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Then in the morning, as I have heard say, was many a battle-warrior round about the gift-hall. Came the folk-leaders from far and from near along the wide ways to look at the marvel. Nor did his passing seem a thing to grieve over to any of the warriors of those who were scanning the track of the glory-less wight, how weary in mind he had dragged along his life-steps, on the way thence doomed and put to flight, and overcome in the fight at the lake of the sea-monsters. There was the sea boiling with blood, the awful surge of waves all mingled with hot gore. The death-doomèd one dyed the lake when void of joys he laid down his life in the fen for refuge. And hell received him. Thence after departed the old companions, likewise many a young one from the joyous journeys, proud from the lake to ride on mares, the youths on their horses. And there was the glory of Beowulf proclaimed. And many a one was saying that no man was a better man, no, none in the whole wide world under arch of the sky, of all the shield-bearers, neither south nor north, by the two seas. Nor a whit did they blame in the least their friend and lord, the glad Hrothgar; for he was a good king.

Then in the morning, as I have heard, many warriors gathered around the gift-hall. Leaders came from near and far along the broad roads to see the marvel. None of the warriors who examined the disgraced creature’s tracks felt any sorrow at his death. They traced how he had dragged himself away, weary at heart, doomed and fleeing after his defeat in battle. His trail led to the lake of sea-monsters. There the water boiled with blood, and the terrible, surging waves were mixed with hot gore. Doomed to die and stripped of joy, he stained the lake with blood as he died in the marsh, seeking refuge. And hell received him. Then the old companions and many young warriors left the lake, riding proudly on mares and horses, enjoying the journey. Beowulf’s glory was proclaimed. Many said that among all shield-bearers, no man was better anywhere in the wide world beneath the sky. None was better, north or south, between the two seas. Yet they found no fault at all with their friend and lord, the cheerful Hrothgar, for he was a good king.

Meanwhile the famed in battle let the fallow mares leap and go faring forth to the contest, wherever the earth-ways seemed fair unto them and well known for their choiceness: and the thane of the king, he who was laden with many a vaunt, and was mindful of songs, and remembered a host of very many old sagas, he found other words, but bound by the truth. And a man began wisely to sing the journey of Beowulf, and to tell skilful tales with speeding that was good, and to interchange words. He told all that ever he had heard concerning Sigmund,¹⁷ with his deeds of courage, and much that is unknown, the strife of Waelsing; and the wide journeys which the children of men knew not at all, the feud and the crimes, when Fitela was not with him, when he would be saying any of such things, the uncle to the nephew, for always they were comrades in need at all the strivings. They had laid low very many of the giant’s race by means of the sword. And after his death-day a no little fame sprang up for Sigmund when he, the hard in battle, killed the worm, the guardian of the hoard. He alone the child of the Atheling, hazarded a fearful deed, under the grey stone. Nor was Fitela with him. Still it happened to him that his sword pierced through the wondrous worm, and it stood in the wall, that doughty iron, and the dragon was dead. And so this monster had gained strength in that going so that he might enjoy the hoard of rings by his own doom. He loaded the sea-boat and bore the bright treasures on to the ship’s bosom, he the son of Waels. The worm melted hot. He was of wanderers the most widely famous in deeds of courage, amongst men, the protector of warriors. He formerly throve thus. Then the warfare of Heremod¹⁸ was waning, his strength and his courage, and he was betrayed among the giants into the hands of the foes, and sent quickly away. And too long did whelming sorrow vex his soul. He was a source of care to his people, to all the nobles, and many a proud churl often was lamenting in former times the way of life of the stout-hearted, they who trusted him for the bettering of bales, that the child of their lord should always be prospering, and succeed to his father’s kingdom, and hold the folk, the hoard and city of refuge, the kingdom of heroes, the country of the Danes. But Beowulf Hygelac’s kinsman was fairer to all men; but crime assailed Heremod.¹⁹

Meanwhile, the battle-famous warriors let their tawny mares leap forward and race. They followed whatever roads seemed good to them and were known for their fine ground. One of the king’s thanes had many glorious deeds to speak of. He knew songs and remembered a great many old sagas. He found fresh words, but kept to the truth. Then a man began skillfully singing of Beowulf’s journey. He told his tales at a lively pace, varying his words. He told everything he had ever heard about Sigmund,¹⁷ his brave deeds, and much that remained unknown. He sang of the struggles of Waelsing and distant journeys unknown to all mankind. He told of feuds and crimes when Fitela was not with Sigmund. The uncle would speak of such things to his nephew, for they were always companions in need throughout their struggles. Together, they had killed a great many giants with their swords. And after Sigmund’s death, great fame grew from his killing of the dragon that guarded the treasure. The battle-hardened son of the Atheling had dared that dreadful deed alone beneath the gray rock. Fitela was not with him. Yet Sigmund’s sword pierced the wondrous dragon, and the mighty blade stuck in the wall. The dragon was dead. And so this monster had gained strength through that venture, allowing him to enjoy the treasure of rings as he pleased. The son of Waels loaded the bright treasures into the belly of his ship. The dragon melted in its heat. Among all wanderers, Sigmund, the protector of warriors, was the most widely famed for brave deeds. In earlier days, he had prospered in this way. Then Heremod’s¹⁸ success in war began to fade, along with his strength and courage. Among the giants, he was betrayed into enemy hands and quickly sent away. For too long, overwhelming sorrow tormented his soul. He became a source of worry to his people and all the nobles. In those earlier days, many a proud commoner often mourned the course of that brave man’s life. They had trusted Heremod to relieve their troubles. They had hoped their lord’s son would always prosper and inherit his father’s kingdom. They had expected him to protect the people, the treasure, and the city of refuge. He was to rule the kingdom of heroes, the land of the Danes. But Beowulf, Hygelac’s kinsman, was more pleasing to all men, while evil overtook Heremod.¹⁹

Sometimes they passed along the fallow streets contending on mares. Then came the light of morning and hastened forth. And many a stiff-minded messenger went to the high hall to see the rare wonder. Likewise the King himself, the ward of the hoard of rings, came treading all glorious and with a great suite, forth from the bridal bower, and choice was his bearing, and his Queen with him passed along the way to the Mead-hall with a troop of maidens.

Sometimes they raced their mares along the dusty roads. Then morning came, and the light spread quickly. Many a determined messenger went to the great hall to see the extraordinary sight. The King himself, guardian of the treasure of rings, also emerged from his marriage chamber in full glory. He walked with a large retinue, carrying himself with dignity. His Queen went with him toward the Mead-hall, accompanied by a group of maidens.