My translation of the first lines.

Hear! We Spear-Danes in days past
heard of brave rulers of the people;
how these heros did fame-worthy workings.
Often Scyld Scefing faced enemy warriors
from many nations; took away the mead-bench:
terrified the enemy. A waif when first found
his life was difficult. He learned from that experience
to prosper under heaven. Gained honor so that
neighboring nations from over the whale-road
obeyed this ruler; rendered him tribute.
He was a good King! In later years he sired
a Prince in Kingcourt, whom God sent
as comfort to the people who’d long lived Lordless.
Him their Lord of Life, Heaven’s Glorious Ruler
gave worldly honor. Beowulf his name;
the wide-flung fame of Scyld’s strong heir
was known to all Scede-land.
Thus should a young man good deeds accomplish;
give splendid gifts while yet his Father lives
so that growing older he becomes
a beloved companion of his people;
and when war comes then shall the Landsmen
valiently stand by him; strong deeds deliver.
In any nation such a Prince will prosper.
Scyld left the world at Wyrd’s appointed time
in all his strength took the Lord’s aegis
on his long journey. Warriors carried him
to the sea’s edge: dear retainers he had bid
do the last duty while yet a ruler
strong in mind and heart. At harbor waited
the ship’s ringed prow rimed with ice; a hero’s ship
ready to set out. They laid on board
the dear ring giver, this famous man, stretched
beneath the mast, in the boat’s bosom.
There was much treasure from distant kingdoms.
Nor have we heard of a ship adorned
more beautifully for battle: war weapons,
armor, coats of mail, swords–all left with the dead.
On his chest–jewels heaped for his journey
to the sea’s long keeping.
Then the men raised a golden standard
high over head; let the tide bear the warrior off,
hearts mournful, minds sore. They stood in somber silence.
No councellor in hall, nor hero under heaven,
could tell, in truth, who received that cargo.

There was in burgum Scylding Beowulf,
King of those peoples for many years; dear
Lord of the land after his sire’s death. To him
noble Healfdene was born.