BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:—

“Lo, now, this sea-booty, son of Healfdene,

Lord of Scyldings, we’ve lustily brought thee,

sign of glory; thou seest it here.

Not lightly did I with my life escape!

In war under water this work I essayed

with endless effort; and even so

my strength had been lost had the Lord not shielded me.

Not a whit could I with Hrunting do

in work of war, though the weapon is good;

yet a sword the Sovran of Men vouchsafed me

to spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging,

old, gigantic, — how oft He guides

the friendless wight! — and I fought with that brand,

felling in fight, since fate was with me,

the house’s wardens. That war-sword then

all burned, bright blade, when the blood gushed o’er it,

battle-sweat hot; but the hilt I brought back

from my foes. So avenged I their fiendish deeds

death-fall of Danes, as was due and right.

And this is my hest, that in Heorot now

safe thou canst sleep with thy soldier band,

and every thane of all thy folk

both old and young; no evil fear,

Scyldings’ lord, from that side again,

aught ill for thy earls, as erst thou must!”

Then the golden hilt, for that gray-haired leader,

hoary hero, in hand was laid,

giant-wrought, old. So owned and enjoyed it

after downfall of devils, the Danish lord,

wonder-smiths’ work, since the world was rid

of that grim-souled fiend, the foe of God,

murder-marked, and his mother as well.

Now it passed into power of the people’s king,

best of all that the oceans bound

who have scattered 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............