Blogger’s Beowulf Book Update #3

A scribe at a medieval writing desk perhaps copying out Beowulf the poem itself.

A scribe hard at work (…or could marginalia making mean that they’re hardly working?). Image from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Escribano.jpg.

 

This is going to be pretty quick.

Since the last update I’ve managed to complete the 3rd draft of the poem and am now finalizing it as I go through the second out-loud read through.

Since I need to be either alone at home or home during the day for that read through, I’ve also been gathering the commentaries. So far I’ve pulled out 63, covering the entries that ran from lines 2401-3182 of the poem, which is about 1/5 of all of the entries.

Needless to say, there’s still a bit of work to cover before I get to actually turn this thing into the e-book I’ve imagined. And I’m getting more hours at my day job, so I need to re-think the release timeline once again. Which makes me feel kind of shitty.

But, I have to admit, I should have seen this sort of thing coming.

I’ve never been great at judging how long a chunk of work is going to take me and tend to underestimate the time needed far more often than overestimate it. And that has become increasingly easy for me to do as I forget about one or more of the following when trying to figure out when I’ll have this book finished:

  • the day job, which it seems is going to run up the edge of being part-time work on a more regular basis;
  • the podcast I’m a part of (Fanthropological);
  • wrapping up the drafts of my current fiction series Magic in the Air (if you’re curious, you can read the first book on Wattpad here);
  • spending time with my partner;
  • and giving myself time to recharge.

Estimating how much time I need to finish things is definitely a skill I need to work on. It’s just one of the things I hope to learn to do better as I work on this project.

Anyway, I hope that these bi-weekly updates are enough to make it clear that I am committed to finishing this project. If you’ve got any questions or concerns or tips for me, feel free to share them in the comments.

And, again, thanks for sticking with me through this project!

Blogger’s Beowulf Book Update #2

A scribe at a medieval writing desk perhaps copying out Beowulf the poem itself.

A scribe hard at work (…or could marginalia making mean that they’re hardly working?). Image from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Escribano.jpg.

All righty! This update will be much quicker than the last. Unfortunately that’s because not much progress has been made.

I still need to go through the poem double checking that the rest of the overused “then”s are necessary and changing those that aren’t, clear away the issues my editing has turned up, and then re-reading the whole poem aloud to clean up any outstanding issues.

But that’s just for the poem.

I also need to pull out all of my commentaries and make sure that they’re all error-free and easy to read.

That might seem like a lot. But, honestly, I expect this part of the editing to take much less time than the poem itself, since when I was making my original posts I think the commentaries generally saw much more attention than the scraps of the poem I was posting.

As for the timeline? Two weeks ago I had written that I was thinking this book would be finished and ready by the end of February. That’s starting to feel ambitious, but I’m sticking with it. Though, being completely real, the end of February might just be when the pre-orders start.

All that said, back to the editing! Thanks for sticking with me through this final stretch of what’s turned out to be a very long, quite educational, and warmly rewarding project.

Blogger’s Beowulf Book Update #1

A ruined medieval castle that Karl Julius von Leypold drew and that is featured on A Blogger's Beowulf for its 2018 intro post.

An illustration by Carl Julius von Leypold entitled “Winter View of the Courtyard of a Medieval Castle in Ruins”. Image from https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Karl_Julius_von_Leypold_-_Blick_auf_einen_winterlichen_Innenhof_einer_mittelalterlichen_Ruine.jpg

First off, happy belated New Year, everyone! I feel like I missed the window for the usual new year goals type entry, but at least as far as this blog is concerned I only have one goal this year: finish my translation of Beowulf and release it as a book.

So, how is that going?

Well, as you might have guessed, it’s been slower than expected. Originally I was aiming to release the e-book (at least) by January. That is looking unlikely right now.

What’s Left to Do

As of this writing I’m at the point where I’m making sure that my pronouns for and capitalizations of God are all consistent with each other. Then I need to go through the poem and check to see if every use of “then” is helpful or hurtful to the poem’s flow.

Next, writing the translation as I did, piece by piece, made it very easy for words to repeat in quite close proximity. Though the original Old English seems to use “then…” quite a bit as well. Why not just leave those as is?

Well, one of the things I am completely done with is coming up with a subtitle for the translation (it wouldn’t do to just release this project as “Beowulf” after all, at least not for SEO reasons). And the subtitle that I settled on is “A Mostly Modern Verse Translation”. The resulting catch, at least for my editing, is the “Mostly Modern” part, since I want it to say that this translation of Beowulf, though trying to maintain the ancient feel of the original, is not completely unassailable by someone who’s never read Beowulf (or any Old English poetry) before. And it’s a completely stylistic choice to change some of the direct translations from the original to accomplish that goal.

After those steps are completed, and any other issues that came up in the process of working through them are also cleaned up, I’m going to do another complete spoken read through of the poem to make sure that everything sounds good. And, finally, once that’s done, I’ll be moving onto the part that might just make my translation a little unique: the blog-style commentaries that I’ve created along the way.

These commentaries will be tidied up as needed themselves, and then added to the main text as endnotes. At least in the ebook edition, these endnotes will be conveniently accessible via hyperlink. In the paperback version (which is something I want to get off the ground a little after the ebook release), they’ll just be left as endnotes since if they were added as footnotes there would likely only be a few lines of the poem per page.

Three Books from One

Once both of these components of the complete book are finished, I’m going to release them both in one book, of course. But, on the advice of a friend, I’m also going to release the commentaries and the poem itself in their own versions as well. At least initially, these two will have different covers since my starting budget for this project almost entirely went to the complete version’s cover, which I’ll reveal in the next update post.

The Updated Timeline

And there you have it. Those are the steps that remain between me and publishing this translation. So, what kind of a timeline am I looking at?

Well, optimistically, since I’ve taken up a day job in retail, all three versions of the book should be available as ebooks by the end of February. Though I plan on setting up pre-orders at least two weeks in advance of when I am 100% sure it will be available.

Before I Go

I will confess that this later release date is a bit disappointing, since I was kind of hoping to ride in the wake of Maria Dahvana Headley’s translation which released right around the switch from 2018 to 2019 (and is available here, if you’re curious). But, this way I don’t have to worry about that wake drowning me out, so it’s not all bad.

With that, thanks for checking in on this blog.

It’s time for me to get back to editing. I’ll try to check in here again at least every two weeks with updates until the paperback is out.

Until the next update, may you all be hale and hearty!

Welcome to the Wordhoard!

Featured

An Anglo-Saxon helmet with face mask of the style associated with Beowulf.

A helmet, complete with face mask, from the Sutton-Hoo treasure hoard. Image from https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sutton_Hoo_replica_(face).jpg

Welcome to A Blogger’s Beowulf!

Here you’ll find my translation of the Old English epic in it’s entirety. In fact, here you’ll find two versions of this translation. The first is one that includes commentary on certain passages and words, and the second is a straightforward poetic translation of the original.

If you want to read through the first one of these translations, you can start doing so here.

If you’d rather read through the clean version of the translation, you can start doing so here.

(And if you’re looking for a glossary that explains some of the letters and words that appear in my translation posts, check out the About page.)

But, if you’re more interested in reading about various stories, events, and articles related to Beowulf (including adaptations), they’re also here to find. Here are some good places to start:

Thanks for dropping by the blog! I hope that somewhere in this wordhoard you find what you’re looking for.

-Nicholas “NSCZach” Zacharewicz

The Future of A Blogger’s Beowulf

Summer’s over and fall is on the way, it’s time to let you all know what’s going on with this blog.

To be incredibly brief: nothing.

After the flurry of activity that saw me posting here twice a week, and then reliably once a week, and that helped me post all 3100+ lines of the poem, activity here will run down to nothing.

Why

There are a few reasons for this change to the plans that I’d made for the blog back at the beginning of 2018.

1. Work

One of these is my continual search for work.

I’m a freelancer, and perhaps was too proud of that fact to realize that I just haven’t been able to consistently earn enough to make a living from freelancing alone. As a result I’m starting to look into office and retail work, which will necessarily leave me with less time to tend to this blog and create content for it.

2. New Challenges

Another is that I want to move onto the next big challenge in my literary life: publishing. I’ve written a lot of stories over the years, and a handful of them have been published in various collections and journals, but I’ve never approached publishing as a business. This needs to change before 2019, since not only am I planning on launching the ebook (and eventually the hardcopy) of my translation of Beowulf in that year, but I’m also planning to publish my own original fiction then as well.

3. There’s Just So Little Time

Preparing my translation and those other works so that I can completely follow through with my self-publishing plans will take me some time over these next few months. And time spent with my fiancée and on whatever work I end up with will leave me with too little time to make the kind of content that I’d want to post on this site.

As a result, until my translation gets published in the new year, this site is going to function as more of an archive than an active blog. It’s my hope that people will still come across it (and be directed to it!) and find what’s posted here interesting and engaging.

The Podcast

As for the podcast, I’m sad to say that it’s not going to continue beyond the current three episodes.

I’d like to deeply thank author Paul Begadon and Illustrator Alexis Fajardo for their time and participation in that experiment. And I’d also like to apologize to them for not doing more with it. Someday down the road I’d love to do some sort of classical epic poetry podcast. For now, though, it just makes more sense for it to come to an end.

Wrap-Up

Thanks to everyone who’s followed along with this blog over the years. If you know people who are looking for what I’d call a casually loyal translation of Beowulf, I hope that you’ll point them over here.

In the meantime, I’ll be linking all of the clean poem pieces together for easy navigation on this site. Watch for the new intro post for this blog this Saturday (September 8).

And keep your eyes peeled in December 2018 for the launch announcement for the e-book of my translation!

Thanks again to all of you!
-Nicholas “NSCZach” Zacharewicz

Beowulf’s Funeral: Book XLII

A ship decked with treasure and set up as a Viking funeral pyre, like the one for Beowulf.

The artist Siemiradzki’s take on a Viking Funeral. Beowulf’s pyre probably looked similar. Image from https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Funerale_vichingo#/media/File:Funeral_of_ruthenian_noble_by_Siemiradzki.jpg.

XLII

Then it was seen that the journey for
that which was hidden in the earth swell
was for nought. Its guard earlier slew
that one of joy, though that one worked the feud,
and worked it wrathfully. It is a wonder
where any great man famed for courage will meet the end
of these loaned days, when he may no longer
dwell with his kinsmen in the mead hall.
So it was with Beowulf, when he the barrow’s
guardian sought, a cunning enmity. None can know
through what means his own parting from this world will be.

Just so the renowned princes solemnly declared
a curse upon that which they placed there until doomsday,
that the man would be guilty in sins,
confined in idol’s shrines, held fast in hell-bonds,
tormented in evil, whoever plundered that place,
unless he had earlier perceived
the gold-giving lord’s favour.

Wiglaf spoke, Weohstan’s son:

“Oft it happens that one warrior’s wish makes
the many endure misery, just so it has happened with us.
We could not persuade that dear prince,
this guardian of the people would not accept any counsel
to not attack the gold guardian then,
to let it lay where he long was,
to let it remain in that dwelling place until the world’s end,
to keep his exalted destiny. The hoard is
bitterly won; it was fate that impelled
that king of a people to that hard place.

“I was in that place and looked over all that was there;
through that building of precious objects I had to clear a
path. Not at all in a friendly way was I granted passage
in the place under the mound. I in haste grasped
much in my hands of a mighty burden
of the hoarded treasures, out to here I carried it
to my king. He was alive yet,
wise and aware; a great many things
the old one said in grief, and ordered me to greet you,
ordered that you should build after the friendly lord’s
deeds a lofty barrow there in the place of the pyre,
mighty and renowned, just as he among men was,
worthiest warrior widely throughout the earth,
while he could enjoy the wealth of a stronghold.

“Let us now hasten to another time,
to see and seek out the pile of finely worked jewels,
the wonder under the wall. I shall guide you,
that you shall look upon abundant
rings and broad gold near at hand. Then ready the bier,
swiftly prepare it where we come out,
and then ferry our lord,
beloved of men, to where he shall long
in the Ruler’s protection remain.”

Commanded then the son of Weohstan, gave
the fighters orders, bold in battle, like a warrior among many,
as one who owns a hall, that they might
bring wood for the pyre from afar, for the good man,
that leader of a people:

          “Now shall fire consume all
— he shall grow dark by the flames — the ruler of warriors,
he who often endured the shower of iron
when the arrow storm was sent from the bow
over the shield wall, the shafts fulfilling their duty,
arrowheads aided by hasting feather fletching.”

Indeed the wise son of Weohstan
summoned a band of the king’s thanes,
seven together, those who were best,
he went with seven others, warriors,
under the evil roof. One bore in hand
a flaming torch, the one who went at the front.
There was no drawing of lots for the plundering of
that hoard, when the men saw that all parts of
the hall remained without a guardian,
for he lay wasting away; few of them grieved
as they hastily carried out those
dear treasures. They also pushed the dragon,
the serpent they slid over the sea cliff, let the waves
take him. The sea enfolded that guardian of precious
things. Then was wound gold loaded onto wagons,
everything in countless numbers before the prince was borne,
the old warrior brought to Whales’ Ness.

For him the Geatish people then made ready
the splendid pyre in the earth,
hung round with helmets, with battle shields,
with gleaming mail coats, as he had requested.
Then they laid the renowned prince in the midst of
lamenting warriors, that dear lord.
The fighters then proceeded to kindle
that great funeral fire; wood smoke rose up
black over the blaze, the flame roared, mingling
with weeping — the swirling wind subsided — until
that blade had broken the body, proven hot to the
heart. Sad at the source, it threw about sorrowful
heat, and lamented grievously, killing the liege lord.

Also a Geatish woman’s song of mourning
[ . . . ] with hair bound up
for that sorrowful song; they said repeatedly
that they dreaded sorely an invasion,
an abundance of slaughter, terror for the company of men,
humiliation and captivity. Heaven swallowed the smoke.

Then built the Geatish people
a burial mound on the headland, it was high and broad,
for seafarers it was widely visible,
and in ten days they built
the monument for the one bold in battle. They built
also a wall around the remnants of the fire, as
the wise men had most worthily devised it.

They placed Beowulf in the barrow with rings and jewels,
all such adornments as were before in the
hoard of the hostile minded one that men had taken.
The warriors left the wealth to be kept by the earth,
gold in the ground, where it yet exists
as useless to men as it previously had been.
Then around the barrow of the brave in battle they rode,
the sons of noblemen, twelve warriors,
they would lament with their sorrow and mourn their king,
uttering dirges and speaking about the man;

They praised him for his heroism and his courageous
deeds, which were judged highly, just as it was fitting
that the men laud their friend and lord prince with
such words, love of their hearts, when he
shall lead out his soul from his body.

Thus lamented the Geatish people
for the fall of their lord, their hearth companion.
They said that of earthly kings he was
the mildest among men and most gracious, the
kindest to people and most eager for fame.

Thank you very much for reading my translation of Beowulf! Feel free to email me at nsczach@gmail.com if you have any constructive feedback to share.

The History of a Feud and the Future of Wiglaf’s Geats: Book XXXIX – Book XLI

A Viking Age battle involving, no doubt, a king like Beowulf and a feud.

Thorir Hund dressed in a reindeer-hide tunic kills King Olaf at the Battle of Stiklestad. Painting by Peter Nicolai Arbo. Image from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Stiklestad#/media/File:Arbo-Olav_den_helliges_fall_i_slaget_p%C3%A5_Stiklestad.jpg

XXXIX

That which had happened was painfully felt
by the young man when he on the ground saw
that dearest one pitiably suffering
at his life’s end. The slayer also lay so,
the terrible earth dragon was bereaved of life,
overwhelmed by ruin. In the hoard of rings no
longer could the coiled serpent be on guard,
once the sword edge carried it off,
felt the hard, battle-sharp remnant of hammers, just so
the wide-flier was stilled by its wounds and
lay where it had fallen near the treasure house. Never
after did it move about through the air by flight
in the middle of the night, glorying in its rich possessions,
never could it make more appearances,
since it had fallen to earth at the war leader’s deed of the hand.

Indeed few mighty men on earth
have so succeeded, as I have heard,
though every deed they did was daring,
few of them would make a rush against the breath of the
fierce ravager or could disturb a hall of rings by hand,
if he discovered the ward awakened and
dwelling in the barrow. Beowulf had paid
for his share of the noble treasures with his death;
each had reached the end of
their loaned lives.

          It was not long then
before the laggards in battle left the wood,
ten cowardly traitors together,
those that dared not fight by the spear when
their liege lord was in greatest need;
but they were ashamed when they came bearing shields,
dressed in clean war garments, to where their lord lay.
They gazed on Wiglaf.

          The thane sat exhausted,
the warrior on foot near his lord’s shoulder.
He still tried to revive him with water — thought not at all did that speed him.
He might not on earth make that chieftain keep his life,
though he wished well to,
nor could he at all change the decree of the Ruler;
God’s decree would rule over the deeds
of each man, as it does yet.
Then from that young warrior a grim answer
was easy to obtain for those who earlier had lost their courage.

Wiglaf spoke, Weohstan’s son,
the man sad at heart — he saw those gathered as not dear:

“Lo! It may be said, by he who will speak truth,
that the liege lord, he who gave you that treasure,
that military gear, that you there stand in,
when he at ale-bench oft gave
to sitters in the hall helms and byrnies,
the prince over his retainers, the strongest that he could
find either far or near, all that he may
as well have furiously tossed away, that war gear
that he from battle won.
Not at all did that folk-king have cause to boast
of comrades in arms. Yet god allowed him, the
victorious ruler, so that he himself could drive forward
with his sword alone, when he had need for courage.”

“I could offer but little of life protection
to him in the fray, and yet I felt my limits
lessen when I strove to help our lord.
It was ever weakening, when I landed sword blows
on the mortal enemy, the fire from his head then
grew sluggish. As he became desperate, too few rallied
around the prince, at the time of the beast’s final
thrashing. Now shall the sword-gifting and treasure
sharing, all the native-land joy of our people,
our hope, be subdued. Each of us will have
our land-right become idle
among our people, afterwards princes from afar
will come seeking, driving us all to flee,
an inglorious deed. Death is better
to every warrior than a life of dishonour!”

XL

Wiglaf then bade that the battle work be
reported to those encamped on the cliff-edge, where the
noble warrior host had sat sorrow-hearted all through that morning,
the shield bearers, entertaining both possibilities:
that it was the end of the dear man’s days,
that the prized prince would return again.

          The messenger
kept little silent in his story, so that naught was left
unsaid, and so he spoke truth to them all:

“Now is the Weder’s gracious giver,
the lord of the Geats, fast in his deathbed,
gone to the grave by the dragon’s deed:
Beside him, in like state, lay the
mortal enemy, dead from dagger wounds; for his sword
could not work any wound whatever on
that fierce foe. Wiglaf sits
by Beowulf’s side, the son of Weohstan,
a warrior watching over the unliving other,
holding vigil over the Geats’ chief,
he sits by the beloved and the reviled.

          “Now our people may
expect war-time, once the king’s fall
becomes widely and openly known
among Franks and Frisians. The fury of the Franks
was hard rattled, after Hygelac sailed from afar
in a war fleet to Frisian lands, there
Hetware harried him on the field, zealously came out
against him with overpowering might so that the
corseleted warrior was made to give way,
he fell among foot soldiers; not at all did that
lord give treasures to his troop. Ever since then
the Merovingian have shown us no mercy.

“Nor do I expect the Swedes to hold us as kin
or remain peaceful; for it was widely known
that Ongeontheow slew Haethcyn,
son of Hrethel, in the strife at Ravenswood,
when for arrogance the Geats first
sought to strike the Scylfings.
Old and terrible, Ohthere’s wise father
gave the return assault,
destroyed the sea king, kept his bride,
deprived his aged wife of gold,
the mother of Onela and Ohthere.
then he followed the mortal foe,
until they showed themselves
in great leaderless hardship in the Ravenswood.

“Beset he then with an immense host the remnant
wearied by war wounds; all the night
long he twisted their tender spirits with vile boasts,
he said that he would destroy them with the
sword’s edge come morning, that he would hang them
on gallows-trees to feed the birds. Yet joy again
existed in their sorrowful hearts just as day dawned,
for then came Hygelac with his horn and its call,
a sound they recognized, knew that it meant a troop
of great allies had arrived in their final moment.”

XLI

“The gory track Geats and Swedes left there,
from the widely seen onslaught,
was easy to follow back to the erupting feud.
Then he knew the good men among his comrades,
the old sorrowful man sought to secure his soldiers,
Ongeontheow the chief turned to higher ground.
For he had learned first hand of Hygelac’s battlecraft,
his splendid war strength and he trusted not to resistance,
the hope that he might rout those seafarers,
those sea-borne warriors, resist that horde,
protect his son and wife. After that the aged one’s
banners went behind the earthen wall. Then the
persecution of the Swedish people was commanded,
Hygelac’s sign rushed forward into the peaceful plain.

“Afterward the Hrethlings thronged around that fortified enclosure.
There by the sword’s edge Ongeontheow,
the grey-haired lord, was left to suffer at
Eofor’s command alone. Angrily against him
Wulf son of Wonred reached with a weapon,
so that his sword swing struck, sending blood
forth from under his hair. Yet he was
not frightened, the old Scylfing,
he paid him back double for that blow,
turning a far worse death strike against that one,
After the king had turned thither.

“Yet the bold son of Wonred could not
land a blow against that aged man,
for he had sheared the helm from his head,
so that Wulf had to bow his bloodied head,
fell to the ground. But fate called not yet to him,
and he recovered himself, though he fully felt his wound.
Eofor, that hardy thane of Hygelac, then hoisted
his broad blade, as his brother lay there,
an antique edge of giant design, his stroke caught the giant’s helm,
cut through Ongeontheow’s shield wall; then bowed that king,
the people’s protector, he was struck through to his soul.

“There were many then, those who bandaged Wulf,
swiftly raised him up, since it had been cleared,
since they ruled that bloodied field.
At the same time, winning warriors stripped those who lost,
from Ongeontheow went his iron mail,
his hard sword hilt and his helmet also.
These old ornaments were brought to Hygelac.
He accepted these treasures and himself fairly stated
among the people that reward would be had, and so he did.
He paid them for their battle-rush, the Geat lord,
Hrethel’s son, when they arrived home,
Eofor and Wulf were overloaded with gifts;
he gave them lands and linked rings
of great value in gold — no man on earth
need reproach him for that reward — after they
forged their glorious deed;
and to Eofor he also gave his only daughter,
a tender home-shaper, his loyalty to lock.

“That is the root of our feud and foe-ship,
this very deadly hostility, which, as I truly believe,
means that we shall be sought by the Swedes,
after they hear of how our lord is now lifeless,
the one who in earlier days defended
our people and treasures against our enemies,
after our warriors fell, a prelude to the Scylfings,
worked ever for the people’s benefit and went further
than any other to be like a true lord. Now haste is best,
that we our king go to see,
he who gave us rings, and then go with him
to the funeral pyre.

          “None shall match
what will melt amidst his glory, for there shall be the
treasure’s hoarded gold untold, bought at so grim a cost;
and now at his departure those rings bought
with his own life: the fire shall consume them,
all swallowed in the searing heat, no man shall
wear that treasure to remember, nor may
any woman wear those costly rings as shining adornment,
but they shall be sad-hearted, bereaved of gold,
for oft, not once alone, shall they tread foreign lands,
the leader’s laughter now having been silenced,
sport and mirth ceased.

          “The future will see hands habituated to hoisting
morning-cold spears, heaved by hand, not at all shall
the harp’s sweep stir warriors, but wan on the wing
the raven flying over the doomed will speak,
tell the eagle how he vomited and ate,
when he and the wolf tore and tasted the dead.”

Such was the sentence of that speaker’s
dire speech; he did not deceive in
what he told and read of fate. The troop all arose,
went without joy beneath Eagle Cliff,
faces tear-torn, the terrible scene to see.

They found him on the sand where his soul left his body,
emptily guarding his couch, he who had given rings
in days past. That was the final day
of that good man’s journey, indeed that great-king,
lord of the Weders, died a wondrous death.

Yet before that they saw a stranger creature,
opposite him there on the strand was the serpent, there
the loathed one lay: it was the dweller of the drake’s
den, the sombrely splattered horror, glowing like an
ember for its flames. It was full fifty feet long,
laying there; just days ago it knew
the joy of night-flight, keeping a searching eye out for
its den down below; it was held there in death,
never again would it know its earth den.

Beside it stood beakers and cups,
plates laid about and dear swords,
rusty, eaten through, as only those who live
in the embrace of earth for a thousand winters
can be. Yet that huge cache,
the hold of gold of men of old, was spell-bound,
so that no man might enter
that ring-hall, save god itself,
Ruler of Triumph, give its approval
— for god is humanity’s handler — to open that hoard,
even then only for such a man as the Ruler thought fit.

Want more Beowulf? Continue the poem here!