Beowulf/Excerpt

Translation of lines 1700—1768.

Hrothgar addresses Beowulf: As realm-holder, speaking truth, doing right, and truly
 * Recalling the past, I may declare before all
 * That this my noble brother has spread his renown
 * Throughout the nations, steadily nurturing
 * The way of wisdom, my friend, my Beowulf.
 * I shall fulfil the promises my friendship has made.
 * And you, you are to be, to all your people
 * Strong consolation, a support to warriors.
 * Not so was Heremod to Ecgwela's sons,
 * Nor did his prospering aid his people,
 * But led to Danes' slaughter, deaths of his companions.
 * Raging he slew those sitting nearest,
 * Till leaving manly delights he died all alone,
 * Whom God had granted greatness of place,
 * Mightiness of strength, more than any man –
 * So it was brought about. But there grew in his breast
 * Moods that thirsted for blood, were backward in rewarding
 * The Danes for their deeds of glory, enduring joyless,
 * So that he suffered the toll of that struggle,
 * Personal, longdrawn ruin. You learn from this,
 * And develop generosity. Such my advice,
 * From my wisdom of many winters.
 * A marvel it is
 * To tell how the Almighty hands out wisdom
 * And large-mindedness and lands
 * To human kindreds, just as he may decide.
 * At whiles, out of love he lets a high-born lord
 * Rest happy in thought, happy in rule,
 * Grants him wide regions within his strong realm
 * So he fails to think about what fortune awaits.
 * That man lives in feasting, not enfeebled
 * By sickness or age; nor does harsh sorrow
 * Obscure his heart, nor does savagery
 * Reveal deadly hate; but the whole of the world
 * Becomes delightful, without any alloy.
 * And so within him a lofty spirit
 * Flourishes and grows, while the guardian dozes,
 * The soul's shepherd sleeps too soundly,
 * Protected from cares; then the close-living killer
 * Villainously bends his bow and shoots.
 * So the shaft's bitterness strikes beneath his defences.
 * The monstrous biddings from a demon of malice
 * Tell him his possessions are small, too small.
 * Fiercely he grasps, and has no pride in giving
 * Reward-rings of gold. Then he forgets
 * The rules of the world, that the Ruler had given him,
 * Apportioning honour. In the end it happens
 * That the body, as always fated, goes feebly to death.
 * Another inherits, uncaring, handing out heirlooms,
 * The ancient treasures, wholly unawed.
 * Keep yourself, my Beowulf, from this baleful course.
 * Pick the best choice, the path of the hero,
 * As ever has been counselled. Abandon arrogance.
 * Now, famed warrior, for a while you are strong;
 * But soon after, maybe, sword or a sickness,
 * Or the searing of fire, or the whelming sea,
 * Or the sword's dealings, or the spear's swiftness
 * Will separate you from your famed strength,
 * Or hateful old age will darken you eyes.
 * Suddenly it happens, that in an instant
 * Death overcomes you, you the hero.