Rejoicing of the Danes
In the mist of the morning many a warrior Stood round the gift-hall, as the story is told me: Folk-princes fared then from far and from near Through long-stretching journeys to look at the wonder, The footprints of the foeman. Few of the warriors Who gazed on the foot-tracks of the inglorious creature His parting from life pained very deeply, How, weary in spirit, off from those regions In combats conquered he carried his traces, Fated and flying, to the flood of the nickers. There in bloody billows bubbled the currents, The angry eddy was everywhere mingled And seething with gore, welling with sword-blood; He death-doomed had hid him, when reaved of his joyance He laid down his life in the lair he had fled to, His heathenish spirit, where hell did receive him. Thence the friends from of old backward turned them, And many a younker from merry adventure, Striding their stallions, stout from the seaward, Heroes on horses. There were heard very often Beowulf’s praises; many often asserted That neither south nor north, in the circuit of waters, O’er outstretching earth-plain, none other was better ’Mid bearers of war-shields, more worthy to govern, ’Neath the arch of the ether. Not any, however, ’Gainst the friend-lord muttered, mocking-words uttered Of Hrothgar the gracious (a good king he). Oft the famed ones permitted their fallow-skinned horses To run in rivalry, racing and chasing, Where the fieldways appeared to them fair and inviting, Known for their excellence; oft a thane of the folk-lord, A man of celebrity, mindful of rhythms, Who ancient traditions treasured in memory, New word-groups found properly bound: The bard after ’gan then Beowulf’s venture Wisely to tell of, and words that were clever To utter skilfully, earnestly speaking, Everything told he that he heard as to Sigmund’s Mighty achievements, many things hidden, The strife of the Waelsing,