had melted, burned was the bright sword, her blood was so hot, so poisoned the hell-sprite who perished within there.  Soon he was swimming who safe saw in combat downfall of demons; up-dove through the flood.  The clashing waters were cleansed now, waste of waves, where the wandering fiend her life-days left and this lapsing world.  Swam then to strand the sailors’-refuge, sturdy-in-spirit, of sea-booty glad, of burden brave he bore with him.  Went then to greet him, and God they thanked, the thane-band choice of their chieftain blithe, that safe and sound they could see him again.  Soon from the hardy one helmet and armor deftly they doffed:  now drowsed the mere, water ’neath welkin, with war-blood stained.  Forth they fared by the footpaths thence, merry at heart the highways measured, well-known roads.  Courageous men carried the head from the cliff by the sea, an arduous task for all the band, the firm in fight, since four were needed on the shaft-of-slaughter {23d} strenuously to bear to the gold-hall Grendel’s head.  So presently to the palace there foemen fearless, fourteen Geats, marching came.  Their master-of-clan mighty amid them the meadow-ways trod.  Strode then within the sovran thane fearless in fight, of fame renowned, hardy hero, Hrothgar to greet.  And next by the hair into hall was borne Grendel’s head, where the henchmen were drinking, an awe to clan and queen alike, a monster of marvel:  the men looked on.

XXIV

Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:  —­ “Lo, now, this sea-booty, son of Healfdene, Lord of Scyldings, we’ve lustily brought thee, sign of glory; thou seest it here.  Not lightly did I with my life escape!  In war under water this work I essayed with endless effort; and even so my strength had been lost had the Lord not shielded me.  Not a whit could I with Hrunting do in work of war, though the weapon is good; yet a sword the Sovran of Men vouchsafed me to spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging, old, gigantic, —­ how oft He guides the friendless wight! —­ and I fought with that brand, felling in fight, since fate was with me, the house’s wardens.  That war-sword then all burned, bright blade, when the blood gushed o’er it, battle-sweat hot; but the hilt I brought back from my foes.  So avenged I their fiendish deeds death-fall of Danes, as was due and right.  And this is my hest, that in Heorot now safe thou canst sleep with thy soldier band, and every thane of all thy folk both old and young; no evil fear, Scyldings’ lord, from that side again, aught ill for thy earls, as erst thou must!” Then the golden hilt, for that gray-haired leader, hoary hero, in hand was laid, giant-wrought, old.  So owned and enjoyed it after downfall of devils, the Danish lord, wonder-smiths’ work, since the world was rid of that grim-souled fiend, the foe of God, murder-marked, and his mother as well.  Now it passed into power of the people’s king, best of all that the oceans bound who have scattered