Together we twain on the tides abode five nights full
till the flood divided us, churning waves and chillest
weather, darkling night, and the northern wind ruthless
rushed on us: rough was the surge. Now
the wrath of the sea-fish rose apace; yet me ’gainst
the monsters my mailed coat, hard and hand-linked,
help afforded, — battle-sark braided my
breast to ward, garnished with gold. There grasped
me firm and haled me to bottom the hated foe, with
grimmest gripe. ’Twas granted me, though,
to pierce the monster with point of sword, with blade
of battle: huge beast of the sea was whelmed
by the hurly through hand of mine.
IX
Me thus often the evil monsters thronging threatened.
With thrust of my sword, the darling, I dealt them
due return! Nowise had they bliss from their
booty then to devour their victim, vengeful creatures,
seated to banquet at bottom of sea; but at break of
day, by my brand sore hurt, on the edge of ocean up
they lay, put to sleep by the sword. And since,
by them on the fathomless sea-ways sailor-folk are
never molested.
— Light from east, came
bright God’s beacon; the billows sank, so that
I saw the sea-cliffs high, windy walls. For Wyrd
oft saveth earl undoomed if he doughty be! And
so it came that I killed with my sword nine of the
nicors. Of night-fought battles ne’er heard
I a harder ’neath heaven’s dome, nor adrift
on the deep a more desolate man! Yet I came unharmed
from that hostile clutch, though spent with swimming.
The sea upbore me, flood of the tide, on Finnish land,
the welling waters. No wise of thee have I heard
men tell such terror of falchions, bitter battle.
Breca ne’er yet, not one of you pair, in the
play of war such daring deed has done at all with
bloody brand, — I boast not of it! —
though thou wast the bane {9a} of thy brethren dear,
thy closest kin, whence curse of hell awaits thee,
well as thy wit may serve! For I say in sooth,
thou son of Ecglaf, never had Grendel these grim deeds
wrought, monster dire, on thy master dear, in Heorot
such havoc, if heart of thine were as battle-bold
as thy boast is loud! But he has found no feud
will happen; from sword-clash dread of your Danish
clan he vaunts him safe, from the Victor-Scyldings.
He forces pledges, favors none of the land of Danes,
but lustily murders, fights and feasts, nor feud he
dreads from Spear-Dane men. But speedily now
shall I prove him the prowess and pride of the Geats,
shall bid him battle. Blithe to mead go he that
listeth, when light of dawn this morrow morning o’er
men of earth, ether-robed sun from the south shall
beam!” Joyous then was the Jewel-giver, hoar-haired,
war-brave; help awaited the Bright-Danes’ prince,
from Beowulf hearing, folk’s good shepherd,
such firm resolve. Then was laughter of liegemen
loud resounding with winsome words. Came Wealhtheow
forth, queen of Hrothgar, heedful of courtesy, gold-decked,
greeting the guests in hall; and the high-born lady
handed the cup first to the East-Danes’ heir
and warden, bade him be blithe at the beer-carouse,
the land’s beloved one. Lustily took he
banquet and beaker, battle-famed king.
