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XXVIII. BEOWULF COMES BACK TO HIS LAND. OF THE TALE OF THRYTHO.
Came a many to flood then, all mighty of mood,
Of the bachelors were they, and ring-nets they bore,
The limb-sarks belocked. The land-warden noted,
The earls’ aback-faring, as erst he beheld them;
Then nowise with harm from, the nose of the cliff,
The guests there he greeted, but rode unto themward,
And quoth that full welcome, to the folk of the Weders,
The bright-coated warriors, were wending to ship.
Then was on the sand there, the bark the wide-sided,
With war-weed beladen, the ring-stemm’d as she lay there,
With mares and with treasure; uptower’d the mast,
High over Hrothgar’s, wealth of the hoards.
He then to the boat-warden, handsel’d a gold-bounden,
Sword, so that sithence, was he on mead-bench,
Worthy’d the more, for that very same wealth,
The heirloom. Sithence, in the ship he departed,
To stir the deep water; the Dane-land he left.
Then was by the mast there, one of the sea-rails,
A sail, with rope made fast; thunder’d the sound-wood.
Not there the wave-floater, did the wind o’er the billows,
Waft off from its ways; the sea-wender fared,
Floated the foamy-neck’d, forth o’er the waves,
The bounden-stemm’d over, the streams of the sea;
Till the cliffs of the Geats there, they gat them to wit,
The nesses well kenned. Throng’d up the keel then,
Driven hard by the lift, and stood on the land.
Then speedy at holm, was the hythe-warden yare,
E’en he who a long while, after the lief men,
Eager at stream’s side, far off had looked.
To the sand thereon bound he, the wide-fathom’d ship,
With anchor-bands fast, lest from them the waves’ might,
The wood that was winsome, should drive thence awayward.
Thereon bade he upbear, the athelings’ treasures,
The fretwork and wrought gold. Not far from them thenceforth,
To seek to the giver, of treasures it was,
E’en Hygelac,& Hrethel’s son, where at home wonneth,
Himself and his fellows, hard by the sea-wall.
Brave was the builded house, bold king the lord was,
High were the walls, Hygd very young,
Wise and well-thriven, though few of winters,
Under the burg-locks, had she abided,
The daughter of H’th; naught was she dastard;
Nowise niggard of gifts, to the folk of the Geats,
Of wealth of the treasures. But wrath Thrytho bore,
The folk-queen the fierce, wrought the crime-deed full fearful.
No one there durst it, the bold one, to dare,
Of the comrades beloved, save only her lord,
That on her by day, with eyen he stare,
But if to him death-bonds, predestin’d he count on,
Hand-wreathed; thereafter, all rathely it was,
After the hand-grip, the sword-blade appointed,
That the cunning-wrought sword, should show forth the deed,
Make known the murder-bale. Naught is such queenlike,
For a woman to handle, though peerless she be,
That a weaver of peace, the life should waylay,
For a shame that was lying, of a lief man of men;
But the kinsman of Hemming, he hinder’d it surely.
Yet the drinkers of ale, otherwise said they;
That folk-bales, which were lesser, she framed forsooth,
Lesser enmity-malice, since thence erst she was,
Given gold-deck’d to, the young one of champions,
She the dear of her lineage, since Offa’s floor,
Over the fallow flood, by the lore of her father,
She sought in her wayfaring. Well was she sithence,
There on the man-throne, mighty with good;
Her shaping of life, well brooked she living;
High love she held, toward the lord of the heroes;
Of all kindred of men, by the hearsay of me,
The best of all was he, the twain seas beside,
Of the measureless kindred; thereof Offa was,
For gifts and for war, the spear-keen of men,
Full widely beworthy’d, with wisdom he held,
The land of his heritage. Thence awoke Eom’
For a help unto heroes, the kinsman of Hemming,
The grandson of Garmund, the crafty in war-strife.