is mournful for an old man, etc. … so the defence of the Weders (2463) bore heart-sorrow, etc.’ The verses 2451 to 2463½ would be parenthetical, the poet’s feelings being so strong as to interrupt the simile. The punctuation of the fourth edition would be better—a comma after ‘galgan’ (2447). The translation may be indicated as follows: (Just) as it is sad for an old man to see his son ride young on the gallows when he himself is uttering mournful measures, a sorrowful song, while his son hangs for a comfort to the raven, and he, old and infirm, cannot render him any kelp—(he is constantly reminded, etc., 2451-2463)—so the defence of the Weders, etc.

XXXV.
REMINISCENCES (continued).—BEOWULF’S LAST BATTLE.

“He seeks then his chamber, singeth a woe-song
One for the other; all too extensive
Seemed homesteads and plains. So the helm of the Weders
Hrethel grieves for Herebald.
Mindful of Herebald heart-sorrow carried,
5
Stirred with emotion, nowise was able
To wreak his ruin on the ruthless destroyer:
He was unable to follow the warrior with hatred,
With deeds that were direful, though dear he not held him.
[84]
Then pressed by the pang this pain occasioned him,
10
He gave up glee, God-light elected;
He left to his sons, as the man that is rich does,
His land and fortress, when from life he departed.
Strife between Swedes and Geats.
Then was crime and hostility ’twixt Swedes and Geatmen,
O’er wide-stretching water warring was mutual,
15
Burdensome hatred, when Hrethel had perished,
And Ongentheow’s offspring were active and valiant,
Wished not to hold to peace oversea, but
Round Hreosna-beorh often accomplished
Cruelest massacre. This my kinsman avengèd,
20
The feud and fury, as ’tis found on inquiry,
Though one of them paid it with forfeit of life-joys,
Hæthcyn’s fall at Ravenswood.
With price that was hard: the struggle became then
Fatal to Hæthcyn, lord of the Geatmen.
Then I heard that at morning one brother the other
25
With edges of irons egged on to murder,
Where Ongentheow maketh onset on Eofor:
The helmet crashed, the hoary-haired Scylfing
Sword-smitten fell, his hand then remembered
Feud-hate sufficient, refused not the death-blow.
I requited him for the jewels he gave me.30
The gems that he gave me, with jewel-bright sword I
’Quited in contest, as occasion was offered:
Land he allowed me, life-joy at homestead,
Manor to live on. Little he needed
From Gepids or Danes or in Sweden to look for
35
Trooper less true, with treasure to buy him;
’Mong foot-soldiers ever in front I would hie me,
Alone in the vanguard, and evermore gladly
Warfare shall wage, while this weapon endureth
That late and early often did serve me
Beowulf refers to his having slain Dæghrefn.40
When I proved before heroes the slayer of Dæghrefn,
Knight of the Hugmen: he by no means was suffered
To the king of the Frisians to carry the jewels,
The breast-decoration; but the banner-possessor
Bowed in the battle, brave-mooded atheling.
[85]45
No weapon was slayer, but war-grapple broke then
The surge of his spirit, his body destroying.
Now shall weapon’s edge make war for the treasure,
And hand and firm-sword.” Beowulf spake then,
Boast-words uttered—the latest occasion:
He boasts of his youthful prowess, and declares himself still fearless.50
“I braved in my youth-days battles unnumbered;
Still am I willing the struggle to look for,
Fame-deeds perform, folk-warden prudent,
If the hateful despoiler forth from his cavern
Seeketh me out!” Each of the heroes,
55
Helm-bearers sturdy, he thereupon greeted
His last salutations.
Belovèd co-liegemen—his last salutation:
“No brand would I bear, no blade for the dragon,
Wist I a way my word-boast to ’complish1
Else with the monster, as with Grendel I did it;
60
But fire in the battle hot I expect there,
Furious flame-burning: so I fixed on my body
Target and war-mail. The ward of the barrow2
I’ll not flee from a foot-length, the foeman uncanny.
At the wall ’twill befall us as Fate decreeth,
Let Fate decide between us.65
Each one’s Creator. I am eager in spirit,
With the wingèd war-hero to away with all boasting.
Bide on the barrow with burnies protected,
Wait ye here till the battle is over.
Earls in armor, which of us two may better
Bear his disaster, when the battle is over.
70
’Tis no matter of yours, and man cannot do it,
But me and me only, to measure his strength with
The monster of malice, might-deeds to ’complish.
I with prowess shall gain the gold, or the battle,
[86]
Direful death-woe will drag off your ruler!”
75
The mighty champion rose by his shield then,
Brave under helmet, in battle-mail went he
’Neath steep-rising stone-cliffs, the strength he relied on
Of one man alone: no work for a coward.
Then he saw by the wall who a great many battles
80
Had lived through, most worthy, when foot-troops collided,
The place of strife is described.
Stone-arches standing, stout-hearted champion,
Saw a brook from the barrow bubbling out thenceward:
The flood of the fountain was fuming with war-flame:
Not nigh to the hoard, for season the briefest
85
Could he brave, without burning, the abyss that was yawning,
The drake was so fiery. The prince of the Weders
Caused then that words came from his bosom,
So fierce was his fury; the firm-hearted shouted:
His battle-clear voice came in resounding
90
’Neath the gray-colored stone. Stirred was his hatred,
Beowulf calls out under the stone arches.
The hoard-ward distinguished the speech of a man;
Time was no longer to look out for friendship.
The breath of the monster issued forth first,
Vapory war-sweat, out of the stone-cave:
The terrible encounter.95
The earth re-echoed. The earl ’neath the barrow
Lifted his shield, lord of the Geatmen,
Tow’rd the terrible stranger: the ring-twisted creature’s
Heart was then ready to seek for a struggle.
Beowulf brandishes his sword,
The excellent battle-king first brandished his weapon,
100
The ancient heirloom, of edges unblunted,3
To the death-planners twain was terror from other.
and stands against his shield.
The lord of the troopers intrepidly stood then
’Gainst his high-rising shield, when the dragon coiled him
The dragon coils himself.
Quickly together: in corslet he bided.
[87]105
He went then in blazes, bended and striding,
Hasting him forward. His life and body
The targe well protected, for time-period shorter
Than wish demanded for the well-renowned leader,
Where he then for the first day was forced to be victor,
110
Famous in battle, as Fate had not willed it.
The lord of the Geatmen uplifted his hand then,
Smiting the fire-drake with sword that was precious,
That bright on the bone the blade-edge did weaken,
Bit more feebly than his folk-leader needed,
115
Burdened with bale-griefs. Then the barrow-protector,
The dragon rages
When the sword-blow had fallen, was fierce in his spirit,
Flinging his fires, flamings of battle
Gleamed then afar: the gold-friend of Weders
Beowulf’s sword fails him.
Boasted no conquests, his battle-sword failed him
120
Naked in conflict, as by no means it ought to,
Long-trusty weapon. ’Twas no slight undertaking
That Ecgtheow’s famous offspring would leave
The drake-cavern’s bottom; he must live in some region
Other than this, by the will of the dragon,
125
As each one of earthmen existence must forfeit.
’Twas early thereafter the excellent warriors
The combat is renewed.
Met with each other. Anew and afresh
The hoard-ward took heart (gasps heaved then his bosom):
The great hero is reduced to extremities.
Sorrow he suffered encircled with fire
130
Who the people erst governed. His companions by no means
Were banded about him, bairns of the princes,
His comrades flee!
With valorous spirit, but they sped to the forest,
Seeking for safety. The soul-deeps of one were
Blood is thicker than water.
Ruffled by care: kin-love can never
135
Aught in him waver who well doth consider.
[88]
[1] The clause 2520(2)-2522(1), rendered by ‘Wist I … monster,’ Gr., followed by S., translates substantially as follows: If I knew how else I might combat the boastful defiance of the monster.—The translation turns upon ‘wiðgrípan,’ a word not understood.
[2] B. emends and translates: I will not flee the space of a foot from the guard of the barrow, but there shall be to us a fight at the wall, as fate decrees, each one’s Creator.
[3] The translation of this passage is based on ‘unsláw’ (2565), accepted by H.-So., in lieu of the long-standing ‘ungléaw.’ The former is taken as an adj. limiting ‘sweord’; the latter as an adj. c. ‘gúð-cyning’: The good war-king, rash with edges, brandished his sword, his old relic. The latter gives a more rhetorical Anglo-Saxon (poetical) sentence.
XXXVI.
WIGLAF THE TRUSTY.—BEOWULF IS DESERTED BY FRIENDS AND BY SWORD.

Wiglaf remains true—the ideal Teutonic liegeman.
The son of Weohstan was Wiglaf entitled,
Shield-warrior precious, prince of the Scylfings,
Ælfhere’s kinsman: he saw his dear liegelord
Enduring the heat ’neath helmet and visor.
5
Then he minded the holding that erst he had given him,
Wiglaf recalls Beowulf’s generosity.
The Wægmunding warriors’ wealth-blessèd homestead,
Each of the folk-rights his father had wielded;
He was hot for the battle, his hand seized the target,
The yellow-bark shield, he unsheathed his old weapon,
10
Which was known among earthmen as the relic of Eanmund,
Ohthere’s offspring, whom, exiled and friendless,
Weohstan did slay with sword-edge in battle,
And carried his kinsman the clear-shining helmet,
The ring-made burnie, the old giant-weapon
15
That Onela gave him, his boon-fellow’s armor,
Ready war-trappings: he the feud did not mention,
Though he’d fatally smitten the son of his brother.
Many a half-year held he the treasures,
The bill and the burnie, till his bairn became able,
20
Like his father before him, fame-deeds to ’complish;
Then he gave him ’mong Geatmen a goodly array of
Weeds for his warfare; he went from life then
Old on his journey. ’Twas the earliest time then
This is Wiglaf’s first battle as liegeman of Beowulf.
That the youthful champion might charge in the battle
25
Aiding his liegelord; his spirit was dauntless.
Nor did kinsman’s bequest quail at the battle:
This the dragon discovered on their coming together.
Wiglaf uttered many a right-saying,
Said to his fellows, sad was his spirit:
Wiglaf appeals to the pride of the cowards.30
“I remember the time when, tasting the mead-cup,
We promised in the hall the lord of us all
[89]
Who gave us these ring-treasures, that this battle-equipment,
Swords and helmets, we’d certainly quite him,
Should need of such aid ever befall him:
How we have forfeited our liegelord’s confidence!35
In the war-band he chose us for this journey spontaneously,
Stirred us to glory and gave me these jewels,
Since he held and esteemed us trust-worthy spearmen,
Hardy helm-bearers, though this hero-achievement
Our lord intended alone to accomplish,
40
Ward of his people, for most of achievements,
Doings audacious, he did among earth-folk.
Our lord is in sore need of us.
The day is now come when the ruler of earthmen
Needeth the vigor of valiant heroes:
Let us wend us towards him, the war-prince to succor,
45
While the heat yet rageth, horrible fire-fight.
I would rather die than go home with out my suzerain.
God wot in me, ’tis mickle the liefer
The blaze should embrace my body and eat it
With my treasure-bestower. Meseemeth not proper
To bear our battle-shields back to our country,
50
’Less first we are able to fell and destroy the
Long-hating foeman, to defend the life of
Surely he does not deserve to die alone.
The prince of the Weders. Well do I know ’tisn’t
Earned by his exploits, he only of Geatmen
Sorrow should suffer, sink in the battle:
55
Brand and helmet to us both shall be common,
1Shield-cover, burnie.” Through the bale-smoke he stalked then,
Went under helmet to the help of his chieftain,
Wiglaf reminds Beowulf of his youthful boasts.
Briefly discoursing: “Beowulf dear,
Perform thou all fully, as thou formerly saidst,
60
In thy youthful years, that while yet thou livedst
[90]
Thou wouldst let thine honor not ever be lessened.
Thy life thou shalt save, mighty in actions,
Atheling undaunted, with all of thy vigor;
The monster advances on them.
I’ll give thee assistance.” The dragon came raging,
65
Wild-mooded stranger, when these words had been uttered
(’Twas the second occasion), seeking his enemies,
Men that were hated, with hot-gleaming fire-waves;
With blaze-billows burned the board to its edges:
The fight-armor failed then to furnish assistance
70
To the youthful spear-hero: but the young-agèd stripling
Quickly advanced ’neath his kinsman’s war-target,
Since his own had been ground in the grip of the fire.
Beowulf strikes at the dragon.
Then the warrior-king was careful of glory,
He soundly smote with sword-for-the-battle,
75
That it stood in the head by hatred driven;
Nægling was shivered, the old and iron-made
His sword fails him.
Brand of Beowulf in battle deceived him.
’Twas denied him that edges of irons were able
To help in the battle; the hand was too mighty
80
2Which every weapon, as I heard on inquiry,
Outstruck in its stroke, when to struggle he carried
The wonderful war-sword: it waxed him no better.
The dragon advances on Beowulf again.
Then the people-despoiler—third of his onsets—
Fierce-raging fire-drake, of feud-hate was mindful,
85
Charged on the strong one, when chance was afforded,
Heated and war-grim, seized on his neck
With teeth that were bitter; he bloody did wax with
Soul-gore seething; sword-blood in waves boiled.
[1] The passage ‘Brand … burnie,’ is much disputed. In the first place, some eminent critics assume a gap of at least two half-verses.—‘Úrum’ (2660), being a peculiar form, has been much discussed. ‘Byrdu-scrúd’ is also a crux. B. suggests ‘býwdu-scrúd’ = splendid vestments. Nor is ‘bám’ accepted by all, ‘béon’ being suggested. Whatever the individual words, the passage must mean, “I intend to share with him my equipments of defence.”
[2] B. would render: Which, as I heard, excelled in stroke every sword that he carried to the strife, even the strongest (sword). For ‘Þonne’ he reads ‘Þone,’ rel. pr.
[91]
XXXVII.
THE FATAL STRUGGLE.—BEOWULF’S LAST MOMENTS.

Wiglaf defends Beowulf.
Then I heard that at need of the king of the people
The upstanding earlman exhibited prowess,
Vigor and courage, as suited his nature;
1He his head did not guard, but the high-minded liegeman’s
5
Hand was consumed, when he succored his kinsman,
So he struck the strife-bringing strange-comer lower,
Earl-thane in armor, that in went the weapon
Gleaming and plated, that ’gan then the fire2
Beowulf draws his knife,
Later to lessen. The liegelord himself then
10
Retained his consciousness, brandished his war-knife,
Battle-sharp, bitter, that he bare on his armor:
and cuts the dragon.
The Weder-lord cut the worm in the middle.
They had felled the enemy (life drove out then3
Puissant prowess), the pair had destroyed him,
15
Land-chiefs related: so a liegeman should prove him,
A thaneman when needed. To the prince ’twas the last of
His era of conquest by his own great achievements,
[92]Beowulf’s wound swells and burns.
The latest of world-deeds. The wound then began
Which the earth-dwelling dragon erstwhile had wrought him
20
To burn and to swell. He soon then discovered
That bitterest bale-woe in his bosom was raging,
Poison within. The atheling advanced then,
He sits down exhausted.
That along by the wall, he prudent of spirit
Might sit on a settle; he saw the giant-work,
25
How arches of stone strengthened with pillars
The earth-hall eternal inward supported.
Then the long-worthy liegeman laved with his hand the
Wiglaf bathes his lord’s head.
Far-famous chieftain, gory from sword-edge,
Refreshing the face of his friend-lord and ruler,
30
Sated with battle, unbinding his helmet.
Beowulf answered, of his injury spake he,
His wound that was fatal (he was fully aware
He had lived his allotted life-days enjoying
The pleasures of earth; then past was entirely
35
His measure of days, death very near):
Beowulf regrets that he has no son.
“My son I would give now my battle-equipments,
Had any of heirs been after me granted,
Along of my body. This people I governed
Fifty of winters: no king ’mong my neighbors
40
Dared to encounter me with comrades-in-battle,
Try me with terror. The time to me ordered
I bided at home, mine own kept fitly,
Sought me no snares, swore me not many
I can rejoice in a well-spent life.
Oaths in injustice. Joy over all this
45
I’m able to have, though ill with my death-wounds;
Hence the Ruler of Earthmen need not charge me
With the killing of kinsmen, when cometh my life out
Forth from my body. Fare thou with haste now
Bring me the hoard, Wiglaf, that my dying eyes may be refreshed by a sight of it.
To behold the hoard ’neath the hoar-grayish stone,
50
Well-lovèd Wiglaf, now the worm is a-lying,
Sore-wounded sleepeth, disseized of his treasure.
Go thou in haste that treasures of old I,
Gold-wealth may gaze on, together see lying
[93]
The ether-bright jewels, be easier able,
55
Having the heap of hoard-gems, to yield my
Life and the land-folk whom long I have governed.”
[1] B. renders: He (W.) did not regard his (the dragon’s) head (since Beowulf had struck it without effect), but struck the dragon a little lower down.—One crux is to find out whose head is meant; another is to bring out the antithesis between ‘head’ and ‘hand.’
[2] ‘Þæt þæt fýr’ (2702), S. emends to ‘þá þæt fýr’ = when the fire began to grow less intense afterward. This emendation relieves the passage of a plethora of conjunctive þæt’s.
[3] For ‘gefyldan’ (2707), S. proposes ‘gefylde.’ The passage would read: He felled the foe (life drove out strength), and they then both had destroyed him, chieftains related. This gives Beowulf the credit of having felled the dragon; then they combine to annihilate him.—For ‘ellen’ (2707), Kl. suggests ‘e(a)llne.’—The reading ‘life drove out strength’ is very unsatisfactory and very peculiar. I would suggest as follows: Adopt S.’s emendation, remove H.’s parenthesis, read ‘ferh-ellen wræc,’ and translate: He felled the foe, drove out his life-strength (that is, made him hors de combat), and then they both, etc.
XXXVIII.
WIGLAF PLUNDERS THE DRAGON’S DEN.—BEOWULF’S DEATH.

Wiglaf fulfils his lord’s behest.
Then heard I that Wihstan’s son very quickly,
These words being uttered, heeded his liegelord
Wounded and war-sick, went in his armor,
His well-woven ring-mail, ’neath the roof of the barrow.
5
Then the trusty retainer treasure-gems many
The dragon’s den.
Victorious saw, when the seat he came near to,
Gold-treasure sparkling spread on the bottom,
Wonder on the wall, and the worm-creature’s cavern,
The ancient dawn-flier’s, vessels a-standing,
10
Cups of the ancients of cleansers bereavèd,
Robbed of their ornaments: there were helmets in numbers,
Old and rust-eaten, arm-bracelets many,
Artfully woven. Wealth can easily,
Gold on the sea-bottom, turn into vanity1
15
Each one of earthmen, arm him who pleaseth!
And he saw there lying an all-golden banner
High o’er the hoard, of hand-wonders greatest,
Linkèd with lacets: a light from it sparkled,
That the floor of the cavern he was able to look on,
The dragon is not there.20
To examine the jewels. Sight of the dragon
[94]
Not any was offered, but edge offcarried him.
Wiglaf bears the hoard away.
Then I heard that the hero the hoard-treasure plundered,
The giant-work ancient reaved in the cavern,
Bare on his bosom the beakers and platters,
25
As himself would fain have it, and took off the standard,
The brightest of beacons;2 the bill had erst injured
(Its edge was of iron), the old-ruler’s weapon,
Him who long had watched as ward of the jewels,
Who fire-terror carried hot for the treasure,
30
Rolling in battle, in middlemost darkness,
Till murdered he perished. The messenger hastened,
Not loth to return, hurried by jewels:
Curiosity urged him if, excellent-mooded,
Alive he should find the lord of the Weders
35
Mortally wounded, at the place where he left him.
’Mid the jewels he found then the famous old chieftain,
His liegelord belovèd, at his life’s-end gory:
He thereupon ’gan to lave him with water,
Till the point of his word piercèd his breast-hoard.
40
Beowulf spake (the gold-gems he noticed),
Beowulf is rejoiced to see the jewels.
The old one in sorrow: “For the jewels I look on
Thanks do I utter for all to the Ruler,
Wielder of Worship, with words of devotion,
The Lord everlasting, that He let me such treasures
45
Gain for my people ere death overtook me.
Since I’ve bartered the agèd life to me granted
For treasure of jewels, attend ye henceforward
He desires to be held in memory by his people.
The wants of the war-thanes; I can wait here no longer.
The battle-famed bid ye to build them a grave-hill,
50
Bright when I’m burned, at the brim-current’s limit;
As a memory-mark to the men I have governed,
[95]
Aloft it shall tower on Whale’s-Ness uprising,
That earls of the ocean hereafter may call it
Beowulf’s barrow, those who barks ever-dashing
55
From a distance shall drive o’er the darkness of waters.”
The hero’s last gift
The bold-mooded troop-lord took from his neck then
The ring that was golden, gave to his liegeman,
The youthful war-hero, his gold-flashing helmet,
His collar and war-mail, bade him well to enjoy them:
and last words.60
“Thou art latest left of the line of our kindred,
Of Wægmunding people: Weird hath offcarried
All of my kinsmen to the Creator’s glory,
Earls in their vigor: I shall after them fare.”
’Twas the aged liegelord’s last-spoken word in
65
His musings of spirit, ere he mounted the fire,
The battle-waves burning: from his bosom departed
His soul to seek the sainted ones’ glory.
[1] The word ‘oferhígian’ (2767) being vague and little understood, two quite distinct translations of this passage have arisen. One takes ‘oferhígian’ as meaning ‘to exceed,’ and, inserting ‘hord’ after ‘gehwone,’ renders: The treasure may easily, the gold in the ground, exceed in value every hoard of man, hide it who will. The other takes ‘oferhígian’ as meaning ‘to render arrogant,’ and, giving the sentence a moralizing tone, renders substantially as in the body of this work. (Cf. 28 13 et seq.)
[2] The passage beginning here is very much disputed. ‘The bill of the old lord’ is by some regarded as Beowulf’s sword; by others, as that of the ancient possessor of the hoard. ‘Ær gescód’ (2778), translated in this work as verb and adverb, is by some regarded as a compound participial adj. = sheathed in brass.
XXXIX.
THE DEAD FOES.—WIGLAF’S BITTER TAUNTS.

Wiglaf is sorely grieved to see his lord look so un-warlike.
It had wofully chanced then the youthful retainer
To behold on earth the most ardent-belovèd
At his life-days’ limit, lying there helpless.
The slayer too lay there, of life all bereavèd,
5
Horrible earth-drake, harassed with sorrow:
The dragon has plundered his last hoard.
The round-twisted monster was permitted no longer
To govern the ring-hoards, but edges of war-swords
Mightily seized him, battle-sharp, sturdy
Leavings of hammers, that still from his wounds
10
The flier-from-farland fell to the earth
Hard by his hoard-house, hopped he at midnight
Not e’er through the air, nor exulting in jewels
Suffered them to see him: but he sank then to earthward
Through the hero-chief’s handwork. I heard sure it throve then
[96]Few warriors dared to face the monster.15
But few in the land of liegemen of valor,
Though of every achievement bold he had proved him,
To run ’gainst the breath of the venomous scather,
Or the hall of the treasure to trouble with hand-blows,
If he watching had found the ward of the hoard-hall
20
On the barrow abiding. Beowulf’s part of
The treasure of jewels was paid for with death;
Each of the twain had attained to the end of
Life so unlasting. Not long was the time till
The cowardly thanes come out of the thicket.
The tardy-at-battle returned from the thicket,
25
The timid truce-breakers ten all together,
Who durst not before play with the lances
In the prince of the people’s pressing emergency;
They are ashamed of their desertion.
But blushing with shame, with shields they betook them,
With arms and armor where the old one was lying:
30
They gazed upon Wiglaf. He was sitting exhausted,
Foot-going fighter, not far from the shoulders
Of the lord of the people, would rouse him with water;
No whit did it help him; though he hoped for it keenly,
He was able on earth not at all in the leader
35
Life to retain, and nowise to alter
The will of the Wielder; the World-Ruler’s power1
Would govern the actions of each one of heroes,
Wiglaf is ready to excoriate them.
As yet He is doing. From the young one forthwith then
Could grim-worded greeting be got for him quickly
40
Whose courage had failed him. Wiglaf discoursed then,
Weohstan his son, sad-mooded hero,
He begins to taunt them.
Looked on the hated: “He who soothness will utter
Can say that the liegelord who gave you the jewels,
The ornament-armor wherein ye are standing,
45
When on ale-bench often he offered to hall-men
Helmet and burnie, the prince to his liegemen,
As best upon earth he was able to find him,—
[97]Surely our lord wasted his armor on poltroons.
That he wildly wasted his war-gear undoubtedly
When battle o’ertook him.2 The troop-king no need had
50
To glory in comrades; yet God permitted him,
He, however, got along without you
Victory-Wielder, with weapon unaided
Himself to avenge, when vigor was needed.
I life-protection but little was able
To give him in battle, and I ’gan, notwithstanding,
With some aid, I could have saved our liegelord55
Helping my kinsman (my strength overtaxing):
He waxed the weaker when with weapon I smote on
My mortal opponent, the fire less strongly
Flamed from his bosom. Too few of protectors
Came round the king at the critical moment.
Gift-giving is over with your people: the ring-lord is dead.60
Now must ornament-taking and weapon-bestowing,
Home-joyance all, cease for your kindred,
Food for the people; each of your warriors
Must needs be bereavèd of rights that he holdeth
In landed possessions, when faraway nobles
65
Shall learn of your leaving your lord so basely,
What is life without honor?
The dastardly deed. Death is more pleasant
To every earlman than infamous life is!”
[1] For ‘dædum rædan’ (2859) B. suggests ‘déað árædan,’ and renders: The might (or judgment) of God would determine death for every man, as he still does.
[2] Some critics, H. himself in earlier editions, put the clause, ‘When … him’ (A.-S. ‘þá … beget’) with the following sentence; that is, they make it dependent upon ‘þorfte’ (2875) instead of upon ‘forwurpe’ (2873).
XL.
THE MESSENGER OF DEATH.

Wiglaf sends the news of Beowulf’s death to liegemen near by.
Then he charged that the battle be announced at the hedge
Up o’er the cliff-edge, where the earl-troopers bided
The whole of the morning, mood-wretched sat them,
Bearers of battle-shields, both things expecting,
5
The end of his lifetime and the coming again of
The liegelord belovèd. Little reserved he
Of news that was known, who the ness-cliff did travel,
But he truly discoursed to all that could hear him:
[98]The messenger speaks.
“Now the free-giving friend-lord of the folk of the Weders,
10
The folk-prince of Geatmen, is fast in his death-bed,
By the deeds of the dragon in death-bed abideth;
Along with him lieth his life-taking foeman
Slain with knife-wounds: he was wholly unable
To injure at all the ill-planning monster
Wiglaf sits by our dead lord.15
With bite of his sword-edge. Wiglaf is sitting,
Offspring of Wihstan, up over Beowulf,
Earl o’er another whose end-day hath reached him,
Head-watch holdeth o’er heroes unliving,1
Our lord’s death will lead to attacks from our old foes.
For friend and for foeman. The folk now expecteth
20
A season of strife when the death of the folk-king
To Frankmen and Frisians in far-lands is published.
The war-hatred waxed warm ’gainst the Hugmen,
Higelac’s death recalled.
When Higelac came with an army of vessels
Faring to Friesland, where the Frankmen in battle
25
Humbled him and bravely with overmight ’complished
That the mail-clad warrior must sink in the battle,
Fell ’mid his folk-troop: no fret-gems presented
The atheling to earlmen; aye was denied us
Merewing’s mercy. The men of the Swedelands
30
For truce or for truth trust I but little;
But widely ’twas known that near Ravenswood Ongentheow
Hæthcyn’s fall referred to.
Sundered Hæthcyn the Hrethling from life-joys,
When for pride overweening the War-Scylfings first did
Seek the Geatmen with savage intentions.
35
Early did Ohthere’s age-laden father,
Old and terrible, give blow in requital,
Killing the sea-king, the queen-mother rescued,
The old one his consort deprived of her gold,
Onela’s mother and Ohthere’s also,
[99]40
And then followed the feud-nursing foemen till hardly,
Reaved of their ruler, they Ravenswood entered.
Then with vast-numbered forces he assaulted the remnant,
Weary with wounds, woe often promised
The livelong night to the sad-hearted war-troop:
45
Said he at morning would kill them with edges of weapons,
Some on the gallows for glee to the fowls.
Aid came after to the anxious-in-spirit
At dawn of the day, after Higelac’s bugle
And trumpet-sound heard they, when the good one proceeded
50
And faring followed the flower of the troopers.
[1] ‘Hige-méðum’ (2910) is glossed by H. as dat. plu. (= for the dead). S. proposes ‘hige-méðe,’ nom. sing. limiting Wigláf; i.e. W., mood-weary, holds head-watch o’er friend and foe.—B. suggests taking the word as dat. inst. plu. of an abstract noun in -‘u.’ The translation would be substantially the same as S.’s.
XLI.
THE MESSENGER’S RETROSPECT.

The messenger continues, and refers to the feuds of Swedes and Geats.
“The blood-stainèd trace of Swedes and Geatmen,
The death-rush of warmen, widely was noticed,
How the folks with each other feud did awaken.
The worthy one went then1 with well-beloved comrades,
5
Old and dejected to go to the fastness,
Ongentheo earl upward then turned him;
Of Higelac’s battle he’d heard on inquiry,
The exultant one’s prowess, despaired of resistance,
With earls of the ocean to be able to struggle,
10
’Gainst sea-going sailors to save the hoard-treasure,
His wife and his children; he fled after thenceward
Old ’neath the earth-wall. Then was offered pursuance
To the braves of the Swedemen, the banner2 to Higelac.
[100]
They fared then forth o’er the field-of-protection,
15
When the Hrethling heroes hedgeward had thronged them.
Then with edges of irons was Ongentheow driven,
The gray-haired to tarry, that the troop-ruler had to
Suffer the power solely of Eofor:
Wulf wounds Ongentheow.
Wulf then wildly with weapon assaulted him,
20
Wonred his son, that for swinge of the edges
The blood from his body burst out in currents,
Forth ’neath his hair. He feared not however,
Gray-headed Scylfing, but speedily quited
Ongentheow gives a stout blow in return.
The wasting wound-stroke with worse exchange,
25
When the king of the thane-troop thither did turn him:
The wise-mooded son of Wonred was powerless
To give a return-blow to the age-hoary man,
But his head-shielding helmet first hewed he to pieces,
That flecked with gore perforce he did totter,
30
Fell to the earth; not fey was he yet then,
But up did he spring though an edge-wound had reached him.
Eofor smites Ongentheow fiercely.
Then Higelac’s vassal, valiant and dauntless,
When his brother lay dead, made his broad-bladed weapon,
Giant-sword ancient, defence of the giants,
35
Bound o’er the shield-wall; the folk-prince succumbed then,
Ongentheow is slain.
Shepherd of people, was pierced to the vitals.
There were many attendants who bound up his kinsman,
Carried him quickly when occasion was granted
That the place of the slain they were suffered to manage.
40
This pending, one hero plundered the other,
His armor of iron from Ongentheow ravished,
His hard-sword hilted and helmet together;
Eofor takes the old king’s war-gear to Higelac.
The old one’s equipments he carried to Higelac.
He the jewels received, and rewards ’mid the troopers
45
Graciously promised, and so did accomplish:
The king of the Weders requited the war-rush,
Hrethel’s descendant, when home he repaired him,
Higelac rewards the brothers.
To Eofor and Wulf with wide-lavished treasures,
To each of them granted a hundred of thousands
[101]50
In land and rings wrought out of wire:
His gifts were beyond cavil.
None upon mid-earth needed to twit him3
With the gifts he gave them, when glory they conquered;
To Eofor he also gives his only daughter in marriage.
And to Eofor then gave he his one only daughter,
The honor of home, as an earnest of favor.
55
That’s the feud and hatred—as ween I ’twill happen—
The anger of earthmen, that earls of the Swedemen
Will visit on us, when they hear that our leader
Lifeless is lying, he who longtime protected
His hoard and kingdom ’gainst hating assailers,
60
Who on the fall of the heroes defended of yore
The deed-mighty Scyldings,4 did for the troopers
What best did avail them, and further moreover
It is time for us to pay the last marks of respect to our lord.
Hero-deeds ’complished. Now is haste most fitting,
That the lord of liegemen we look upon yonder,
65
And that one carry on journey to death-pyre
Who ring-presents gave us. Not aught of it all
Shall melt with the brave one—there’s a mass of bright jewels,
Gold beyond measure, grewsomely purchased
And ending it all ornament-rings too
70
Bought with his life; these fire shall devour,
Flame shall cover, no earlman shall wear
A jewel-memento, nor beautiful virgin
Have on her neck rings to adorn her,
But wretched in spirit bereavèd of gold-gems
75
She shall oft with others be exiled and banished,
Since the leader of liegemen hath laughter forsaken,
[102]
Mirth and merriment. Hence many a war-spear
Cold from the morning shall be clutched in the fingers,
Heaved in the hand, no harp-music’s sound shall
80
Waken the warriors, but the wan-coated raven
Fain over fey ones freely shall gabble,
Shall say to the eagle how he sped in the eating,
When, the wolf his companion, he plundered the slain.”
So the high-minded hero was rehearsing these stories
85
Loathsome to hear; he lied as to few of
The warriors go sadly to look at Beowulf’s lifeless body.
Weirds and of words. All the war-troop arose then,
’Neath the Eagle’s Cape sadly betook them,
Weeping and woful, the wonder to look at.
They saw on the sand then soulless a-lying,
90
His slaughter-bed holding, him who rings had given them
In days that were done; then the death-bringing moment
Was come to the good one, that the king very warlike,
Wielder of Weders, with wonder-death perished.
First they beheld there a creature more wondrous,
They also see the dragon.95
The worm on the field, in front of them lying,
The foeman before them: the fire-spewing dragon,
Ghostly and grisly guest in his terrors,
Was scorched in the fire; as he lay there he measured
Fifty of feet; came forth in the night-time5
100
To rejoice in the air, thereafter departing
To visit his den; he in death was then fastened,
He would joy in no other earth-hollowed caverns.
There stood round about him beakers and vessels,
Dishes were lying and dear-valued weapons,
105
With iron-rust eaten, as in earth’s mighty bosom
A thousand of winters there they had rested:
The hoard was under a magic spell.
That mighty bequest then with magic was guarded,
Gold of the ancients, that earlman not any
The ring-hall could touch, save Ruling-God only,
[103]110
Sooth-king of Vict’ries gave whom He wished to
God alone could give access to it.
6(He is earth-folk’s protector) to open the treasure,
E’en to such among mortals as seemed to Him proper.
[1] For ‘góda,’ which seems a surprising epithet for a Geat to apply to the “terrible” Ongentheow, B. suggests ‘gomela.’ The passage would then stand: ‘The old one went then,’ etc.
[2] For ‘segn Higeláce,’ K., Th., and B. propose ‘segn Higeláces,’ meaning: Higelac’s banner followed the Swedes (in pursuit).—S. suggests ‘sæcc Higeláces,’ and renders: Higelac’s pursuit.—The H.-So. reading, as translated in our text, means that the banner of the enemy was captured and brought to Higelac as a trophy.
[3] The rendering given in this translation represents the king as being generous beyond the possibility of reproach; but some authorities construe ‘him’ (2996) as plu., and understand the passage to mean that no one reproached the two brothers with having received more reward than they were entitled to.
[4] The name ‘Scyldingas’ here (3006) has caused much discussion, and given rise to several theories, the most important of which are as follows: (1) After the downfall of Hrothgar’s family, Beowulf was king of the Danes, or Scyldings. (2) For ‘Scyldingas’ read ‘Scylfingas’—that is, after killing Eadgils, the Scylfing prince, Beowulf conquered his land, and held it in subjection. (3) M. considers 3006 a thoughtless repetition of 2053. (Cf. H.-So.)
[5] B. takes ‘nihtes’ and ‘hwílum’ (3045) as separate adverbial cases, and renders: Joy in the air had he of yore by night, etc. He thinks that the idea of vanished time ought to be expressed.
[6] The parenthesis is by some emended so as to read: (1) (He (i.e. God) is the hope of men); (2) (he is the hope of heroes). Gr.’s reading has no parenthesis, but says: … could touch, unless God himself, true king of victories, gave to whom he would to open the treasure, the secret place of enchanters, etc. The last is rejected on many grounds.
XLII.
WIGLAF’S SAD STORY.—THE HOARD CARRIED OFF.

Then ’twas seen that the journey prospered him little
Who wrongly within had the ornaments hidden1
Down ’neath the wall. The warden erst slaughtered
Some few of the folk-troop: the feud then thereafter
5
Was hotly avengèd. ’Tis a wonder where,2
When the strength-famous trooper has attained to the end of
Life-days allotted, then no longer the man may
Remain with his kinsmen where mead-cups are flowing.
So to Beowulf happened when the ward of the barrow,
10
Assaults, he sought for: himself had no knowledge
How his leaving this life was likely to happen.
So to doomsday, famous folk-leaders down did
Call it with curses—who ’complished it there—
[104]
That that man should be ever of ill-deeds convicted,
15
Confined in foul-places, fastened in hell-bonds,
Punished with plagues, who this place should e’er ravage.3
He cared not for gold: rather the Wielder’s
Favor preferred he first to get sight of.4
Wiglaf addresses his comrades.
Wiglaf discoursed then, Wihstan his son:
20
“Oft many an earlman on one man’s account must
Sorrow endure, as to us it hath happened.
The liegelord belovèd we could little prevail on,
Kingdom’s keeper, counsel to follow,
Not to go to the guardian of the gold-hoard, but let him
25
Lie where he long was, live in his dwelling
Till the end of the world. Met we a destiny
Hard to endure: the hoard has been looked at,
Been gained very grimly; too grievous the fate that5
The prince of the people pricked to come thither.
30
I was therein and all of it looked at,
The building’s equipments, since access was given me,
Not kindly at all entrance permitted
He tells them of Beowulf’s last moments.
Within under earth-wall. Hastily seized I
And held in my hands a huge-weighing burden
35
Of hoard-treasures costly, hither out bare them
To my liegelord belovèd: life was yet in him,
And consciousness also; the old one discoursed then
Much and mournfully, commanded to greet you,
Beowulf’s dying request.
Bade that remembering the deeds of your friend-lord
40
Ye build on the fire-hill of corpses a lofty
Burial-barrow, broad and far-famous,
As ’mid world-dwelling warriors he was widely most honored
While he reveled in riches. Let us rouse us and hasten
[105]
Again to see and seek for the treasure,
45
The wonder ’neath wall. The way I will show you,
That close ye may look at ring-gems sufficient
And gold in abundance. Let the bier with promptness
Fully be fashioned, when forth we shall come,
And lift we our lord, then, where long he shall tarry,
50
Well-beloved warrior, ’neath the Wielder’s protection.”
Wiglaf charges them to build a funeral-pyre.
Then the son of Wihstan bade orders be given,
Mood-valiant man, to many of heroes,
Holders of homesteads, that they hither from far,
6Leaders of liegemen, should look for the good one
55
With wood for his pyre: “The flame shall now swallow
(The wan fire shall wax7) the warriors’ leader
Who the rain of the iron often abided,
When, sturdily hurled, the storm of the arrows
Leapt o’er linden-wall, the lance rendered service,
60
Furnished with feathers followed the arrow.”
Now the wise-mooded son of Wihstan did summon
The best of the braves from the band of the ruler
He takes seven thanes, and enters the den.
Seven together; ’neath the enemy’s roof he
Went with the seven; one of the heroes
65
Who fared at the front, a fire-blazing torch-light
Bare in his hand. No lot then decided
Who that hoard should havoc, when hero-earls saw it
Lying in the cavern uncared-for entirely,
Rusting to ruin: they rued then but little
70
That they hastily hence hauled out the treasure,
They push the dragon over the wall.
The dear-valued jewels; the dragon eke pushed they,
The worm o’er the wall, let the wave-currents take him,
[106]
The waters enwind the ward of the treasures.
The hoard is laid on a wain.
There wounden gold on a wain was uploaded,
75
A mass unmeasured, the men-leader off then,
The hero hoary, to Whale’s-Ness was carried.
[1] For ‘gehýdde,’ B. suggests ‘gehýðde’: the passage would stand as above except the change of ‘hidden’ (v. 2) to ‘plundered.’ The reference, however, would be to the thief, not to the dragon.
[2] The passage ‘Wundur … búan’ (3063-3066), M. took to be a question asking whether it was strange that a man should die when his appointed time had come.—B. sees a corruption, and makes emendations introducing the idea that a brave man should not die from sickness or from old age, but should find death in the performance of some deed of daring.—S. sees an indirect question introduced by ‘hwár’ and dependent upon ‘wundur’: A secret is it when the hero is to die, etc.—Why may the two clauses not be parallel, and the whole passage an Old English cry of ‘How wonderful is death!’?—S.’s is the best yet offered, if ‘wundor’ means ‘mystery.’
[3] For ‘strude’ in H.-So., S. suggests ‘stride.’ This would require ‘ravage’ (v. 16) to be changed to ‘tread.’
[4] ‘He cared … sight of’ (17, 18), S. emends so as to read as follows: He (Beowulf) had not before seen the favor of the avaricious possessor.
[5] B. renders: That which drew the king thither (i.e. the treasure) was granted us, but in such a way that it overcomes us.
[6] ‘Folc-ágende’ (3114) B. takes as dat. sing. with ‘gódum,’ and refers it to Beowulf; that is, Should bring fire-wood to the place where the good folk-ruler lay.
[7] C. proposes to take ‘weaxan’ = L. ‘vescor,’ and translate devour. This gives a parallel to ‘fretan’ above. The parenthesis would be discarded and the passage read: Now shall the fire consume, the wan-flame devour, the prince of warriors, etc.
XLIII.
THE BURNING OF BEOWULF.

Beowulf’s pyre.
The folk of the Geatmen got him then ready
A pile on the earth strong for the burning,
Behung with helmets, hero-knights’ targets,
And bright-shining burnies, as he begged they should have them;
5
Then wailing war-heroes their world-famous chieftain,
Their liegelord beloved, laid in the middle.
The funeral-flame.
Soldiers began then to make on the barrow
The largest of dead-fires: dark o’er the vapor
The smoke-cloud ascended, the sad-roaring fire,
10
Mingled with weeping (the wind-roar subsided)
Till the building of bone it had broken to pieces,
Hot in the heart. Heavy in spirit
They mood-sad lamented the men-leader’s ruin;
And mournful measures the much-grieving widow
15
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
20
* * * * * * *
The Weders carry out their lord’s last request.
The men of the Weders made accordingly
A hill on the height, high and extensive,
Of sea-going sailors to be seen from a distance,
And the brave one’s beacon built where the fire was,
25
In ten-days’ space, with a wall surrounded it,
As wisest of world-folk could most worthily plan it.
They placed in the barrow rings and jewels,
[107]Rings and gems are laid in the barrow.
All such ornaments as erst in the treasure
War-mooded men had won in possession:
30
The earnings of earlmen to earth they entrusted,
The gold to the dust, where yet it remaineth
As useless to mortals as in foregoing eras.
’Round the dead-mound rode then the doughty-in-battle,
Bairns of all twelve of the chiefs of the people,
They mourn for their lord, and sing his praises.35
More would they mourn, lament for their ruler,
Speak in measure, mention him with pleasure,
Weighed his worth, and his warlike achievements
Mightily commended, as ’tis meet one praise his
Liegelord in words and love him in spirit,
40
When forth from his body he fares to destruction.
So lamented mourning the men of the Geats,
Fond-loving vassals, the fall of their lord,
An ideal king.
Said he was kindest of kings under heaven,
Gentlest of men, most winning of manner,
45
Friendliest to folk-troops and fondest of honor.