Hrothgar Moralizes—Rest After Labor
“Then bruised in his bosom he with bitter-toothed missile Is hurt ’neath his helmet: from harmful pollution He is powerless to shield him by the wonderful mandates Of the loath-cursèd spirit; what too long he hath holden Him seemeth too small, savage he hoardeth, Nor boastfully giveth gold-plated rings, The fate of the future flouts and forgetteth Since God had erst given him greatness no little, Wielder of Glory. His end-day anear, It afterward happens that the bodily-dwelling Fleetingly fadeth, falls into ruins; Another lays hold who doleth the ornaments, The nobleman’s jewels, nothing lamenting, Heedeth no terror. Oh, Beowulf dear, Best of the heroes, from bale-strife defend thee, And choose thee the better, counsels eternal; Beware of arrogance, world-famous champion! But a little-while lasts thy life-vigor’s fullness; ’Twill after hap early, that illness or sword-edge Shall part thee from strength, or the grasp of the fire, Or the wave of the current, or clutch of the edges, Or flight of the war-spear, or age with its horrors, Or thine eyes’ bright flashing shall fade into darkness: ’Twill happen full early, excellent hero, That death shall subdue thee. So the Danes a half-century I held under heaven, helped them in struggles ’Gainst many a race in middle-earth’s regions, With ash-wood and edges, that enemies none On earth molested me. Lo! offsetting change, now, Came to my manor, grief after joyance, When Grendel became my constant visitor, Inveterate hater: I from that malice Continually travailed with trouble no little. Thanks be to God that I gained in my lifetime, To the Lord everlasting, to look on the gory Head with mine eyes, after long-lasting sorrow! Go to the bench now, battle-adornèd Joy in the feasting: of jewels in common We’ll meet with many when morning appeareth.” The Geatman was gladsome, ganged he immediately To go to the bench, as the clever one bade him. Then again