{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/beo/beo22.htm","path":"neu/beo/beo22.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/beo/beo22.htm","text":"BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:\n\"Sorrow not, sage! It beseems us better\nfriends to avenge than fruitlessly mourn them.\nEach of us all must his end abide\nin the ways of the world; so win who may\nglory ere death! When his days are told,\nthat is the warrior's worthiest doom.\nRise, O realm-warder! Ride we anon,\nand mark the trail of the mother of Grendel.\nNo harbor shall hide her -- heed my promise! --\nenfolding of field or forested mountain\nor floor of the flood, let her flee where she will!\nBut thou this day endure in patience,\nas I ween thou wilt, thy woes each one.\"\nLeaped up the graybeard: God he thanked,\nmighty Lord, for the man's brave words.\nFor Hrothgar soon a horse was saddled\nwave-maned steed. The sovran wise\nstately rode on; his shield-armed men\nfollowed in force. The footprints led\nalong the woodland, widely seen,\na path o'er the plain, where she passed, and trod\nthe murky moor; of men-at-arms\nshe bore the bravest and best one, dead,\nhim who with Hrothgar the homestead ruled.\nOn then went the atheling-born\no'er stone-cliffs steep and strait defiles,\nnarrow passes and unknown ways,\nheadlands sheer, and the haunts of the Nicors.\nForemost he[1] fared, a few at his side\nof the wiser men, the ways to scan,\ntill he found in a flash the forested hill\nhanging over the hoary rock,\na woful wood: the waves below\nwere dyed in blood. The Danish men\nhad sorrow of soul, and for Scyldings all,\nfor many a hero, 'twas hard to bear,\nill for earls, when Aeschere's head\nthey found by the flood on the foreland there.\nWaves were welling, the warriors saw,\nhot with blood; but the horn sang oft\nbattle-song bold. The band sat down,\nand watched on the water worm-like things,\nsea-dragons strange that sounded the deep,\nand nicors that lay on the ledge of the ness --\nsuch as oft essay at hour of morn\non the road-of-sails their ruthless quest, --\nand sea-snakes and monsters. These started away,\nswollen and savage that song to hear,\nthat war-horn's blast. The warden of Geats,\nwith bolt from bow, then balked of life,\nof wave-work, one monster, amid its heart\nwent the keen war-shaft; in water it seemed\nless doughty in swimming whom death had seized.\nSwift on the billows, with boar-spears well\nhooked and barbed, it was hard beset,\ndone to death and dragged on the headland,\nwave-roamer wondrous. Warriors viewed the grisly guest.\nThen girt him Beowulf\nin martial mail, nor mourned for his life.\nHis breastplate broad and bright of hues,\nwoven by hand, should the waters try;\nwell could it ward the warrior's body\nthat battle should break on his breast in vain\nnor harm his heart by the hand of a foe.\nAnd the helmet white that his head protected\nwas destined to dare the deeps of the flood,\nthrough wave-whirl win: 'twas wound with chains,\ndecked with gold, as in days of yore\nthe weapon-smith worked it wondrously,\nwith swine-forms set it, that swords nowise,\nbrandished in battle, could bite that helm.\nNor was that the meanest of mighty helps\nwhich Hrothgar's orator offered at need:\n\"Hrunting\" they named the hilted sword,\nof old-time heirlooms easily first;\niron was its edge, all etched with poison,\nwith battle-blood hardened, nor blenched it at fight\nin hero's hand who held it ever,\non paths of peril prepared to go\nto folkstead[2] of foes. Not first time this\nit was destined to do a daring task.\nFor he bore not in mind, the bairn of Ecglaf\nsturdy and strong, that speech he had made,\ndrunk with wine, now this weapon he lent\nto a stouter swordsman. Himself, though, durst not\nunder welter of waters wager his life\nas loyal liegeman. So lost he his glory,\nhonor of earls. With the other not so,\nwho girded him now for the grim encounter.\n[1] Hrothgar is probably meant.\n[2] Meeting place.","title":"Beowulf: Part XXI","type":"page"}