Beowulf

XXVII

CAME now to ocean the ev­er-​coura­geous hardy hench­men, their har­ness bear­ing, wo­ven war-​sarks. The war­den marked, trusty as ev­er, the earl’s re­turn. From the height of the hill no hos­tile words reached the guests as he rode to greet them; but “Wel­come!” he called to that Wed­er clan as the sheen-​mailed spoil­ers to ship marched on. Then on the strand, with steeds and trea­sure and ar­mor their roomy and ring-​dight ship was heav­ily laden: high its mast rose over Hroth­gar’s hoard­ed gems. A sword to the boat-​guard Be­owulf gave, mount­ed with gold; on the mead-​bench since he was bet­ter es­teemed, that blade pos­sess­ing, heir­loom old. — Their ocean-​keel board­ing, they drove through the deep, and Daneland left. A sea-​cloth was set, a sail with ropes, firm to the mast; the flood-​tim­bers moaned; {27a} nor did wind over bil­lows that wave-​swim­mer blow across from her course. The craft sped on, foam-​necked it float­ed forth o’er the waves, keel firm-​bound over briny cur­rents, till they got them sight of the Geatish cliffs, home-​known head­lands. High the boat, stirred by winds, on the strand up­drove. Help­ful at haven the har­bor-​guard stood, who long al­ready for loved com­pan­ions by the wa­ter had wait­ed and watched afar. He bound to the beach the broad-​bo­somed ship with an­chor-​bands, lest ocean-​bil­lows that trusty tim­ber should tear away. Then Be­owulf bade them bear the trea­sure, gold and jew­els; no jour­ney far was it thence to go to the giv­er of rings, Hygelac Hreth­ling: at home he dwelt by the sea-​wall close, him­self and clan. Haughty that house, a hero the king, high the hall, and Hygd {27b} right young, wise and wary, though win­ters few in those fortress walls she had found a home, Haereth’s daugh­ter. Nor hum­ble her ways, nor grudged she gifts to the Geatish men, of pre­cious trea­sure. Not Thry­th’s pride showed she, folk-​queen famed, or that fell de­ceit. Was none so dar­ing that durst make bold (save her lord alone) of the liege­men dear that la­dy full in the face to look, but forged fet­ters he found his lot, bonds of death! And brief the respite; soon as they seized him, his sword-​doom was spo­ken, and the bur­nished blade a bale­ful mur­der pro­claimed and closed. No queen­ly way for wom­an to prac­tise, though peer­less she, that the weaver-​of-​peace {27c} from war­rior dear by wrath and ly­ing his life should reave! But Hem­ming’s kins­man hin­dered this. — For over their ale men al­so told that of these folk-​hor­rors few­er she wrought, on­slaughts of evil, af­ter she went, gold-​decked bride, to the brave young prince, atheling haughty, and Of­fa’s hall o’er the fal­low flood at her fa­ther’s bid­ding safe­ly sought, where since she pros­pered, roy­al, throned, rich in goods, fain of the fair life fate had sent her, and leal in love to the lord of war­riors. He, of all heroes I heard of ev­er from sea to sea, of the sons of earth, most ex­cel­lent seemed. Hence Of­fa was praised for his fight­ing and fee­ing by far-​off men, the spear-​bold war­rior; wise­ly he ruled over his em­pire. Eomer woke to him, help of heroes, Hem­ming’s kins­man, Grand­son of Gar­mund, grim in war.