Beowulf

XXXVIII

THAT bat­tle-​toil bade he at burg to an­nounce, at the fort on the cliff, where, full of sor­row, all the morn­ing earls had sat, dar­ing shield­smen, in doubt of twain: would they wail as dead, or wel­come home, their lord beloved? Lit­tle {38a} kept back of the tid­ings new, but told them all, the her­ald that up the head­land rode. — “Now the will­ing-​giv­er to Wed­er folk in death-​bed lies; the Lord of Geats on the slaugh­ter-​bed sleeps by the ser­pent’s deed! And be­side him is stretched that slay­er-​of-​men with knife-​wounds sick: {38b} no sword availed on the awe­some thing in any wise to work a wound. There Wiglaf sit­teth, Weohstan’s bairn, by Be­owulf’s side, the liv­ing earl by the oth­er dead, and heavy of heart a head-​watch {38c} keeps o’er friend and foe. — Now our folk may look for wag­ing of war when once un­hid­den to Frisian and Frank the fall of the king is spread afar. — The strife be­gan when hot on the Hugas {38d} Hygelac fell and fared with his fleet to the Frisian land. Him there the Het­waras hum­bled in war, plied with such prowess their pow­er o’er­whelm­ing that the bold-​in-​bat­tle bowed be­neath it and fell in fight. To his friends no wise could that earl give trea­sure! And ev­er since the Merow­ings’ fa­vor has failed us whol­ly. Nor aught ex­pect I of peace and faith from Swedish folk. ‘Twas spread afar how On­gen­the­ow reft at Ravenswood Haeth­cyn Hreth­ling of hope and life, when the folk of Geats for the first time sought in wan­ton pride the War­like-​Scylf­in­gs. Soon the sage old sire {38e} of Ohtere, an­cient and aw­ful, gave an­swer­ing blow; the sea-​king {38f} he slew, and his spouse re­deemed, his good wife res­cued, though robbed of her gold, moth­er of Ohtere and Onela. Then he fol­lowed his foes, who fled be­fore him sore be­set and stole their way, bereft of a ruler, to Ravenswood.

With his host he be­sieged there what swords had left, the weary and wound­ed; woes he threat­ened the whole night through to that hard-​pressed throng: some with the mor­row his sword should kill, some should go to the gal­lows-​tree for rap­ture of ravens. But res­cue came with dawn of day for those des­per­ate men when they heard the horn of Hygelac sound, tones of his trum­pet; the trusty king had fol­lowed their trail with faith­ful band.