Hrothgar continues his moral advice to Beowulf, first because he values the man himself and second because he senses that Beowulf may eventually become a king. The specific sin he highlights is covetousness: attempting to accumulate wealth for its own sake, rather than using it to recognize and reward his supporters. A covetous man, he says, gives up the "place of honour" he should have.
Hrothgar then focuses on mortality, as it applies to man in general and to Beowulf and himself in particular. The points he makes about his own life later apply to Beowulf's. Hrothgar ruled his people for fifty years, as Beowulf will; Hrothgar's prowess in war brought security to his people for a time, as Beowulf's will. The peace he forged for the Danes was shattered by the monster Grendel, as the Geats' peace would be by a dragon. Finally, Hrothgar speaks of his satisfaction at seeing his enemy lying, dead, as Beowulf will see the dragon. In a way, as Hrothgar seems to recognize, Beowulf is a younger version of himself.
Night comes. The men sleep.
In the morning, the raven announces that a new day has come, and Beowulf begins his farewells. First, he returns Unferth's sword to him, politely praising its quality, although it had not helped him in the fight against Grendel's mother. He then approaches King Hrothgar.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
XXVI. THE SERMON ENDS, AND THE
LAST NIGHT AT HEORT
“Then
under the armour they enter the heart,
“the
cruel shafts. He cannot resist
“crooked
counsel of the cursed spirit.
“It
seems too little, what he had saved too long.
“Greedy
and cruel, he keeps for himself
“the
rings of fine gold. The future is then 1750
“forgotten,
foregone, which God had intended,
“the
Prince of Glory, a place of honour.”
“It
always comes in the end to this:
“the
living frame loaned to him fails;
“it
falls, as it must. The man who follows
“gladly
gives out golden treasures
“the
earl had hoarded, heeding no fear.”
“These
wicked ways, beware, Beowulf, dear man,
“first
among men, and favour the better,
“the
timeless truth. Turn from self-pride, 1760
“famous
soldier. We celebrate your power
“a
little time. Not long from now
“illness
or edge will end your strength,
“or
flow of flood, or flame's embrace,
“or
clutch of sword, or course of spear,
“or
hideous age, or the eyes' reflection
“will
dull and dim. The day will soon come
“that
has you, hero, humbled by death.”
“So
the Ring Danes I have, these half-hundred years,
“held
under heaven, and helped in war 1770
“with
many a tribe of Middle Earth,
“with
ash-wood and sword, till it seemed that none
“under
sky's cover counted as foes.”
“NOW.
Those times in my country came to an end.
“Grief
followed joy since Grendel became
“a
familar foe forced upon me.
“I
bore without pause his persecution.
“I
grieved greatly. God then be thanked,
“Lord
of Ages, that life remains
“so
on that head, hacked and bloody, 1780
“our
fight at last finished, I can feast my eyes.
“Take
your seat now; attend our glad meal,
“graced
by your trials. Time and again,
“I
will share wealth, when morning comes.”
The
Geat felt glad, going at once
to
his waiting seat, as the wise man said.
Then,
as before, the fighting-tough,
the
seated guests, were given a banquet,
another
time. Night’s helmet darkened,
black
over the war-band. All warriors rose. 1790
The
aged one wanted his bed,
the
grey-haired Scylding. The Geat very much,
brave
warrior, wanted to rest.
An
attendant took the tired wayfarer
from
far away, went as a guide
as
courtesy called for, and cared for each
of
the soldier’s needs, for such, in those days,
seafaring
heroes had as a right.
The
big-hearted one rested. The building reared high,
gabled
and gilded.
The
guest slept inside 1800
till
the black raven, bliss of the sky,
sang
light-hearted, then swift brightness came,
shine
after shadow. The shield-bearers hurried.
The
nobles were, away to their people,
eager
to leave on the long journey;
the
great-hearted guest, to go to his ship.
He
told the tough man to take Hrunting;
the
son of Ecglaf was offered his sword,
beloved
iron, along with thanks.
The
war-friend
was warmly praised 1810
by
war’s master. No words slighted
the
broadsword’s blade. He bore himself well.
And
then, wanting to go, their war-gear on,
the
warriors waited. He went, loved by Danes,
the
noble to the throne. There was the other.
The
great in heart greeted Hrothgar.
No comments:
Post a Comment