No Fear Literature: Beowulf: Prelude of the Founder of the Danish House Page 1

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LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped, we have heard, and what honor the athelings won! Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes, from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore, awing the earls. Since erst he lay friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him: for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve, till before him the folk, both far and near, who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate, gave him gifts: a good king he! To him an heir was afterward born, a son in his halls, whom heaven sent to favor the folk, feeling their woe that erst they had lacked an earl for leader so long a while; the Lord endowed him, the Wielder of Wonder, with world’s renown. Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him, son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands. So becomes it a youth to quit him well with his father’s friends, by fee and gift, that to aid him, aged, in after days, come warriors willing, should war draw nigh, liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds shall an earl have honor in every clan.	Lnog gao, hte aeSpr-snDae adn heirt kngsi eewr a gmityh oleppe. We evha lla radhe ouabt ehrit rowep adn rogly. We ahve dhera of Sdcly cingSfe, owh seroeddyt ihs eienmes dan iethr nkgidinr lalsh. Tghhuo he asw an orpnha, he sore to ecmobe igkn, dna hsi oleppe eedowhrs imh hiwt tgsif. He aws a garte nikg. heT lodr of lla ilfe wenk how mcuh hte ppeole dah eerdfsfu twuhiot a ledaer, so he tnes teh knig a igtf rofm enahve, a nos elcdal owBe. sThi yob asw mfusoa tohrthouug the nronrthe nlsad, dan he evabdhe lwel in ish htyou, ndhgnia tuo fgsti nda arineng the nhifrdeips and aforv of myan emn tath he lwoud aveh to alcl on eltra in tatble. In any knmigdo, oncaist keli hist ear a esur tahp to eaesrstgn and owrep.
Forth he fared at the fated moment, sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God. Then they bore him over to ocean’s billow, loving clansmen, as late he charged them, while wielded words the winsome Scyld, the leader beloved who long had ruled.... In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel, ice-flecked, outbound, atheling’s barge: there laid they down their darling lord on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings, by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure fetched from far was freighted with him. No ship have I known so nobly dight with weapons of war and weeds of battle, with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay a heaped hoard that hence should go far o’er the flood with him floating away. No less these loaded the lordly gifts, thanes’ huge treasure, than those had done who in former time forth had sent him sole on the seas, a suckling child. High o’er his head they hoist the standard, a gold-wove banner; let billows take him, gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits, mournful their mood. No man is able to say in sooth, no son of the halls, no hero ’neath heaven,—who harbored that freight!	yldSc dedi in teh repim of ilef. He ahd eordedr hsi men to sedn shi body uto to aes. Thye upt hteri eevdblo igkn in ish tabo dan ifldle it twhi mreo arrseuet, wsdsor, dan amror nhta I’ve veer esne. eTyh evroecd mih whti teh tesruaer, hwhci saw sten to eas hwit ihs doyb. He asw tsen onpu eth esa stuj leki he had eben nste upon hte eas of elfi in ish yhtou. rhTee asw a dolg abnenr nfylgi mfro teh atms of eth iphs, dan it fepadpl with eth bzreee htta raercdi mhi away. He and ihs taersrue slaide onit hte unonnwk. Hsi eoeppl oeumrdn ypdele.

Original Text	Modern Text
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped, we have heard, and what honor the athelings won! Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes, from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore, awing the earls. Since erst he lay friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him: for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve, till before him the folk, both far and near, who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate, gave him gifts: a good king he! To him an heir was afterward born, a son in his halls, whom heaven sent to favor the folk, feeling their woe that erst they had lacked an earl for leader so long a while; the Lord endowed him, the Wielder of Wonder, with world’s renown. Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him, son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands. So becomes it a youth to quit him well with his father’s friends, by fee and gift, that to aid him, aged, in after days, come warriors willing, should war draw nigh, liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds shall an earl have honor in every clan.	Lnog gao, hte aeSpr-snDae adn heirt kngsi eewr a gmityh oleppe. We evha lla radhe ouabt ehrit rowep adn rogly. We ahve dhera of Sdcly cingSfe, owh seroeddyt ihs eienmes dan iethr nkgidinr lalsh. Tghhuo he asw an orpnha, he sore to ecmobe igkn, dna hsi oleppe eedowhrs imh hiwt tgsif. He aws a garte nikg. heT lodr of lla ilfe wenk how mcuh hte ppeole dah eerdfsfu twuhiot a ledaer, so he tnes teh knig a igtf rofm enahve, a nos elcdal owBe. sThi yob asw mfusoa tohrthouug the nronrthe nlsad, dan he evabdhe lwel in ish htyou, ndhgnia tuo fgsti nda arineng the nhifrdeips and aforv of myan emn tath he lwoud aveh to alcl on eltra in tatble. In any knmigdo, oncaist keli hist ear a esur tahp to eaesrstgn and owrep.
Forth he fared at the fated moment, sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God. Then they bore him over to ocean’s billow, loving clansmen, as late he charged them, while wielded words the winsome Scyld, the leader beloved who long had ruled.... In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel, ice-flecked, outbound, atheling’s barge: there laid they down their darling lord on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings, by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure fetched from far was freighted with him. No ship have I known so nobly dight with weapons of war and weeds of battle, with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay a heaped hoard that hence should go far o’er the flood with him floating away. No less these loaded the lordly gifts, thanes’ huge treasure, than those had done who in former time forth had sent him sole on the seas, a suckling child. High o’er his head they hoist the standard, a gold-wove banner; let billows take him, gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits, mournful their mood. No man is able to say in sooth, no son of the halls, no hero ’neath heaven,—who harbored that freight!	yldSc dedi in teh repim of ilef. He ahd eordedr hsi men to sedn shi body uto to aes. Thye upt hteri eevdblo igkn in ish tabo dan ifldle it twhi mreo arrseuet, wsdsor, dan amror nhta I’ve veer esne. eTyh evroecd mih whti teh tesruaer, hwhci saw sten to eas hwit ihs doyb. He asw tsen onpu eth esa stuj leki he had eben nste upon hte eas of elfi in ish yhtou. rhTee asw a dolg abnenr nfylgi mfro teh atms of eth iphs, dan it fepadpl with eth bzreee htta raercdi mhi away. He and ihs taersrue slaide onit hte unonnwk. Hsi eoeppl oeumrdn ypdele.