So now, Beowulf,
adopt you in my heart as a dear son.
Nourish and maintain this new connection,
You noblest of men; there’ll be nothing you want for,
No worldly good that won’t be yours.
I have often honored smaller achievements,
Recognized warriors not nearly as worthy,
Lavished rewards on the less deserving.
But you have made yourself immortal
By your glorious action. May the Lord of Ages
Continue to keep and requite you well.”

At times the war-band broke into a gallop,
Letting their chestnut horses race
Wherever they found the going good
On those well-known tracks. Meanwhile, a thane
Of the king’s household, a carrier of tales,
A traditional singer deeply schooled
In the lore of the past, linked a new theme
To a strict metre. The man started
To recite with skill, rehearsing Beowulf’s
Triumphs and feats in well-fashioned lines,
Entwining his words.

Then an extraordinary
Wail arose, and bewildering fear
Came over the Danes. Everyone felt it
Who heard that cry as it echoed off the wall,
A God-cursed scream and strain of catastrophe,
The howl of the loser, the lament of the hell-serf
Keening his wound. He was overwhelmed,
Manacled tight by the man who of all men
Was foremost and strongest in the days of this life.

“Never, since my hand could hold a shield
Have I entrusted or given control
Of the Dane’s hall to anyone but you.
Ward and guard it, for it is the greatest of houses.
Be on your mettle now, keep in mind your fame,
Beware of the enemy. There’s nothing you wish for
That won’t be yours if you win through alive.”

Often, for undaunted courage,
Fate spares the man it has not already marked.

“Time and again, when the goblets passed
And seasoned fighters got flushed with beer
They would pledge themselves to protect Heorot
And wait for Grendel with whetted swords.
But when dawn broke and day crept in
Over each empty, blood-spattered bench,
The floor of the mead-hall where they had feasted
Would be slick with slaughter. And so they died,
Faithful retainers, and my following dwindled.
Now take your place at the table, relish
The triumph of heroes to your heart’s content.”

I come to proffer
My wholehearted help and counsel.
I can show the wise Hrothgar a way
To defeat his enemy and find respite---
If any respite is to reach him, ever.
I can calm the turmoil and terror in his mind.
Otherwise, he must endure woes
And live with grief for as long as his hall
Stands at the horizon, on its high ground.”

These were hard times, heart-breaking
For the prince of the Shieldings; powerful counselors,
The highest in the land, would lend advice,
Plotting how best the bold defenders
Might resist and beat off sudden attacks.
Sometimes at pagan shrines they vowed
Offering to idols, swore oaths
That the killer of souls might come to their aid
And save the people. That was their way,
Their heathenish hope; deep in their hearts
They remembered Hell.

Many of the kingdoms mentioned in Beowulf can be located with some confidence, others involve educated guesses.

So Grendel ruled in defiance of right,
One against all, until the greatest house
In the world stood empty, a deserted wall stead.
For twelve winters, seasons of woe,
The lord of the Shieldings suffered under
His load of sorrow; and so, before long,
The news was known over the whole world.

The hall towered,
Its gables wide and high and awaiting
A barbarous burning. That doom abided,
But in time it would come: the killer instinct
Unleashed among in-laws, the blood-lust rampant.

The fortunes of war favored Hrothgar.
Friends and kinsmen flocked to his ranks,
Young followers, a force that grew
To be a mighty army. So his mind turned
To hall-building: he handed down orders
For men to work on a great mead-hall
Meant to be a wonder of the world forever;
It would be his throne-room and there he would dispense
His God-given goods to young and old---
But not the common land or people’s lives.

So. The Spear-Danes in days gone by
And the kings who ruled them had courage and greatness.
We have heard of those princes’ heroic campaigns.

Земля! отныне
храни драгоценности,
в тебе добытые,
коль скоро люди
хранить их не могут!

Но род человеческий
ходит под Господом,
поэтому лучшее в людях -
мудрость,
души прозорливость,
ибо немало
и зла и радостей
здесь уготовано
любому смертному
в дни его жизни.

Каждого смертного
ждет кончина!
пусть же, кто может,
вживе заслужит
вечную славу!
Ибо для воина
лучшая плата -
память достойная!

Порой погибает
один, но многих
та смерть печалит.

Не властен смертный
спастись от смерти.

Берегись же и ты,
милый мой Беовульф,
этих помыслов пагубных,
но ступи на путь
блага вечного
и гордыню, воитель,
укроти в себе,
ибо ныне
ты знатен мощью,
но кто знает, когда
меч ли, немочь ли
сокрушат тебя,
иль объятия пламени,
или пасть пучины,
или взлет стрелы,
или взмах меча,
или время само —
только свет помрачится
в очах твоих,
и тебя, как всех,
воин доблестный,
смерть пересилит!