Beowulf. The Beowulf Poet

if thou bidest the battle with bold-won life.”

      10

      THEN Hrothgar went with his hero-train,

       defence-of-Scyldings, forth from hall;

       fain would the war-lord Wealhtheow seek,

       couch of his queen. The King-of-Glory

       against this Grendel a guard had set,

       so heroes heard, a hall-defender,

       who warded the monarch and watched for the monster.

       In truth, the Geats’ prince gladly trusted

       his mettle, his might, the mercy of God!

       Cast off then his corselet of iron,

       helmet from head; to his henchman gave, —

       choicest of weapons, — the well-chased sword,

       bidding him guard the gear of battle.

       Spake then his Vaunt the valiant man,

       Beowulf Geat, ere the bed be sought: —

       “Of force in fight no feebler I count me,

       in grim war-deeds, than Grendel deems him.

       Not with the sword, then, to sleep of death

       his life will I give, though it lie in my power.

       No skill is his to strike against me,

       my shield to hew though he hardy be,

       bold in battle; we both, this night,

       shall spurn the sword, if he seek me here,

       unweaponed, for war. Let wisest God,

       sacred Lord, on which side soever

       doom decree as he deemeth right.”

       Reclined then the chieftain, and cheek-pillows held

       the head of the earl, while all about him

       seamen hardy on hall-beds sank.

       None of them thought that thence their steps

       to the folk and fastness that fostered them,

       to the land they loved, would lead them back!

       Full well they wist that on warriors many

       battle-death seized, in the banquet-hall,

       of Danish clan. But comfort and help,

       war-weal weaving, to Weder folk

       the Master gave, that, by might of one,

       over their enemy all prevailed,

       by single strength. In sooth ’tis told

       that highest God o’er human kind

       hath wielded ever! — Thro’ wan night striding,

       came the walker-in-shadow. Warriors slept

       whose hest was to guard the gabled hall, —

       all save one. ’Twas widely known

       that against God’s will the ghostly ravager

       him {10a} could not hurl to haunts of darkness; wakeful, ready, with warrior’s wrath, bold he bided the battle’s issue.

      11

      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