Free Beowulf by Frederick Rebsamen Page B

there for fear of crossing
 
plunging his head in that hell-cursed water.
 
A surging of waves swirls to the clouds
 
when whistling winds come whirling in anger
 
to that sorrowful place—the sky hangs gloomy
 
and the heavens weep. Our hope for mercy
 
lies only in your help. The home of these fiends
 
dark moor-cavern monsters’ water-den
 
is not far from Heorot. Find it if you dare!
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I will reward you with weapons and gold
 
ancient treasure-gifts time-tested corselets
 
as I earlier did if you answer this plea.”
 
Beowulf spoke son of Ecgtheow:
 
“Do not grieve, old battle-king! It is better for all
 
to fight for our friends than fall into mourning.
 
Each one among us shall mark the end
 
of this worldly life. Let him who may
 
earn deeds of glory before death takes him—
 
after life-days honor-fame is best.
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Arise, good guardian let us go quickly
 
to find the moor-tracks of that murdering fiend.
 
I promise you firmly she will find no safety
 
in the earth’s caverns or the cold forest-mounds—
 
nowhere in this land will she live for long!
 
At this painful dawning have patience with sorrow
 
bear your death-grief in your deep-wounded heart.”
 
Up stood the king called to his God then
 
thanked him for the words that warrior had spoken.
 
Then for Hrothgar a horse was saddled
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curly-maned war-steed. The wise Dane-leader
 
went forth in splendor. Warriors advanced
 
marched from the hall. The monstrous tracks
 
were easy to follow on the narrow path
 
where that loveless creature loped through the trees
 
over wild moorland wandering streams
 
bearing that body the best counsel-thane
 
of all who with Hrothgar made Heorot their home.
 
The lord of the Danes led through wilderness
 
steep stone-passes solitary trails
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narrow-dark gorges unknown trackways
 
slippery rockbluffs secret demon-dens.
 
He rode before them following the signs
 
guided his warriors Geats with the Danes
 
till suddenly they found frosted tree-branches
 
stretching mournfully over sloping grayrock
 
joyless treelimbs over trembling water
 
dreary and wind-driven. Danes were silent
 
with sorrow in their hearts at the sight before them
 
when they circled the mere saw greeting them
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on the moldering bank of that bloodstained water
 
on the edge of that hell-sump Aeschere’s head.
 
The water-top heaved as they hovered around it
 
with hot gore-swells. Horn-notes sounded
 
a strong battle-song. They sat by the bank.
 
In that hell-murky mere many a snake-creature
 
curious water-worms cut through the gore—
 
on the hard bank-slopes black fiends were roiling
 
serpents and mere-sprites slid along the rock—
 
by cold morninglight they moved through the water
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slithering with greed. They scattered then in anger
 
bitter and blood-swelled as the bright horn-notes
 
signaled a challenge. The chief of the Geats
 
shot from a yew-bow a sharp arrowhead
 
struck to the life-core a loathsome mere-creature
 
ended its misery—it afterwards became
 
a lazier swimmer when its life departed.
 
With a barbed boar-spear it was brought to shore
 
hooked with steel-teeth hauled to the edge
 
rolled on the rockbank robbed of lifeblood—
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they gazed in wonder at that grisly swim-serpent
 
blackening with death.
 
                                   Then Beowulf prepared
 
called for his armor careless of his life.
 
Bright warrior-mail bonded by hands
 
linked armor-coat locked against swordswings
 
covered his breastcage enclosed his heart
 
that no fiendgrip might fix upon his life
 
grapple to his soul with grim hell-fingers.
 
A gleaming mask-helmet guarded his