Poetry Appreciation Thread

Last part of Beowulf, famous epic Anglo-Saxon poem.

“ Fire shall devour
and wan flames feed on the fearless warrior
who oft stood stout in the iron-shower,
when, sped from the string, a storm of arrows
shot o’er the shield-wall: the shaft held firm,
featly feathered, followed the barb.”
And now the sage young son of Weohstan
seven chose of the chieftain’s thanes,
the best he found that band within,
and went with these warriors, one of eight,
under hostile roof. In hand one bore
a lighted torch and led the way.
No lots they cast for keeping the hoard
when once the warriors saw it in hall,
altogether without a guardian,
lying there lost. And little they mourned
when they had hastily haled it out,
dear-bought treasure! The dragon they cast,
the worm, o’er the wall for the wave to take,
and surges swallowed that shepherd of gems.
Then the woven gold on a wain was laden —
countless quite! — and the king was borne,
hoary hero, to Hrones-Ness.
THEN fashioned for him the folk of Geats
firm on the earth a funeral-pile,
and hung it with helmets and harness of war
and breastplates bright, as the boon he asked;
and they laid amid it the mighty chieftain,
heroes mourning their master dear.
Then on the hill that hugest of balefires
the warriors wakened. Wood-smoke rose
black over blaze, and blent was the roar
of flame with weeping (the wind was still),
till the fire had broken the frame of bones,
hot at the heart. In heavy mood
their misery moaned they, their master’s death.
Wailing her woe, the widow old,
her hair upbound, for Beowulf’s death
sung in her sorrow, and said full oft
she dreaded the doleful days to come,
deaths enow, and doom of battle,
and shame. — The smoke by the sky was devoured.
The folk of the Weders fashioned there
on the headland a barrow broad and high,
by ocean-farers far descried:
in ten days’ time their toil had raised it,
the battle-brave’s beacon. Round brands of the pyre
a wall they built, the worthiest ever
that wit could prompt in their wisest men.
They placed in the barrow that precious booty,
the rounds and the rings they had reft erewhile,
hardy heroes, from hoard in cave, —
trusting the ground with treasure of earls,
gold in the earth, where ever it lies
useless to men as of yore it was.
Then about that barrow the battle-keen rode,
atheling-born, a band of twelve,
lament to make, to mourn their king,
chant their dirge, and their chieftain honor.
They praised his earlship, his acts of prowess
worthily witnessed: and well it is
that men their master-friend mightily laud,
heartily love, when hence he goes
from life in the body forlorn away.
Thus made their mourning the men of Geatland,
for their hero’s passing his hearth-companions:
quoth that of all the kings of earth,
of men he was mildest and most beloved,
to his kin the kindest, keenest for praise.

Old English Version

(I think it is the same lines)

"Nu sceal gled fretan,

weaxan wonna leg wigena strengel,

þone ðe oft gebad isernscure,

þonne stræla storm strengum gebæded

scoc ofer scildweall, sceft nytte heold,

feðergearwum fus flane fulleode."

Huru se snotra sunu Wihstanes

acigde of corðre cyninges þegnas

syfone tosomne, þa selestan,

eode eahta sum under inwithrof

hilderinca; sum on handa bær

æledleoman, se ðe on orde geong.

Næs ða on hlytme hwa þæt hord strude,

syððan orwearde ænigne dæl

secgas gesegon on sele wunian,

læne licgan; lyt ænig mearn

þæt hi ofostlice ut geferedon

dyre maðmas. Dracan ec scufun,

wyrm ofer weallclif, leton weg niman,

flod fæðmian frætwa hyrde.

þa wæs wunden gold on wæn hladen,

æghwæs unrim, æþeling boren,

har hilderinc to Hronesnæsse.

Him ða gegiredan Geata leode

ad on eorðan unwaclicne,

helmum behongen, hildebordum,

beorhtum byrnum, swa he bena wæs;

alegdon ða tomiddes mærne þeoden

hæleð hiofende, hlaford leofne.

Ongunnon þa on beorge bælfyra mæst

wigend weccan; wudurec astah,

sweart ofer swioðole, swogende leg

belgiume bewunden (windblond gelæg),

oðþæt he ða banhus gebrocen hæfde,

hat on hreðre. Higum unrote

modceare mændon, mondryhtnes cwealm;

swylce giombelgiumd Geatisc meowle

bundenheorde

song sorgcearig swiðe geneahhe

þæt hio hyre heofungdagas hearde ondrede,

wælfylla worn, werudes egesan,

hynðo ond hæftnyd. Heofon rece swealg.

Geworhton ða Wedra leode

hleo on hoe, se wæs heah ond brad,

wægliðendum wide gesyne,

ond betimbredon on tyn dagum

beadurofes becn, bronda lafe

wealle beworhton, swa hyt weorðlicost

foresnotre men findan mihton.

Hi on beorg dydon beg ond siglu,

eall swylce hyrsta, swylce on horde ær

niðhedige men genumen hæfdon,

forleton eorla gestreon eorðan healdan,

gold on greote, þær hit nu gen lifað

eldum swa unnyt swa hit æror wæs.

þa ymbe hlæw riodan hildediore,

æþelinga bearn, ealra twelfe,

woldon ceare cwiðan ond kyning mænan,

wordgyd wrecan ond ymb wer sprecan;

eahtodan eorlscipe ond his ellenweorc

duguðum demdon, swa hit gedefe bið

þæt mon his winedryhten wordum herge,

ferhðum freoge, þonne he forð scile

of lichaman læded weorðan.

Swa begnornodon Geata leode

hlafordes hryre, heorðgeneatas,

cwædon þæt he wære wyruldcyninga

manna mildust ond monðwærust,

leodum liðost ond lofgeornost.

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