The Second Half of a modern English adaptation of Beowulf, the Epic Poem

From http://historymedren.about.com/od/beowulf/p/beowulf.htm :

From The Adventures of Beowulf
Well-written and nicely illustrated modern English adaptation of Beowulf by David Breeden:

The Adventures of Beowulf
an Adaptation from the Old English
by Dr. David Breeden
Illustrated by Randy Grochoske

Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke:
"Do not sorrow, wise king!
It is better for a man
to avenge a friend
than mourn much. Each of us
must await the end of this
life. He who wishes will
work for glory before death.
That is best for the warrior
after he is gone.
Arise, guardian of the kingdom,
let us go quickly
to see Grendel's kin.
I promise you this:
she will not escape to shelter--
not into the earth's bosom,
not into the mountain's wood,
not into the sea's bottom,
go where she will!
For this day, have
patience in each woe."

The veteran leapt up then,
thanking God, the Mighty One,
that the man had so spoken.

* *

In episode seven a sword fails and Beowulf takes a dive.

The adventures of Beowulf, Episode 7
--The Expedition to Grendel's Mere--

A horse with plaited mane
was saddled for Hrothgar:
the wise king rode in splendor,
a band of men marching on foot.

Tracks were clearly visible
going over the ground
along the forest paths
where she had gone forth
over the murky moors
carrying the good warrior,
the best of men, lifeless,
a man who had helped
Hrothgar guard his home.

The noble Hrothgar passed
over narrows, lonely paths,
steep, stony slopes
on that unknown way
among steep bluffs
and the homes of water monsters.

He and the wise men
went before the rest
to scout the place,
and suddenly, he saw
a joyless woods leaning over
turbid and bloody water.
For all the Danes
it was grievous, and
the warriors suffered
when they on the sea
cliff saw Aeschere's head.
The water boiled with blood
and hot gore as the men watched.

Sometimes a horn sang out,
an eager war song, but
the troop all waited, watching
along the water the kin
of snakes, strange sea dragons,
swimming in the deep or
lying on the steep slopes--
water monsters, serpents, and
wild beasts, such as the ones
that appear on a dangerous
sea journey in the morning time.
When those creatures heard
the war horn's note
they hurried away
bitter and angry.

A man from the Geat
tribe with his bow
deprived of life, of
wave battle, one
of the monsters. An
arrow, war hard, stuck
in its heart, and it
swam more weakly
as death took it.
Quickly it was attacked
in the waves with barbed
spears and swords and
dragged by force to the
bluff, a wondrous sea roamer.
Warriors examined
the terrible stranger.

Beowulf arrayed himself
in armor, not at all
worrying about his life,
putting on his mail shirt,
large and decorated,
woven by hand so that
it could protect his chest
as he tried the water,
so that hostile grips,
the fury's malicious grasps,
might not scathe his life.

A shiny helmet protected the head
that would go to the watery depths.
It was adorned with treasures,
encircled with splendid chains--
in the old days weapon-smiths
formed it wondrously, setting
on it boar figures so that
no sword could bite it in battle.

And it was not the weakest of helps
Unferth, Hrothgar's spokesman,
loaned: the hilted sword called
Hrunting, an ancient treasure
with edges of iron and adorned
with poison strips. That sword,
hardened in blood, had never failed
a man who grasped it in hand
and dared a terrible journey,
battles in a hostile place.
This would not be the first time
it had gone to do brave work.
Unferth, great of strength,
did not remember what he had
said, drunk on wine, but loaned
his weapon to a better sword
warrior: he himself did not
dare venture his life
under the terrible waves
to perform a deed of valor.
There he lost his fame,
his renown for valor.

This was not so for that other man,
he who prepared himself for war.
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke:
"Remember, Hrothgar, kin of Healfdene,
gold friend of men, wise king,
now that I am ready to start,
what we have spoken of--
if I, in your service,
lose my life, that you
will be in position of my father.
Be a protector of my warriors,
my comrades, if war takes me.
Also, beloved Hrothgar,
send the treasure you gave me
to Hygelac, king of the Geats,
that he may perceive from the gold,
beholding the treasure,
that I found a virtuous ring giver
who I enjoyed while I could.
And give Unferth my old heirloom,
my splendid wavy sword
widely known among men
to have a hard edge.
I will do my glory work
with Hrunting--or
death will take me. . ."

With these words
the chief of the Geats,
waiting for no reply,
hastened with bravery.
The surging water took
the warrior, and it was
a good part of a day
before he found the bottom.

She who had fiercely guarded,
grim and greedy, that water
for a hundred half-years
quickly saw that some man
from above was exploring
the monsters' home. Then
the enemy seized the warrior
in her horrid clutches, yet
he was not injured--the ringed
armor protected him, and she
could not break his mail shirt
with her hostile claws.

The sea wolf bore
the armored warrior
down to her dwelling
at the bottom. He could not,
despite his bravery, command
his weapons--many a sea beast
harassed him with battle tusks,
trying to cut his armor.

Then the chief found
that he was with someone
in a hostile hall.
The flood's rush
could not harm him there
because of the hall's roof.

He saw a firelight shine
in a brilliant flame.
Then the warrior saw
that monster of the deep,
the mighty mere-woman.

He swung his battle sword
quickly--he did not hold
back--and the ringed blade
sang a greedy war song
on her head. But the guest
found that the flashing
sword would not bite,
could not harm her life--
the edge failed him at need.
(It had endured many
combats, often slashed helmets
and fated war garments. . .
This was the first time
that precious treasure
failed in its glory.)

But Beowulf was resolute,
by no means slow in valor,
still thinking of daring deeds.
The angry warrior threw
the carved sword covered
in ornaments, stiff and edged
in iron, to the floor
and trusted in his powerful
hand grip. (So must a man do
when he wishes for enduring
fame at war: he cannot
The lord of the Geats
did not grieve at the battle
but seized Grendel's mother
by the shoulder.
Now he was enraged
and flung his deadly foe
to the ground.

She paid him back quickly
with angry claws and
clutched him against her.
At that moment
the strongest of warriors
felt sick at heart:
he fell. She sat
on her hall guest
and drew a dagger,
wide and brown-edged--
she would avenge her son,
her only offspring.

On his shoulder lay
the woven mail shirt.
It protected his life,
withstood the entrance
of point and edge.
Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow,
champion of the Geats,
would have perished then
under the wide ground
had not his armor,
his hard war net, helped
him (and Holy God, who
brought about war victory).

The wise ruler of the skies
decided justice easily when
Beowulf stood up again:
there among the weapons
he saw a victory-blessed sword,
an old sword made by giants
with strong edges, the glory
of warriors. It was
the choicest of weapons,
good and majestical,
the work of giants, but
larger than any other man
could carry to battle sport.

He who fought for the Danes,
fierce and sword grim,
despairing of life,
seized the chain-wound hilt,
drew the ringed sword,
and angrily struck--
It grasped her neck hard
and her bone rings broke.
The blade entered
the fated body.
She fell to the ground.
The sword was bloody,
and the warrior rejoiced
in his work.

Suddenly light glittered,
a light brightened within,
as bright and clear as
the candle of the sky.
He looked around the building,
walked around the walls.
He raised the weapon
hard by its hilt--
Beowulf was angry and resolute.
The edge was not useless
to the warrior--he wished
to requite Grendel for
the many attacks he
had made on the Danes,
much more often
than on one occasion,
when he had slain
Hrothgar's guests in their sleep.
Fifteen Danish men
he devoured while they slept,
and carried as many away,
hideous booty. The fierce
champion paid him his reward:
Beowulf saw Grendel in rest,
worn out with fighting,
lifeless from the hard wounds
he had gotten in battle
at Herot. The corpse
split when it suffered
that blow after death--
the hard sword stroke.
Beowulf cut off the head.

end of episode seven

* *

In episode eight we learn how to be good warriors.

The adventures of Beowulf, Episode 8
--Meanwhile, Up Above--

The wise men with Hrothgar
saw the surging water mingled
with blood. The old gray-hairs
spoke together, saying
they did not expect the famous
prince to be victorious.
To many it seemed the sea wolf
had destroyed him.
Then came noon of the day
and the valiant Danes left
the bluff. The king went
home. His guests sat down
sick at heart
and stared at he mere.
They wished, but did not hope,
that they would see
their dear lord again.

Back in the Cave

The sword, because of the blood,
began to fade--a battle icicle.
That was some wonder:
it all melted,
just like ice
when the Father--
who has power
over times and seasons--
loosens the bands
and unwinds the wave ropes.
(That is the True Maker.)

The leader of the Geats
took no more treasures
from the dwelling,
though he saw many,
except for the head
and the hilt decorated
with treasure. The blade
had melted. . .the
ornamented sword burned up--
so hot was the blood,
so poisonous the alien
spirit who died there.

Soon he was swimming;
his enemy had fallen in fight.
He swam up through the water--
the surging waters were purged,
all the broad expanse,
when the alien spirit
gave up her life days
on this loaned world.

Beowulf Comes Up

Came then to the land
the chief of the sailors,
boldly swimming. He rejoiced
in the sea-booty,
the mighty burden of things
he had with him.

His men rushed toward him,
thanking God they saw him
safe. The helmet and armor
were quickly loosed from
the strong man. The lake
grew calm, the water under
the clouds, stained with blood.
They went from there
on the forest paths
glad in mind.

The brave men measured
the well-known road
bearing the head
from the lake cliff
with difficulty--
it took four men
to bear the spear shaft
with Grendel's head
to the gold hall.

The fourteen brave
war-like Geats marched
straight to the hall
with the lord of men
proud among them.

He crossed the meadow,
then came inside,
the prince of warriors,
the man of daring deeds,
honored with glory,
a hero in battle,
to greet Hrothgar.

They carried Grendel's head
by its hair onto the floor
where the men were drinking--
a terrible sight before
the warriors and the women
with them, a wondrous sight.
The men looked at it.

Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke:
"Behold, son of Healfdene,
Lord of the Danes--we have brought
you with pleasure this sea booty,
as token of glory,
which you see here.
I hardly survived
the battle under the water,
engaged in that deed
with difficulty. The battle
would have ended quickly
if God had not protected me.
Nor could I accomplish anything
with Hrunting, that strong
weapon, but the ruler of men
granted me to see
a beautiful old mighty sword
hanging on the wall.
He often guides a man
devoid of friends.
I drew that weapon,
cut in that conflict
the house guardians
when I saw the chance.
That ornamented sword burned
up as the blood sprang.
I carried the hilt away
from the enemies.
The deeds of crime,
the slaughter of the Danes,
has been avenged
as it was right to do.
I promise you
that you and your warriors
may sleep in Herot
free from care
and every warrior
of your tribe,
old men and young--
you need not,
Prince of the Danes,
fear for them,
death of your warriors
from that side
as you did before."

Then was the golden hilt,
the ancient work of giants,
given to the hand
of the aged warrior,
the gray war leader.
The possession of it,
the wondrous work of smiths,
passed, after the deaths
of demons, to the king of the Danes.
When the grim-hearted being,
God's adversary, guilty of murder,
left this world,
and his mother also,
the hilt passed
into the power of the best
of the world's kings
between the seas
who dealt out treasure
in the Northland.

Hrothgar examined the hilt,
the old heirloom,
on which was written
in ancient runes
the story of the flood
which with rushing sea
slew the race of giants
with terrible suffering.
That was a race foreign
to the Eternal Lord.
The Almighty gave them
a final reward through
the water's surging.

Also on the sword guard
bright with gold
was rightly written--
in rune letters,
set and said--
for whom the sword
had been wrought,
this choicest of iron
with twisted hilt
and snake ornaments.

Hrothgar Expounds On How To Be A Good Warrior

Then the wise one,
son of Healfdene, spoke
(all were silent):
"Lo, this he may say
who does truth and right
among the people,
remembers things far distant,
an old guardian:
This is the best-born man!
My friend Beowulf,
your renown is established
beyond the wide ways,
yours over all the nations.
Hold it steady,
might with mind's wisdom.
I shall carry out
my friendship as
we two spoke before.
You shall prove
a long-lasting relief
to your people,
a help to fighters.
Heremod was not so
to the offspring of Ecgwela,
the honorable Danes.
He waxed not to their help
but to their slaughter,
for the destruction
of the Danish people.
Enraged, he cut down
his table companions,
his bosom friends,
until he went about alone,
away from the joy of life
among men, a notorious
prince, although Almighty God
had raised his strength,
advanced it over all men.
His spirit, his heart,
grew blood thirsty.
He gave no rings
to Danes who pursued glory.
Joyless he went on,
struggling on as a long-lasting
affliction. Learn from this
and understand manly virtues.
I, old and wise in winters,
tell you this
for your sake.
It is wonderful to say
how mighty God through
His wisdom and large heart
distributes land and rank
to the race of men.
He controls all.
Sometimes out of love
He gives a man wisdom,
great among his kin,
gives him a home,
the joy of the earth,
gives him control
of a fortress of men,
a wide kingdom in the world,
so that the man
in his un-wisdom
does not think about the end.
He lives in plenty;
neither disease nor age
live with him;
his mind is not darkened
with evil worries,
nor does enmity
bring about war.
All the world
turns to his will--
he does not know worse--
but then arrogance grows;
the guardian of his soul
sleeps. That sleep is
too heavy, bound with affliction,
and the killer very near
who shoots his bow
with evil intent.
Then he is hit
in the heart,
beneath his armor,
with a bitter arrow--
he cannot guard himself
against the perverse commands
of his accursed spirit.
Then what he has long held
seems too little; angry-minded,
he covets, never proudly giving
gold rings, and he forgets
and neglects the future
state because God the Ruler
of Glory has given him
a great deal of honors.
In the end it comes to pass
that the body, on loan,
declines, falls fated. Another,
who recklessly dispenses
treasure, one who does not
hold it in terror, seizes
the warrior's ancient possessions.
Beloved Beowulf, best of warriors,
protect yourself against that
wickedness and choose better,
eternal councils. Do not heed
arrogance, famous champion!
Now is your strength famous. . .
for awhile. Soon after
it shall happen that disease,
or the sword's edge, shall
cut off your strength.
Or maybe the fire's embrace,
or the flood's welling,
or the grip of the sword,
or the arrow's flight,
or dire age. . . Bright eyes
do diminish and go dark.
Straightway death will overpower you, warrior.
Thus I have ruled under the clouds
the prosperous Danes a hundred half-years,
and by war have protected them
against many nations
throughout this middle earth
with spears and edges,
so that under heaven's expanse
I could think of no enemies.
Lo, a reverse came to me--
in my home--sadness after joy
when the old adversary Grendel
invaded. I have continually
carried worry over that visitation.
Therefore, thanks to the Creator,
the Eternal Lord, that I have
remained in life to gaze with
my eyes at the blood-stained head
after that old contention!
Go now to your seat,
feast in joy, you who are
distinguished in battle.
We shall share
a great many treasures
before morning comes."

The Geat was glad in mind,
quickly seeking his seat
as the wise one bade.
Then again was the feast
prepared, as before, for
the courageous ones sitting
in the hall.

The helmet of night turned black,
dark over the warriors.
The men all arose.
The gray-haired one
would seek his bed,
the old Dane.

It pleased the Geat well,
the strong shield warrior,
that he should have rest.
A hall warrior guided
the man who was far from home,
tending to every courtesy, every
need of the warrior. Such
in those days could
a sea-fairer expect.
The great-hearted one then rested.
The hall reached high,
vaulted and adorned in gold.
The guest rested within
until the black raven
told heaven's joy
with a happy heart.
Then came the bright light,
hastening over the shadow.

The warriors hurried,
eager to go back
to their people.
The bold of spirit sought his ship.

end of episode eight

* *

In episode nine a dragon gets angry.

The adventures of Beowulf, Episode 9
--Beowulf Becomes King / The Dragon Attacks--

Later it happened,
after Hygelac fell
in the storm of war,
and his son, Heardred,
fell too under his shield,
killed by the sword
fighting the Swedes,
that the broad kingdom
came into Beowulf's hand.

He held it well, ruled
fifty winters; he was
an old land guardian.
Then in the dark nights
a dragon began to rule,
he who guarded a hoard,
a steep stone burial mound
high on the heath.

A path led underneath
unknown to men.
But a certain man
stumbled on it,
into the heathen hoard,
and took a cup,
a large, decorated treasure.
The dragon did not hide
his opinion of that deed;
the neighboring people
quickly learned his anger.

But the thief did not
of his own accord
plunder the treasure:
he was driven by need,
a fugitive from justice.
Fleeing hostile blows
and in need of a roof,
he stumbled in,
a man distressed.
He was amazed at what
he saw--a precious
hoard, cups and weapons.
There were many such
ancient treasures in
that earth house, for
in the old days a man
had hidden the riches
of a noble, dying tribe there.
He was the last; death
had taken the rest.

That lone survivor, knowing
death was near, mourning
his lost friends, kept
those treasures all alone.
The cave stood near the sea,
protected by secret spells.
He bore the treasures inside,
a huge and worthy hoard
of worked gold. He said,
"Hold you now, Earth, what
warriors could not. Lo,
from you first it was taken.
War-Death has seized my people;
none of them can bear a sword,
hold an ornamented cup. They
have gone elsewhere. Now shall
the hard helmet and its golden
ornaments fall. Their owners
sleep in death, those who
once wore the war-mask. So
it is with the coat of mail,
which stood amid crashing shields,
held off the bite of iron:
it lies, falling to pieces,
like the warrior who owned it.
Never again will that armor
travel far on a war chief
by the side of heroes.
There is no joy in the song,
no pleasure in the harp.
No hawk sweeps over the hall.
No horse gallops in the courtyard.
Death has sent off many men."

Thus, sad in mind,
he moaned his sorrow;
the lonely survivor moved
day and night in sadness
until the flood of death
surged into his heart.

The Dragon Attacks

An old night-ravager,
that one which, burning,
seeks a burial mound,
the smooth dragon of malice
who flies by night
encompassed in fire,
found the hoard
standing open.

Earth dwellers fear him much.
He must seek a hoard
in the earth, where,
old in winters, he
will guard heathen
gold, though he gains
nothing from it.

So that foe of the people,
exceedingly powerful,
guarded the cave
three hundred winters
until a man
angered his heart,
took a cup
to his master
asking for peace.
Peace was granted:
the lord examined
the cup, the ancient
work of men.
So was the hoard robbed,
ransacked of a treasure.

The dragon awoke,
and strife came: it
sniffed along the stones,
found an intruder's footprints.
The thief had stepped
with insidious craft
near the dragon's head.
(Thus may an undoomed man
survive danger
if the Almighty
holds him in favor.)

The hoard-keeper sought
eagerly along the ground,
looked for the man
who had robbed him
while he slept.
Hot and fierce he moved
about the cave. He
went completely around
the wasted place but
no man was there.
Eager for battle, he
turned and turned again
searching the cave,
but the golden cup was gone.

Anxiously he awaited
the fall of night;
enraged, the cave-keeper
would with fire avenge
the loss of his cup.
When the day was gone,
as the dragon wanted,
he no longer waited,
but went in flame,
prepared with fire.

The beginning was fearful
to people in the land,
as was the ending:
death for their king.
The fiend spouted fire,
burned bright houses--
the glow of fire stood out,
a horror to the people.
That terrible sky-flier
wished to leave
nothing alive.

Near and far was seen
the dragon's violence,
how that destroyer
hated and humbled the Geat
people. The people of the land
were enveloped in fire.
At dawn he darted
back into his cave.
He trusted in his war
and in his cavern.

But trust was to play him false.
Beowulf learned the terror
quickly, in truth:
the surging fires
burned his house,
the mead hall of the Geats.
That was sorrow
to the good man,
the greatest of sorrows:
the wise king feared
he'd enraged God,
broken a commandment.
His heart surged
with gloomy thoughts,
which was not
his usual way.
The flame-dragon had burned
the fortress of the people.
The war-king studied revenge.

End of episode nine

* *

In episode ten Beowulf suits up for another fight.

The adventures of Beowulf, Episode 10
--We Learn of Beowulf's Reign and he Prepares to Attack the Dragon--

That prince ordered
an iron shield:
he knew for a fact
that the best wood,
the very best linden,
couldn't help
against flame.

The good prince awaited
the last of his days,
the end of this world's life,
and the dragon with him,
no matter how long
he'd held the treasure.

Beowulf scorned a host,
a large army,
when he sought the dragon;
he didn't fear
the dragon's war;
he trusted his strength
and courage since he had
survived many battles,
the flashings of battle gleams,
since the time he'd cleared
Hrothgar's wine-hall
of Grendel's family,
that hateful race.

Nor was it a small battle
when the Geat king,
that lord of the folk,
Hygelac, attacked Fresland
and died there
of sword drinks,
beaten down by weapons.
Yet from that place Beowulf
came, down to the sea,
with thirty suits of battle
in his arms, and in his strength
was able to swim.

The Hetware had no cause
for joy among their soldiers--
few of those
who carried shields
left that battle
to seek their homes.
Beowulf swam the wide water,
wretched, solitary,
back to his people.
There Hygd, Hygelac's wife,
offered him treasure
and the kingdom,
rings and the throne,
because she did not
trust her son to keep them
from foreign armies.

But Beowulf would not
for any reason be
lord over his king's son,
so he protected the boy,
gave him good council
till Heardred became a man.
Banished men sought
Heardred over the sea,
sons of Othere,
king of the Swedes;
they had rebelled
against their lord,
the best of sea-kings.

That was Heardred's death-sentence,
the son of Hygelac:
for entertaining those men
he died of sword strokes.
Then Ongentheow's son
left for home, and Beowulf
held the gift seat,
ruled over the Geats.
He was a good king.
He avenged Heardred's death
in later days,
became to the wretched Eadgils
a friend, supported
that son of Ohthere
over the wide sea
with men and weapons.
On a cold expedition he
deprived king Onela of life.
Thus had that son of Ecgtheow
survived each battle, terrible
war, much courage-work,
until the day when
he fought the dragon.

Beowulf Visits the Dragon

Twelve enraged men
paid the dragon a visit.
The king had by then
learned how the feud arose,
this affliction of men:
to his possession had come,
through the hand of an informer,
the precious cup.
The thief, the cause of this
strife, made thirteen, a saddened
captive, abjectly showing the way.
He went against his will
to that earth-hall,
the one he'd found
near the surging sea,
by the tossing water.

The inside was full
of works of art.
The awful keeper,
alert fighter,
held those gold treasures,
old under the earth;
no man would buy them cheap.

The brave king,
gold-friend of the Geats,
sat down on the headland
and talked with his companions.
He was sad, restless,
and ready to die.
That fate was near
which the old man
would greet.
He would seek his reward,
life from body parted;
not for long
would the soul of the prince
stay wrapped in flesh.

Beowulf spoke:
"Often in youth
I survived
the storm of battle,
the time of war.
I remember all that.
I was seven winters old
when my father took me
to the king of the people.
Hrethal gave me treasure
and feasting, remembering kinship.
I wasn't more hateful
to him than any son
in his house--
than one of his children--
Herebeald, Haethcyn, or my Hygelac.
The eldest was,
by a kinsman's deed,
strewn on the bed of death--
Haethcyn struck his lord
and brother with the arrow
from a bow: missed the mark
and killed his kinsman
with a bloody arrow.
That was a feud that
couldn't be fought.
Weary it is to the heart:
That prince lost his life
. . .unavenged.
That felt just as it does
for an old man to await
the swinging of his son
on the gallows.
He sings a mournful song
when his son hangs
a feast to ravens
and, though old and wise,
he cannot help.
Every morning calls to mind
the journey of his son
to elsewhere--the father
cares not to wait
for the other heirs
when he has, through
an unavoidable death,
experienced an evil.
Sorrow is in the home,
the wine-hall abandoned,
bereft of joy.
The riders sleep,
warriors in the grave;
there is no harp song,
no joy in the court.
Not as there once was.
Comes then from the bedstead
a song of sorrow.
The house and fields
seem too large."

So Beowulf spoke
of his sorrow
for Herebeald.
He could not
for that murder
seek revenge,
though the doer
was not dear to him.

"When that sorrow befell Hrethal
he gave up the joys of men
and chose God's light.
He left to his offspring
a land and a people.
Then were accusations
across the water,
severe hostility
from the war-like sons
of Ongentheow. They would
have nothing of friendship,
but around Hreosnaburg
planned a terrible slaughter.
My kinsmen avenged that,
the feud and crime,
as is well known,
though one paid with his life,
a hard bargain:
for Haethcyn the battle was fatal.
And I've heard tell
how another kinsman
attacked his slayer
with sword's edge;
When Ongentheow sought Eofor
he found his helmet split,
fell down, battle pale.
I repaid Hygelac
for the favors he'd shown,
lands and a house,
with my bright sword.
(He needn't look
for a worse man).
I went alone in the front,
and will so ever,
as long as this sword lasts
which has served me so well.
I was the killer of Daghrefin,
the Huga champion.
He brought no treasures
back from the battle
to the Frisian king
but died in the fight,
that banner guardian,
a prince in bravery.
Nor was my sword his death,
but my hand grasp
broke his bone-house,
tore out his surging heart.
Now shall the sword's edge,
hands and hard sword,
fight over this hoard."

Then Beowulf made his last boast:
"I ventured many battles
in my youth; now, old,
I will seek another,
try again for glorious
deeds, if that avenger
will come out."

He spoke to each
of his brave companions
for the last time:
"I would not use a sword
against this monster
if I might otherwise fight,
as I did with Grendel.
But how else fight fire?
a breath of poison?
Therefore I wear shield and mail.
I will not back
a step away
from that hoard-guardian.
We two shall end
as fate decrees.
I am brave in mind,
so I go against the war-flyer
in no need
of further boasting.
You men wait on the hill,
protect the war-gear
and see which will,
after the death rush,
come away unwounded.
This is not your duty,
nor in the power of man.
No one but myself
can fight this monster.
Your lord shall either
win the treasure
or lose his life."

The brave in battle arose then,
bore his shield and mail,
trusting his strength
under the stone cliffs.
(This is not the coward's way).

end of episode ten

* *

In episode eleven Beowulf shows what he's made of.

The adventures of Beowulf, Episode 11
--Beowulf Fights the Dragon--

He saw by the cave,
he who had many virtues,
he who had survived many times
the battle flashes
when troops rush together,
a stream running
from the stone arch--
a stream of fire.

He could not enter
for the dragon's flame.
Beowulf was angry,
the lord of the Geats,
he who stormed in battle.
He yelled into the cave.

The hoard-keeper perceived
a man's voice and
didn't plan to ask
for friendship.
Flames shot out
from among the stones,
hot battle-sweat.
The ground dinned.

The hero raised his shield
against the dreadful stranger.
Then the coiled thing
sought battle.
The war king drew his sword,
an ancient heirloom
with edges unblunt.
Each of them intended
horror to the other.

Stouthearted stood that war-prince
with his shield upraised,
waited in his war-gear.
The dragon coiled together,
went forth burning,
gliding toward his fate.

His shield protected
life and body
for a shorter time
than the prince had hoped.
That was the first day
he was not granted
glory in battle.
The lord of the Geats
raised his arm,
struck the horrible thing
with his ancestral sword,
but the edge gave way:
that bright sword
bit less on the bone
than the war-king needed.

After that stroke
the cave-guardian
was in a savage mood.
He threw death-fire--
widely sprayed
battle flashes.
The gold-friend of the Geats
wasn't boasting of victory.
His war-sword had failed,
not bitten home
as it should have,
that iron which had
always been trustworthy.
This wasn't a pleasant trip:
that famous king, Beowulf,
would have to leave this earth,
would have, against his will,
to move elsewhere.
(So must every man
give up
these transitory days.)

It wasn't long before
the terrible ones
met again--
The hoard-keeper took heart,
heaved his fire anew.
He who once ruled a nation
was encircled by fire;
no troop of friends,
strong princes,
stood around him:
they ran to the woods
to save their lives.

Yet in one of them
welled a sorrowful heart.
That true-minded one
didn't forget kinship.
Wiglaf he was called,
the son of Woehstan,
a beloved shield-warrior,
a lord of the Scylfings,
a kinsman of Aelthere.
He saw his lord
suffering from heat
under his helmet.
He remembered the gifts,
a rich home among
the Waegmundings,
the rich inheritance,
that his father had had.

Wiglaf could not refrain,
but grabbed his shield,
drew his ancient sword
that among men was known
as the heirloom of Eanmund,
the son of Othere.
(Eanmund, after a quarrel,
was killed by Weohstan
with the sword's edge.
Weohstan became
a friendless exile.
To Eanmund's own kinsmen
he bore the burnished helmet,
the ring-locked mail,
the old sword made by giants.
Onela had given Eanmund that,
the war-equipment,
and did not mention
the feud, though his
brother's child was killed.
Weohstan held the treasure
many years,
the sword and mail,
until his son could
do heroic deeds
as his father had done.
He gave the war-dress to Wiglaf
and a great many treasures,
then departed this earth
old on his journey.
But this was the first time
the young champion
had gone into the war-storm.)

His spirit did not fail,
nor his heirloom: that
the dragon discovered
when they met in battle.

Wiglaf spoke words about duty,
said in sorrow to his companions:
"I remember the times
we drank mead and how
we promised our lord
there in the beer-hall,
he who gave us gifts,
that we would repay
all his largess,
the helmets and hard swords,
if the need
should ever befall.
He chose his best men
for this expedition,
gave us honor and
these treasures because
he considered us best
among spear fighters,
though he proposed to
do the job alone because
he had performed the most
famous deeds among men.
Now has the day come
that our lord
is in need of fighters,
of good warriors.
Let us go to him,
help the war-chief
in this fire-horror.
God knows, to me,
my lord means more
than my skin.
With him I will
embrace the fire.
It isn't proper
that we bare shields
back to our homes
before we can
defend our lord
and kill the enemy.
He doesn't deserve
to suffer alone.
We two shall share
the sword and helmet,
the mail and war-garment."

Then Wiglaf advanced
through the death-fumes,
wore his helmet
to help his lord.

He spoke these words:
"Dear Beowulf, may you
accomplish all well,
as you did in youth,
as I have heard tell.
Don't surrender the glory
of your life. Defend now,
with all your strength,
your brave deeds.
I will help."

After these words
the dragon angrily came;
the terrible spirit
another time attacked
with surging fire.
Fire waves burned
Wiglaf's shield
down to the handle,
his mail could not
protect the young
spear-warrior.
He ducked behind
his kinsman's shield.

Then the war-king
remembered past deeds,
struck mightily with his sword
so that it stuck
in the dragon's head;
Naegling, the great sword of Beowulf,
ancient and shining,
broke, failed in battle.
Fate had not granted that
the iron sword would help.

(I've heard that Beowulf's
swing was too strong
for any sword,
overstrained any blade,
anytime he carried
a blood-hardened sword
into battle.)

Then the terrible dragon
a third time rushed,
hot and battle-grim.
He bit Beowulf's neck
with sharp tusks--Beowulf
was wet with life's blood;
blood gushed in waves.

Then, I've heard,
Wiglaf showed courage,
craft and bravery,
as was his nature--he went
not for the thought-seat,
but struck a little lower,
helped his kinsman
though his hand was burned.
The sword, shining
and ornamented,
drove in so that
the fire abated.

Then the king controlled
his senses, drew his
battle knife, bitter
and battle sharp, which
he carried on his mail,
and cut the dragon
through the middle.
The enemy fell--strength
had driven out life;
the two kinsmen, together,
had cut down the enemy.
So should a warrior do.

That was Beowulf's last victory;
his last work in this world.

end of episode eleven

* *

In episode twelve Beowulf meets his maker.

The adventures of Beowulf, Episode 12
-- The Death of Beowulf--

The wound began
to swell and burn,
the venom seethed,
that poison inside.
The prince went
to sit by the wall,
the wise man sat down
to look at the work
of giants held within
the earth-house standing
on stone pillars.

Wiglaf bathed him,
his lord,
wearied in battle,
and unfastened his helmet.

Beowulf spoke,
despite his wounds.
(He knew well
he'd seen the last
of this world's joys,
that he'd numbered
his last day.)
"Now should I give my sons
my battle garments,
but fate did not grant
that I have sons.
I ruled the people
fifty winters.
Not one king among
the neighboring peoples
dared greet me
with a sword;
I feared no one.
I awaited my destiny well:
never did I plot a quarrel,
never did I swear
an unjust oath.
I take joy in this,
despite a mortal wound.
The Ruler of Mankind
will not charge
that I murdered a kinsman
when my life
departs this body.
Go quickly, Wiglaf,
examine the hoard
under the gray stone
now that the dragon lies
sleeping of a wound,
bereft of his treasure.
Be in haste
so that I may see
the ancient treasure,
may examine
the curious gems,
so that I may
more cheerfully give up
my life and country."

Wiglaf hurried
from his wounded lord,
obeyed the battle-sick one,
rushed in his mail
under the cave's roof.
There by a seat
the brave young man saw
many precious jewels,
shining gold on the ground,
and works of art
on the walls.
There in the dragon's den
Wiglaf saw the cups
of ancient men,
ornaments fallen.
There were helmets,
old and rusty,
and many arm-rings
twisted with skill.
(Treasure, gold in
the ground, may be easily
seized by any man,
hide it who will.)

Wiglaf saw a standard
all golden high
over the treasure,
the greatest of hand-wonders,
woven with the skill of hands.
From it a light shone,
lit all the ground
so he could look
over all the treasures.
Then, I have heard,
he rifled the hoard and
into his bosom loaded
the ancient work of giants--
goblets and dishes,
whatever he chose,
even the golden standard.
The sword, the iron edge,
had carried off
the guardian who
for a long while
carried surging fire
in the middle of the sky.

Wiglaf was in haste,
eager to return
with these great treasures;
he feared the great spirit
might be dead
in the place where he lay.
With the treasure
in his hands
he found his lord
bloody and weak.
He bathed Beowulf
until he could speak,
until words broke
from his breast-hoard.

The king, aged in sorrow,
beheld the gold and spoke:
"I thank the Wonder-King,
the Ruler of All,
that I could win this
for my people
before my death-day.
I have traded
my old life for
the people's needs.
I cannot remain.
Bid my warriors
raise a splendid mound
on the shore-cliffs
after my funeral fire
that a remembrance shall
tower high on Hronesness.
Sea-farers shall afterward
call it Beowulf's Mound
when they pilot ships
far over the ocean's mists."

He unfastened from his neck,
his golden necklace, gave it
to the brave young warrior,
and a gold-trimmed helmet,
a ring, and mail.
He bid him use them well.
"You are the last
remnant of our kin,
of the Waegmundings.
Fate has swept
the rest away,
those courageous warriors.
I follow them."

Those were the aged king's
last words, thoughts from
the heart, before he tasted
the funeral-fire,
that hot, hostile flame.
His heart departed, his soul,
to seek glory.

Wiglaf Speaks to the Cowards

The young man looked
on his beloved lord,
wretchedly killed,
lying on the ground.
His killer, the terrible
cave-dragon, also lay
bereft of life, overwhelmed
in destruction.
The dragon no longer
coiled round the hoard,
but was taken by iron,
hacked in battle
by the hammer's creation.
He had fallen
on the ground
near his treasure house.
No longer would he circle
at midnight
proud in his flames;
he had fallen
before the prince's
hand-work.

As far as I have heard
no man ever prospered
rushing against that enemy;
no man ever prospered
who found that dragon awake.
Beowulf bought the treasures
with his life.
Both of them found
the end of this life.

Soon the cowards,
the ten warriors,
returned from the woods,
those who did not dare
fight with spears
when their lord
needed help.
They carried their shields,
wore their mail,
in shame
to where Wiglaf sat,
near his lord's shoulder
trying to wake him
with water.
He did not succeed--
he could not,
though he much wished it,
hold his chief in life.
He could not change
the will of God.

The young man
gave a grim welcome
to those who had
lost courage. Wiglaf spoke,
glaring at the hated ones:
"Lo, this will he say
who wishes to speak the truth:
that lord of men
gave you treasures,
the war-equipment
you stand in.
At the ale-bench
he often gave you. . .
hall-sitters. . .
helmets and armor,
the most splendid
he could find,
far or near.
He completely
wasted that armor.
When war came
he couldn't boast
of warriors.
Still, God granted
victory to him
that he alone avenged
himself with sword
when he needed help.
I could do little in battle,
though I undertook it.
It was beyond my measure.
But I struck the foe
and fire gushed less
strongly from his head.
There were too few men
around the prince
when he faced
his time of need.
Now shall the treasure,
the sword gifts
and delightful homes
given to your people,
cease. You will lose
your land rights
when men far and wide
hear of your flight,
your shameful doings.
Death is better
to any man
than a life of disgrace."

He commanded then
that the battle-deeds
be announced
to those in town,
up over the cliff-side
where the other warriors
the whole morning
had waited,
sad in heart,
for their lord's return
or news of his death.

The Messenger Tells of Beowulf's Death and of the Feud Which Will Now Be Renewed

The messenger was not silent
but said truly
to all who heard:
"Now is the joy-giver
of the Geat people
still on his death-bed,
his slaughter-couch,
through the deeds
of the dragon.
Beside him lies
his life-enemy, sick
from a dagger wound.
His sword could not
in any way
wound the monster.
Wiglaf, son of Weohstan,
sits by Beowulf, one
warrior by another,
in the death-watch.
Now may the people
expect a time of war
when the Franks and Frisians
learn of our king's fall.
A hard quarrel was made
with the Hugas
when Hygelac went
traveling in ships
to the land of the Frisians,
attacked the Hetware.
With a larger army they
brought down that warrior;
he fell among his troops.
He gave no gifts
to his warriors.
Since then the Mereovingians
have given us no kindness.
Nor do I expect
kindness from the Swedes--
it is widely known
that Haethcyn, son of Hrethel,
wounded Ongentheow
near Ravenswood
when the Geats
arrogantly sought
war against the Swedes.
Quickly Ongentheow,
old and terrible,
gave a counterblow,
cut down Haethcyn
and rescued his wife,
that aged woman,
bereft of her gold,
the mother of Onela and Ohthere.
Ongentheow pursued
his enemies--
lordless they escaped
into Ravenswood,
and those survivors,
weary with wounds,
were besieged
by a huge army.
Often through the night
that wretched band
heard threats,
how in the morning
he would,
with the sword,
cut them open,
or hang them from trees,
a sport for birds.
Help came to them
with the early dawn
when Hygelac
sounded his trumpet,
came up the road
with picked warriors.
The bloody tracks were widely
seen, the bloody feud
between Geats and Swedes.
Ongentheow was forced
to seek higher ground,
the old man
with his kinsmen--
he quickly learned
of Hygelac's war,
did not believe
he could not withstand
the war of the sailors.
The old man retreated
with his children and wife
behind an earth-wall.
Hygelac attacked the refuge,
overran the enclosure.
There was Ongentheow,
gray-haired, brought to bay
with the edges of swords.
He was forced to submit
to the judgement of Eofor.
Wulf hit him angrily,
struck him with sword
so that blood sprang
out of his veins,
out under his hair.
But that old man
was not daunted--
he quickly repaid
that blow with a harder,
nor could Wulf
return the blow,
for Ongentheow had
sheared his helmet
so that Wulf bowed
to the earth,
covered with blood.
(He was hurt, though not yet doomed.)
As his brother lay,
Eofor, with his broad sword,
an ancient sword
made by giants,
broke Ongentheow's helmet.
That king, shepherd of his people,
bowed, mortally wounded.
Wulf was bound up. They
controlled the slaughter-place.
One warrior plundered another.
They took from Ongentheow
his iron mail,
his hard sword,
and his helmet also.
They carried
the old man's armor
to Hygelac.
He received these weapons
and promised treasures
to his people,
which he fulfilled,
paying Wulf and Eofor
for the storm of battle--
gave them both
land and treasures.
Nor should any man
throughout this world
reproach those gifts--
they were earned in war.
And to Eofor
Hygelac gave
his only daughter
as a pledge
of friendship.
That is the feud,
the deadly hostility
for which I expect
the Swedes will attack
when they learn our lord
who long protected
over hoard and kingdom,
is dead.
That most valiant of warriors
will no longer look after
the needs of our people,
will do no more
heroic deeds.
Now should we hurry
to see our king
and bring him back
to a funeral pyre.
Not a little will melt
with that bold man,
but a huge treasure,
countless wealth,
bought with grimness
by that brave man.
All that the flames will eat,
the fire embrace;
no warrior will carry
any of it as a token,
no beautiful woman
will wear a neck-ring,
but, bereft of gold
they shall walk
in a foreign country
now that our lord has forgotten
laughter and joy.
Now shall the spear be
raised, clasped in hands,
many a cold morning;
now no sound of harp
shall wake the warrior,
but the voice
of the dark raven,
eager over the doomed,
speaking to the eagle
of how the meals are,
how he rifles corpses
beside the wolf."
Thus the valiant warrior
spoke grievous words.
And he was not much wrong.

The Funeral

The sad troops rose,
went in tears
below Earnaness
to view the wonder.
Lifeless on the sand,
held in his rest-bed,
was the man who had
given them treasures.
That was the last day
of the prince of the Geats;
he died a wondrous death.

There too on the ground
was the strange thing,
the hateful dead dragon,
the fire-thrower,
in his horrible colors,
scorched by flames.
He measured fifty feet,
he who had
joyed in the sky,
flown at night,
then hidden in his lair.
But he'd made his last
use of caverns--
death held him fast.

Beside him lay
cups and pitchers,
dishes and swords
eaten through with rust
as if the earth had embraced
them a thousand winters.
That was a hoard
of great power,
that gold
ancient men
had encircled with a spell
so that no man
could touch it,
unless God himself,
the great Truth-King,
gave leave
to whichever man
seemed fit to Him.
But it was plain
that nothing had gone well
for him who had,
unrightly, hidden those
works of art
under that roof.

It's a mystery where
a good man goes
when he reaches his end,
when he can no longer
live in the houses of men.
So it was with Beowulf
after he'd sought
the keeper of the cave.
He himself couldn't know
how he would leave the world.
The famous kings who had cursed
that treasure deeply
damned him who plundered it
into eternal heathen shrines,
the solid bond of Hell.
But Beowulf did not
look on it in greed.

Wiglaf spoke, Weohstan's son:
"Often must a warrior
suffer for another's mistake,
as has happened here.
Nor could we convince
our beloved prince
that he should not attack
that gold-keeper
but let him lie
alone in his cave
until the world's end.
He grasped
his high fate--
the hoard is open,
grimly bought.
That fate
was too cruel
to which our king
was impelled.
I went inside,
saw all the treasure,
the precious things;
I didn't enter
in a friendly way.
I hastily grasped
many things in my hands,
carried out many
of the hoarded treasures
to my lord.
He was alive still,
sound in mind;
that aged man
sorrowfully said
many things:
He wanted you to build
on the site of his pyre
a high mound,
great and glorious,
since he was
among warriors
the most magnificent,
famous throughout the world.
We should now hasten
to see the curious gems,
the wonders under the earth.
I will show you the way.
Make the pyre ready
so that we may bring our lord
to the place
he will abide
in the keeping
of the All-Powerful."

Wiglaf ordered
the brave warriors
to carry wood
from far and wide
to the funeral pyre
for the great leader
of the people.

"Now shall fire eat,
the flourishing dark flames,
the ruler of warriors,
he who often braved
the rain of iron,
the storming of arrows
hard from bows,
the sturdy shaft
swift on feathered wings."

Wiglaf called seven warriors,
the very best,
and made the eighth himself,
to go under
that evil roof.
One carried a torch.
No man needed forcing
when he saw that great treasure
rusting without guardian.
None mourned
carrying that off,
and they shoved the dragon
over the cliff--
the waves embraced
that treasure guardian.

Then the twisted gold,
treasure uncountable,
was lain in a wagon;
they carried the gray warrior
to Hronesness.
For him then
they prepared
a huge funeral pyre
on the earth,
hung with helmets,
war-shields,
and bright coats of mail,
as Beowulf had asked.

There they laid
the famous prince
and lamented
that beloved lord.
Warriors then built
the greatest of fires.
Wood-smoke ascended,
dark black over the flames.
That roar wrapped around
sorrowful weeping.
The wind stood still.
Then his bone-house broke,
the heart burned.

Beowulf's queen uttered
a mournful song, spoke
her heart's care with her hair
bound tight. She told earnestly
how she feared evil days,
a great slaughter of warriors,
humiliation and captivity.
Heaven swallowed the smoke.

The Geats built a mound then,
in ten days, high and broad
on the hill, a beacon
for the warrior
widely seen by sailors.
They surrounded the ashes
by a wall, as splendid
as the cleverest
men could make.
In the mound they placed
rings and bracelets
and all such things as
they'd found in the hoard.
They left that treasure
in the hands of the earth,
as it lies still,
as useless to men
as it had been before.

Then twelve warriors
rode round the grave
speaking their sorrow,
reciting praises
for their lord's
courageous deeds.
(A warrior should do so
when his lord dies.)

Thus the Geats
mourned their great lord,
saying he was,
among this world's kings,
the mildest, the gentlest,
the kindest to his people,
and the most eager
for eternal fame.

* * * *