Once again have I left it too long until I update this translation. But, as a means of distracting myself from the horrible turbulence on my flight from Amsterdam through Storm Ciara, I finally got around to doing a small but of translation! Gwan the lads!
So, Beowulf has landed, the Watchman is impressed and he brings all the lads up to the hall.
Gewiton him þa feran. Flota stille bad,
seomode on sale sidfæþmed scip,
on ancre fæst. Eoforlic scionon
ofer hleorberan gehroden golde,
fah ond fyrheard; ferhwearde heold
guþmod grimmon. Guman onetton,
sigon ætsomne, oþþæt hy sæl timbred,
geatolic ond goldfah, ongyton mihton;
þæt wæs foremærost foldbuendum
receda under roderum, on þæm se rica bad;
lixte se leoma ofer landa fela.
Him þa hildedeor hof modigra
torht getæhte, þæt hie him to mihton
gegnum gangan; guðbeorna sum
wicg gewende, word æfter cwæð:
Mæl is me to feran; fæder alwalda
mid arstafum eowic gehealde
siða gesunde. Ic to sæ wille
wið wrað werod wearde healdan.
Stræt wæs stanfah, stig wisode
gumum ætgædere. Guðbyrne scan
heard hondlocen, hringiren scir
song in searwum, þa hie to sele furðum
in hyra gryregeatwum gangan cwomon.
Setton sæmeþe side scyldas,
rondas regnhearde, wið þæs recedes weal,
bugon þa to bence. Byrnan hringdon,
guðsearo gumena; garas stodon,
sæmanna searo, samod ætgædere,
æscholt ufan græg; wæs se irenþreat
Off then so they went. The ship stayed put, having an old rest on the sand, that big-bellied boat, anchored fast so she was.* Images of boars shone on their face-guards, made from gold, all shiny from the forge, guarding over life. The lads, mad for a bit of fightin caused a bit of a hoo-ha, and the men scooted on together until they could catch a glimpse of that Big House, all stately and gawdy with gold. It was famous out to every fecker who ever walked on this very earth, that hall sitting under the heavens. And twas in there the man himself lived, and that grand old gaff’s light could be felt over many a land.
Then the brave lad showed them the class hall, so they could all get on with it. Your man turned his horse and was then like, “alright lads, I best be off there now alright, but God bless ye and by God I hope he keeps ye safe out on ye’re journey. I’ve got to get back to the sea there myself, make sure no gurriers get in, ya know yourself sure.”
The street was all cobbledy, that old path that led all the lads. The war-shirts, all fastened by hand, shone like mad, and the iron-rings were clanging off the armour. They finally got to the hall in their big fuck-off war-gear, and the lads, a absolutel knackered so they were, fecked their big shields up against the wall of the place and sat their arses down on the benches. The mail was clinking, the warrior lads’ armour, and the spears, all those sea-folks’ crafts stood, all piled together and looking like some sort of grey ash forest or something from above, and jaysus if there wasn’t any finer weapons.