Classic Poem

Now Beowulf abode in the cities of the Scyldings many a year,
A king far-famed 'mid the peoples and to all his clansmen dear.
(For his sire from his earthly dwelling had fared beyond the grave)
Till Healfdene he begat, the glorious, who in gallant wise and brave
Ruled all his days o'er the Scyldings, a greybeard grim in war;
And to life from the loins of that war-lord awakened children four,
Heorogar, Hrothgar, brave Halga; and his daughter, 'tis soothly said,
Was queen of Onela the Scylfing and the partner dear of his bed.
And to Hrothgar was given glory in the forefront of every fray,
Ay, victory and might in the mellay, and his kin had joy of his sway:
And the youth of his clan waxed many, fighters of lusty breed,
And he weened he would gar men build him a hall for the quaffing of mead,
Mightier than mortal wist of, and sithence would he deal unto all
Each gift that the Lord had sent him, save land and life, in the hall.
And far and wide was it told me that word came unto many a clan
Throughout earth, to embrave that dwelling: and not long among men was the span
Ere the mightiest of halls was ready: and he gave it Hart for a name,
That king whose word was mighty far and wide wheresoever it came.
And his vaunt at the feast he belied not, but gave out guerdon of rings,
And high over him towered the roof-ridge, wide betwixt its antlered wings,
Abiding the angry surges of loathly fire: nor was 't long
Till sword-hate amid kinsmen should waken as the sequel of murderous wrong.
Now a while, though with heart of loathing, the spirit of might and fear
That abode in the darkness, suffered that day by day he must hear
Loud revel in hall: to the harp-strain the bard's clear song was trolled,
And one who could hymn man's beginning from the far-off aeons, told
How Almighty God had moulded the earth with its meadows bright,
As far as the waters encircle, and had wrought with a victor's might
Moon and sun, that for toil of mortals should offer light enow,
And earth's lap had he made all lovely with his grace of leaf and bough:
Yea, and life thereto did he order for all things that go quick on earth.
—Thus ever the clansmen revelled and spent all of their days in mirth
Till one on a sudden 'gan fashion a deed of murder fell,
Grendel the grisly rover, a fiend from the gates of hell,
Who in might had ranged the borders, and in moor-fens made his lair,
And awhile in the hold of the giants had harboured in despair
When God flung them forth. His vengeance had the Lord Eternal ta'en
On Cain's kin for Abel's murder, of which deed he gat no gain,
For by dint of that crime God drave him to wander far from man:
And sithence he begat all monsters, ay of him the brood began
Of kobbolds and alps and jotuns, huge horrors of land and sea,
That strove with God for a season, till he paid them all their fee.

Now forth on foray sped Grendel, to mark at the evening's fall
How the Danes when the beer was drunken took their ease in the towering hall,
And aslumber he found the athlings within when the banquet was o'er;
No thought had they taken of sorrow, that woundeth man's spirit sore.
But all ready now was the hell-sprite, ay, eager and fierce and fain,
And thirty he clutched as they slumbered, each one a goodly thegn,
And blithe at heart of his booty, he turned him home once more,
And sped to his lair, and of slaughter his fill with him he bore.
—Now at twilight, when dawn was breaking, was Grendel's war-craft clear,
And by dint of that grisly banquet arose a cry of fear,
A mighty shriek in the dawning; and the haughty prince and chief
That erst had honour of all men, sat broken down with grief,
Sorrowing sore for his liegemen, what time the tracks were plain
That the demon of dread had printed, the spirit of wrath and pain,
And all too long and too loathly were his suffering and affright.
—Not for long was there granted respite, for when once had passed the night
Eftsoons was there wrought by the demon a mightier murder yet,
Nor rued he his wrath and his vengeance, for in sin too fast was he set.
Full easy, then, was it to find one who sought him elsewhere a bed,
A couch in the uttermost chambers, what time the symbols of dread
Were shown, and that hall-ward's hatred was told him by tokens plain:
Ay, more far and more close must he keep him who won safe from the fiend again!
Long season thus did he conquer, fighting aye in teeth of the right,
Alone against all, till the dwelling stood bare of its old delight,
And twelve long tides of winter must the Friend of the Scyldings dree
All manner of woe and torment, yea, boundless agony,
Since ere long was it known to men's children right sad and plain in song
That Grendel was harrying Hrothgar and had wrought him hate and wrong;
Nor came there pause in the slaying year-long, nor check of the hate,
Nor would ever the foeman in friendship his murder-deeds abate
Against any man of the Scyldings, nor settle the feud for a fee,
Nor ere at his hands durst their sages hope for any fairer gree,
But dark as death's own shadow the demon of monstrous might
Older and younger harried, and snared them with crafty sleight.
Night after night o'er the moorland he fared when the mist hung low,
Yet none hath known where such warlocks in their mazy windings go.
—Thus ever the grim lone-ganger wrought deeds of horror and spite
In hatred of mortals, and ever he held the hall gold-dight
Of Hart when the night was blackest; yet no hand on the bounteous throne
Might he lay, for God watched that treasure, Whose favour he ne'er had known.
Thus ever were grief and torment in the heart of the Scylding lord,
And on succour his great ones brooded, seated oft at the council board,
What brave ones best might compass 'gainst those forays of dismay,
And whiles would they offer oblation at their heathen shrines, and pray
That the Slayer of Souls would rescue that folk from their torment fell.
Such was the heathen's custom and their hope; in their hearts was hell.
They knew not the Lord Eternal, who judgeth man's deeds from of yore,
Wist naught of the God of Glory, nor had ever learnt to adore
The King who is Helm of the heavens, and the Wielder of glory bright.
Woe, woe to the mortal who thrusteth down his spirit in fell despite
To the fire's embrace, and at no tide may have promise of joy again,
Nor of respite; but well he fareth who after his death is ta'en
To God, and the arms of the Father, and findeth there his peace.
Thus the son of Healfdene was seething in pain without surcease,
Nor e'er could he, for all his wisdom, turn back the tide of his woe,
For all too long and too loathly was the struggle waged by the foe
That harried the folk with torment, the black night's hugest bane.

But now came word to the Geat of worth, even Hygelac's thegn,
In his home, of the deeds of Grendel; the starkest, he, in might
Of mortals, in these our life-days, large-thewed, and of lineage bright.
And he bade men build him a vessel of might to cleave the wave,
And he vowed that over the swan-road he would seek the war-lord brave
Whose need was heavy of helpers, for all his puissance dread.
Now his wise ones, though well they loved him, no blame of that emprise said,
But sought out omens of comfort, and whetted his valiant mind,
The hero had chosen him fighters, the bravest hearts he could find
In all the folk of the Geats. Fourteen were they who hied
To that cruiser of ocean with him, and himself was he their guide
To the shore, for wise was he waxen in all the ways of the sea.
Now onward the hour was creeping: on the wave the craft rode free
'Neath the ocean cliff: aboard her full-armed the fighters stept;
On and over the sand by the sea-race the waves were hurled and swept.
To the vessel's womb the warriors bore down their bright array,
Splendid gear of the battle: and they thrust her out on her way,
On the voyage that their hearts had chosen, that vessel of timbers true;
Birdlike, outward and onward o'er the billowy sea she flew,
And white was her neck with spindrift as before the wind she sped,
And so swift had the curved prow cloven that or ever a day was fled
Land loomed on the eyes of the sailors, and they looked on nesses bright,
And ocean-cliffs tremendous, and mountains of awful height,
And e'en so was the ocean traversed, and the voyage o'er its waves at an end.
Swiftly over and up to the sea-beach the Wederfolk 'gan wend,
And tightly they moored their cruiser. Loud rang their sarks of the fray,
And they thanked the Lord Who o'er ocean had made easy and smooth their way.

But one from the sea-wall watched them whom the Danes had set for a guard,
And had bidden him range those nesses, and hold them ever in ward.
He marked how over the gang-plank they trod with their targes bright,
And their ready gear of the foray: and fain would he ken aright
What men they might be, and with longing his heart within him glowed.
So swiftly that thegn of Hrothgar on his steed to the landing rode
And brandished his spear of puissance, and in measured speech quoth he:
‘What manner be ye of mortals that in shining panoply,
Your breasts girt round with the byrny, come hither over the deep,
The long expanses of ocean, in your galley towering steep?
Long time our coast have I guarded, and aye have I watched on the strand
Lest one of our foes with their navy should harry the Danish land,
Yet never a band of the warriors that wield the linden targe
Have so boldly essayed a landing: nor hath word of leave and charge
By my kin been given you for surety—and stern are they in strife—
Yet never an earl more goodly have I seen on the earth in my life
Than one wight who moveth among you, a chieftain in war's array;
No lowly knave may we hold him, embraved with arms of the fray,
If his glance's glory lie not, and his body's peerless grace.
And now must I know of you straightway of what lineage ye be and race,
Ere further ye roam the Dane-land, in stealth spying out each part.
Now ye strangers from far over ocean, heed the simple thought of my heart,
For 'twere fitting that whence ye journey ye tell me with utmost speed.’
—Then in answer the lord of that meiny his treasure of words unfreed:
‘By race we be come of the Geats: henchmen we of Hygelac's hearth.
My sire hight Ecgtheow, an athling far-famed through all the earth,
And many a winter he weathered, yea, old was he grown and hoar
Ere he passed away, and was kenned not in the home of his fathers more,
Though his name is known to the wise ones of the world in its every part.
And now come we to seek thy master with loving and friendly heart,
E'en Hrothgar, the shield of his people. Give us goodly counselling,
For we come on a mighty errand to the glorious Danish king,
Whereof naught, I ween, shall be hidden. But thou knowest if truth it be
As surely it hath been shown us, that a foeman of mystery,
Dogging the Scyldings with evil, grimly worketh at black of night
Hatred and crime unheard of for their torment and affright.
And now in my spirit's largeness can I gar king Hrothgar know
How for meed of his goodness and wisdom he may overmatch his foe,
If ever there cometh solace, and his burden of bale be past,
And the surging billows of sorrow wax cooler at the last,
And he know not an age of torment, dire anguish aye and dread
Each day that the house of his glory abide on its lofty stead.’
Outspake the fearless henchman, the guard on his steed astride:
‘Surely unto a keen-souled fighter it falleth to decide
The cleavage 'twixt deeds and sayings, if wisdom take his part,
And I learn that this meiny cometh with kindly and loving heart
To the lord of the race of the Scyldings. Forward therefore I bid ye go
With harness and arms in your keeping, along the path I shall show;
And thereto shall I bid my henchmen against every foe to guard,
Where it lieth there on the sea-sand, your vessel newly tarred,
Till again o'er the streams of ocean shall the craft of the curven breast
Bear back to the coast of the Weders the man they love the best,
For a hero so bold shall surely win safe from the shock of the fight.’
So forward they sped on their journey, while the wide-wamed vessel, tight
At anchor, swayed at her hawser. Above the cheek-guard's hold
Shone many a gleaming swine-shape, flame-tempered, chased with gold,
Ay, over the helm of each hero the boar kept watch and ward.
Eagerly on they hastened, those warriors stern and hard,
Downward together journeying, till a hall securely built
They espied, stately and splendid, and rarely over-gilt,
The house most famed amid mortals 'neath heaven. The prince of might
Dwelt there, and in shires amany was the lustre seen of its light.
Then the doughty-in-battle pointed to that shining hall of the brave
That thereto they might swiftly hasten: and greeting the fighter gave
From his steed when around he had reined him: ‘Now my track must I retrace,
And I pray that the Father Almighty will keep you in His grace
Unharmed through all of your journeys. Back now to the ocean coast
Will I hie, to watch for the coming of any hostile host.’
Now the dappled stone of the highway was their guide along the track,
And the steely mesh of their byrnies threw the glittering sunlight back;
The iron rings of their war-sarks sang out to the beat of their tread
As they hied o'er the path to the palace in their armour of might and dread.
Then those warriors weary of ocean laid by their shields of might,
Ay, their bucklers hard and massy 'gainst the dwelling's wall they pight,
And as each man sat to his settle, outrang the byrny brave,
The harness that girt him in battle: but their spears stood thrave on thrave,
Shafts of ash that the viking wieldeth, sheafed all at the end with grey,
For those iron-sides were full splendid and brave in their war-array.
—Forthwith a haughty chieftain asked those champions fell in fight
Of what kin they were come:—‘Whence bring ye your targes golden bright,
Grey corslets, visored morions, and yon sheaf of your shafts of war?
I am Hrothgar's thegn and herald: never yet in my life before
Have I gazed on a goodlier meiny come from any alien part,
And I ween that 'tis all for glory and the noble pride of your heart
That ye seek out Hrothgar, and nowise in exile over the wave.’
Then the lordly chief of the Weders outspake, the helméd brave
Of glorious might and courage, and e'en so his answer came:
‘We be fellows of Hygelac's table, and Beowulf is my name,
And straight will I utter my errand to Healfdene's son, your lord,
That chieftain of might, sobeit of his grace he will afford
That we make him salutation.’ Then answer Wulfgar gave—
Leader was he of the Wendels, and afar his spirit brave
And wisdom and might were bruited: ‘I will crave of the Danish king
Who is lord of the lives of the Scyldings, and dealeth them many a ring,
That he speak his mind of your emprise, in the fashion ye now entreat,
And straight will I bring you the answer that to give me he thinketh meet.’
Swift hieth he in unto Hrothgar, where the king sits grey and old
With his meiny of earls about him: on he goeth, waxen bold,
And he standeth fronting the shoulders of the Dane-lord, knowing well
Court-custom, and thus to his chieftain Wulfgar 'ginneth his tiding tell:
‘Hither across the ocean have voyaged from a land afar
Men of the race of the Geats: and those fighters doughty in war
Name their lord and leader Beowulf. Now a boon they seek of thy grace
That in converse, my mighty master, they may meet thee face to face,
And, Hrothgar, I prithee vouchsafe them of thy speech for their hearts' delight,
For worthy all lordly honour they seem in their war-gear bright,
And doughty, in sooth, is the chieftain who hath hither these warriors led.’
Then the Helm of the race of the Scyldings, King Hrothgar, answered and said:
‘Long, long ago I knew him, when he still was a boy untried,
And his agéd sire hight Ecgtheow, to whom Hrethel the Geat for bride
Of his home gave his only daughter. Now the hardy son cometh here
To seek him a boon-friend. The sailors who hither brought presents dear
For the Geats, and earned their favour at that tide, were wont to say
That strength in his gripe as of thirty had that hero fell in fray.
Holy God in His grace hath sent him unto us the Danes, to fight,
As I ween, with the terror of Grendel: and straightway to the valiant wight
Will I offer gifts for his daring. So haste, bid come into the hall
The clansmen together before me, and say to them one and all
That welcome they be to the Dane-folk.’ Then Wulfgar strode to the door
And brought word from within: ‘My monarch, the Dane-lord, victor in war,
Bids me tell that he knoweth your lineage, and right welcome he vows that ye be,
Ye hardy of heart, that come hither across the surge of the sea.
So now in your goodly war-gear with visored helm on head
May ye enter and look on Hrothgar: but your shields and your shafts of dread
Leave here till our speech be ended.’
Then arose the prince of might
And around him thronged his henchmen, full many a dauntless wight,
Yet some tarried for guard of the war-gear, as the hero bade. They hied
In under the roof of Heorot, and Wulfgar was their guide.
Hardy beneath his morion the hero onward strode
Till before the hearth he halted: on his bosom the byrny glowed,
The wondrous war-sark, woven by the weaponer's crafty hand,
And he spake: ‘Hail unto thee, Hrothgar! I who now before thee stand
Am kinsman and thegn unto Hygelac. Full many an emprise bold
I essayed when I yet was a youngling, and but now was I soothly told
In my home of the issue with Grendel: for the voyagers say that the hall
That is fairest of dwellings stands barren and bare of its good men all
When the sunlight faileth at even, and is hid 'neath the cope of the skies.
Then counselled folk of my country, most goodly men and wise,
That I seek thee out, Lord Hrothgar, for they knew my valour's might,
And saw it themselves when all bloody I came from my foes and the fight,
Where five I bound, and of Eotens laid low the brood, and slew
Nicors by night on the ocean, and direst anguish knew
And avenged the wrong of the Weders—for a self-sought woe they dreed—
And utterly shent their foemen; and now will I settle indeed
The issue of strife with Grendel, and master the giant's hate
Lone-handed, man against monster.—Thou Wall of the Scylding state,
Great prince of the glorious Dane-folk, one boon I crave of thy grace
—By thy might that guardeth the valiant, by thy care and love of thy race,
Vouchsafe, since so far have I wandered, that with none to take my part
Save my athlings, my meiny undaunted, I may purge thy hall of Hart.
Moreover I hear that the monster hath of weapons no use nor care,
So reckless his spirit is waxen: wherefore I scorn to bear
—E'en so may my master Hygelac vouchsafe me his grace alway—
My falchion or mighty buckler, hooped with yellow gold, to the fray.
In my arms will I grapple the demon, in dear defence of my life,
And strive with him, hated and hating: and he whom death takes in the strife
Shall count it the doom of the Master. But my might if he overpower
In this hall of battle, I warrant that my Geats he will devour
As erst the kin of the Hrethmen, naughtfearing: nor shalt thou need
To cover my face with a cere-cloth, if death take me; for then indeed
Will he grip me, smeared with slaughter; ay, his fangs that know not ruth
Will ravin my limbs and my life-blood, and a feast will he make him, in sooth!
Yea, with gore the grim lone-ganger will spatter his moorland lair.
Not then for my body's nurture overlong shalt thou need to care!
Yet send unto Hygelac, I prithee, if the battle reave my life,
This peerless sark of the mellay that guardeth my breast in the strife;
Matchless that byrny; Hrethel was its lord in a bygone day,
And of Weland's hand was it smithied: yet Wyrd goes as it must alway.’
Then Hrothgar uttered his answer, the Scyldings' Helm of pride:
‘In duty, belovéd Beowulf, hast thou rallied to our side,
And 'tis honour that bids thee help us, for a mighty blood-feud grew
From a blow once dealt by thy father, when Heatholaf he slew
Amid the folk of the Wilfings: nor amongst them any more
Might the clan of the Weders keep him, for the terror grim of war,
So he sought out the Scyldings of Honour, over ocean's surge and swing,
And came to the folk of the South-Danes, and I was their new-crowned king
In my youth, and ruled their wide kingdom, and the burg of the wealth they had won,
For dead was mine elder brother, Heregar, Healfdene's son
—Ah would I were but his equal!—I settled that feud for a fee,
And many an olden treasure I sent o'er the surge of the sea
In gift to the Wilfing clansmen: and oaths unto me he sware.
—But now is it grief to my spirit that to any I must declare
The tale of the woe and torment that Grendel hath wrought me in Hart
With his sudden forays of slaughter, and the guile of his deadly art.
For the guards of my house are minished, my meiny lusty in fight,
And Wyrd hath hurried them headlong unto Grendel's grisly might.
Yet easily God can hinder that wild one's deeds of hate.
—Now the champions oft, beer-drunken, have boasted early and late
As each pledged each at the ale-cup, that beneath this revellers' roof
They would bring the fury of Grendel with their swords of dread to proof;
Yet ever by tide of morning, when the gleam of dawn shone clear,
My house of revel was hideous with many a crimson smear,
And every board of the benches with blood was reeking wet,
Ay, the hall was ruddy with slaughter, so many their doom had met
Of the trusty men of my meiny, the folk of my love and care.
Yet seat thee, I pray, at the banquet, and thine inmost thought declare
To our men, and thy trust in victory, e'en as prompteth thee thy heart.’

—Forthwith was a bench for the Geats in that ale-hall set apart,
And thither they hie, and are seated, mighty-hearted thegns and bold,
And a henchman showeth them service, and an ale-cup chased with gold
In his hands he beareth, and ever outpoureth the shining beer,
And anon in Heorot singeth a minstrel loud and clear,
And Weders and Danes amany in that glee take gallant part.

—Then Unferth, the bairn of Ecglaf, outspoke, and the hate of his heart
Unfolded, from where he was sitting at the feet of the Scylding lord,
For to him was the voyage of Beowulf, the bold sailor, much abhorred;
Ay, ever he grudged that all others who walk in midguard's ways
Should gain more glory 'neath heaven than himself or win more praise:
Art thou that Beowulf, prithee, who with Breca didst strive on the sea,
Cleaving its vast lone courses for the mastery, when thou and he
In your pride made trial of the ocean, and ventured your lives on its deep
For naught but a boast fool-hardy, nor might friend or foeman keep
You back from your journey of sorrow, but forth ye swam on the wave,
And over the stream of ocean with covering arms ye drave,
Ay, ye measured its vast expanses, with hands that swiftly toiled
Gliding over the lake of the Spearman. The sea with billows boiled,
Seething up with wintry eddies. A sennight long ye twain
Strove in the grip of the waters, till he mastered thy might on the main
And proved him a swimmer more lusty. Eftsoons when came the morn
On the strand of the Fighting Reamas by the wave was he upborn,
And he hied to his own dear country and his liegemen's love and care
And came to the land of the Brondings, and its city of refuge fair
Where he ruled over folk and a fortress, and had treasure of rings enow.
Ay, in full the son of Beanstan made good against thee his vow.
And I deem that now there awaits thee an issue more fierce and fell,
Howsobeit in the battle's onslaught that hast alway borne thee well,
If the livelong night for Grendel thou shalt venture to watch and wake.’
Then Beowulf, the bairn of Ecgtheow, the thought of his heart outspake:
‘Lo, many a word, friend Unferth, hast thou uttered, sotted with beer,
Anent Breca and his emprise: but now soothly I give thee to hear
That more mastery had I over ocean, more might on his waves, of yore
Than any other of mortals. When we twain our compact swore
That out on the ocean's breakers we would venture, live or die,
We were scarcely beyond our boyhood: yet we proved our vaunt no lie.
Each one as he clave the billows had a naked sword in his hand
Keen of might, 'gainst the whales to guard him: yet nowise as our course we spanned
Could he leave me behind on the billows, but I kept with him, stroke by stroke.
Five nights we abode together 'mid the waters, when fiercely broke
A gale from the North against us, and the surge and the icy blast
And the night-fall drove us asunder: the waves rose fierce and fast
And the sea-beasts' wrath was awakened: yet against those fiends of prey
Was I helped by the sark of my body, hand-writhen, hardy in fray,
The woven mail gold-gleaming that about my breast I wore
Yet a grisly monster seized me, grappling tight, and unto the floor
Of ocean downward drew me in his clutch: but fortune gave
Me to flesh in that grim one's body the point of my warrior glaive:
Yea, the mighty monster of ocean beneath the stroke of my hand
Gave up his life in the mellay. Thus ever the baleful band
Of evil menaced me grimly, yet I kept them alway in ploy,
And my faithful sword was their quittance, nor had ever those vile ones joy
Of the meal they craved, nor might batten in their hate on my body, spread
In their midst as they sprawled at their banquet on the marle of the ocean-bed,
For sword-smitten they lay in the dawning high up along the shore,
Sound-sleeping by dint of the falchions, so that ne'er on wide ocean more
Might they harry the ships of the seamen.—But now from the east came light,
God's beacon of brightness and glory, and the waves were calmed in their might,
And now could I spy the nesses, the wind-swept walls of the sea,
For often Wyrd spareth a mortal, if his doom be yet to dree
And the might of his soul endureth.—E'en so 'twas my fate to fell
Of the nicors nine with my falchion: but never yet heard I tell
Of a fray more fierce in the night-time, fought out 'neath heaven's close,
Nor of mortal more vexed on the ocean. Yet alive from the grip of my foes
I came, though spent with my faring: for the racing current bore
Me along in the surge of the waters, till I lay on the Finnish shore.
Yet of thee have I heard no tiding that e'er in such desperate strife
Thou hadst part, nor such terror of falchions: nor did Breca yet in his life,
—Nay, not one of ye twain—in the war-play with your swords in slaughter dyed
Work any such deed of glory—yet of this I make little pride—
But a curse wast thou to thy kinsmen, and by thee were thy brethren slain,
So in hell for all thy cunning shalt thou dree e'erlasting pain.
But I tell thee, thou son of Ecglaf, that never had Grendel wrought
Such horror against thy master, nay, ne'er had the monster brought
Such harm on the hall of Heorot, had thine heart been fierce for war
As thyself doth boast: but he knoweth that his fear need not be sore
Of thy people's hate, of the tumult of the swords of the Victor Danes,
But by force he taketh his pledges, nor granteth surcease of their pains
To any folk of the Scyldings, but he warreth e'en as he wills,
And slays them and feasts on their bodies, and no terror hath he of ills
From the Danes, though the spear be their token. But now the might in fray
Of the Geats, and their strength and valour shall I show him without delay,
And who listeth may hie him boldly to the mead, when the morrow's light
Glimmereth first upon mortals, and the sun in his glory dight
Shines out from the South.’


Then the giver of gold to his Dane-folk fair,
That greybeard doughty in battle, had joy, for of help was he ware,
Ay, the shepherd that saveth his people Beowulf's intent had ta'en.
Straightway was there laughter of heroes, till the din re-echoed again,
And gladsome greetings were spoken. Then Wealhtheow, Hrothgar's queen,
Came forth, with gold all glorious, and with courtly and gracious mien
Greeted those wights in the guest-hall: but first with queenly hand
That lady offered the ale-cup to the lord of the Danish land,
And bade him be blithe at the revel and rejoice his liegemen's heart.
So the victor king of the mazer and the feast took joyful part.
Then the Lady that came of the Helmings each wight of that meiny sought
And offered to older and younger the mazer richly wrought,
Till cometh the time when to Beowulf the beaker of mead she brings,
A queen most comely in virtue, and glorious with rings,
And she greeteth the lord of the Geats, and giveth thanks to the Lord
With the chosen words of her wisdom that she hath what her heart implored,
When she counted on help from a hero for cure of her anguish sore.
Then the beaker he took from Wealhtheow, and his heart was eager for war,
Ay, Beowulf the bairn of Ecgtheow, spake thus in his angry pride:
‘Lo, this was my whole heart's longing when forth on the ocean tide
I fared, and took seat in the vessel, and with me my good men all,
That the boon of thy clansmen's craving I might utterly compass, or fall
In the fray, grappled fast by the foeman: and now a true earl's deed
Shall I do, or else bide my death-day in this hall where man quaff the mead.’
Well liketh the high-born woman the Geat's vaunting word,
And she moveth, queenly and golden, to seat her beside her lord.
—But now was there clamour of heroes within that hall as of old,
And loud was the champions' revel, and the cry of their boasting bold,
Till asudden the son of Healfdene would seek out his rest for the night,
For he knew that the monster purposed to make war on the hall of might,
When the sun should be seen of no man, but his light was all gone by,
And o'er all were the night and the blackness, and shadows athwart the sky
Came striding, wan 'neath the welkin.
Then arose the champions all
And Hrothgar hath greeted Beowulf, and sway of the revellers' hall
Man unto man hath he given him, and hath bidden him speed in the fray,
And he saith: ‘Never yet since my buckler aloft in my hands I could sway
Have I trusted my Danes' bright dwelling unto mortal, save now unto thee,
Yet this fairest of halls I give thee to hold and keep for me,
So be mindful aye of thy glory and the might of thy soul declare,
Watching ever against the foeman: and of joy shalt thou have full share
If from out this emprise of glory thou shalt win with life unshent.’
Then Hrothgar, the Shield of the Scyldings, from the hall of Heorot went
With his meiny of braves about him, for now was the war-lord fain
To seek Wealhtheow the queen and bed her. But He that o'er kings doth reign
Against Grendel's coming had chosen for that dwelling's watch and ward,
As 'twas bruited amid the peoples, one who held a perilous guard,
A mortal on watch for a monster, o'er the life of the Danish king:
Yet aye to his strength and valour did the prince of the Geats cling,
And the grace and might of the Saviour. Then his byrny he unlaced
That was smithied of steel, and his morion he undoffed, and his sword fair-chased,
Most glorious of mortal weapons, hath he given to a trusty thegn
Bidding him watch that war-gear; and a vow of might hath he ta' en,
Beowulf the goodly Geat, ere he clomb up into his bed:
‘No punier than Grendel I hold me in martial goodlihead,
No weaker in work of the battle: so not with the sword will I smite
His body and soul asunder, though no marvel were that for my might:
For the good art he knows not to strike me, nor to shear my buckler in twain,
Howsoe'er he be doughty in violence: so this night shall we both refrain
From the steel, dare he fight without weapon: and sithence may the holy Lord,
God, the All-wise, grant the victory where most fit He deem the award.
Now falleth the chieftain on slumber, to the pillow his cheek is pressed,
And lusty seamen amany sink around him to their rest
On the beds in the hall, nor weens any his dear home again to see
Nor his kin, nor the city that bred him in nurture noble and free,
For 'twas told them that all too many of the Danes had met their doom
In that hall of wassail. Howbeit the Lord from cut his loom
Gave battle-speed to the Weders, help and solace for all their woes,
That by one man's might and prowess they should utterly worst their foes,
For full surely the Lord Almighty ruleth over mankind for aye.
But on now came the ganger-in-darkness, through the mirk night making way,
And each and all of the warriors lay a-slumber, save one alone,
Who were given the guard of those gables: but to all men was 't surely known
That no power had the spoiler to hurl him down unto the shades below
Save by leave of the Lord, but alway was he watching in hate of the foe,
Abiding with heart wrath-swollen what issue might come of that war.

But now from the moor came Grendel, 'neath the bents with mist-wrack hoar:
With the wrath of God was he laden, and a man would the scather snare
From under the hall's high rafters. On, on, through the mirk doth he fare
Till he spieth that house of revel all glorious with beaten gold,
A radiant dwelling of mortals. Oft before that hour was he bold
To seek out the home of Hrothgar, yet ne'er in the days of his life
Had he happened on stouter hall-thegns, or on champions more stern in strife.
Now nigh to the door comes the outcast from joy, that wight accurst,
And the door of the bars flame-smithied straight beneath his gripe is burst.
Ay, he forceth the mouth of that dwelling with hate in his heart and pride,
And swift over the floor fair-paven in fury the fiend doth glide,
While forth from his eyes like fire-flame there shineth a loathly light.
But now in the guest-hall he gazeth on many a gallant wight,
For there lie the clansmen aslumber, each chieftain of war's array.
Then his heart exulted within him, for he deemed that ere dawning of day
By his monstrous might would he sunder each champion, body from soul,
Fulfilling his lust of a banquet. Yet Wyrd gave him no further toll
Of the lives of men for his feasting, when once that night was sped,
For Hygelac's mighty kinsman watched e'er how the monster dread
Would act on his sudden foray. No mind hath the fiend for delay,
But he seizeth a sleeping warrior in his gripe at the first essay,
And teareth him, giving no warning, and biteth his body in twain,
And drinks of his life-blood, and gobbets of his flesh devoureth amain.
In a trice he ravens that lost one, feet and hands he swalloweth all,
And nearer and nearer he cometh, and straightway his clutch doth fall
On the valiant chief where he lieth, and his claw is stretched to his foe,
But sternly that other hath gripped him on his arm braced up from below,
And swift knew that shepherd of evils that nowhere in Midgard's lands
Had he taken from any of mortals a deadlier gripe of the hands.
All fey was his heart within him, and he long'd to flee to his lair
And herd with the horde of devils: for in sooth he had found not there
Any use for the way of living that full oft he had known of yore.
—But now Hygelac's kinsman was minded of the oath that yestreen he swore,
And he leapt upright from his pallet, and closely he grappled his prey,
And the giant's fingers were riven, and he struggled to get him away,
But the earl kept touch with him ever. The monster was eager to fare
Far away, if so to him 'twere granted, and make off to his moorland lair,
For now knew he how little his talons in his foeman's gripe had power,
—Ay, the monster of ruin had journeyed unto Hart in a sorrowful hour!
Then the warriors' hall re-echoed, and the sojourners lusty and hale
In the Danish castles must suffer a mighty spilling of ale,
For the shock of those furious fighters shook all the roofing vast,
And in sooth 'twas a mighty marvel that the revellers' hall stood fast
In the clash of those mortal foemen, and was hurled not unto the ground.
But too fast was that dwelling of beauty by the steel-smith's cunning bound
With stanchions outward and inward. But sheer from the flooring's hold
Was it told me that many a mead-bench, right glorious with gold,
Was torn while those grim ones grappled: but the wise ones weened not at all
'Mid the Danes, that a man might shatter that beauteous antlered hall
By might, nor mar it by cunning, howbeit the clutch of fire
Might swallow it up in the smother.—Then arose a din most dire,
And in all the hearts of the North-Danes a hideous terror stirred
When the wailing cry of God's foeman flung back from the wall they heard,
The song of his soul in torment, the shriek of that thrall of hell,
As he moaned for his death-wound, grappled in the might of one more fell
Than any of mortal lineage in the days of this our life.
—Now the Shelter of Earls endured not to let sunder from the strife
Quick and whole the ravening stranger, for he deemed that no help nor aid
Was his life unto any of mortals. Now many a proven blade
Did the earls of Beowulf brandish, for full eager were one and all
To shelter the life of their master, if e'en so it might befall;
But those keen-souled champions knew not when they flung them upon the fight,
Hoping this way and that to hew him, seeking ever his heart to smite,
That never on earth was there falchion nor bill so bravely wrought
As could touch the life of the monster, for by spells had he turned unto naught
The might of all weapons of victory, that no steel might harm him or slay.
Howbeit a doom of misery must he dree on the selfsame day,
And his alien spirit must wander to the sway of the fiends of hell.
For he that of yore in joyance had wrought many an outrage fell
On the kin of men in God's despite, knew his body's power was past,
Since Hygelac's keen-souled kinsman gripped his talons and held them fast
And each one while he lived to the other was a thing of loathing and hate.
Now in each of his limbs the monster felt the anguish of his fate,
For a wound gaped wide on his shoulder, and his sinews were rent and riven,
And his body was burst asunder, and to Beowulf was triumph given,
For with ebbing life must Grendel flee away to the holts of the moor,
And find him a dwelling of anguish, and the monster had learnt for sure
That the end of his life was compassed, and the count of his days was done.
But by dint of that mortal combat was the will of the Dane-folk won,
For the wanderer wise and valiant had rid Hrothgar's hall of its bane,
And had given it peace from the slaughter; and his heart was lusty and fain
Of the work of that night and his valour, for the deed he had vowed and willed
When he made his vaunt to the East-Danes had the Geat's lord fulfilled,
And had ended the shame and torment that oft erewhile they dreed,
Yea, the mighty load of their anguish and the pang of their deadly need,
For a hand and an arm and a shoulder had the hero laid for a proof,
Ay, the utter gripe of Grendel, 'neath the vault of that mighty roof.

Now 'twas told me that warriors amany were gathered when morning broke
Together about that guest-hall of bounty; and chiefs of the folk
From outlands and nearlands had journeyed o'er ways far stretching back
To gaze on the wondrous token that the monster had left in his track
And none of them all was a-sorrow for the death of the loathly wight
As they looked on his spoor, and had knowledge how heavily hence in flight,
O'ermastered and baffled in battle, with doom in his heart and fear,
He hied on his life's last journey to the brink of the nicors' mere.
But at once the wave of that water boiled and eddied up with blood,
And with gore of the falchion's pouring seethed all the angry flood,
Where deep in his lair on the marish, forlorn and doomed, he passed,
And sped was the soul of that heathen, and hell gat hold on him fast.

—Now back from their jocund journey the old retainers veer
On their dappled steeds, with the younglings riding gaily from the mere,
And Beowulf's glory was bruited, for many a time men swore
That not in the wide world's stretches, from northern to southern shore,
Was there found a fighter more valiant beneath the vault of the sky,
Nor a fitter ruler of peoples: yet they sought not to decry
The glory of Hrothgar the Gallant, for their good king aye was he.
Anon the doughty in battle set their dun steeds racing free,
And for victory onward they galloped, where the roads led over the plain
And were level and fair by their deeming.