A CHARM1 FOR BEWITCHED LAND

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(From the translation by J. D. SPAETH) Erce, Erce, Erce, Mother of Earth, May the Almighty, Lord Everlasting, Grant thee fields, green and fertile, Grant thee fields, fruitful and growing, Hosts of Spear-shafts, shining harvests, Harvest of Barley the broad, Harvest of Wheat the white, All the heaping harvests of earth! May the Almighty Lord Everlasting, And his holy saints in heaven above, From fiend and foe defend this land, Keep it from blight and coming of harm, From spell of witches wickedly spread! Now I pray the Almighty who made this world, That malice of man, or mouth of woman Never may weaken the words I have spoken. Hail to thee Earth, Mother of men!

Grow and be great in God's embrace, Filled with fruit for the food of men!

CHARM FOR A SUDDEN STITCH 1

(Translated by J. D. SPAETH)

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I'll give them back the bolt they sent,

A flying arrow full in the face.

Out little spear if in there thou be!
Sat a smith,

A hard blade hammered.

Out little spear if in there thou be!
Six smiths sat,

Fighting spears forged they.

Out spear, out!

No longer stay in!

If any iron be found herein,

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The work of witches, away it must melt. 1 The original charm includes directions (of which the selection given is one) for restoring fertility to land that was supposed to have been bewitched. The Charms are one of the characteristic types of old English verse, and are of great antiquity.

Name of an ancient goddess of fertility, perhaps analogous to the Roman goddess Demeter.

1 Stitch, or rheumatism, was supposed to be caused by little spears or darts, shot by a god, elf, or hag.

THE FIGHT WITH GRENDEL'S MOTHER (Translated by J. D. SPAETH)

[The Hero Beowulf grew up at the Court of his uncle Hygelac, King of the Geats or Jutes. Hearing how Heorot, the great Hall of the Danish King Hrothgar, was ravaged by a nightprowling monster named Grendel, Beowulf sailed with a chosen band to Hrothgar's kingdom, and offered to rid the Danes of their enemy. Alone and weaponless he fought with and killed Grendel in Heorot, and it was supposed that the Hall was again safe. But Grendel's mother, a wolfish water-wife, bent on revenge, broke into the Hall and carried off the King's best Thane. The next morning Beowulf, who had slept elsewhere, heard what had happened, and asked if he might undertake a second and more perilous adventure. Before going, the King describes to him the haunts of the monster.]

"I have heard my people, the peasant folk 1345
Who house by the border and hold the fens,
Say they have seen two creatures strange,
Huge march-stalkers,' haunting the moorland,
Wanderers outcast. One of the two

Seemed to their sight to resemble a woman; 1350
The other manlike, a monster misshapen,
But huger in bulk than human kind,
Trod an exile's track of woe.

The folk of the fen in former days

Named him Grendel. Unknown his father, 1355
Or what his descent from demons obscure.
Lonely and waste is the land they inhabit,
Wolf-cliffs wild and windy headlands,
Ledges of mist, where mountain torrents
Downward plunge to dark abysses,
And flow unseen. Not far from here
2 Skin.
3 The gods.
Of the gods.

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1 Creatures that stalk along the Marches, or Borders.

A marvellous light. There lives not the man Has fathomed the depth of the dismal mere. Though the heather-stepper, the strong-horned stag,

Seek this cover, forspent with the chase,

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Tracked by the hounds, he will turn at bay, 1370
To die on the brink ere he brave the plunge,
Hide his head in the haunted pool.
Wan from its depths the waves are dashed,
When wicked storms are stirred by the wind,
And from sullen skies descends the rain.
In thee is our hope of help once more.
Not yet thou hast learned where leads the way
To the lurking-hole of this hatcher of outrage.
Seek, if thou dare, the dreaded spot!
Richly I pay thee for risking this fight,
With heirlooms golden and ancient rings,
As I paid thee before, if thou come back alive."
Beowulf spoke, the son of Ecgtheow:
"Sorrow not gray-beard, nor grieve o'er thy
friend!

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No hole in the ground shall hide her from me.
But one day more thy woe endure,
And nurse thy hope as I know thou wilt."
Sprang to his feet the sage old king,
Gave praise to God for the promise spoken.
And now for Hrothgar a horse was bridled,
A curly-maned steed. The king rode on,
Bold on his charger. A band of shield-men
Followed on foot. Afar they saw
Footprints leading along the forest.

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They followed the tracks, and found she had crossed

Over the dark moor, dragging the body 1405
Of the goodliest thane that guarded with
Hrothgar

Heorot Hall, and the home of the king.
The well-born hero held the trail;
Up rugged paths, o'er perilous ridges,
Through passes narrow, an unknown way. 1410
By beetling crags, and caves of the nicors.2
He went before with a chosen few,
Warriors skilled, to scan the way.
Sudden they came on a cluster of trees
Overhanging a hoary rock,

A gloomy grove; and gurgling below,
A stir of waters all stained with blood.
Sick at heart were the Scylding chiefs,
Many a thane was thrilled with woe,

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For there they beheld the head of Escherẻ 1420 Far beneath at the foot of the cliff.

2 Sea-monsters, water-goblins

They leaned and watched the waters boil
With bloody froth. The band sat down,
While the war-horn sang its summons to battle.
They saw in the water sea-snakes a many, 1425
Wave-monsters weird, that wallowed about.
At the base of the cliff lay basking the nicors,
Who oft at sunrise ply seaward their journey,
To hunt on the ship-trails and scour the main,
Sea-beasts and serpents. Sudden they fled, 1430
Wrathful and grim, aroused by the hail
Of the battle-horn shrill. The chief of the Jutes,
With a bolt from his bow a beast did sunder
From life and sea-frolic; sent the keen shaft
Straight to his vitals. Slow he floated,
Upturned and dead at the top of the waves.
Eager they boarded their ocean-quarry;
With barb-hooked boar-spears the beast they
gaffed,

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Savagely broached him and brought him to

To Hrothgar spoke the son of Ecgtheow:
"Remember O honored heir of Heälfdenė,
Now that I go, thou noble king,
Warriors' gold-friend, what we agreed on,
If I my life should lose in thy cause,
That thou wouldst stand in stead of my father,
Fulfil his office when I was gone.

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Be guardian thou, to my thanes and kinsmen,
My faithful friends, if I fail to return.
To Hygėlac send, Hrothgar beloved,
The goodly gifts thou gavest to me.

May the Lord of the Jutes, when he looks on this treasure,

May Hrethel's son, when he sees these gifts,
Know that I found a noble giver,

And joyed while I lived, in a generous lord.
This ancient heirloom to Unferth give,

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To the far-famed warrior, my wondrous sword Of matchless metal, I must with Hrunting 3 1490 Glory gain, or go to my death."

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For winters a hundred, was 'ware from below
An earthling had entered her ocean domain.
Quickly she reached and caught the hero;
Grappled him grimly with gruesome claws.
Yet he got no scratch, his skin was whole;
His battle-sark shielded his body from harm.
In vain she tried, with her crooked fingers,
To tear the links of his close-locked mail.
Away to her den the wolf-slut dragged
Beowulf the bold, o'er the bottom ooze.
Though eager to smite her, his arm was help-
less.

The name of Beowulf's sword.

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Swimming monsters swarmed about him,
Dented his mail with dreadful tusks.
Sudden the warrior was 'ware they had come
To a sea-hall strange and seeming hostile,
Where water was not nor waves oppressed,
For the caverned rock all round kept back
The swallowing sea. He saw a light,
A flicker of flame that flashed and shone.
Now first he discerned the sea-hag monstrous,
The water-wife wolfish. His weapon he raised,
And struck with his sword a swinging blow.
Sang on her head the hard-forged blade
Its war-song wild. But the warrior found
That his battle-flasher refused to bite,
Or maim the foe. It failed its master

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In the hour of need, though oft it had cloven
Helmets, and carved the casques of the doomed
In combats fierce. For the first time now
His treasure failed him, fallen from honor.
But Hygelac's earl took heart of courage;
In mood defiant he fronted his foe.
The angry hero hurled to the ground,
In high disdain, the hilt of the sword,
The gaudy and jewelled; rejoiced in the strength
Of his arm unaided. So all should do
Who glory would find and fame abiding,
In the crash of conflict, nor care for their lives.
The Lord of the Battle-Jutes braved the en-
counter;
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The murderous hag by the hair he caught;
Down he dragged the dam of Grendel
In his swelling rage, till she sprawled on the

floor.

Quick to repay in kind what she got,

On her foe she fastened her fearful clutches; Enfolded the warrior weary with fighting; The sure-footed hero stumbled and fell.

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On his prostrate body she squatted enormous;
Unsheathed her hip-knife, shining and broad,
Her son to avenge, her offspring sole.
But the close-linked corslet covered his breast,
Foiled the stroke and saved his life.
All had been over with Ecgtheow's son,
Under the depths of the Ocean vast,
'Had not his harness availed to help him,
His battle-net stiff, and the strength of God.
The Ruler of battles aright decided it;
The Wielder all-wise awarded the victory:
Lightly the hero leaped to his feet.

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He spied 'mongst the arms a sword surpassing,
Huge and ancient, a hard-forged slayer,
Weapon matchless and warriors' delight,
Save that its weight was more than another
Might bear into battle or brandish in war; 1560
Giants had forged that finest of blades.
Then seized its chain-hilt the chief of the
Scyldings;

His wrath was aroused, reckless his mood,

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As he brandished the sword for a savage blow.
Bit the blade in the back of her neck,
Cut the neck-bone, and cleft its way
Clean through her body; she sank to the
ground;

The sword was gory; glad was the hero.
A light flashed out from the inmost den,
Like heaven's candle, when clear it shines

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The chop of the sea all churned up with blood
And bubbling gore. The gray-haired chiefs
For Beowulf grieved, agreeing together
That hope there was none of his home-returning
With victory crowned, to revisit his lord. 1601
Most of them feared he had fallen prey

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To the mere-wolf dread in the depths of the sea.
When evening came, the Scyldings all
Forsook the headland, and Hrothgar himself
Turned homeward his steps. But sick at heart
The strangers sat and stared at the sea,
Hoped against hope to behold their comrade
And leader again.

Now that goodly sword
Began to melt with the gore of the monster;1610
In bloody drippings it dwindled away.
'Twas a marvellous sight: it melted like ice,
When fetters of frost the Father unlocks,
Unravels the ropes of the wrinkled ice,
Lord and Master of months and seasons.
Beheld in the hall the hero from Juteland
Treasures unnumbered, but naught he took,
Save Grendel's head, and the hilt of the sword,
Bright and jeweled,—the blade had melted,
Its metal had vanished, so venomous hot
Was the blood of the demon-brute dead in the

cave.

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Soon was in the sea the slayer of monsters;
Upward he shot through the shimmer of waves;
Cleared was the ocean, cleansed were its waters,
The wolfish water-hag wallowed no more;
The mere-wife had yielded her miserable life.
Swift to the shore the sailors' deliverer
Came lustily swimming, with sea-spoil laden;
Rejoiced in the burden he bore to the land.
Ran to meet him his mailed comrades,
With thanks to God who gave them their leader
Safe again back and sound from the deep.
Quickly their hero's helmet they loosened,
Unbuckled his breastplate. The blood-stained

BEOWULF'S LAST FIGHT AND DEATH [Beowulf left with the Danes his grisly trophies of battle, the head of Grendel, his huge forequarter, and the hilt of the giant sword with its mystical runic inscription. Loading his boat with the gifts of Hrothgar, he and his comrades sailed away home. After the death of Hygėlac and his son, Beowulf became king of the Jutes, and ruled over them fifty years. In his old age his people were harried by a fire-dragon whom the hero went out to fight. It seems that an outlaw, banished and flying for shelter, had come upon a treasure hid in a deep cave or barrow, guarded by a dragon. Long years before, an earl, the last of his race, had buried the treasure. After his death the dragon, sniffing about the stones, had found it and guarded it three hundred years, until the banished man discovered the place, and carried off one of the golden goblets. In revenge the dragon made nightly raids on Beowulf's realm, flying through the air, spitting fire, burning houses and villages, even Beowulf's hall, the "gift-stool" of the Jutes. Beowulf had an iron shield made against the dragon's fiery breath, and with eleven companions, sought out the hill-vault near the sea. Before attacking the monster he spoke these words to his comrades:]

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Beowulf said to them, brave words spoke he: "Brunt of battles I bore in my youth, One fight more I make this day.

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I mean to win fame defending my people,
If the grim destroyer will seek me out,
Come at my call from his cavern dark."
Then he greeted his thanes each one,
For the last time hailed his helmeted warriors,
His comrades dear. "I should carry no sword,
No weapon of war 'gainst the worm should bear,
If the foe I might slay by strength of my arm,
As Grendel I slew long since by my hand. 2522
But I look to fight a fiery battle,

With scorching puffs of poisonous breath.

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For this I bear both breastplate and shield; 2525
No foot will I flinch from the foe of the barrow.
Wyrd is over us, each shall meet
His doom ordained at the dragon-cliff!
Bold is my mood, but my boast I omit
'Gainst the battle-flier. Abide ye here,
Heroes in harness, hard by the barrow,
Cased in your armor the issue await:
Which of us two his wounds shall survive.
Not yours the attempt, the task is mine.
'Tis meant for no man but me alone
To measure his might 'gainst the monster fierce.
I get you the gold in glorious fight,

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Or battle-death bitter shall bear off your lord."
Uprose with his shield the shining hero,
Bold 'neath his helmet. He bore his harness
In under the cliff; alone he went,

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Himself he trusted; no task for faint-heart.
Then saw by the wall the warrior brave,
Hero of many a hard-fought battle,
Arches of stone that opened a way;
From the rocky gate there gushed a stream,
Bubbling and boiling with battle-fire.
So great the heat no hope was there
To come at the hoard in the cavern's depth,
Unscathed by the blast of the scorching dragon.
He let from his breast his battle-cry leap,
Swoln with rage was the royal Jute,
Stormed the stout-heart; strong and clear
Through the gloom of the cave his cry went
ringing.

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