Beowulf | Page 7

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.
XII
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.
XIII
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