their gold o’er Scandia’s isle. Hrothgar
spake — the hilt he viewed, heirloom old,
where was etched the rise of that far-off fight when
the floods o’erwhelmed, raging waves, the race
of giants (fearful their fate!), a folk estranged
from God Eternal: whence guerdon due in that
waste of waters the Wielder paid them. So on
the guard of shining gold in runic staves it was rightly
said for whom the serpent-traced sword was wrought,
best of blades, in bygone days, and the hilt well
wound.
— The wise-one spake, son of Healfdene;
silent were all: — “Lo, so
may he say who sooth and right follows ’mid
folk, of far times mindful, a land-warden old, {24a}
that this earl belongs to the better breed! So,
borne aloft, thy fame must fly, O friend my Beowulf,
far and wide o’er folksteads many. Firmly
thou shalt all maintain, mighty strength with mood
of wisdom. Love of mine will I assure thee,
as, awhile ago, I promised; thou shalt prove a stay
in future, in far-off years, to folk of thine, to
the heroes a help. Was not Heremod thus to offspring
of Ecgwela, Honor-Scyldings, nor grew for their grace,
but for grisly slaughter, for doom of death to the
Danishmen.
He slew, wrath-swollen, his shoulder-comrades, companions
at board! So he passed alone, chieftain haughty,
from human cheer. Though him the Maker with might
endowed, delights of power, and uplifted high above
all men, yet blood-fierce his mind, his breast-hoard,
grew, no bracelets gave he to Danes as was due; he
endured all joyless strain of struggle and stress
of woe, long feud with his folk. Here find thy
lesson! Of virtue advise thee! This verse
I have said for thee, wise from lapsed winters.
Wondrous seems how to sons of men Almighty God in
the strength of His spirit sendeth wisdom, estate,
high station: He swayeth all things. Whiles
He letteth right lustily fare the heart of the hero
of high-born race, — in seat ancestral
assigns him bliss, his folk’s sure fortress
in fee to hold, puts in his power great parts of the
earth, empire so ample, that end of it this wanter-of-wisdom
weeneth none. So he waxes in wealth, nowise can
harm him illness or age; no evil cares shadow his
spirit; no sword-hate threatens from ever an enemy:
all the world wends at his will, no worse he knoweth,
till all within him obstinate pride waxes and wakes
while the warden slumbers, the spirit’s sentry;
sleep is too fast which masters his might, and the
murderer nears, stealthily shooting the shafts from
his bow!
XXV
“Under harness his heart then is hit indeed
by sharpest shafts; and no shelter avails from foul
behest of the hellish fiend. {25a} Him seems too little
what long he possessed. Greedy and grim, no golden
rings he gives for his pride; the promised future
forgets he and spurns, with all God has sent him,
Wonder-Wielder, of wealth and fame. Yet in the
end it ever comes that the frame of the body fragile
yields, fated falls; and there follows another who
