Lines 710-915


THEN from the moorland, by misty crags,

with God's wrath laden, Grendel came.

The monster was minded of mankind now

sundry to seize in the stately house.

Under welkin he walked, till the wine-palace there,

gold-hall of men, he gladly discerned,

flashing with fretwork. Not first time, this,

that he the home of Hrothgar sought, --

yet ne'er in his life-day, late or early,

such hardy heroes, such hall-thanes, found!

To the house the warrior walked apace,

parted from peace; {11a} the portal opended,

though with forged bolts fast, when his fists had

struck it,

and baleful he burst in his blatant rage,

the house's mouth. All hastily, then,

o'er fair-paved floor the fiend trod on,

ireful he strode; there streamed from his eyes

fearful flashes, like flame to see.

He spied in hall the hero-band,

kin and clansmen clustered asleep,

hardy liegemen. Then laughed his heart;

for the monster was minded, ere morn should dawn,

savage, to sever the soul of each,

life from body, since lusty banquet

waited his will! But Wyrd forbade him

to seize any more of men on earth

after that evening. Eagerly watched

Hygelac's kinsman his cursed foe,

how he would fare in fell attack.

Not that the monster was minded to pause!

Straightway he seized a sleeping warrior

for the first, and tore him fiercely asunder,

the bone-frame bit, drank blood in streams,

swallowed him piecemeal: swiftly thus

the lifeless corse was clear devoured,

e'en feet and hands. Then farther he hied;

for the hardy hero with hand he grasped,

felt for the foe with fiendish claw,

for the hero reclining, -- who clutched it boldly,

prompt to answer, propped on his arm.

Soon then saw that shepherd-of-evils

that never he met in this middle-world,

in the ways of earth, another wight

with heavier hand-gripe; at heart he feared,

sorrowed in soul, -- none the sooner escaped!

Fain would he flee, his fastness seek,

the den of devils: no doings now

such as oft he had done in days of old!

Then bethought him the hardy Hygelac-thane

of his boast at evening: up he bounded,

grasped firm his foe, whose fingers cracked.

The fiend made off, but the earl close followed.

The monster meant -- if he might at all --

to fling himself free, and far away

fly to the fens, -- knew his fingers' power

in the gripe of the grim one. Gruesome march

to Heorot this monster of harm had made!

Din filled the room; the Danes were bereft,

castle-dwellers and clansmen all,

earls, of their ale. Angry were both

those savage hall-guards: the house resounded.

Wonder it was the wine-hall firm

in the strain of their struggle stood, to earth

the fair house fell not; too fast it was

within and without by its iron bands

craftily clamped; though there crashed from sill

many a mead-bench -- men have told me --

gay with gold, where the grim foes wrestled.

So well had weened the wisest Scyldings

that not ever at all might any man

that bone-decked, brave house break asunder,

crush by craft, -- unless clasp of fire

in smoke engulfed it. -- Again uprose

din redoubled. Danes of the North

with fear and frenzy were filled, each one,

who from the wall that wailing heard,

God's foe sounding his grisly song,

cry of the conquered, clamorous pain

from captive of hell. Too closely held him

he who of men in might was strongest

in that same day of this our life.


NOT in any wise would the earls'-defence {12a}

suffer that slaughterous stranger to live,

useless deeming his days and years

to men on earth. Now many an earl

of Beowulf brandished blade ancestral,

fain the life of their lord to shield,

their praised prince, if power were theirs;

never they knew, -- as they neared the foe,

hardy-hearted heroes of war,

aiming their swords on every side

the accursed to kill, -- no keenest blade,

no farest of falchions fashioned on earth,

could harm or hurt that hideous fiend!

He was safe, by his spells, from sword of battle,

from edge of iron. Yet his end and parting

on that same day of this our life

woful should be, and his wandering soul

far off flit to the fiends' domain.

Soon he found, who in former days,

harmful in heart and hated of God,

on many a man such murder wrought,

that the frame of his body failed him now.

For him the keen-souled kinsman of Hygelac

held in hand; hateful alive

was each to other. The outlaw dire

took mortal hurt; a mighty wound

showed on his shoulder, and sinews cracked,

and the bone-frame burst. To Beowulf now

the glory was given, and Grendel thence

death-sick his den in the dark moor sought,

noisome abode: he knew too well

that here was the last of life, an end

of his days on earth. -- To all the Danes

by that bloody battle the boon had come.

From ravage had rescued the roving stranger

Hrothgar's hall; the hardy and wise one

had purged it anew. His night-work pleased him,

his deed and its honor. To Eastern Danes

had the valiant Geat his vaunt made good,

all their sorrow and ills assuaged,

their bale of battle borne so long,

and all the dole they erst endured

pain a-plenty. -- 'Twas proof of this,

when the hardy-in-fight a hand laid down,

arm and shoulder, -- all, indeed,

of Grendel's gripe, -- 'neath the gabled roof.


MANY at morning, as men have told me,

warriors gathered the gift-hall round,

folk-leaders faring from far and near,

o'er wide-stretched ways, the wonder to view,

trace of the traitor. Not troublous seemed

the enemy's end to any man

who saw by the gait of the graceless foe

how the weary-hearted, away from thence,

baffled in battle and banned, his steps

death-marked dragged to the devils' mere.

Bloody the billows were boiling there,

turbid the tide of tumbling waves

horribly seething, with sword-blood hot,

by that doomed one dyed, who in den of the moor

laid forlorn his life adown,

his heathen soul, and hell received it.

Home then rode the hoary clansmen

from that merry journey, and many a youth,

on horses white, the hardy warriors,

back from the mere. Then Beowulf's glory

eager they echoed, and all averred

that from sea to sea, or south or north,

there was no other in earth's domain,

under vault of heaven, more valiant found,

of warriors none more worthy to rule!

(On their lord beloved they laid no slight,

gracious Hrothgar: a good king he!)

From time to time, the tried-in-battle

their gray steeds set to gallop amain,

and ran a race when the road seemed fair.

From time to time, a thane of the king,

who had made many vaunts, and was mindful of verses,

stored with sagas and songs of old,

bound word to word in well-knit rime,

welded his lay; this warrior soon

of Beowulf's quest right cleverly sang,

and artfully added an excellent tale,

in well-ranged words, of the warlike deeds

he had heard in saga of Sigemund.

Strange the story: he said it all, --

the Waelsing's wanderings wide, his struggles,

which never were told to tribes of men,

the feuds and the frauds, save to Fitela only,

when of these doings he deigned to speak,

uncle to nephew; as ever the twain

stood side by side in stress of war,

and multitude of the monster kind

they had felled with their swords. Of Sigemund grew,

when he passed from life, no little praise;

for the doughty-in-combat a dragon killed

that herded the hoard: {13a} under hoary rock

the atheling dared the deed alone

fearful quest, nor was Fitela there.

Yet so it befell, his falchion pierced

that wondrous worm, -- on the wall it struck,

best blade; the dragon died in its blood.

Thus had the dread-one by daring achieved

over the ring-hoard to rule at will,

himself to pleasure; a sea-boat he loaded,

and bore on its bosom the beaming gold,

son of Waels; the worm was consumed.

He had of all heroes the highest renown

among races of men, this refuge-of-warriors,

for deeds of daring that decked his name

since the hand and heart of Heremod

grew slack in battle. He, swiftly banished

to mingle with monsters at mercy of foes,

to death was betrayed; for torrents of sorrow

had lamed him too long; a load of care

to earls and athelings all he proved.

Oft indeed, in earlier days,

for the warrior's wayfaring wise men mourned,

who had hoped of him help from harm and bale,

and had thought their sovran's son would thrive,

follow his father, his folk protect,

the hoard and the stronghold, heroes' land,

home of Scyldings. -- But here, thanes said,

the kinsman of Hygelac kinder seemed

to all: the other {13b} was urged to crime!

And afresh to the race, {13c} the fallow roads

by swift steeds measured! The morning sun

was climbing higher. Clansmen hastened

to the high-built hall, those hardy-minded,

the wonder to witness. Warden of treasure,

crowned with glory, the king himself,

with stately band from the bride-bower strode;

and with him the queen and her crowd of maidens

measured the path to the mead-house fair.