Hear from yesterday, from the yore-days,
of the Spear-Danes – how sped by courage,
how doomed in blood their best of men.
It was Scyld Scefing, their sure founder,
5 the Eruli’s terror, who overturned benches,
was rampant in the halls of surrounding clans.
First a foundling, far from his beginnings,
honour helped him flourish; he was himself honoured
under the teeming heavens. Even tribes distant
10 across dark whale-roads owed duties to him.
He was good, that king – and good was his heir,
yare in winters, yielded by God-grace
as gift, comfort. God saw their unease,
that of old they’d lived too long lordless,
15 so the Life-Shaper, the Light of Honour,
sent them comfort, success in this world:
far-flung or near in the northlands, Beow,
Scyld’s after-comer, shone by reputation.
Always it’s fitting that a fine young man
20 secure loyalty for his later years
by lavish gift-giving while he lives at home,
still under his father’s first sheltering,
so that whatever maulings come, his men will be bound
in memory of promise: all parties thrive
25 by unforced gold-gifts, free-handed givers.
Scyld passed away in his powers, travelled
at last into the Lord’s release and care.
They bore him at the end to brink of the tide,
his chosen men, as their chief had asked
30 when he wielded words like weapons; carried him
and his reputation to the tide’s slow brim.
At the hythe the prow, hung with winter,
was ready, ring-carved: right ship for chiefs.
And there they laid their last, first leader,
35 their ring-giver, in the roomy hold.
He lay in state. Stripped from outlying
tribes, there were trinkets – turned, ornamented:
fine-wrought war-things, friends for his journey.
I’ve never heard of keel more keenly or better
40 charged with war-gear, chainmail, battle-bills.
This massed plunder was piled into the ship
and lay on his breast: treasures for the tide-reaches.
They did no less in their due offerings
than was once done in those winters past,
45 when he was cast – a child – into the clutch of waves
alone, girt round with a people’s gifts.
Then they raised aloft a royal standard –
it flew high over his head – and let the sea have him,
gave him to the tide-sway sadly, grieving
50 and mourning their loss. Men cannot tell
with truth, whether they’re king or clansman, what shore
or foreland received that royal freight.
Then Beow became lord of the best-known tribe
of Scyldings, was in turn shaped to prosper,
55 for wealth, and flourished after his famed parent
had left this life. He also left a son,
the beloved Healfdan, who led Scyldings
for years in battle and was beyond praising.
Four fine children he fathered all told,
60 each of them a leader. Eldest was Heorogar;
blessed Halga and Hrothgar were his brothers.
And I heard also… of a daughter,
who was Onela’s bride and bed-fellow.
Hrothgar prospered, was given power in war,
65 his warriors’ honour. All his retainers
readily obeyed him; their ranks comprised
a mighty force. And in his mind he weighed
commanding the making of a meeting-place,
triumphal mead-hall made fair by men,
70 one mightier than any had ever heard mentioned,
and in it, to all – to old and young –
to grant, share, deal what God ordained
beyond what was already owned by right in common.
It was told widely that...