"Beowulf", translated by Burton Raffel, 22-32

When my danger is near, the warm words we uttered,
And if your enemy should end my life
Then be, O generous prince, forever
The father and protector of all whom I leave
Behind me, here in your hands, my belove`d
Comrades left with no leader, their leader
Dead.

She welcomed him in her claws,
Clutched at him savagely but could not harm him,
Tried to work her fingers through the tight
Ring-woven mail on his breast, but tore
And scratched in vain.

He drew it
From its scabbard, broke the chain on its hilt,
And then, savage, now, angry
And desperate, lifted it high over his head
And struck with all the strength he had left,
Caught her in the neck and cut it through,
Broke bones and all.

—Then the sword
Melted, blood-soaked, dripping down
Like water, disappearing like ice when the world’s
Eternal Lord loosens invisible
Fetters and unwinds icicles and frost
As only He can, He who rules
Time and seasons, He who is truly
God.

And Hrothgar saw runic letters
Clearly carved in that shining hilt,
Spelling its original owner's name,
He for whom it was made, with its twisted
Handle and snakelike carvings.

Prosperity, prosperity, prosperity: nothing
Troubles him, no sickness, not passing time,
No sorrows, no sudden war breaking
Out of nowhere, but all the world turns
When he spins it. How can he know when he sins?

And then Beowulf left him, left Herot, walked
Across the green in his golden armor,
Exulting in the treasures heaped high in his arms.

But Thrith was too proud,
An imperious princess with a vicious tongue
And so fierce and wild that her father’s followers
Averted their eyes as she passed, knowing
That if anyone but their king watched where she walked
Her hands would shape a noose to fit
Their necks.

They praised her, now,
For her generous heart, and her goodness, and the high
And most noble paths she walked, filled
With adoring love for that leader of warriors,
Her husband; he was a man as brave and strong
And good, it is said, as anyone on this earth,
A spear-bold soldier who knew no fear,
Exalted with gifts, victorious in war,
A king who ruled his native land
Wisely and well.

But war will begin
As he runs, to the sound of broken oaths,
And its heat will dry up Ingeld’s heart,
Leave him indifferent to his Danish bride.

Beowulf had brought his king
Horses and treasure—as a man must,
Not weaving nets of malice for his comrades,
Preparing their death in the dark, with secret,
Cunning tricks.

And Beowulf gave Welthow’s gift, her wonderful
Necklace, to Higd, Higlac’s queen,
And gave her, also, three supple, graceful,
Saddle-bright horses; she received his presents,
Then wore that wonderful jewel on her breast.

The beast
Had slept in a huge stone tower, with a hidden
Path beneath; a man stumbled on
The entrance, went in, discovered the ancient
Treasure, the pagan jewels and gold
The dragon had been guarding, and dazzled and greedy
Stole a gem-studded cup, and fled.

These hammered
Helmets, worked with gold, will tarnish
And crack; the hands that should clean and polish them
Are still forever.

He’d survived,
Had come close enough to touch its scaly
Head and yet lived, as it lifted its cavernous
Jaws, through the grace of almighty God
And a pair of quiet, quick-moving feet.