{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/beo/beo25.htm","path":"neu/beo/beo25.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/beo/beo25.htm","text":"BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:--\n\"Lo, now, this sea-booty, son of Healfdene,\nLord of Scyldings, we've lustily brought thee,\nsign of glory; thou seest it here.\nNot lightly did I with my life escape!\nIn war under water this work I essayed\nwith endless effort; and even so\nmy strength had been lost had the Lord not shielded me.\nNot a whit could I with Hrunting do\nin work of war, though the weapon is good;\nyet a sword the Sovran of Men vouchsafed me\nto spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging,\nold, gigantic, -- how oft He guides\nthe friendless wight! -- and I fought with that brand,\nfelling in fight, since fate was with me,\nthe house's wardens. That war-sword then\nall burned, bright blade, when the blood gushed o'er it,\nbattle-sweat hot; but the hilt I brought back\nfrom my foes. So avenged I their fiendish deeds\ndeath-fall of Danes, as was due and right.\nAnd this is my hest, that in Heorot now\nsafe thou canst sleep with thy soldier band,\nand every thane of all thy folk\nboth old and young; no evil fear,\nScyldings' lord, from that side again,\naught ill for thy earls, as erst thou must!\"\nThen the golden hilt, for that gray-haired leader,\nhoary hero, in hand was laid,\ngiant-wrought, old. So owned and enjoyed it\nafter downfall of devils, the Danish lord,\nwonder-smiths' work, since the world was rid\nof that grim-souled fiend, the foe of God,\nmurder-marked, and his mother as well.\nNow it passed into power of the people's king,\nbest of all that the oceans bound\nwho have scattered their gold o'er Scandia's isle.\nHrothgar spake -- the hilt he viewed,\nheirloom old, where was etched the rise\nof that far-off fight when the floods o'erwhelmed,\nraging waves, the race of giants\n(fearful their fate!), a folk estranged\nfrom God Eternal: whence guerdon due\nin that waste of waters the Wielder paid them.\nSo on the guard of shining gold\nin runic staves it was rightly said\nfor whom the serpent-traced sword was wrought,\nbest of blades, in bygone days,\nand the hilt well wound. -- The wise-one spake,\nson of Healfdene; silent were all:--\n\"Lo, so may he say who sooth and right\nfollows 'mid folk, of far times mindful,\na land-warden old,[1] that this earl belongs\nto the better breed! So, borne aloft,\nthy fame must fly, O friend my Beowulf,\nfar and wide o'er folksteads many. Firmly thou\nshalt all maintain,\nmighty strength with mood of wisdom. Love of\nmine will I assure thee,\nas, awhile ago, I promised; thou shalt prove a stay in future,\nin far-off years, to folk of thine,\nto the heroes a help. Was not Heremod thus\nto offspring of Ecgwela, Honor-Scyldings,\nnor grew for their grace, but for grisly slaughter,\nfor doom of death to the Danishmen.\nHe slew, wrath-swollen, his shoulder-comrades,\ncompanions at board! So he passed alone,\nchieftain haughty, from human cheer.\nThough him the Maker with might endowed,\ndelights of power, and uplifted high\nabove all men, yet blood-fierce his mind,\nhis breast-hoard, grew, no bracelets gave he\nto Danes as was due; he endured all joyless\nstrain of struggle and stress of woe,\nlong feud with his folk. Here find thy lesson!\nOf virtue advise thee! This verse I have said for thee,\nwise from lapsed winters. Wondrous seems\nhow to sons of men Almighty God\nin the strength of His spirit sendeth wisdom,\nestate, high station: He swayeth all things.\nWhiles He letteth right lustily fare\nthe heart of the hero of high-born race, --\nin seat ancestral assigns him bliss,\nhis folk's sure fortress in fee to hold,\nputs in his power great parts of the earth,\nempire so ample, that end of it\nthis wanter-of-wisdom weeneth none.\nSo he waxes in wealth, nowise can harm him\nillness or age; no evil cares\nshadow his spirit; no sword-hate threatens\nfrom ever an enemy: all the world\nwends at his will, no worse he knoweth,\ntill all within him obstinate pride\nwaxes and wakes while the warden slumbers,\nthe spirit's sentry; sleep is too fast\nwhich masters his might, and the murderer nears,\nstealthily shooting the shafts from his bow!\n[1] That is, \"whoever has as wide authority as I have and can remember\nso far back so many instances of heroism, may well say, as I say, that no\nbetter hero ever lived than Beowulf.\"","title":"Beowulf: Part XXIV","type":"page"}