Beowulf 19No battle-skill[1] has he, that blows he should strike me
18
Literature · Poetry
Beowulf 19
No battle-skill[1] has he, that blows he should strike me
HallEnglish
To shatter my shield, though sure he is mighty
In strife and destruction; but struggling by night we
Shall do without edges, dare he to look for
Weaponless warfare, and wise-mooded Father
25 The glory apportion, God ever-holy,
{God may decide who shall conquer}
On which hand soever to him seemeth proper."
Then the brave-mooded hero bent to his slumber,
The pillow received the cheek of the noble;
{The Geatish warriors lie down.}
And many a martial mere-thane attending
30 Sank to his slumber. Seemed it unlikely
{They thought it very unlikely that they should ever see their homes
again.}
That ever thereafter any should hope to
Be happy at home, hero-friends visit
Or the lordly troop-castle where he lived from his childhood;
They had heard how slaughter had snatched from the wine-hall,
35 Had recently ravished, of the race of the Scyldings
{But God raised up a deliverer.}
Too many by far. But the Lord to them granted
The weaving of war-speed, to Wederish heroes
Aid and comfort, that every opponent
By one man's war-might they worsted and vanquished,
