Your craft but new-tarred, the keel on the sand, With honour to hold, until back shall be bearing Over the lake-streams this one, the lief man, The wood of the wounden-neck back unto Wedermark. Unto such shall be granted amongst the good-doers To win the way out all whole from the war-race. 300 Then boun they to faring, the bark biding quiet; Hung upon hawser the wide-fathom'd ship Fast at her anchor. Forth shone the boar-shapes Over the check-guards golden adorned, Fair-shifting, fire-hard; ward held the farrow. Snorted the war-moody, hasten'd the warriors And trod down together until the hall timbered, Stately and gold-bestain'd, gat they to look on, That was the all-mightiest unto earth's dwellers Of halls 'neath the heavens, wherein bode the mighty; 310 Glisten'd the gleam thereof o'er lands a many. Unto them then the war-deer the court of the proud one Full clearly betaught it, that they therewithal Might wend their ways thither. Then he of the warriors Round wended his steed, and spake a word backward: Time now for my faring; but the Father All-wielder May He with all helping henceforward so hold you All whole in your wayfaring. Will I to sea-side Against the wroth folk to hold warding ever. VI. BEOWULF AND THE GEATS COME INTO HART. Stone-diverse the street was, straight uplong the path led 320 The warriors together. There shone the war-byrny The hard and the hand-lock'd; the ring-iron sheer Sang over their war-gear, when they to the hall first In their gear the all-fearful had gat them to ganging. So then the sea-weary their wide shields set down, Their war-rounds the mighty, against the hall's wall. Then bow'd they to bench, and rang there the byrnies, The war-weed of warriors, and up-stood the spears, The war-gear of the sea-folk all gather'd together. The ash-holt grey-headed; that host of the iron 330 With weapons was worshipful. There then a proud chief Of those lads of the battle speer'd after their line: Whence ferry ye then the shields golden-faced, The grey sarks therewith, and the helms all bevisor'd, And a heap of the war-shafts? Now am I of Hrothgar The man and the messenger: ne'er saw I of aliens So many of men more might-like of mood. I ween that for pride-sake, no wise for wrack-wending But for high might of mind, ye to Hrothgar have sought. Unto him then the heart-hardy answer'd and spake, 340 The proud earl of the Weders the word gave aback, The hardy neath helm: Now of Hygelac are we The board-fellows; Beowulf e'en is my name, And word will I say unto Healfdene's son, To the mighty, the folk-lord, what errand is mine, Yea unto thy lord, if to us he will grant it That him, who so good is, anon we may greet. Spake Wulfgar the word, a lord of the Wendels, And the mood of his heart of a many was kenned,