Grendel in grimmest grasp thou killedst, —
seeing how long these liegemen mine he ruined and
ravaged. Reft of life, in arms he fell.
Now another comes, keen and cruel, her kin to avenge,
faring far in feud of blood: so that many a thane
shall think, who e’er sorrows in soul for that
sharer of rings, this is hardest of heart-bales.
The hand lies low that once was willing each wish
to please. Land-dwellers here {20b} and liegemen
mine, who house by those parts, I have heard relate
that such a pair they have sometimes seen, march-stalkers
mighty the moorland haunting, wandering spirits:
one of them seemed, so far as my folk could fairly
judge, of womankind; and one, accursed, in man’s
guise trod the misery-track of exile, though huger
than human bulk. Grendel in days long gone they
named him, folk of the land; his father they knew
not, nor any brood that was born to him of treacherous
spirits. Untrod is their home; by wolf-cliffs
haunt they and windy headlands, fenways fearful, where
flows the stream from mountains gliding to gloom of
the rocks, underground flood. Not far is it hence
in measure of miles that the mere expands, and o’er
it the frost-bound forest hanging, sturdily rooted,
shadows the wave. By night is a wonder weird
to see, fire on the waters. So wise lived none
of the sons of men, to search those depths! Nay,
though the heath-rover, harried by dogs, the horn-proud
hart, this holt should seek, long distance driven,
his dear life first on the brink he yields ere he
brave the plunge to hide his head: ’tis
no happy place! Thence the welter of waters washes
up wan to welkin when winds bestir evil storms, and
air grows dusk, and the heavens weep. Now is
help once more with thee alone! The land thou
knowst not, place of fear, where thou findest out
that sin-flecked being. Seek if thou dare!
I will reward thee, for waging this fight, with ancient
treasure, as erst I did, with winding gold, if thou
winnest back.”
Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: “Sorrow
not, sage! It beseems us better friends to avenge
than fruitlessly mourn them. Each of us all must
his end abide in the ways of the world; so win who
may glory ere death! When his days are told,
that is the warrior’s worthiest doom. Rise,
O realm-warder! Ride we anon, and mark the trail
of the mother of Grendel. No harbor shall hide
her — heed my promise! — enfolding
of field or forested mountain or floor of the flood,
let her flee where she will! But thou this day
endure in patience, as I ween thou wilt, thy woes
each one.” Leaped up the graybeard:
God he thanked, mighty Lord, for the man’s
brave words. For Hrothgar soon a horse was saddled
wave-maned steed. The sovran wise stately rode
on; his shield-armed men followed in force. The
footprints led along the woodland, widely seen, a
path o’er the plain, where she passed, and trod
the murky moor; of men-at-arms she bore the bravest
