For the gathering Geats. The bold-hearted sat,
Proud in their strength. A thane served mead
Shimmering in ale-cups. The shaper sang,
His clear voice in Heorot. There was joy in the hall, 495
The camaraderie of warriors, a keep of carousing.
That was no small company of Geats and Danes.
Unferth spoke, Ecglaf’s son, who sat at the feet
Of the Scylding king, unlocked battle-runes—
Devious thoughts and unfriendly words. 500
Beowulf’s undertaking was an ache to him,
For he hated to hear that any man’s deeds
Might hold more glory than his. He offered gall:
“Are you the great Beowulf who challenged Breca
In swollen pride, to swim the sea, 505
To risk your lives for a foolish boast?
No one could stop you, not friend or foe,
From your swimming match on the open sea,
Your death-diving in deep waters,
Your proud journey over ocean roads. 510
Your hands churned up the sea-streets,
Those winter-waves for seven nights,
But Breca was better, a winner over waves.
The smarter warrior overcame your strength,
Gathering glory. On the eighth morning, 515
The sea washed him up on the Heathoreams’ shore.
From there he sought his own homeland
Where he ruled the Brondings, beloved by all,
To sleep in his stronghold and deal out treasure.
He had strength in swimming and a wealth of rings. 520
That son of Beanstan fulfilled his boast,
Got the best of you. I think worse things
Await you even though you’ve endured
Grim battles before, if you dare to keep
The night-watch here to greet Grendel.” 525
Beowulf replied, the son of Ecgtheow,
Measured out meanings, mixed words:
“Well, Unferth my friend, you said a mouthful
About Breca’s bravery, on a belly full of beer.
I’ll tell you the truth—I had greater sea-strength, 530
More hard riding on the heave of waves
Than any man. We were just boasting boys
When we risked our lives in the roiling sea,
Two alone at the edge of youth.
We did what we said, made good our words. 535
We took our bare swords swimming,
Hard blades in hand, to ward off whales.
Breca failed to swim faster or farther
Beyond my strength in the surging sea,
And I stayed by him. We swam together, 540
Suffering the surge for five nights
Till the coldest of sea-storms, heaving water,
Tore us apart in the darkening waves,
And the battle-grim north-wind
Savaged our bond, split us apart. 545
The waves were rough. Sea-beasts roused.
There my body-mail of hand-locked rings
Protected my life—the battle-jacket,
Woven of iron and worked with gold,
Covered my chest. A savage sea-fiend, 550
Monster of the deep, dragged me down
To the sea-bed in his cruel grasp,
Till I touched him with my sharp sword,
A burial greeting, a gift for his chest.
Battle-rush took the sea-beast’s life 555
Through my hard hand. Time and again
The terrors attacked, monsters moved in.
The fierce ones found me, diving for dinner.
I served them well with my good sword—
It was fitting for fish. I don’t think 560
They enjoyed that feast at their sea-bed table.
Their dead mouths weren’t able to eat me.
The morning after, they slept late,
Lulled by my sword, dozing on sand,
Swept up by waves, so that never again 565
Could the monsters hinder seafarers’ sailing.
Light lifted from the east, God’s bright beacon,
The sea calmed, the swells subsided,
So I could see headlands, wave-walls,
Windward shores. Fate often protects 570
The undoomed man if his courage holds.
I was offered nine sea-monsters
To slay with my sword. I’ve never heard
Of a harder battle in wind or water,
Nor of a man more pressed in the sea-rush; 575
Yet I survived the monsters’ grasp,
Swam home alive, weary from the work.
The sea-streams bore me far from home
Into the arms of the Finns, the land of the Lapps.
I’ve never heard, Unferth, of your exploits, 580
Tracking terror, matching wits with monsters,
Slinging courage with a swinging sword—
I don’t mean to boast—though I heard
You were a kin-killer, a bane to your brothers.
For that family ravage you’ll rot in hell— 585
Your soul is damned though your wit is keen.
You want the truth? I’ll tell you Unferth,
Son of Ecglaf, if your spirit had been strong,
Your mind on monsters instead of memories
Of killing kin, that awesome terror, 590
That savage Grendel might have slain fewer
Of Heorot’s heroes, left the hall unhaunted.
He’s found this feud a little one-sided—
He knows no need to fear your swords,
The battle-blades of the Victory-Scyldings. 595
He takes his toll in terror from the Danes—
Your life’s the tribute he needs. The monster
Shows mercy to no one. He lusts and feasts,
Kills and carves up dinner with his claws,
Invites the Scyldings to an endless sleep. 600
The Geats will give him what the Danes have not—
Strength and courage, a sword’s grim greeting.
Then men may wake unafraid, drink
Morning mead, saunter under the southern sun,
Their world clothed in light, find their fellowship 605
And forget fear.”
Then the treasure-giver,
Gray-haired, battle-famed, knew joy.
The Lord of Bright-Danes had heard Beowulf,
Counted his courage, his strength of spirit.
Then laughter lifted in the great hall— 610
Words were traded. Wealhtheow walked in,
Hrothgar’s queen, clothed in gold.
Careful of custom, mindful of manner,
She greeted each hall-thane in turn.
The noble woman served the first cup 615
To the Danish king, keeper of the land,
Beloved by his people, bade him rejoice
In the beer-feast. He enjoyed the banquet,
Raised up his cup, the victory-king.
Then the lady of the Helmings went through the hall, 620
Carrying the jeweled cup to young and old,
Generous of mead and her gracious mind,
Sharing her spirit, till the courteous queen,
Adorned with rings, brought Beowulf the cup,
Welcomed the Geat with wise words, 625
Thanking God for granting her wish
That some warrior might offer defense
Against the darkness and an end to woe.
The battle-fierce warrior took the cup
From Wealhtheow’s hand. Beowulf spoke, 630
Son of Ecgtheow, eager for battle:
“I knew when I boarded the boat with my men,
Sat down in the ship with my brave band,
And sailed the sea, that I would fulfill my oath
And the Danish hopes or discover death 635
In Grendel’s claws, his fierc
e grasp.
Here in Heorot I will stop this savagery,
Cleanse this hall or cancel my days.”
The queen cherished that plain boast,
Sitting with Hrothgar, adorned with gold. 640
The talk rose up, the hall-troops rejoicing
Over old victories. The son of Healfdene
Sought his night-rest in another hall.
He knew the monster was bending his mind,
Mulling since morning on attacking Heorot. 645
Dark shapes were gliding, shadows sliding
Under cloud-cover. The dark rim-walker,
Fierce ravager, was writhing toward Heorot.
The company rose—the leaders paid regards.
Old Hrothgar wished young Beowulf well, 650
Gave him control of the hall with these words:
“I’ve never entrusted my people’s hall
To anyone since I could lift hand and shield;
Now I yield its keep to you—
Control it. Guard this greatest of halls. 655
Remember glory, reveal your strength,
Watch out for that walking wrath,
Confound the wraith. Whatever you dream
Will be yours if you survive the onslaught.”
Then King Hrothgar, protector of Danes, 660
Left the hall with his close companions.
The war-king wanted to find Wealhtheow,
His bright queen in her bed-chamber.
The King of Glory, as men would learn,
Had set a hall-guard to greet Grendel, 665
A dangerous man on a special mission
To stand night-watch for the monstrous guest,
The great giant. The lord of the Geats
Trusted his strength and God’s grace.
He stripped off his chain-mail, unlaced iron, 670
Unlocked his helmet, lifted it from his head,
Gave his sword to a servant, his best iron blade.
Beowulf of the Geats spoke the quiet boast
Of a good man before getting into bed:
“I don’t claim any lesser strength, 675
Any poorer power, any weaker will,
Than Grendel, so I’ll give him this gift:
I won’t put him to sleep with my sword,
Steal his life with iron, though I might.
In spite of his strength, his violent fame, 680
His clawed hand can hold no sword
To hew my shield, to hack my life.
Let’s fight as equals—I’ll forego the sword,
If he dares to fight me without weapons,
And let wise God give out glory 685
Wherever he wants to the one who wins.”
The battle-brave earl put his head on his pillow,
Lay back to rest with his seafaring thanes.
None of them expected to see home again,
Family or friends, kith or kin, 690
The light of day or their land of birth.
They knew night-slaughter had stricken the Danes,
A curse of killing in a hall of corpses—
But God gave them fortune’s weaving,
The warp and weft of war-victory, 695
A gift to the Geats of craft and comfort
Through the savage strength of one warrior
To seize the shadow, catch the killer.
This is the truth of time’s long telling—
A mighty God rules over all mankind. 700
Out of the darkness a shadow-walker
Came writhing, sliding toward sleepers
Unaware in the gabled hall—except for one
Who watched, waiting for the wraith.
Men know that God the Creator 705
Will not let a demon, a savage stalker,
Drag us into shadows. Beowulf waited
In waking anger, rage in reserve,
Aching for action. Grendel came gliding
Out of the moors, up from the marshes, 710
Bearing God’s wrath. The monster meant
To stalk and kill a mouthful of mankind.
Under a shroud he slid to the door—
Under dark clouds he crept to the hall,
The house of giving, the home of feasting. 715
That wasn’t the first time he sought
Hrothgar’s home, but he never found
In his grim days before or after
Such bad luck, such hard hall-thanes.
The unholy warrior reached the door, 720
Separated from joy. The door burst open,
Its iron bonds snapped with a touch of hands—
A mindful of evil at the mouth of the hall.
The fiend stalked the floor, swollen with anger,
Fierce in his fury. Out of his lurid eyes, 725
Leapt like a flame, an unfair light.
He saw in the feast-hall a pile of men
Sleeping together. His heart exulted,
His mind bent—he meant before daybreak
To separate life from limb for each man— 730
An awesome terror up to old tricks.
He was driven to find a fulfilling feast—
His fate was one last feeding on mankind.
The mighty one watched how the other moved,
The kinsman of Hygelac saw his killing attack. 735
The monster never thought of holding back—
He seized the first sleeper, slit his body,
Bit open his bone-house, drinking his blood,
Swallowing flesh, feasting on hands and feet,
Eating greedily the unliving one. 740
One power moved unwarily up
To the body of the other, a warrior at rest,
Seized the strong-hearted thane with his hand,
Reached for a clutch of flesh with his claw—
But Beowulf was hatching his battle-plan, 745
Snatched up the creature’s nailed hand,
Shook his claw in a monstrous greeting,
Grabbed his grasp. The cold keeper of sins
Had never met a harder handgrip
In all his dark marauding in middle-earth. 750
His wretched heart discovered fear—
He wanted to flee back home to the marshes,
But his hand was locked in a terrible fist.
His spirit spooked, his heart heaved for home,
A host of demons, a haven of fens— 755
But this time his only hold was in Beowulf’s hand.
That was a new way of life for him.
Hygelac’s thane remembered his boast
Earlier in the evening, stood up strong,
Held the fiend fast, fingers bursting. 760
One tried to bolt—the other crushed him back.
One wanted the fens—he got cold fingers.
That was a bitter journey the demon-walker
Made to Heorot. The hall resounded—
The building shook like a wild ale-party! 765
The proud Danes panicked, their hearts in shock,
With two fierce hall-guards feasting on rage.
The building roared with battle-shrieks
As both warriors were bent on slaughter.
It’s a wonder the wine-hall withstood 770
The ravaging warriors, their fierce rage.
It was braced and bound, inside and out,
With iron bonds, hammered by smiths.
I heard it said that many mead-benches
Were ripped from the floor, splintered seats 775
Of inlaid gold, while the grim ones grappled.
No wise one of the Scyldings ever thought
That Heorot could be wrecked by any means,
That antler-boned hall, by crash or craft,
Unless fire should reach out ravenous 780
And swallow it whole. The sound of slaughter
Rose in the hall, a strange new song.
Fear seized the No
rth-Danes who heard
For the first time there through the wall
A dirge of terror, mad music 785
Sung or screeched by the foe of God,
A song of no victory, a depth of wailing
From the clutch of hell. He was held fast
By the strongest man in living memory.
The protector of men had a plain purpose— 790
To keep in his clutch the uninvited killer
Whose useless days would serve no one.
Beowulf’s retainers raised their swords,
Old heirlooms, to protect their prince,
To save the life of their mighty leader. 795
When they leapt into the fray, they little knew—
Hard-hearted warriors hacking at Grendel
From every side, seeking his soul—
That no iron on earth, not the sharpest sword,
Could harm that demon, cut through flesh, 800
For he had woven a spell against wounding,
A protection against weapons made by man,
A secret skin so nothing could touch him.
His life-parting was painful, unexpected;
That alien spirit, that savage shadow 805
Would travel far to the keep of fiends.
The demon discovered, who had always sought
To bring his murderous heart to mankind—
He was at war with God—that his body
Would not travel on that last road 810
Because the kinsman of Hygelac, bold Beowulf,
Held him by the hand. Each was anathema
To the life of the other. The awesome creature
Finally felt pain in a body-wound:
His shoulder-bone was seen, his sinews torn, 815
His tendons ripped, his bone-locks broken.
Battle-glory was given then to Beowulf.
Grendel fled, life-lost and spirit-sick,
Into the fens to his joyless home,
A clutchless wraith. He knew his days were done. 820
For the Danes, it was a dream come true
After the blood-rush. He had purged the hall—
The warrior who was battle-wise and heart-strong,
Cleaned out Heorot, Hrothgar’s home,
Delivering it from darkness. He rejoiced in his night-work, 825
In the doom of his deeds—they were worth remembering.
The leader of the Geats had made good his boast
To the East-Danes, brought an end to evil,
An ease to suffering, a last look at grief.
That was no small sorrow they’d endured. 830
It was a plain sign when the battle-brave man
Nailed the monster’s arm—shoulder to fist—
Under the eaves of Heorot’s roof.
A welcome-home was Grendel’s claw.
The next morning many great warriors 835
Gathered in the gift-hall, as I heard tell;
Folk-leaders came from far and near,
The Complete Old English Poems Page 72