xvii + 153 pp. with many small monotone drawings (reddish-brown) and 16 large color lithographs (blue and reddish-brown). Issued in a limited edition of 1500 copies. A slightly larger-size (page is 21.2 × 30.8 cm) reformatting of the Leonard translation illustrated by Lynd Ward, completely redesigned from the 1939 original: the type is reset in fonts different from those used in 1939; Leonard's prose section introductions are set in blue type; display capitals and running footers with page numbers are set in medium-tone reddish-brown. Illustrations from 1939 are in a few cases placed differently (e.g., original frontispiece appears here on p. 19, and a small image originally on p. 73 has been expanded for use on the new title page); those that were originally in black are printed here in the same reddish-brown as the display capitals, except for the enlarged image on the title page, which remains black. In the color lithographs, the colors are less vivid than in 1939.

The translation is preceded by Leonard's introductory note ("Something about the Poem Beowulf," ix-xv) and followed by his translation of The Fight at Finnsburg (151-52). The limitation colophon on p. 153: "Of this special edition of 'BEOWULF' fifteen hundred copies have been made for the members of the Limited Editions Club at The Gallery Press in New York, the edition having been planned by Eugene M. Ettenberg; the lithographs were hand-drawn by Lynd Ward and printed by the Duenewald Printing Corporation."

The translation begins:

Before chanting the deeds of the Geatman Beowulf, so brave and so strong, the 'Scop' (that is, the bard) chants the story of the ancestry of Hrothgar, the King of Danishmen (whose grandfather happened to be called Beowulf also), especially the strange story of the coming and the burial of Scyld, founder of the royal line. But why should the story of Beowulf, the Geat, begin with Hrothgar, the Dane? The Scop will strike his harp again and again and make all clear.

What ho! We've heard the glory     of Spear-Danes, clansmen-kings,
Their deeds of olden story,—     how fought the aethelings!
Often Scyld Scefing     reft his foemen all,
Reft the tribes at wassail     of bench and mead in hall.
Smote the jarls with terror;     gat good recompense
For that he came a foundling,     a child with no defense:
He waxed beneath the welkin,     grew in honors great,
Till each and every people,     of those around who sate
Off beyond the whale-road,     to him was underling,
To him must tender toll-fee.     That was a goodly King! (1-2)

And ends:

Then around the mound rode,     with cry and call,
Bairns of the aethelings,     twelve of all,
To mourn for their Master,     their sorrow to sing,
Framing a word-chant,     speaking of the King:
They vaunted his earlship,     they honored doughtily
His wonder-works of glory.     Let it ever be,
That heart of man shall cherish     and word of man shall praise
The Master-Friend, when in the end     his spirit goes its ways.
So the Geatish clansmen     bemoanéd their dearth,
The passing-forth of Beowulf,     these comrades of his hearth,
Calling him a World-King,     the mildest under crown,
And to his kin the kindest,     and keenest for renown. (148)

This edition not in Fry, MO1, GR, or MO2.

BAM (copy seen is number 1223 of 1500).