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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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23 CHAPTER VII The Scop chants Hrothgar’s speech to Beowulf. Hrothgar well remembered Beowulf’s father Ecgtheow, for Ecgtheow, having slain a man from another tribe called the Wylfings, had fled even from his own people, the Waegmundings, southward to seek refuge with Hrothgar, long ago when Hrothgar was first King of the Danes. And Hrothgar had settled the trouble by sending gifts to the angry Wylfings and by making Ecgtheow swear oaths to him (with a Promise, doubtless, make no more trouble). Hrothgar saw in Beowulf’s coming a son’s gratitude for Hrothgar’s kindness to his father. Then Hrothgar went on to tell of the fearful wrack and ruin on Heorot wrought long years by Grendel. But hope seemed at hand. The Strong One had come. So Danes and Geats sat together and drank the mead, and the Harper sang clear of voice in Heorot. Hrothgar made his speech then, Helm of Scylding-Breeds: “Us hast thou sought, friend Beowulf, because of ancient deeds, Because too of thy kindness. Thy father, when by hand Heatholaf he slew there in the Wylfings’ land, The worst of feuds awakened. Then might his Weder-kin, For fear of Wylfings’ harryings, take not Ecgtheow in. Thence he sought the South-Danes, over the sea-surging, Us, the Glory-Scyldings, what time I first was King Of Danefolk and in youth held this kingdom jeweled This treasure- burg of heroes. For Heorogar was dead, Yes, he, my elder brother, bairn of Halfdane high, Was not among the living-a better man than I! Thereafter I compounded the feud for a fee: I sent unto the Wylfings, over the ridge of the sea, Goodly gifts and olden, and oaths he sware to me. Sorrow for soul of me ‘t is to tell to any one What shame to me, what dread spite, in Heorot Grendel’s done With his thoughts of hatred; is my folk-on-floor. My warrior throng of house-carls, almost no more. Them hath away swept into Grendel’s greed. Yet can God that Scather mad turn from his deed! Full oft across their ale-cups my men-at-arms would pledge, When beer had roused their bosoms, to bide with fierce sword-edge, Within these walls of wassail, Grendel’s coming-on. But then would be this mead-house, when the day would dawn, This lordly chamber, gore-stained at the morning-tide; Boards of all its benches with blood be-spattered wide, With battle-blood this |
