English Literature. William J. Long

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СКАЧАТЬ overshades the flood;

       There every night a ghastly miracle

       Is seen, fire in the water. No man knows,

       Not the most wise, the bottom of that mere.

       The firm-horned heath-stalker, the hart, when pressed,

       Wearied by hounds, and hunted from afar,

       Will rather die of thirst upon its bank

       Than bend his head to it. It is unholy.

       Dark to the clouds its yeasty waves mount up

       When wind stirs hateful tempest, till the air

       Grows dreary, and the heavens pour down tears. ^[9]

      Beowulf plunges into the horrible place, while his companions wait for him oh the shore. For a long time he sinks through the flood; then, as he reaches bottom, Grendel's mother rushes out upon him and drags him into a cave, where sea monsters swarm at him from behind and gnash his armor with their tusks. The edge of his sword is turned with the mighty blow he deals the merewif; but it harms not the monster. Casting the weapon aside, he grips her and tries to hurl her down, while her claws and teeth clash upon his corslet but cannot penetrate the steel rings. She throws her bulk upon him, crushes him down, draws a short sword and plunges it at him; but again his splendid byrnie saves him. He is wearied now, and oppressed. Suddenly, as his eye sweeps the cave, he catches sight of a magic sword, made by the giants long ago, too heavy for warriors to wield. Struggling up he seizes the weapon, whirls it and brings down a crashing blow upon the monster's neck. It smashes through the ring bones; the merewif falls, and the fight is won.

      The cave is full of treasures; but Beowulf heeds them not, for near him lies Grendel, dead from the wound received the previous night. Again Beowulf swings the great sword and strikes off his enemy's head; and lo, as the venomous blood touches the sword blade, the steel melts like ice before the fire, and only the hilt is left in Beowulf's hand. Taking the hilt and the head, the hero enters the ocean and mounts up to the shore.

      Only his own faithful band were waiting there; for the Danes, seeing the ocean bubble with fresh blood, thought it was all over with the hero and had gone home. And there they were, mourning in Heorot, when Beowulf returned with the monstrous head of Grendel carried on a spear shaft by four of his stoutest followers.

      In the last part of the poem there is another great fight. Beowulf is now an old man; he has reigned for fifty years, beloved by all his people. He has overcome every enemy but one, a fire dragon keeping watch over an enormous treasure hidden among the mountains. One day a wanderer stumbles upon the enchanted cave and, entering, takes a jeweled cup while the firedrake sleeps heavily. That same night the dragon, in a frightful rage, belching forth fire and smoke, rushes down upon the nearest villages, leaving a trail of death and terror behind him.

      Again Beowulf goes forth to champion his people. As he approaches the dragon's cave, he has a presentiment that death lurks within:

      Sat on the headland there the warrior king;

       Farewell he said to hearth-companions true,

       The gold-friend of the Geats; his mind was sad,

       Death-ready, restless. And Wyrd was drawing nigh,

       Who now must meet and touch the aged man,

       To seek the treasure that his soul had saved

       And separate his body from his life. ^[10]

      There is a flash of illumination, like that which comes to a dying man, in which his mind runs back over his long life and sees something of profound meaning in the elemental sorrow moving side by side with magnificent courage. Then follows the fight with the firedrake, in which Beowulf, wrapped in fire and smoke, is helped by the heroism of Wiglaf, one of his companions. The dragon is slain, but the fire has entered Beowulf's lungs and he knows that Wyrd is at hand. This is his thought, while Wiglaf removes his battered armor:

      "One deep regret I have: that to a son

       I may not give the armor I have worn,

       To bear it after me. For fifty years

       I ruled these people well, and not a king

       Of those who dwell around me, dared oppress

       Or meet me with his hosts. At home I waited

       For the time that Wyrd controls. Mine own I kept,

       Nor quarrels sought, nor ever falsely swore.

       Now, wounded sore, I wait for joy to come." ^[11]

      He sends Wiglaf into the firedrake's cave, who finds it filled with rare treasures and, most wonderful of all, a golden banner from which light proceeds and illumines all the darkness. But Wiglaf cares little for the treasures; his mind is full of his dying chief. He fills his hands with costly ornaments and hurries to throw them at his hero's feet. The old man looks with sorrow at the gold, thanks the "Lord of all" that by death he has gained more riches for his people, and tells his faithful thane how his body shall be burned on the Whale ness, or headland:

      "My life is well paid for this hoard; and now

       Care for the people's needs. I may no more

       Be with them. Bid the warriors raise a barrow

       After the burning, on the ness by the sea,

       On Hronesness, which shall rise high and be

       For a remembrance to my people. Seafarers

       Who from afar over the mists of waters

       Drive foamy keels may call it Beowulf's Mount

       Hereafter." Then the hero from his neck

       Put off a golden collar; to his thane,

       To the young warrior, gave it with his helm,

       Armlet and corslet; bade him use them well.

       "Thou art the last Waegmunding of our race,

       For fate has swept my kinsmen all away.

       Earls in their strength are to their Maker gone,

       And I must follow them."^[12]

      Beowulf was still living when Wiglaf sent a messenger hurriedly to his people; when they came they found him dead, and the huge dragon dead on the sand beside him.

      Then the Goth's people reared a mighty pile

       With shields and armour hung, as he had asked,

       And in the midst the warriors laid their lord,

       Lamenting. Then the warriors on the mount

       Kindled a mighty bale fire; the smoke rose

       Black from the Swedish pine, the sound of flame

       Mingled with sound of weeping; … while smoke

       Spread over heaven. Then upon the hill

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