Hwaet! (Beowulf 1-43)

[gfish]

Phew. 43 lines translated, and it only took 3 days. Obviously I'm not doing this for Nanowrimo. Anyway, this is obviously a pretty poor translation. I've read Beowulf several times, including once last week, but I did this without looking at any other versions. Poor, but honest.

Hwæt! We Gardena in geardagum, þeodcyninga, þrym gefrunon, hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon. Oft Scyld Scefing sceaþena þreatum, monegum mægþum, meodosetla ofteah, egsode eorlas. Syððan ærest wearð feasceaft funden, he þæs frofre gebad, weox under wolcnum, weorðmyndum þah, oðþæt him æghwylc þara ymbsittendra ofer hronrade hyran scolde, gomban gyldan. þæt wæs god cyning! ðæm eafera wæs æfter cenned, geong in geardum, þone god sende folce to frofre; fyrenðearfe ongeat þe hie ær drugon aldorlease lange hwile. Him þæs liffrea, wuldres wealdend, woroldare forgeaf; Beowulf wæs breme (blæd wide sprang), Scyldes eafera Scedelandum in. Swa sceal geong guma gode gewyrcean, fromum feohgiftum on fæder bearme, þæt hine on ylde eft gewunigen wilgesiþas, þonne wig cume, leode gelæsten; lofdædum sceal in mægþa gehwære man geþeon. Him ða Scyld gewat to gescæphwile felahror feran on frean wære. Hi hyne þa ætbæron to brimes faroðe, swæse gesiþas, swa he selfa bæd, þenden wordum weold wine Scyldinga; leof landfruma lange ahte. þær æt hyðe stod hringedstefna, isig ond utfus, æþelinges fær. Aledon þa leofne þeoden, beaga bryttan, on bearm scipes, mærne be mæste. þær wæs madma fela of feorwegum, frætwa, gelæded; ne hyrde ic cymlicor ceol gegyrwan hildewæpnum ond heaðowædum, billum ond byrnum; him on bearme læg madma mænigo, þa him mid scoldon on flodes æht feor gewitan.

Hark! We Spear-Danes have heard of Great kings and armies in the days of years gone past, What the courage of princes accomplished. How Shuld Shefing deprived the hosts Of many a tribe their meadhall seats, Terrifying warriors. Greatest became That wrecthed foundling. He who had prayed for help Waxed under the heavens as his glory grew Until all around the whale-road they were Obliged to pay him tribute. That was a good king! Later a son was conceived, young in years. Sent by God to comfort the people, they Who leaderless had labored so long. To a ruler of glory worldly favor was given, Beowulf’s fame sprang forth, Shuld’s offspring in Shuld’s land. As young men should he worked hard, Craving his father’s praise, So they remained close over time, And when battle came the prince followed -- Praise-worthy actions that Should always make a man prosperous. Shuld was called to his destiny, Strongly called to join the Lord. He traveled to the sea, carried By beloved comrades as he asked, While poet’s words conjured the Shuldings’ lost lord And his dear homeland, long possessed. There in the harbour was a ring-prowed ship, Icy and eager to take a prince far. The beloved leader, ring-giver, Famous above all others, was given up To the ship’s hold. There were treasures Brought from many faraway places, and ornaments. I haven’t heard how many Weapons of war and battle, Swords and coats of armor adorned the ship. Lying dead, in the embrace of many treasures, Departed from them as the tide’s property.