Inspired again
By the thought of glory, the war-king threw
His whole strength behind a sword-stroke
And connected with the skull. And Naegling snapped.
Beowulf’s ancient iron-gray sword
Let him down in the fight. It was never his fortune
To be helped in combat by the cutting-edge
Of weapons made of iron.
That final day was the first time
When Beowulf fought and fate denied him
Glory in battle.
Yet the prince of the rings was too proud
To line up with a large army
Against the sky-plague. He had scant regard
For the dragon as a threat, no dread at all
Of its courage or strength, for he had kept going
Often in the past, through perils and ordeals
Of every sort, after he had purged
Hrothgar’s hall, triumphed in Heorot
And beaten Grendel.
Then Beowulf was given bad news,
A hard truth: his own home,
The best of buildings, had been burnt to a cinder,
The throne-room of the Geats. It threw the hero
Into deep anguish and darkened his mood:
The wise man thought he must have thwarted
Ancient ordinance of the eternal Lord,
Broken His commandment. His mind was in turmoil,
Unaccustomed anxiety and gloom
Confused his brain; the fire-dragon
Had rased the coastal region and reduced
Forts and earthworks to dust and ashes,
So the war-king planned and plotted his revenge.
They came against him and his conquering nation,
And with cruel force cut him down
So that afterwards
The wide kingdom
Reverted to Beowulf. He ruled it well
For fifty winters, grew old and wise
As warden of the land
Until one began
To dominate the dark, a dragon on the prowl
My liking for you
Deepens with time, dear Beowulf.
What you have done is to draw two peoples,
The Geat nation and us neighboring Danes,
Into shared peace and a pact of friendship
In spite of hatreds we have harbored in the past.
Then, in fury, he flung his sword away.
The keen, inlaid, worm-looped-patterned steel
Was hurled to the ground: he would have to rely
On the might of his arm. So must a man do
Who intends to gain enduring glory
In a combat. Life doesn’t cost him thought.
Beowulf got ready,
Donned his war-gear, indifferent to death;
Benches were pushed back, bedding gear and bolsters
Spread across the floor, and one man
Lay down to his rest, already marked for death.
So now, Beowulf,
adopt you in my heart as a dear son.
Nourish and maintain this new connection,
You noblest of men; there’ll be nothing you want for,
No worldly good that won’t be yours.
I have often honored smaller achievements,
Recognized warriors not nearly as worthy,
Lavished rewards on the less deserving.
But you have made yourself immortal
By your glorious action. May the Lord of Ages
Continue to keep and requite you well.”