Beowulf/Excerpt
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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.