I tend to read multiple books, and the one that takes center stage at the moment is Seamus Heaney's recent translation of Beowulf. The translation is on a page opposite the Old English original, which helps give an idea of how the original sounded, even if nearly none of the words make sense.
This is a free verse translation, trying to adhere within reason to the beat of the original, and it works quite well. Within the story itself, bards occasionally sing older work, and this is rendered in the strict meter of the whole epic, which is unusual to modern sensibilities, with a drumlike insistence, each line a pair of phrases.
If you just need to get through Beowulf because you have to, it's probably the best way to do it anyway. But of course Heaney is a formidable poet in his own right, and as a result, this is an enjoyable read if you like that sort of thing. Every once in a while the whole thing just starts to rock, and it's a toss up how much is owing to the original, and how much to Heaney, but so what?