Beowulf - Chapter 08

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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. Recorded by Kirsten Ferrari, Los Angeles, California,
August two thousand six. Beowulf, translated by Francis Barton Gumare

(00:25):
Section eight Twas now men say in his sovereign's need,
that the earl made known his noble strain, craft and
keenness and courage, enduring, heedless of harm. Though his hand
was burned, hardy hearted, he helped his kinsman a little
lower the loathsome beast he smote with his sword. His
steel drove in bright and burnished. That blaze began to

(00:47):
lose and lessen. At last the king wielded his wits
again war knife, drew a biting blade by his breastplate hanging,
and the wedder's helm smoke that warm asunder felled. The
foe flung for or its life, so had they killed it.
Kinsmen both athelings twain, Thus an earl should be in
danger's day of deeds of valor. This conqueror's hour of

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the king was last of his work in the world.
The wound began, which that dragon of Earth had erst
inflicted to swell and smart, and soon he found in
his breast was boiling, baleful and deep pain of poison.
The prince walked on wise in his thought to the
wall of rock, then sat and stared at the structure
of Giants, where arch of stone and steadfast column upheld

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forever that hall in earth. Yet here must the hand
of the henchman, peerless, lave with water his winsome lord,
the king and conqueror, covered with blood, with struggle spent
and unspan his helmet. Beowulf spake in spite of his hurt,
his mortal wound full well. He knew his portion now
was past and gone of earthly bliss, and all had

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fled of his file of days, and death was near.
I would fain be stow on, son of mine. This
gear of war were given me, now that any air
should after me come of my proper blood. This people
I ruled fifty winters. No folk king was there, none
at all of the neighboring clans who war would wage
me with warrior's friends and threaten me with horrors at home.

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I bided what fate might come, and I cared for
mine own feuds. I sought not, nor falsely swore ever
on oath for all these things. Though fatally wounded, fain
am I from the ruler of man. No wrath shall
seize me, when life from my frame must flee away
for killing of kinsmen. Now quickly go and gaze on
that hoard beneath the hoary rock wiglff loved. Now the

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worm lies low, sleeps, heart sore of his spoil, bereaved
and fair in haste, I would fain behold the gorgeous
heirloom's golden store, have joy in the jewels and gems,
lay down softlier for sight of this splendid hoard. My
life and lordship I long have held. I have heard
that swiftly the son of Wherston at wish and word

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of his wounded king, war sick warrior, woven mail coat,
battle sark boorneath the barrow's roof. Then the clansmen, keen
of conquest, proud, passing the seat, saw a store of
jewels and glistening gold. The ground. Along by the wall
were marvels and many a vessel in the den of
the dragon. The dawn flier old unburnished bowls of bygone men,

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reft of richness, rusty helms of the olden age, and
arm rings many wondrously woven. Such wealth of gold booty
from barrow can burden with pride each human white. Let
him hide it, who will? His glance too, fell on
a gold wove banner high o'er the Horde of handiwork, noblest,
brilliantly broidered, so bright its gleam all the earth floor.

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He easily saw and viewed all these vessels. No vestige
now was seen of the serpent. The sword had taken him.
Then I heard the hill of its hoard was reft
old work of giants by one alone. He burdened his
bosom with beakers and plate at his his own good will,
and the ensign took brightest of beacons, the blade of
his lord, its edge was iron, had injured deep one

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that had guarded the golden Horde many a year, and
its murder fires spread hot round the barrow in horror
billows at midnight hour, till it met its doom. Hastened
the herald. The horde so spurred him his track to retrace.
He was troubled by doubt. High souled hero, if haply
he'd find alive where he left him, the lord of waiters,
weakening fast by the wall of the cave. So he

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carried the load his lord and king. He found all
bleeding famous chief at the lapse of life. The liegeman
again plashed him with water till point of word broke
through the breast hord. Beowulf spake sage and sad as
he stared at the gold, for the gold and treasure,
to God, my thanks to the wielder of wonders. With
words I say for what I behold, to Heaven's Lord,

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for the grace that I give such gifts to my folk,
or ever the day of my death be run. Now
I've bartered here for booty of treasure, the last of
my life. So look ye well to the needs of
my land. No longer I tarry a barrow. Bid ye
the battle fand raise for my ashes. Twill shine by
the shore of the flood to folk of mine. Memorial

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fare on Ron's head land high uplifted that ocean. Wanderers
oft may hail Beowulf's sparrow, as back from far they
drive their keels o'er the darkling wave from his neck.
He unclasped the collar of gold valorous king to his vassal,
gave it with bright gold helmet, breastplate and ring to
the youthful Thane. Bade him use them in joy. Thou

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art end and remnant of all our race. The wagmunding
name for word, hath swept them all my line to
the land of doom earls in their glory, Aye after
them go. This word was the last which the wise
old man harbored in heart ere hot death, waves of
bale fire he chose from his bosom, fled his soul
to seek the saint's reward. It was heavy hap for

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that hero young on his lord beloved to look and
find him lying on earth with life at end sorrowful sight.
But the slayer, too awful earth dragon, empty of breath,
lay felt in fight, nor fain of its treasure. Could
the writhing monster rule it more. For edges of iron
had ended its days hard in battle, sharp hammers leaving,

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and that flier Afar had fallen to the ground, hushed
by its hurt, its hoard all near no longer lusty
aloft to whirl at midnight, making its merriment seen proud
of its prizes, prone it sank by the handiwork of
the hero king forsooth among folk, but few achieve, though
sturdy and strong, as stories tell me, and never so daring,

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indeed of valor, the perilous breath of a poisoned foe
to brave and to rush on the ring board hall,
whenever his watch the warden keeps bold in the barrow.
Beowulf paid the price of death for that precious horde,
and each of the foes had found the end of
this fleeting life. Befell ere long that the laggards and
wore the way Wood had left. Trothbreakers cowards tend together,

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fearing before to flourish a spear in the sore distress
of their sovereign lord. Now in their shame their shields
they carried armor of fight. Where the old man lay,
and they gazed on Wiglaf wearied, he sat at his
sovereign's shoulder. Shieldsmen good to wake him with water. No
wise it availed, though well he wished it in world.
No more could he bury her life for that leader

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of battles, nor baffle the will of all wielding god,
doom of the Lord was law, or the deeds of
every man, as it is to day grim was the
answer easy to get from the youth for those that
had yielded to fear Wiglaf spoke the son of Waeosten, mournful.
He looked on those men unloved, who sooth will speak,

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can say indeed that the ruler who gave you golden
rings and the harness of war in which you stand
for he at ale bench oftentimes bestowed on hal folk
helm and breastplate lord to Liegemen. The likeliest gear which
nearer or far he could find to give, threw away
and wasted these weeds of battle on men who failed
when the foemen came. Not at all could the king

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of his comrades in arms venture to vaunt, though the
victory wielder God gave him grace that he got revenge
soul with his sword in stress and need to rescue
his life, twas little that I could serve him in struggle.
Yet shift I made hopeless it seemed to help my kinsmen.
Its strength ever, waned when with weapon I struck that
fatal foe, and the fire less strongly flowed from its head.

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Too few the heroes in Throe of contest that thronged
to our king, now gift of treasure and girding of sword,
joy of the house and home delight shall fail your
folk his freehold land. Every clansman within your kin shall
lose and leave when lords high born here afar of
that flight of yours a fameless deed. Yea death is
better for liegemen all than a life of shame. That

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battle toil bade he at Burg to announce at the
fort on the cliff, where full of sorrow, all the
morning earls had sat daring shieldsmen in doubt of twain.
Would they wail as dead or welcome home their lord
beloved little kept back of the tidings new, but told
them all the herald that up the Headland road, now
the willing giver to weder folk. In death bed lies

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the Lord of Gates. On the slaughter bed sleeps by
the serpent's deed, And beside him is stretched that slayer
of men, with knife wounds sick. No sword availed on
the awesome thing in any wise to work a wound.
Their wig laugh sitteth Whilston's barren by Beowulf's side, the
living earl by the other dead and heavy of heart,
a head watch keeps or friend and foe. Now our

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folk may look for waging of war when, once unhidden
to Frisian and Frank, the fall of the king is
spread afar. The strife began when hot on the Hugos
Hagelac fell and fared with his fleet to the Frisian
land him. There the hetwaras humbled in more plied with
such prowess, their power overwhelming that the bold in battle
bowed beneath it and fell in fight. To his friends,

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no one could that earl give treasure, And ever since
the Marrowing's favor has failed us wholly nor aught. Expect
I of peace and faith from Swedish folk. Twas spread afar,
how ungan thou reft at ravenswood hyketh ANDed brethling of
hope and life. When the folk of Gates for the
first time sought in wanton pride, the warlike skilfings. Soon
the sage old sire of Altaire, ancient and awful, gave

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answering blow the sea king he slew and his spouse redeemed.
His good wife rescued, though robbed of her gold, Mother
of Oterr and onela. Then he followed his foes, who
fled before him sore beset, and stole their way, bereft
of a ruler, to Ravenswood. With his host, he besieged
there what swords had left, the weary and wounded woes.

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He threatened the whole night through to that hard pressed throng.
Some with the morrow his swords should kill, some should
go to the gallows tree for rapture of ravens. But
rescue came with dawn of day for those desperate men,
when they heard the horn of high glax sound tones
of his trumpet. The trusty king had followed their trail
with faithful band. The bloody swath of Swedes and gates

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and the storm of their strife were seen afar. How
folk against folk, the fight had wakened. The ancient king,
with his atheling band, sought his citadel, sorrowing much onganho
earl went up to his burg. He had tested Heiglac's hardihood.
The proud one's prowess would prove it no longer defied
no more those fighting wanderers. Nor hoped from the seamen

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to save his hoard, his baron, and his bride, so
he bent him again old to his earth walls. Yet
after him came with slaughter for swedes the standards of
Hyglac over peaceful plains in pride, advancing till threthlings fought
in the fenced town. Then onganhoe with edge of sword,
the hoary bearded was held at bay, and the fulk
king there was forced to suffer yeofor's anger in ire

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at the king wolf wanderting with weapons struck, and the
chieftain's blood for that blow in streams flowed neath his hair.
No fear felt he stout old skilfing, but straightway repaid
in better bargain that bitter stroke, and faced his foe
with fell intent. Nor swift enough was the son of
one rid answer to render the aged chief too soon

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on his head, the helm was cloven, blood bedecked. He
bowed to earth and fell adown. Not doomed was he yet,
and well he waxed, though the wound was sore. Then
the hardy haigilac Fane, when his brother fell with broad brand,
smote Giant's sword, crashing through Giant's helm across the shield wall,
sank the king, his folk's old herdsman fatally hurt. There

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were many to bind the brother's wounds and lift him fast,
as fate allowed his people to wield the place of war.
But yeofor took from Ungenthal earl from other the iron breastplate,
hard sword, hilted and helmet too, and the hoar chief's
harness to Higelac carried, who took the trappings and truly
promised rich fee mid folk, and fulfilled it. So for

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that grim strike gave the Gaetish lord Rethel's offspring. When
home he came to Yofor and Wolf a wealth of treasure.
Each of them had a hundred thousand in land and
linked rings, nor at less price reckoned mid earth men
such mighty deeds. And to Yofor he gave his only
daughter in pledge of grace the pride of his home.
Such is the feud, the foeman's rage, death, hate of men.

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So I deem it sure that the Swedish folk will
seek us home for this fall of their friends, the
fighting Skilfings. When once they learned that our warrior leader
lifeless lies, who land and hoard ever defended from all
his foes, furthered his folk's will finished his course a
hardy hero. Now haste is best that we go to
gaze on our gatish lord, and bear the bountiful breaker

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of rings to the funeral pyre. No fragments merely shall
burn with the warrior wealth of jewels, gold untold and
gained in terror, treasure. At last, with his life obtained,
all of that booty, the brands shall take fire shall
eat it. No earl must carry memorial jewel. No maiden
fair shall breath her nes with noble ring, nay sad

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in spirit, and shorn of her gold oft shall she
pass o'er paths of exile. Now, our Lord, all laughter
has laid aside, all mirth and revel. Many a spear
morning cold shall be clasped, a main lifted aloft, Nor
shall lilt of harp those warriors wake. But the wan
hewed raven fain o'er the fallen his feast shall praise

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and boast to the eagle. How bravely he ate when
he and the wolf were wasting the slain. So he
told his sorrowful tidings, and little he lied the loyal
man of word or of work. The warriors rose sad.
They climbed to the cliff of eagles, went welling with
tears the wonder to view found on the sand there
stretched at rest their lifeless lord, who had lavished rings

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of old upon them. Ending day had dawned on the
doughty one death had seized in woeful slaughter the waiter's king.
There saw they, besides the strangest, being loathsome lying their
leader near prone on the field. The fiery dragon, fearful
fiend with flame, was scorched, reckoned by feet. It was
fifty measures in length as it lay aloft ere while

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it had reveled by night and anon came back seeking
its den. Now in death's sure clutch, it had come
to the end of its earth Hall. Joys by it.
There stood the stoops and jars dishes lay there, and
dear decked swords eaten with rest as on Earth's lamp,
Resting a thousand winters. They waited there for all that heritage, huge,
that gold of bygone men, was bound by a spell,

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so the treasure hall could be touched by none of
human kind, save that Heaven's King God himself, might give,
whom he would helper of heroes, the horde to open
even such a man, as it seemed to him meet
perilous path. It proved he trod who heinously hid that
hall within wealth under wall. Its watcher had killed one
of a few, and the feud was avenged in woeful fashion.

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Wondrous seems it what manner a man of might and
valor oft ends his life when the earl no longer
in mead hall may live with loving friends. So Beowulf,
when that barrow's wooden he sought, and the struggle himself
knew not in what wise he should wend from the world.
At last, for Prince's potent, who placed the gold with
a curse to doomsday, covered it deep, so that marked

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with sin the man should be hedged with horrors in
hell bounds fast racked with plagues, who should rob their hoard?
Yet no greed for gold, but the grace of heaven
ever had the king kept in view. Wig Laugh, spoke
the son of Worston, at the mandate of one oft warriors.
Many sorrow may suffer, and so must we. The people's

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shepherd showed not aught of care for our counsel. King
beloved that guardian of gold, he should grapple, not urged we,
but let him lie where he long had been in
his Earth's hall, waiting at the end of the world,
the hest of heaven. This hoard is ours, but grievously
gotten too grim the fate which thither carried our King
and Lord. I was within there, and all I viewed

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the chambered treasure when chance allowed me, and my path
was made in no pleasant wise under the earth wall.
Eager I seized such heap from the hoard as hands
could bear, and hurriedly carried it hither back to my legion,
Lord alive, he was still still wielding his wits. The
wise old man spake much in his sorrow and sent
you greetings, and bade yet ye build when he breathe

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no more on the place of his bale fire a
barrow high memorial. Mighty of men, was he worthiest warrior
wide earth over the while he had joy of his
jewels and burg Let us set out in haste now
the second time, to see and search this store of treasure.
These wall hid wonders the way I show you where

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gathered near, ye may gaze your fill at broad golden rings.
Let the bier soon made be all in order. When
out we come our King and Captain, to carry thither
man beloved, where long he shall bide safe in the
shelter of Sovrn God. Then the Baron of Worston bade
command hardy chief to heroes, many that owned their homesteads
hither to bring firewood from far or the folk. They

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ruled for the famed one's funeral, fire shaw devour and
wan flame's feed on the fearless warrior who oft stood
stout in the iron shower, when sped from string a
storm of arrows shot or the shield wall the shaft
held firm featly feathered, followed the barb And now the sage,
young son of Weylston seven, chose of the chieftain's thains

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the best. He found that band within and went with
these warriors. One of eight, under hostile roof in hand,
one bore a lighted torch and led the way. No
lots they cast for keeping the horde. When once the
warriors saw it in hall altogether without a guardian, lying
there lost and little, they mourned. When they had hastily
hailed it out, dear bought treasure the dragon. They cast

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the worm or the wall for the wave to take,
and surges swallowed that shepherd of gems. Then the woven
gold on a wain was laden countless quite, and the
king was born hoary hero to Hrone's nest. Then fashioned
for him the fulk of gates, firm on the earth
a funeral pile, and hung it with helmets and harness
of war and breastplates bright as the boon, he asked,

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and they laid it amid the mighty chieftain heroes mourning
their master dear. Then on the hill that hugest of
bale fires, the warriors wakened. Wood smoke rose black over blaze,
and blent was the roar of flame, with weeping. The
wind was still till the fire had broken, the frame
of bones hot at the heart. In heavy mood their

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misery moaned they their master's death, wailing her woe. The widow, old,
her hair upbound for Beowulf's death, sung in her sorrow
and said full oft she dreaded the doleful days to come,
deaths a now, and doom of battle and shame. The
smoke by the sky was devoured. The folk of the
waiters fashioned there on the headland a barrow broad and

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high by ocean. Farers descried. In ten days time their
toil had raised it the battle brave's beacon, round brands
of the pyre a wall they built the worthiest ever
that wit could prompt in their wisest men, they placed
in the barrow that precious booty, the rounds and the
rings they had reft erewhile hardy heroes from hoard in cave,

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trusting the ground with treasure of earls, gold in the
earth wherever it lies useless to men as of yore.
It was then about that barrow the battle keen road,
atheling borne a band of twelve lament to make to
mourn their king, chant, their dirge, and their chieftain honor.
They praised his earlship, his acts of prowess worthily witnessed,

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and well it is that men their master friend mightily
laud heartily love, when hence he goes from life in
the body forlorn away. Thus made their mourning, the men
of Gateland for their heroes, passing his hearth. Companions quoth
that of all the kings of earth, of men, he
was mildest and most beloved to his kin, the kindest,
keenest for praise. End of Section eight, End of Beowulf,

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translated by Francis Barton Gomer