What glories we have heard of mighty kings Who ruled the Danish folk in days of yore; The prowess in those noble princes' deeds!
Hwæt wē Gār-Dena in geār-dagum þēod-cyninga þrym gefrūnon, hū þā æðelingas ellen fremedon.
Like Shield, a son of Sheaf, who from his foes In many tribes would seize the mead-hall seats And terrify the earls. Though first he was A foundling, destitute, his fortunes changed For good, as greater in the world he grew, And wealth he won, until the neighbour tribes Beyond the orca-way were made to kneel And pay him tribute. That was a good king!
Oft Scyld Scēfing sceaðena þrēatum, monegum mǣgðum meodo-setla oftēah. Egsode eorl, syððan ǣrest wearð fēa-sceaft funden: hē þæs frōfre gebād, wēox under wolcnum, weorð-myndum ðāh, oð þæt him ǣghwylc þāra ymb-sittendra ofer hron-rāde hȳran scolde, gomban gyldan: þæt wæs gōd cyning!
In later years an heir was born to him, A scion of the house whom God had sent As comfort to the people, for He saw The woe that they had suffered, leaderless So long. For this, to him the Lord of Life And King of Glory gave the world's acclaim, So Beow was renowned as heir to Shield, His story spread across the northern lands.
þǣm eafera wæs æfter cenned geong in geardum, þone god sende folce tō frōfre; fyren-þearfe ongeat, þæt hīe ǣr drugon aldor-lēase lange hwīle. Him þæs līf-frēa, wuldres wealdend, worold-āre forgeaf; Bēowulf wæs brēme (blǣd wīde sprang), Scyldes eafera Scede-landum in.
(A man, when he is young, should do good deeds And share his wealth while in his father's house So in old age, his friends will come and fight Beside him willingly in future wars And serve him faithfully. Through noble acts A man will prosper everywhere he goes.)
Swā sceal geong guma, gōde gewyrcean, fromum feoh-giftum on fæder wine, þæt hine on ylde eft gewunigen wil-gesīðas, þonne wīg cume, lēode gelǣsten: lof-dǣdum sceal in mǣgða gehwǣre man geþēon.
Then Shield upon his destined hour died; Still full of strength, he went to God's embrace. His boon companions bore him to the surf And sea, as he had bidden them before When he still wielded words, the Shieldings' friend, Beloved longtime ruler of the land.
Him þā Scyld gewāt tō gescæp-hwīle fela-hrōr fēran on frēan wǣre; hī hyne þā ætbǣron tō brimes faroðe. swǣse gesīðas, swā hē selfa bæd, þenden wordum wēold wine Scyldinga, lēof land-fruma lange āhte.
Down at the port there stood, with rounded prow And outward bound, the prince's icy boat; Down in the vessel's hold they laid their lord, This noble giver of the rings, a man So mighty, by the mast. Great wealth there was, And shining armour brought from distant shores.
Þǣr æt hȳðe stōd hringed-stefna, īsig and ūtfūs, æðelinges fær; ā-lēdon þā lēofne þēoden, bēaga bryttan on bearm scipes, mǣrne be mæste. Þǣr wæs mādma fela, of feor-wegum frætwa gelǣded:
I never heard of any finer ship So dressed in weapons, clad in war-attire, In biting blades and mail. Upon his breast A trove of treasures lay, to drift with him And follow far the power of the flood.
ne hȳrde ic cȳmlīcor cēol gegyrwan hilde-wǣpnum and heaðo-wǣdum, billum and byrnum; him on bearme læg mādma mænigo, þā him mid scoldon on flōdes ǣht feor gewītan.
No less the gifts with which they furnished him, The riches of a land, than others did Who sent him forth when he was newly born, An infant all alone upon the waves.
Nalas hī hine lǣssan lācum tēodan, þēod-gestrēonum, þonne þā dydon, þē hine æt frumsceafte forð onsendon ǣnne ofer ȳðe umbor wesende:
They set a golden banner, last of all, High overhead; they left him to the tide, And gave him to the deep, with heavy hearts And minds in mourning. None who live can say In truth—no hero under heaven, none We hear within the halls—who found that freight.
þā gȳt hīe him āsetton segen gyldenne hēah ofer hēafod, lēton holm beran, gēafon on gār-secg: him wæs geōmor sefa, murnende mōd. Men ne cunnon secgan tō soðe sele-rǣdende, hæleð under heofenum, hwā þǣm hlæste onfēng.

Old English text from the Harrison & Sharp edition, via Project Gutenberg #9701.