The translation of _Beowulf_ is written in extremely archaic language. An imitative measure of four principal stresses is used. Wherever possible, the Old English syntax has been preserved (see line 1242); the word-order of the original is retained. The archaic language is wrought of several different kinds of words. In the first place, there is the 'legitimate archaism,' such as 'mickle,' 'burg,' 'bairn'; there are forms which are more closely associated with the translation of Old English, such as 'middle-garth,' 'ring-stem.' There are modern words used with the old signification, such as 'kindly' (in the sense 'of the same kind'), 'won war' (in the sense 'wage war'), 'fret' (in the sense 'eat'). Finally, there are forms which are literally translated from Old English: 'the sight seen once only' from _ans[-y]n_, face, 251; 'spearman' from _garsecg_, ocean (see extract), 'gift-scat' from _gif-sceatt_, gift of money, 378; 'the Maker's own making' from _metod-sceaft_, doom, 1180. Romance words are excluded whenever possible. A glossary of 'some words not commonly used now' is included in the book, but none of the words cited above, save 'burg,' is found in it.
IX. UNFERTH CONTENDETH IN WORDS WITH BEOWULF.
Spake out then Unferth that bairn was of Ecglaf, And he sat at the feet of the lord of the Scyldings, 500 He unbound the battle-rune; was Beowulf's faring, Of him the proud mere-farer, mickle unliking, Whereas he begrudg'd it of any man other That he glories more mighty the middle-garth over Should hold under heaven than he himself held: Art thou that Beowulf who won strife with Breca On the wide sea contending in swimming, When ye two for pride's sake search'd out the floods And for a dolt's cry into deep water Thrust both your life-days? No man the twain of you, 510 Lief or loth were he, might lay wyte to stay you Your sorrowful journey, when on the sea row'd ye; Then when the ocean-stream ye with your arms deck'd, Meted the mere-streets, there your hands brandish'd! O'er the Spearman ye glided; the sea with waves welter'd, The surge of the winter. Ye twain in the waves' might For a seven nights swink'd. He outdid thee in swimming, And the more was his might; but him in the morn-tide To the Heatho-Remes' land the holm bore ashore, And thence away sought he to his dear land and lovely, 520 The lief to his people sought the land of the Brondings, The fair burg peace-warding, where he the folk owned, The burg and the gold rings. What to theeward he boasted, Beanstan's son, for thee soothly he brought it about.