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    Beowulf
    Beowulf
    Beowulf
    Ebook128 pages1 hour

    Beowulf

    By Francis Barton Gummere and Anonym

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    Beowulf, an epic poem dating back to the early medieval period, is a cornerstone of Old English literature, seamlessly blending elements of myth, history, and heroism. This narrative recounts the exploits of its titular hero, Beowulf, who defends the Geats and Danes against formidable foes, including the monstrous Grendel and his vengeful mother, culminating in a poignant confrontation with a dragon. The poem’s alliterative verse and rich imagery create a rhythmic grandeur, while its themes of bravery, loyalty, and the transient nature of life resonate deeply within the historical context of a society grappling with the advent of Christianity amidst ancient pagan traditions. Written by an anonymous author, this text likely reflects the complex intertwining of cultural values, societal expectations, and historical realities of the Anglo-Saxon period. Scholars propose that it originated within a monastic setting, where oral traditions were preserved and transformed into written form, allowing the author to engage with themes of heroism both in a pagan framework and a nascent Christian ethos. This duality enriches the text, inviting readers to explore questions of identity, morality, and the human experience. For readers seeking to immerse themselves in the rich tapestry of early English literature, Beowulf stands as an essential text that illuminates the heroic ideal while providing a window into the cultural psyche of its time. Its age-old battles still echo in the contemporary quest for meaning and valor, making it a timeless read for scholars and enthusiasts alike.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSharp Ink
    Release dateFeb 24, 2022
    ISBN9788028239909

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      Book preview

      Beowulf - Francis Barton Gummere

      Anonymous

      Beowulf

      Sharp Ink Publishing

      2024

      Contact: info@sharpinkbooks.com

      ISBN 978-80-282-3990-9

      Table of Contents

      Cover

      Titlepage

      Translated by Gummere

      BEOWULF PRELUDE OF THE FOUNDER OF THE DANISH HOUSE

      Translated by Gummere

      Table of Contents

      BEOWULF

      PRELUDE OF THE FOUNDER OF THE DANISH HOUSE

      Table of Contents

      LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings

      of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,

      we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!

      Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,

      from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,

      awing the earls. Since erst he lay

      friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:

      for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,

      till before him the folk, both far and near,

      who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,

      gave him gifts: a good king he!

      To him an heir was afterward born,

      a son in his halls, whom heaven sent

      to favor the folk, feeling their woe

      that erst they had lacked an earl for leader

      so long a while; the Lord endowed him,

      the Wielder of Wonder, with world’s renown.

      Famed was this Beowulf: {0a} far flew the boast of him,

      son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.

      So becomes it a youth to quit him well

      with his father’s friends, by fee and gift,

      that to aid him, aged, in after days,

      come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,

      liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds

      shall an earl have honor in every clan.

      Forth he fared at the fated moment,

      sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.

      Then they bore him over to ocean’s billow,

      loving clansmen, as late he charged them,

      while wielded words the winsome Scyld,

      the leader beloved who long had ruled....

      In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,

      ice-flecked, outbound, atheling’s barge:

      there laid they down their darling lord

      on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings, {0b}

      by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure

      fetched from far was freighted with him.

      No ship have I known so nobly dight

      with weapons of war and weeds of battle,

      with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay

      a heaped hoard that hence should go

      far o’er the flood with him floating away.

      No less these loaded the lordly gifts,

      thanes’ huge treasure, than those had done

      who in former time forth had sent him

      sole on the seas, a suckling child.

      High o’er his head they hoist the standard,

      a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,

      gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,

      mournful their mood. No man is able

      to say in sooth, no son of the halls,

      no hero ’neath heaven, -- who harbored that freight!

      I

      Now Beowulf bode in the burg of the Scyldings,

      leader beloved, and long he ruled

      in fame with all folk, since his father had gone

      away from the world, till awoke an heir,

      haughty Healfdene, who held through life,

      sage and sturdy, the Scyldings glad.

      Then, one after one, there woke to him,

      to the chieftain of clansmen, children four:

      Heorogar, then Hrothgar, then Halga brave;

      and I heard that -- was -- ’s queen,

      the Heathoscylfing’s helpmate dear.

      To Hrothgar was given such glory of war,

      such honor of combat, that all his kin

      obeyed him gladly till great grew his band

      of youthful comrades. It came in his mind

      to bid his henchmen a hall uprear,

      a master mead-house, mightier far

      than ever was seen by the sons of earth,

      and within it, then, to old and young

      he would all allot that the Lord had sent him,

      save only the land and the lives of his men.

      Wide, I heard, was the work commanded,

      for many a tribe this mid-earth round,

      to fashion the folkstead. It fell, as he ordered,

      in rapid achievement that ready it stood there,

      of halls the noblest: Heorot {1a} he named it

      whose message had might in many a land.

      Not reckless of promise, the rings he dealt,

      treasure at banquet: there towered the hall,

      high, gabled wide, the hot surge waiting

      of furious flame. {1b} Nor far was that day

      when father and son-in-law stood in feud

      for warfare and hatred that woke again. {1c}

      With envy and anger an evil spirit

      endured the dole in his dark abode,

      that he heard each day the din of revel

      high in the hall: there harps rang out,

      clear song of the singer. He sang who knew {1d}

      tales of the early time of man,

      how the Almighty made the earth,

      fairest fields enfolded by water,

      set, triumphant, sun and moon

      for a light to lighten the land-dwellers,

      and braided bright the breast of earth

      with limbs and leaves, made life for all

      of mortal beings that breathe and move.

      So lived the clansmen in cheer and revel

      a winsome life, till one began

      to fashion evils, that field of hell.

      Grendel this monster grim was called,

      march-riever {1e} mighty, in moorland living,

      in fen and fastness; fief of the giants

      the hapless wight a while had kept

      since the Creator his exile doomed.

      On kin of Cain was the killing avenged

      by sovran God for slaughtered Abel.

      Ill fared his feud, {1f} and far was he driven,

      for the slaughter’s sake, from sight of men.

      Of Cain awoke all that woful breed,

      Etins {1g} and elves and evil-spirits,

      as well as the giants that warred with God

      weary while: but their wage was paid them!

      II

      WENT he forth to find at fall of night

      that haughty house, and heed wherever

      the Ring-Danes, outrevelled, to rest had gone.

      Found within it the atheling band

      asleep after feasting and fearless of sorrow,

      of human hardship. Unhallowed wight,

      grim and greedy, he grasped betimes,

      wrathful, reckless, from resting-places,

      thirty of the thanes, and thence he rushed

      fain of his fell spoil, faring homeward,

      laden with slaughter, his lair to seek.

      Then at the dawning, as day was breaking,

      the might of Grendel to men was known;

      then after wassail was wail uplifted,

      loud moan in the morn. The mighty chief,

      atheling excellent, unblithe sat,

      labored in woe for the loss of his thanes,

      when once had been traced the trail of the fiend,

      spirit accurst: too cruel that sorrow,

      too long, too loathsome. Not late the respite;

      with night returning, anew began

      ruthless murder; he recked no whit,

      firm in his guilt, of the feud and crime.

      They were easy to find who elsewhere sought

      in room remote their rest at night,

      bed in the bowers, {2a} when that bale was shown,

      was seen in sooth, with surest token, --

      the hall-thane’s {2b} hate. Such held themselves

      far and fast who the fiend outran!

      Thus ruled unrighteous and raged his fill

      one against all; until empty stood

      that lordly building, and long it bode so.

      Twelve years’ tide the trouble he bore,

      sovran of Scyldings, sorrows in plenty,

      boundless cares. There came unhidden

      tidings true to the tribes of men,

      in sorrowful songs, how ceaselessly Grendel

      harassed Hrothgar, what hate he bore him,

      what murder and massacre, many a year,

      feud unfading, -- refused consent

      to deal with any of Daneland’s earls,

      make pact of peace, or compound for gold:

      still less did the wise men ween to get

      great fee for the feud from his fiendish hands.

      But the evil one ambushed old and young

      death-shadow dark, and dogged them still,

      lured, or lurked in the livelong night

      of misty moorlands: men may say not

      where the haunts of these Hell-Runes {2c} be.

      Such heaping of horrors the hater of men,

      lonely roamer, wrought unceasing,

      harassings heavy. O’er Heorot he lorded,

      gold-bright hall, in gloomy nights;

      and ne’er could the prince {2d} approach his throne,

      -- ’twas judgment of God, -- or have joy in his hall.

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