HROTHGAR spake, — to the hall he went
stood by the steps, the steep roof saw
garnished with gold, and Grendel’s hand
For the sight I see to the Sovran Ruler
be speedy thanks! A throng of sorrows
I have borne from Grendel; but God still works
wonder on wonder, the Warden-of-Glory.
It was but now that I never more
for woes that weighed on me waited help
long as I lived, when, laved in blood
stood sword-gore-stained this stateliest house
widespread woe for wise men all
who had no hope to hinder ever
foes infernal and fiendish sprites
from havoc in hall. This hero now
by the Wielder’s might, a work has done
that not all of us erst could ever do
by wile and wisdom. Lo, well can she say
whoso of women this warrior bore
among sons of men, if still she liveth
that the God of the ages was good to her
in the birth of her bairn. Now, Beowulf, thee
of heroes best, I shall heartily love
as mine own, my son; preserve thou ever
this kinship new: thou shalt never lack
wealth of the world that I wield as mine
Full oft for less have I largess showered
my precious hoard, on a punier man
less stout in struggle. Thyself hast now
fulfilled such deeds, that thy fame shall endure
through all the ages. As ever he did
well may the Wielder reward thee still
Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow
This work of war most willingly
we have fought, this fight, and fearlessly dared
force of the foe. Fain, too, were I
hadst thou but seen himself, what time
the fiend in his trappings tottered to fall
Swiftly, I thought, in strongest gripe
on his bed of death to bind him down
that he in the hent of this hand of mine
should breathe his last: but he broke away.
Him I might not — the Maker willed not
hinder from flight, and firm enough hold
the life-destroyer: too sturdy was he
the ruthless, in running! For rescue, however
he left behind him his hand in pledge
arm and shoulder; nor aught of help
could the cursed one thus procure at all.
None the longer liveth he, loathsome fiend
sunk in his sins, but sorrow holds him
tightly grasped in gripe of anguish
in baleful bonds, where bide he must
evil outlaw, such awful doom
as the Mighty Maker shall mete him out.
More silent seemed the son of Ecglaf
in boastful speech of his battle-deeds
since athelings all, through the earl’s great prowess
beheld that hand, on the high roof gazing
foeman’s fingers, — the forepart of each
of the sturdy nails to steel was likest
heathen’s “hand-spear,” hostile warrior’s
claw uncanny. ’Twas clear, they said
that him no blade of the brave could touch
how keen soever, or cut away
that battle-hand bloody from baneful foe.