"beowulf" - читать интересную книгу автора (Beowulf)

to hide my head;[3] for his shall I be,
dyed in gore, if death must take me;
and my blood-covered body he'll bear as prey,
ruthless devour it, the roamer-lonely,
with my life-blood redden his lair in the fen:
no further for me need'st food prepare!
To Hygelac send, if Hild[4] should take me,
best of war-weeds, warding my breast,
armor excellent, heirloom of Hrethel
and work of Wayland.[5] Fares Wyrd[6] as she must."

[1] The nicor, says Bugge, is a hippopotamus; a walrus, says ten Brink.
But that water-goblin who covers the space from Old Nick of jest to the
Neckan and Nix of poetry and tale, is all one needs, and Nicor is a good
name for him.
[2] His own people, the Geats.
[3] That is, cover it as with a face-cloth. "There will be no need of
funeral rites."
[4] Personification of Battle.
[5] The Germanic Vulcan.
[6] This mighty power, whom the Christian poet can still revere, has here
the general force of "Destiny."


VII

HROTHGAR spake, the Scyldings'-helmet:--
"For fight defensive, Friend my Beowulf,
to succor and save, thou hast sought us here.
Thy father's combat[1] a feud enkindled
when Heatholaf with hand he slew
among the Wylfings; his Weder kin
for horror of fighting feared to hold him.
Fleeing, he sought our South-Dane folk,
over surge of ocean the Honor-Scyldings,
when first I was ruling the folk of Danes,
wielded, youthful, this widespread realm,
this hoard-hold of heroes. Heorogar was dead,
my elder brother, had breathed his last,
Healfdene's bairn: he was better than I!
Straightway the feud with fee[2] I settled,
to the Wylfings sent, o'er watery ridges,
treasures olden: oaths he[3] swore me.
Sore is my soul to say to any
of the race of man what ruth for me
in Heorot Grendel with hate hath wrought,
what sudden harryings. Hall-folk fail me,
my warriors wane; for Wyrd hath swept them
into Grendel's grasp. But God is able
this deadly foe from his deeds to turn!