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53

CHAPTER XXI

The Scop chants Beowulf’s confident reply and the journey of
Hrothgar, Beowulf, and the band along the trail of the Witch-Wife
on to the bleak regions, till of a sudden along the cliff they came
upon the head of the retainer the WitchWife had slaughtered and
eaten. And he chants how the waters below were alive with Nicors
and Sea-Serpents, and how Beowulf shot one of the dead with
arrow, and how Beowulf then donned his armor and received from
Unferth, who was now a staunch believer in Beowulf, the loan of
Unferth’s famous sword called Hrunting. (For a sword in those
days was so near and dear to a man that it often bore a personal
personal name, like a trusted servant.)

Beowulf made a speech then, son of Ecgtheow, he:
“Sorrow not, thou Sage One,- for each it better be That his friend he
wreaketh than bemourn him late.

Our end of life in world here we must all await; Let who is able
win him glory ere his death; In after-years for warrior dead that
chiefly profiteth.

Arise thou Kingdom’s Warden! Speedily let us hie Of this Kin of
Grendel the trail for to spy.

This to thee I promise: She’ll refuge in no rest Neither in earth’s
bosom nor in hill-forest,
Nor in sea-bottom, wheresoe’er she go!

For this day have patience in thine every woe, As I ween thou wilt
have.” Upleapt the Graybeard now; Thanked the Lord Almighty
for what this man did vow.

Then Hrothgar’s horse was bridled, his steed with braided mane;
Stately rode the royal Sage; and afoot his train Of shield-bearers
was stepping. Wide was there to see Her tracks across the wood-
ways, her trail along the lea, Whither fared she forward over the
murky moor, And with her bare the dead man, the best of kin-
thanes sure Of all who once with Hrothgar warded well the home.
Then the Son of aethelings now did over-roam The narrow-passes,
the steep cliff-stone, The close defiles and the paths unknown, The
beetling cragheads, the Nicors’ den.

All ahead he hastened with a few wise men For to view the region,
till a sudden he Found the joyless forest, found the mountain tree,
Leaning o’er the hoar cliff. Under the wood, Blood-stained and
troubled, there the waters stood.

Unto the friends of Scyldings, unto every Dane,
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