English Literature. William J. Long

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СКАЧАТЬ Scyld departed, at word of Wyrd spoken,

       The hero to go to the home of the gods.

       Sadly they bore him to brink of the ocean,

       Comrades, still heeding his word of command.

       There rode in the harbor the prince's ship, ready,

       With prow curving proudly and shining sails set.

       Shipward they bore him, their hero beloved;

       The mighty they laid at the foot of the mast.

       Treasures were there from far and near gathered,

       Byrnies of battle, armor and swords;

       Never a keel sailed out of a harbor

       So splendidly tricked with the trappings of war.

       They heaped on his bosom a hoard of bright jewels

       To fare with him forth on the flood's great breast.

       No less gift they gave than the Unknown provided,

       When alone, as a child, he came in from the mere.

       High o'er his head waved a bright golden standard--

       Now let the waves bear their wealth to the holm.

       Sad-souled they gave back its gift to the ocean,

       Mournful their mood as he sailed out to sea. ^[4]

      "And no man," says the poet, "neither counselor nor hero, can tell who received that lading."

      One of Scyld's descendants was Hrothgar, king of the Danes; and with him the story of our Beowulf begins. Hrothgar in his old age had built near the sea a mead hall called Heorot, the most splendid hall in the whole world, where the king and his thanes gathered nightly to feast and to listen to the songs of his gleemen. One night, as they were all sleeping, a frightful monster, Grendel, broke into the hall, killed thirty of the sleeping warriors, and carried off their bodies to devour them in his lair under the sea. The appalling visit was speedily repeated, and fear and death reigned in the great hall. The warriors fought at first; but fled when they discovered that no weapon could harm the monster. Heorot was left deserted and silent. For twelve winters Grendel's horrible raids continued, and joy was changed to mourning among the Spear Danes.

      At last the rumor of Grendel crossed over the sea to the land of the Geats, where a young hero dwelt in the house of his uncle, King Hygelac. Beowulf was his name, a man of immense strength and courage, and a mighty swimmer who had developed his powers fighting the "nickers," whales, walruses and seals, in the icebound northern ocean. When he heard the story, Beowulf was stirred to go and fight the monster and free the Danes, who were his father's friends.

      With fourteen companions he crosses the sea. There is an excellent bit of ocean poetry here (ll. 210–224), and we get a vivid idea of the hospitality of a brave people by following the poet's description of Beowulf's meeting with King Hrothgar and Queen Wealhtheow, and of the joy and feasting and story-telling in Heorot. The picture of Wealhtheow passing the mead cup to the warriors with her own hand is a noble one, and plainly indicates the reverence paid by these strong men to their wives and mothers. Night comes on; the fear of Grendel is again upon the Danes, and all withdraw after the king has warned Beowulf of the frightful danger of sleeping in the hall. But Beowulf lies down with his warriors, saying proudly that, since weapons will not avail against the monster, he will grapple with him bare handed and trust to a warrior's strength.

      Forth from the fens, from the misty moorlands,

       Grendel came gliding--God's wrath ^[5] he bore-- Came under clouds, until he saw clearly, Glittering with gold plates, the mead hall of men. Down fell the door, though fastened with fire bands; Open it sprang at the stroke of his paw. Swollen with rage burst in the bale-bringer; Flamed in his eyes a fierce light, likest fire. ^[6]

      At the sight of men again sleeping in the hall, Grendel laughs in his heart, thinking of his feast. He seizes the nearest sleeper, crushes his "bone case" with a bite, tears him limb from limb, and swallows him. Then he creeps to the couch of Beowulf and stretches out a claw, only to find it clutched in a grip of steel. A sudden terror strikes the monster's heart. He roars, struggles, tries to jerk his arm free; but Beowulf leaps to his feet and grapples his enemy bare handed. To and fro they surge. Tables are overturned; golden benches ripped from their fastenings; the whole building quakes, and only its iron bands keep it from falling to pieces. Beowulf's companions are on their feet now, hacking vainly at the monster with swords and battle-axes, adding their shouts to the crashing of furniture and the howling "war song" of Grendel. Outside in the town the Danes stand shivering at the uproar. Slowly the monster struggles to the door, dragging Beowulf, whose fingers crack with the strain, but who never relaxes his first grip. Suddenly a wide wound opens in the monster's side; the sinews snap; the whole arm is wrenched off at the shoulder; and Grendel escapes shrieking across the moor, and plunges into the sea to die.

      Beowulf first exults in his night's work; then he hangs the huge arm with its terrible claws from a cross-beam over the king's seat, as one would hang up a bear's skin after a hunt. At daylight came the Danes; and all day long, in the intervals of singing, story-telling, speech making, and gift giving, they return to wonder at the mighty "grip of Grendel" and to rejoice in Beowulf's victory.

      When night falls a great feast is spread in Heorot, and the Danes sleep once more in the great hall. At midnight comes another monster, a horrible, half-human creature,^[7] mother of Grendel, raging to avenge her offspring. She thunders at the door; the Danes leap up and grasp their weapons; but the monster enters, seizes Aeschere, who is friend and adviser of the king, and rushes away with him over the fens.

      The old scenes of sorrow are reviewed in the morning; but Beowulf says simply:

      Sorrow not, wise man. It is better for each

       That his friend he avenge than that he mourn much.

       Each of us shall the end await

       Of worldly life: let him who may gain

       Honor ere death. That is for a warrior,

       When he is dead, afterwards best.

       Arise, kingdom's guardian! Let us quickly go

       To view the track of Grendel's kinsman.

       I promise it thee: he will not escape,

       Nor in earth's bosom, nor in mountain-wood,

       Nor in ocean's depths, go where he will. ^[8]

      Then he girds himself for the new fight and follows the track of the second enemy across the fens. Here is Hrothgar's description of the place where live the monsters, "spirits of elsewhere," as he calls them:

      They inhabit

       The dim land that gives shelter to the wolf,

       The windy headlands, perilous fen paths,

       Where, under mountain mist, the stream flows down

       And floods the ground. Not far hence, but a mile,

       The mere stands, over which hang death-chill groves,

       A wood СКАЧАТЬ