Beowulf - Chapter 07

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:02):
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit
LibriVox dot org. Beowulf translated by Francis Barton gmir Section seven.

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That way he went, with no will of his own,
in danger of life, to the dragon's hoard, But for
pressure of peril some prince's thane, he fled in fear
the fatal scourge, seeking shelter, a sinful man, and entered in.

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At the awful sight tottered that guest, and terror seized him.
Yet the wretched fugitive rallied Anon from fright and fear.
Ere he fled away and took the cup from that
treasure hoard of such besides, there was story enough heirlooms

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old the earth below which some earl forgotten in ancient years.
Left the last of his lofty race heedfully there had
hidden away dearest treasure, for death of yore had hurried
all hence, and he alone left to live the last

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of the clan. Weeping his friends, yet wished to bide,
warding the treasure his one delight, though brief his respite.
The barrow new, ready to strand and sea waves stood
anear hard by the headland, hidden and closed. There laid

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within it his lordly heirlooms, and heap'd hoard of heavy gold,
that warden of rings. Few words he spake, Now hold
thou earth, since heroes may not what earls have own'd
lo erst from thee brave men brought it. But battle,

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death seiz'd and cruel killing my clansmen all robb'd them
of life and a liegeman's joys. None have I left
to lift the sword, or to cleanse the carven cup
of price beaker bright my brave are gone, and the

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helmet hard, all haughty with gold shall part from its plating.
Polishers sleep, who could brighten and burnish the battle mask,
and those weeds of war that were wont to brave
over bicker of shields, the bite of steel rust with

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their bearer. The ringed mail fares not far with famous
chieftain at side of hero. No heart's delight, no glee,
wood's gladness. No good hawk now flies through the hall,
nor horses fleet stamp in the bergstead. Battle and death,

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the flower of my race have reft away, mournful of mood.
Thus he moan'd his woe alone for them all, and
unblithe wept by day and by night, till death's fell.
Wave o'erwhelm'd his heart, his horde of bliss, that old

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ill doer open found who blazing at twilight the barrow's
haunteth naked Foe dragon flying by night, folded in fire.
The folk of Earth dread him, sore 'tis his doom
to seek hoard in the graves and heathen gold, to

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watch many wintered nor wins. He thereby powerful this plague
of the people. Thus held the House of the Horde
in Earth three hundred winters till one aroused wrath in
his breast to the ruler, bearing that costly cup, and

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the king implored for bond of peace. So the barrel
was plundered, borne off was booty, his boon was granted.
That wretched man and his ruler saw first time what
was fashioned in far off days. When the dragon awoke,

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knew woe was kindled or the stone he snuffed, the
stark heart found footprint of Foe, who so far had
gone in his hidden craft by the creature's head. So
may the undoomed easily flee evils and exile, if only

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he gained the grace of the wielder, that warden of
gold o'er the ground went seeking, greedy to find the
man who wrought him such wrong. In sleep, savage and burning.
The barrow he circled all without nor was any there

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none in the waste. Yet war he desired, was eager
for battle. The barrow he entered, sought the cup, and
discovered soon that some one of the mortals had searched
his treasure, His lordly Gold. The guardian waited ill, enduring

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till evening came. Boiling with wrath was the barrel's keeper,
and fame with flame the foe to pay for the
dear cup's loss. Now day was fled as the worm
had wished by its wall. No more was it glad

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to bide, but burning flu folded in flame, a fearful
beginning for suns of the soil, And soon it came
in the doom of their lord, to a dreadful end.
Then the baleful fiend, its fire belched out, and bright

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homes burned. The blaze stood high all landsfolk, frighting. No
living thing would that loathly one leave as aloft it
flew wide was the dragon's warring scene, its fiendish fury,
far and near as the grim destroyer those Gaettish people

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hated and hounded to hidden lair, to its hoard. It
hastened at hint of dawn, folk of the land. It
had lapped in flame, with bale and brand in its barrow.
It trusted its battling and bulwarks. That boast was vain

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to Beowulf. Then the bale was told quickly and truly
the king's own home of buildings, the best in brand.
Waves melted the gift throne of gates to the good
old man, sad in heart twas heaviest sorrow. The sage

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assumed that his sovereign god he had angered, breaking ancient law,
and embittered the lord. His breast within with black thoughts
welled as his wont was never the folk's own fastness.
That fiery dragon with flame had destroy'd, and the stronghold

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all wash'd by waves. But the warlike king, Prince of
the Waiter's plotted vengeance warriors bulwark, he bade them work
all of iron, the Earl's commander a war shield wondrous
well he knew that forest would against fire were worthless.

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Lyndon could aid not atheling brave. He was faded to
finish this fleeting life, his days on earth, and the
dragon with him, Though long it had watched o'er the
wealth of the Horde. Shame he reckoned sharer of rings

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to follow the flier Afar with a host a broad
flung band. Nor the battle feared he, nor deemed he dreadful,
the dragon's warring, its vigor and valor ventures desperate, he
had passed a plenty and perils of war, contest crash.

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Since conqueror proud Rothgar's Hall, he had wholly purged, and
in grapple had killed the Ken of Grendel. Loathsome breed,
not least was that of hand to hand fights with
Hegelach fell when the ruler of Gates, in rush of battle,

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lord of his folk in the Frisian Land, son of
Rethel by sword drafts, died by brands down beaten. Thence
Belwulf fled through strength of himself and his swimming power,
though alone, and his arms were laden with thirty coats

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of mail when he came to the sea. Nor yet
might hetwaras haughtily boast their craft of contest, who carried
against him shields to the fight, but few escaped from
strife with the hero to their homes. Then swam over

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ocean Echthiao's sun, lonely and sorrowful, seeking his land, where
hygd made him offer of hoard and realm rings and
royal seat, reckoning not the strength of her son, and
to save their kingdom from hostile hordes after Hegelach's death.

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No sooner for this could the stricken ones in any
wise move that Atheling's mind over young Herdrid's head as
lord and ruler of all the realm to be. Yet
the hero upheld him with helpful words, aided in honor

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till older grown. He wielded the wetter gheats wandering exile
sought him oward the seas. The sons of Outre, who
had spurned the sway of the Skilfing's helmet, the bravest
and best that broke the rings in Swedish land of

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the sea King's line. Haughty hero, hence Herdrid's end for shelter,
he gave them sword. Death came the blades fell blow
to bairn of Hygalecht, but the son of Augenthial sought
again house and home when Herdred fell, leaving Beowulf, Lord

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of Gates and gift Seats master a good king. He
the fall of his lord, he was fain to requite
in after days and to Edgul's he proved friend to
the friendless, and forces sent over the sea to the

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son of Oterre, weapons and warriors well repaid. He those
care paths cold when the king he slew thus safe
through struggles. The son of Ecthial had passed a plenty
through peril's dire with daring deeds, till this day was

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come that doomed him. Now with the dragons to strive
with Comrade's eleven, the Lord of Gates, swollen in rage,
went seeking the dragon he had heard. Whence all the
harm arose, and the killing of clansmen, that cup of
price on the lap of the lord had been laid

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by the finder in the throng. Was this one thirteenth man,
starter of all the strife and ill, care laden, captive, cringing,
thence forced and reluctant, he led them on till he
came in ken of that cavern hall. The barrow delved

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near Billowy, Surge's flood of ocean within twas full of wire,
gold and jewels, A jealous warden warrior, trusty the treasures
held lurked in his lair, nor light the task of
entrance for any of the earth born men. Sat on

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the headland. The hero king spake words of hail to
his hearth companions, gold, friend of Gates, all gloomy, his
soul wavering, death bound, weird, full nigh ready stood to

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greet the gray haired man, to seize his soul, Horde,
sunder apart, life and body not long would be the
warrior's spirit in wound with flesh. Beowulf spake the barn
of Echthial, through store of struggles I strove in youth

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mighty few UDEs I mind them all. I was seven
years old when the Sovereign of Ring's, friend of his
folk from my father, took me, had me and held
me rethel the king with food and fee, faithful in
kinship ne'er while I lived there, he loathlier found me

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barn in the burg. Then his birthright sons Hairbelled and
Hasteth and Higelac mine for the eldest of these, by
unmeet chance, by kinsman's deed, was the death bed strewn
when Hyacinth killed him with horny bow. His own dear

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liege laid low with an arrow, missed the mark, and
his mate shot down, one brother the other with bloody shaft.
A felis fight, and of fearful sin, horror to rethel.
Yet hard as it was unavenged. Must the athelen die

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too awful? It is for an aged man to bide
and bear that his barn so young, rides on the
gallows a rhyme, he makes sorrow song for his son,
there hanging as rapture of ravens. No rescue now can

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come from the old disabled man. Still is he minded?
As his morning breaks of the air gone elsewhere? Another
he hopes not. He will bide to see his burg
within as ward for his wealth. Now the one has

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found doom of death that the deed incurred. Forlorn, he
looks on the lodge of his son, wine haul, waste,
and wind swept chambers reft of revel. The rider sleepeth,
the hero far hidden. No harp resounds in the courts,

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no wastle as once was heard. Then he goes to
his chamber, A grief song chants alone for his lost
two large all seems, homestead and house. So the helmet
of wedders hid in his heart for harrabuild waves of woe.

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No way could he take to avenge on the slayer
slaughter so foul nor e'en could he harass that hero
at all with loathing deed, though he lov'd him not.
And so for the sorrow his soul endur'd men's gladness
he gave up, and God's light chose lands and cities.

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He left his sons as the wealthy do. When he
went from earth, there was strife and struggle TwixT Swede
and Gait o'er the width of waters. War arose, hard,
battle horror. When Rethel died and Ongenthal's offspring grew strife

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keen bold nor brook'd o'er the seas pack'd of peace,
but push'd their boats to harass and hatred rosnabord. Men
of my folk, for that feud had vengeance for woeful
war tis widely known, though one of them bought it

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with blood of his own heart, a bargain hard for
Hetzen proved fatal. That fray for the first of gates
at Morn I heard was the murderer killed by kinsmen
for kinsman with clash of sword. When Ongenthao met eofor

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there wide split the war helm wan, he fell hoary skilfing.
The hand that smote him of feud was mindful, nor
flinch'd from the death blow. For all that he gave me,
my gleaming sword repaid him at war such power I

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wielded for lordly treasure with land he entrusted me homestead
and house. He had no need from Swedish realm, or
from spear Dane folk, or from the men of gifts
to get him help some warrior worse for wage to buy. Ever,

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I fought in the front of all soul to the fore,
and so shall I fight while I bide in life.
And this blade shall last. That early and late hath
loyal proved, Since for my daughtiness Dachfrin fell slain by
my hand. The Hugos champion nor fared. He thence to

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the Frisian king with the booty back and breast adornments,
but slain in struggle. That standard bearer fell Athleen brave.
Not with blade was he slain, but his bones were
broken by Brownie gripe. His heart waves stifled the So

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Lord Edge, now hard blade and my hand for the
hoard shall strive. Beowulf spake, and a battle vow made
his last of all. I have lived through many wars
in my youth. Now once again, old folk defender feud

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will I seek do doughty deeds. If the dark destroyer
forth from his cavern come to fight me, Then hailed
he the helmeted heroes, all for the last time, greeting
his leechmen, dear comrades of war. I should carry no

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weapon nor sword to the serpent, if sure I knew
how with such enemy. Else my vows I could gain
as I did in Grendel's day. But fire in this
fight I must fear me now and poisonous breath. So
I bring with me breastplate and board from the barrow's keeper,

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no foot breadth flee ie. One fight shall end our
war by the wall, as weird allots all mankind's master.
My mood is bold, but forbears to boast o'er this
battling flier. Now abide by the barrow, ye breast plate,

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mail'd ye heroes in harness, which of us twain better
from the battle rush bare his wounds? Wait? Ye the finish.
The fight is not yours, nor meet for any but
me alone. To measure might with this monster. Here and

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play the hero heartily, I shall win that wealth or
war shall seize cruel, killing your king and lord up stood.
Then with shield, the sturdy champion stayed by the strength
of his single manhood and hardy neath helmet. His harness

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bore under cleft of the cliffs. No cowards path soon
spied by the wall, that warrior, chief survivor of many
a victory field where foemen fought with furious clashings in
arch of stone, and within a stream that broke from

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the barrel. The brooklet's wave was hot with fire the
horde that way. He never could hope, unharmed, to near
or endure those deeps. For the dragon's flame then let
from his breast, for he burst with rage the waiter

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gate prince a word outgo stormed. The stark heart stern
went ringing and clear his cry neath the cliff rocks gray.
The hoard guard heard a human voice. His rage was enkindled.
No respite now for pact of peace. The poisoned breath

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of that foul worm first came forth from the cave
hot reek of fight. The rocks resounded. Stout by the
stone way his shield he raised Lord of the Gates
against the loathed one, while with courage keen that coil'd

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foe came seeking strife. The sturdy king had drawn his sword,
not dulovitch heirloom old, and each of the two felt
fear of his foe, though fierce their mood. Stoutly stood
with his shield high, raised the warrior king as the

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worm now coil'd together a main. The mailed one waited,
now spire by spire, fast sped and glided that blazing serpent.
The shield protected soul and body a shorter while for

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the hero king, then his heart desired, could his will
have wielded the welcome respite but once in his life,
But Weird denied it, and victory's honors his arm he
lifted Lord of the Gates. The grim foes smote with

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Athleen's heirloom. Its edge was turned brown, blade on the bone,
and bit more feebly than its noble master had need of.
Then in his baleful stress, then the barrow's keeper waxed
full wild. For that weighty blow cast deadly flames wide,

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drove in far those vicious fires, no victor's glory. The
Gates lord boasted his brand had failed, naked in battle,
as never it should excellent iron. Twas no easy path
that Echthiau's honored air must tread o'er the plane to

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the place of the foe. For against his will he
must win a home elsewhere, far as must all men,
leaving this lapsing life. Not long it was ere those
champions grimly closed again. The hoard guard was heartened high

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heaved his breast once more, and by peril was pressed again,
enfolded in flames, the folk commander nor yet about him.
His bands of comrades, son of Ethlings, armed, stood with
warlike front to the woods. They bent them their lives

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to save. But the soul of one with care was cumbered.
Kinship true can never be marred in a noble mind. Wigliffe,
his name was Welston's son, lynden Thane, loved the lord
of Skilphings Alpher's kinsmen his king. He now saw with

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heat under helmet, hard oppressed, he minded the prizes his
prince had given him, wealthy seat of Wignemen's line, and
folk writes that his father owned not long he lingered
the linden yellow his shield. He seized the old sword

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he drew as heirloom of einmund Earth dwellers knew it
who was slain by the sword Edge son of Otaire Friendless,
exiled erst in Fray, killed by Wolston, who won for
his ken brown, bright helmet, breastplate, ringed old sword of

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Yotun's Onola's gift, weeds of war, of the warrior's thane,
battle gear brave. Though a brother's child had been felled,
the feud was unfelt by Onelah For winters this war gear,
Wailston kept breastplate and board till his barn had groaned

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earlship to earn as the old Sire did. Then he
gave him mid gates the gear of battle portion huge.
When he passed from life, fared aged forth for the
first time, now with his leader Lord the Liegeman Young

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was bidden to share. The shock of battle neither softened
his soul nor the Sire's bequest weakened in war. So
the worm found out when once in fight the foes
had met, Wiglift spake and his words were sage, sad

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in spirit. He said to his comrades, I rem remember
the time when need we took, what promise we made
to this Prince of ours in the banquet hall, to
our breaker of rings for gear of combat, to him
give requital for hard sword and helmet, if hap should

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bring stress of this sort. Himself, who chose us from
all his army to aid him, now urged us to glory,
and gave these treasures because he counted us keen with
the spear and hearty neath helm. Though this hero work
our leader hoped unhelped and alone to finish for us

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folk defender, who hath got him glory greater than all
men for daring deeds. Now the day is come that
our noble master has need of the might of warriors. Stout.
Let us stride along the hero to help, while the

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heat is about him, glowing and grim. For God is
my witness, I am far more famed. The fire should
seize along with my lord these limbs of mine unsuiting,
it seems our shields to bear homeward. Hence save here

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we essay to fell the foe and defend the life
of the Wedder's lord. I WoT twere shame on the
law of our land. If alone the king out of
Gaetish warriors. Woe endur'd and sank in the struggle. My

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sword and helmet, breast plate and board for us both
shall serve through slaughter. Reek strode he to succor his chieftain,
his battle helm bore and brief words spake balwolf, dearest,

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do all bravely as in youthful days of your thou
vouchst that while life should last, thou wouldst let know
wise thy glory droop. Now great indeeds athelen steadfast with
all thy strength, shield thy life, I will stand to

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help thee. At the words, the worm came once again,
murderous monster, mad with rage, with fire billows flaming its
foes to seek the hated men in heat waves burned
that board to the boss, and the breastplate failed to

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shelter at all. The spear thing young, yet quickly under
his kinsman shield went eager the earl, since his own
was now all burned by the blaze. The bold king
again had mind of his glory with might, his glave
was driven into the dragon's head, blow nerved by hate,

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but nagling was shivered broken in battle was Baleo's sword,
old and gray twas granted him, Not that ever the
edge of iron at all could help him at strife.
Too strong was his hand, so the tale was told,
and he tried too far with strength of stroke, all

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swords he wielded, though sturdy their steel, they steadied him.
Not then for the third time thought on its feud,
that folk to destroyer fire, dread dragon, and rushed on
the hero where room aloud battle, grim burning, its bitter

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teeth closed on his neck and covered him with waves
of blood from his breast that welled. End of section seven,
read by Dennis Sayers and Modesto California for LibriVox Fall,

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two thousand and six