| This heard in his home Hygelac’s thane,
                        great among Geats, of Grendel’s doings.
                        He was the mightiest man of valor
                        in that same day of this our life,
                        stalwart and stately. A stout wave-walker
                        he bade make ready. Yon battle-king, said he,
                        far o’er the swan-road he fain would seek,
                        the noble monarch who needed men!
                        The prince’s journey by prudent folk
                        was little blamed, though they loved him dear;
                        they whetted the hero, and hailed good omens.
                        And now the bold one from bands of Geats
                        comrades chose, the keenest of warriors
                        e’er he could find; with fourteen men
                        the sea-wood he sought, and, sailor proved,
                        led them on to the land’s confines.
                        Time had now flown; afloat was the ship,
                        boat under bluff. On board they climbed,
                        warriors ready; waves were churning
                        sea with sand; the sailors bore
                        on the breast of the bark their bright array,
                        their mail and weapons: the men pushed off,
                        on its willing way, the well-braced craft.
                        Then moved o’er the waters by might of the wind
                        that bark like a bird with breast of foam,
                        till in season due, on the second day,
                        the curved prow such course had run
                        that sailors now could see the land,
                        sea-cliffs shining, steep high hills,
                        headlands broad. Their haven was found,
                        their journey ended. Up then quickly
                        the Weders’ clansmen climbed ashore,
                        anchored their sea-wood, with armor clashing
                        and gear of battle: God they thanked
                        or passing in peace o’er the paths of the sea.
                        Now saw from the cliff a Scylding clansman,
                        a warden that watched the water-side,
                        how they bore o’er the gangway glittering
                            shields,
                        war-gear in readiness; wonder seized him
                        to know what manner of men they were.
                        Straight to the strand his steed he rode,
                        Hrothgar’s henchman; with hand of might
                        he shook his spear, and spake in parley.
                        “Who are ye, then, ye armed men,
                        mailed folk, that yon mighty vessel
                        have urged thus over the ocean ways,
                        here o’er the waters? A warden I,
                        sentinel set o’er the sea-march here,
                        lest any foe to the folk of Danes
                        with harrying fleet should harm the land.
                        No aliens ever at ease thus bore them,
                        linden-wielders: yet word-of-leave
                        clearly ye lack from clansmen here,
                        my folk’s agreement.—A greater ne’er saw I
                        of warriors in world than is one of you,—
                        yon hero in harness! No henchman he
                        worthied by weapons, if witness his features,
                        his peerless presence! I pray you, though, tell
                        your folk and home, lest hence ye fare
                        suspect to wander your way as spies
                        in Danish land. Now, dwellers afar,
                        ocean-travellers, take from me
                        simple advice: the sooner the better
                        I hear of the country whence ye came.” | This heard in his home Hygelac’s thane,
                        great among Geats, of Grendel’s doings.
                        He was the mightiest man of valor
                        in that same day of this our life,
                        stalwart and stately. A stout wave-walker
                        he bade make ready. Yon battle-king, said he,
                        far o’er the swan-road he fain would seek,
                        the noble monarch who needed men!
                        The prince’s journey by prudent folk
                        was little blamed, though they loved him dear;
                        they whetted the hero, and hailed good omens.
                        And now the bold one from bands of Geats
                        comrades chose, the keenest of warriors
                        e’er he could find; with fourteen men
                        the sea-wood he sought, and, sailor proved,
                        led them on to the land’s confines.
                        Time had now flown; afloat was the ship,
                        boat under bluff. On board they climbed,
                        warriors ready; waves were churning
                        sea with sand; the sailors bore
                        on the breast of the bark their bright array,
                        their mail and weapons: the men pushed off,
                        on its willing way, the well-braced craft.
                        Then moved o’er the waters by might of the wind
                        that bark like a bird with breast of foam,
                        till in season due, on the second day,
                        the curved prow such course had run
                        that sailors now could see the land,
                        sea-cliffs shining, steep high hills,
                        headlands broad. Their haven was found,
                        their journey ended. Up then quickly
                        the Weders’ clansmen climbed ashore,
                        anchored their sea-wood, with armor clashing
                        and gear of battle: God they thanked
                        or passing in peace o’er the paths of the sea.
                        Now saw from the cliff a Scylding clansman,
                        a warden that watched the water-side,
                        how they bore o’er the gangway glittering
                            shields,
                        war-gear in readiness; wonder seized him
                        to know what manner of men they were.
                        Straight to the strand his steed he rode,
                        Hrothgar’s henchman; with hand of might
                        he shook his spear, and spake in parley.
                        “Who are ye, then, ye armed men,
                        mailed folk, that yon mighty vessel
                        have urged thus over the ocean ways,
                        here o’er the waters? A warden I,
                        sentinel set o’er the sea-march here,
                        lest any foe to the folk of Danes
                        with harrying fleet should harm the land.
                        No aliens ever at ease thus bore them,
                        linden-wielders: yet word-of-leave
                        clearly ye lack from clansmen here,
                        my folk’s agreement.—A greater ne’er saw I
                        of warriors in world than is one of you,—
                        yon hero in harness! No henchman he
                        worthied by weapons, if witness his features,
                        his peerless presence! I pray you, though, tell
                        your folk and home, lest hence ye fare
                        suspect to wander your way as spies
                        in Danish land. Now, dwellers afar,
                        ocean-travellers, take from me
                        simple advice: the sooner the better
                        I hear of the country whence ye came.” |