Tone in Translation
English IV AP / Mrs. Ramos
A. translation by Seamus Heaney (ln. 1362 - 1382)
“…A few miles from here
a frost-stiffened wood waits and keeps watch
above a mere; the overhanging bank
is a maze of tree-roots mirrored in its surface.
At night there, something uncanny happens:
the water burns. And the mere bottom
has never been sounded by the sons of men.
On its bank, the heather-stepper halts:
the hart in flight from pursuing hounds
will turn to face them with firm-set horns
and die in the wood rather than dive
beneath its surface. That is no good place.
When wind blows up and stormy weather
makes clouds scud and the skies weep,
out of its depths a dirty surge
is pitched towards the heavens. Now help depends
again on you and on you alone.
The gap of danger where the demon waits
is still unknown to you. Seek it if you dare.
I will compensate you for settling the feud
as I did the last time with lavish wealth,
coffers of coiled gold, if you come back.”
B. translation by Burton Raffel
“They live in secret places, windy
Cliffs, wolf-dens where water pours
From the rocks, then runs underground, where mist
Steams like black clouds, an the groves of trees
Growing out over their lake are all covered
With frozen spray and wind down snakelike
Roots that reach as far as the water
And help keep it dark. At night that lake
Burns like a torch. No one knows its bottom,
No wisdom reaches such depths. A deer,
Hunted through the woods by packs of hounds,
A stag with great horns, though driven through the
forest
From faraway places, prefers to die
On those shores, refuses to save its life
In that water. It isn’t far, nor is it
A pleasant spot! When the wind stirs
And storms, waves splash toward the sky,
As dark as the air, as black as the rain
That the heavens weep. Our only help,
Again, lies with you. Grendel’s mother
Is hidden in her terrible home, in a place
You’ve not seen. Seek it, if you dare! Save us,
Once more, and again twisted gold,
Heaped-up ancient treasure, will reward you
For the battle you win!”
C. translation by Bruce Mitchell and Fred C. Robinson
They inhabit uncharted country, the retreat of wolves: windy cliffs and dangerous fen paths, where a mountain stream goes down under the misty bluffs and the flood runs under the earth. It is not many miles from here that the mere stands. Over it hang frosty groves, the firmly rooted wood shadowing the water. Every night a fearful wonder can be seen there: fire on the water.
“There is no man alive who knows the bottom of that mere. Although the antlered hart, when pursued by hounds and driven far over the heath, may seek out the forest, still he will sooner give up his life on the bank than jump in to save his head. That is not a safe place. There surging water rises up dark towards the clouds when wind stirs up hateful storms, until the air becomes gloomy and the heavens weep. No, again, you alone can help. You do not know that region, the dangerous place where you might find the polluted treature: seek it if you dare! I will regard you for the fight with riches of twisted fold and ancient treasure, as I did before, if you get away.”