Hero-Myths & Legends of the British Race
fame, and warned them against pride and lack of generosity and
self-seeking; and then, ending with thanks and fresh gifts to Beowulf,
he bade the feast continue with increased jubilation. The tumultuous
rejoicing lasted till darkness settled on the land, and when it ended
all retired to rest free from fear, since no more fiendish monsters
would break in upon their slumbers; gladly and peacefully the night
passed, and with the morn came Beowulf's resolve to return to his king
and his native land.
When Beowulf had come to this decision he went to Hrothgar and said:
"Now we sea-voyagers come hither from afar
Must utter our intent to seek King Hygelac.
Here were we well received, well hast thou treated us.
If on this earth I can do more to win thy love,
O prince of warriors, than I have wrought as yet,
Here stand I ready now weapons to wield for thee.
If I shall ever hear o'er the encircling flood
That any neighbouring foes threaten thy nation's fall,
As Grendel grim before, swift will I bring to thee
Thousands of noble thanes, heroes to help thee.
I know of Hygelac, King of the Geat folk,
That he will strengthen me (though he is young in years)
In words and warlike deeds to bear my warrior-spear
Over the ocean surge, when arms would serve thy need,
Swift to thine aid. If thy son Hrethric young
Comes to the Geat court, there to gain skill in arms,
Then will he surely find many friends waiting him:
Better in distant lands learneth by journeying
He who is valiant."
Hrothgar was greatly moved by the words of the Geat hero and his
promise of future help. He wondered to find such wisdom in so young a
warrior, and felt that the Geats could never choose a better king if
battle should cut off the son of Hygelac, and he renewed his assurance
of continual friendship between the two countries and of enduring
personal affection. Finally, with fresh gifts of treasure and with
tears of regret Hrothgar embraced Beowulf and bade him go speedily to
his ship, since a friend's yearning could not retain him longer from
his native land. So the little troop of Geats with their gifts and
treasures marched proudly to their vessel and sailed away to Geatland,
their dragon-prowed ship laden with armour and jewels and steeds,
tokens of remembrance and thanks from the grateful Danes.
Beowulf's Return
Blithe-hearted were the voyagers, and gaily the ship danced over the
waves, as the Geats strained their eyes towards the cliffs of their
home and the well-known shores of their country. When their vessel
approached the land the coast-warden came hurrying to greet them, for
he had watched the ocean day and night for the return of the valiant
wanderers. Gladly he welcomed them, and bade his underlings help to
bear their spoils up to the royal palace, where King Hygelac, himself
young and valiant, awaited his victorious kinsman, with his beauteous
queen, Hygd, beside him. Then came Beowulf, treading proudly the rocky
paths to the royal abode, for messengers had gone in advance to
announce to the king his nephew's success, and a banquet was being
prepared, where Beowulf would sit beside his royal kinsman.
Once more there was a splendid feast, with tumultuous rejoicing. Again
a queenly hand--that of the beauteous Hygd--poured out the first bowl
in which to celebrate the safe return of the victorious hero. And now
the wonderful story of the slaying of the fen-fiends must be told.
Beowulf was called upon to describe again his perils and his
victories, and told in glowing language of the grisly monsters and the
desperate combats, and of the boundless gratitude and splendid
generosity of the Danish king, and of his prophecy of lasting
friendship between the Danes and the Geats. Then he concluded:
"Thus that great nation's king lived in all noble deeds.
Of guerdon I failed not, of meed for my valour,
But the wise son of Healfdene gave to me treasures great,
Gifts to my heart's desire. These now I bring to thee,
Offer them lovingly: now are my loyalty
And service due to thee, O hero-king, alone!
Near kinsmen have I few but thee, O Hygelac!"
As the hero showed the treasures with which Hrothgar had rewarded his
courage, he distributed them generously among his kinsmen and friends,
giving his priceless jewelled collar to Queen Hygd, and his best steed
to King Hygelac, as a true vassal and kinsman should. So Beowulf
resumed his place as Hygelac's chief warrior and champion, and settled
down among his own people.
Fifty Years After
When half a century had passed away, great and sorrowful changes had
taken place in the two kingdoms of Denmark and Geatland. Hrothgar was
dead, and had been succeeded by his son Hrethric, and Hygelac had been
slain in a warlike expedition against the Hetware. In this expedition
Beowulf had accompanied Hygelac, and had done all a warrior could do
to save his kinsman and his king. When he saw his master slain he had
fought his way through the encircling foes to the sea-shore, where,
though sorely wounded, he flung himself into the sea and swam back to
Geatland. There he had told Queen Hygd of the untimely death of her
husband, and had called on her to assume the regency of the kingdom
for her young son Heardred. Queen Hygd called an assembly of the
Geats, and there, with the full consent of the nation, offered the
crown to Beowulf, the wisest counsellor and bravest hero among them;
but he refused to accept it, and so swayed the Geats by his eloquence
and his loyalty that they unanimously raised Heardred to the throne,
with Beowulf as his guardian and protector. When in later years
Heardred also fell before an enemy, Beowulf was again chosen king, and
as he was now the next of kin he accepted the throne, and ruled long
and gloriously over Geatland. His fame as a warrior kept his country
free from invasion, and his wisdom as a statesman increased its
prosperity and happiness; whilst the vengeance he took for his
kinsman's death fulfilled all ideals of family and feudal duty held by
the men of his time. Beowulf, in fact, became an ideal king, as he was
an ideal warrior and hero, and he closed his life by an ideal act of
self-sacrifice for the good of his people.
Beowulf and the Fire-Dragon
In the fiftieth year of Beowulf's reign a great terror fell upon the
land: terror of a monstrous fire-dragon, who flew forth by night from
his den in the rocks, lighting up the blackness with his blazing
breath, and burning houses and homesteads, men and cattle, with the
flames from his mouth. The glare from his fiery scales was like the
dawn-glow in the sky, but his passage left behind it every night a
trail of black, charred desolation to confront the rising sun. Yet the
dragon's wrath was in some way justified, since he had been robbed,
and could not trace the thief. Centuries before Beowulf's lifetime a
mighty family of heroes had gathered together, by feats of arms, and
by long inheritance, an immense treasure of cups and goblets, of
necklaces and rings, of swords and helmets and armour, cunningly
wrought by magic spells; they had joyed in their cherished hoard for
long years, until all had died but one, and he survived solitary,
miserable, brooding over the fate of the dearly loved treasure. At
last he caused his servants to make a strong fastness in the rocks,
with cunningly devised entrances, known only to himself, and thither,
with great toil and labour of aged limbs, he carried and hid the
precious treasure. As he sadly regarded it, and thought of its future
fate, he cried aloud:
"Hold thou now fast, O earth, now men no longer can,
The treasure of mighty earls. From thee brave men won it
In days that are long gone by, but slaughter seized on them,
Death fiercely vanquished them, each of my warriors,
Each one of my people, who closed their life-days here
After the joy of earth. None have I sword to wield
Or bring me the goblet, the richly wrought vessel.
All the true heroes have elsewhere departed!
Now must the gilded helm lose its adornments,
For those who polished it sleep in the gloomy grave,
Those who made ready erst war-gear of warriors.
Likewise the battle-sark which in the fight endured
Bites of the keen-edged blades midst the loud crash of shields
Rusts, with its wearer dead. Nor may the woven mail
After the chieftain's death wide with a champion rove.
Gone is the joy of harp, gone is the music's mirth.
Now the hawk goodly-winged hovers not through the hall,
Nor the swift-footed mare tramples the castle court:
Baleful death far has sent all living tribes of men."
When this solitary survivor of the ancient race died his hoard
remained alone, unknown, untouched, until at length the fiery dragon,
seeking a shelter among the rocks, found the hidden way to the cave,
and, creeping within, discovered the lofty inner chamber and the
wondrous hoard. For three hundred winters he brooded over it
unchallenged, and then one day a hunted fugitive, fleeing from the
fury of an avenging chieftain, in like manner found the cave, and the
dragon sleeping on his gold. Terrified almost to death, the fugitive
eagerly seized a marvellously wrought chalice and bore it stealthily
away, feeling sure that such an offering would appease his lord's
wrath and atone for his offence. But when the dragon awoke he
discovered that he had been robbed, and his keen scent assured him
that some one of mankind was the thief. As he could not at once see
the robber, he crept around the outside of the barrow snuffing eagerly
to find traces of the spoiler, but it was in vain; then, growing more
wrathful, he flew over the inhabited country, shedding fiery death
from his glowing scales and flaming breath, while no man dared to face
this flying horror of the night.
The news came to Beowulf that his folk were suffering and dying, and
that no warrior dared to risk his life in an effort to deliver the
land from this deadly devastation; and although he was now an aged man
he decided to attack the fire-drake. Beowulf knew that he would not be
able to come to hand-grips with this foe as he had done with Grendel
and his mother: the fiery breath of this dragon was far too deadly,
and he must trust to armour for protection. He commanded men to make
a shield entirely of iron, for he knew that the usual shield of
linden-wood would be instantly burnt up in the dragon's flaming
breath. He then chose with care eleven warriors, picked men of his own
bodyguard, to accompany him in this dangerous quest. They compelled
the unhappy fugitive whose theft had begun the trouble to act as their
guide, and thus they marched to the lonely spot where the dragon's
barrow stood close to the sea-shore. The guide went unwillingly, but
was forced thereto by his lord, because he alone knew the way.
Beowulf Faces Death
When the little party reached the place they halted for a time, and
Beowulf sat down meditating sadly on his past life, and on the chances
of this great conflict which he was about to begin. When he had
striven with Grendel, when he had fought against the Hetware, he had
been confident of victory and full of joyous self-reliance, but now
things were changed. Beowulf was an old man, and there hung over him a
sad foreboding that this would be his last fight, and that he would
rid the land of no more monsters. Wyrd seemed to threaten him, and a
sense of coming woe lay heavy on his heart as he spoke to his little
troop: "Many great fights I had in my youth. How well I remember them