Beowulf A translation by Burton Raffel1963

Introduction
No one knows when Beowulf was composed, or by whom, or why. A
single manuscript managed to survive Henry VIII’s dissolution of the monasteries,
and the destruction of their great libraries; since his mane written on one of the
folios, Lawrence Nowell, the sixteenth-century scholar, may have been responsible
for Beowulf’s preservation. The manuscript is a copy, in two distinct handwritings:
how many other copies existed, or how close to the original this particular version
was, will probably never be known. Indeed, since careless binding, plus an
unfortunate fire in 1731, led in the course of time to serious deterioration of the
manuscript, some words in Beowulf are known only from two transcripts made, in
1786-1787, by the Danish scholar Thorkelin. Other words, and lines, had either
crumbled away before Thorkelin saw the manuscript, or are simply missing, or are
incomplete; gaps have to filled in by guesswork—and sometimes by ultraviolet
photography.
But we do have the poem, and we are remarkably lucky to have it: not only
is it unique, the sole survivor of what may have been a thriving epic tradition, but it
is great poetry. Approached as an archaeological relic, it is fascinating. Taken as a
linguistic document, it is a marvel, a mine of revelations and controversies. It
gives us vital information about Old English social life and about Old English
politics and about many things that scholars would like to have much more
information on. But Beowulf’s position as a great poem must remain primary; the
other purposes it serves are important but peripheral to this central fact of sheer
literary merit.
It is essentially an aristocratic poem, concerned with kings and kingship:
. . . He ruled Lands on all sides: wherever the sea
Would take them his soldiers sailed, returned With tribute and
obedience. There was a brave
King!
(8-12)

Strength and courage are basic virtues for both followed and follower. But where
the follower’s overriding commitment is to loyalty, the king’s position is more
complex.
. . . A king Born, entrusted with ancient treasures
And cities full of stronghearted soldiers, His vanity swelled him so vile
and rank That he could hear no voices but his own. He deserved To suffer
and die. . . .
 (908-913)

Thus Hermod is described, a king indisputably brave, incontestably strong, but

unable to balance the requirements of absolute obedience with generosity and
concern for his people’s welfare, unable to simultaneously lead and sustain his
soldiers. The poet immediately contrasts this savage brute, who would descend to
drunken rages and kill his closest companions, with Beowulf, “a prince well-loved,
followed in friendship, not fear.”
The poem was composed in England perhaps four centuries before the
Norman Conquest. And this England of roughly the eighth century A.D., as
reflected in social patterns ascribed to sixth-century Geats and Danes and Swedes,
is rigidly feudal, highly civilized and highly violent, and rather newly Christian.
Layers of morality and tenderness and piety are intermixed, in Beowulf , with
glorification of war, death, and fame; such humdrum occupations as farming,
fishing (except for sport: see lines 1432-1441), and the care and feeding of both
adults and children are all denigrated, casually, when they are mentioned at all.
Slavery is taken for granted: when a slave accompanies Beowulf and his men to
the dragon’s wasteland den, the poet does not include him in the count. There
were twelf a sum, Beowulf and eleven others, we are told in line 2401, but five
lines further on the poet adds that a threotteoth a secg, a “thirteenth man”—the
slave—was also with them. The important tools, in this poem, are weapons:
proven swords and helmets are handed down, from father to son, like the vital
treasures they were. Swords have personalities, and names; servants of course
have neither.
Much of the poem is ruminative rather than, as might be expected, more
narrowly narrative. Beowulf’s three combats, with Grendel, Grendel’s mother, and
the dragon, occupy a surprisingly small part of the epic. As in the ceremonial
wrestling of Japan, preliminaries—speeches, advice, reminiscences—are fully as
important as actual fighting, and take longer in the telling. The poet can capture a
battle scene with magnificent skill and vividness:
Then the monster charged again, vomiting Fire, wild with pain, rushed out
Fierce and dreadful, its fear forgotten. Watching for its chance it
drove its tusks Into Beowulf’s neck; he staggered, the blood
Came flooding forth, fell like rain.
(2688-2693)

And there can be no question of the relish with which warfare is contemplated, its
dominant role in this masculine-dominated society:
How fierce, could have come with a man’s strength, Fought with the
power and courage men fight with, Smashing their shining swords, their bloody,
Hammer-forged blades onto boar-headed helmets, Slashing and stabbing
with the sharpest of points.
(1282-1287)

But the significance of battle, rather than its bare facts, is what grips the poet. He
is interested in what makes a good fighter tick, what makes a hero heroic; he looks
inside the minds of both good men and evil monsters:
. . . Grendel Saw that his strength
was deserting him, his claws Bound fast, Higlac’s brave follower tearing at
His hands. The monster’s hatred rose higher,
But his power had gone. He twisted in pain . . .
(811-815)

When Beowulf takes up the sword, “hammered by giants,” which will give him
victory over Grendel’s mother, the poet’s description is basically an internalized
one—though the action is not neglected:
. . . savage, now, angry And desperate, [he]
lifted it high over his head
And struck with all the strength he had left . . .
(1563-1565)

It is God who grants Beowulf victory, but only after he is “back on his feet and
fighting.” The good fighter, the hero, the man who wins that most precious of all
treasures, fame, is the man who never gives up, and who does not worry about the
possible consequences of bravery:
. . . So fame Comes to the men who mean to
win it
And care about nothing else! . . .
(1534-1536)

Nor does it ever leave the hero, this driving will for glory:
. . . I am old, now,
But I will fight again, seek fame still . . .
(2512-2513)
. . . But the brave old Swede Felt no fear: he
quickly returned A better blow than he’d gotten, faced
Toward Wulf and struck him savagely . . .
(2976-2970)

Perhaps the most striking example of the perspective from which the poet sees
battle, the context of values into which he constantly tries to fit it, is the climax of
the fight with the dragon. Beowulf, weakened by time and age, is being slowly but
surely beaten—“a king, before, but now a beaten warrior.” His other comrades
desert him, but Wiglaf stands watching, torn with indecision. About ten lines are
given to his doubts (and his lineage). Then:
. . . Wiglaf’s Mind was made up; he raised his
yellow
Shield and drew his sword . . .
(2608-2610)

Beowulf is in agony, “wrapped around in swirling flames,” and the decision to go

to his aid has been taken; the sword is drawn, the shield raised, and what follows?
A lunge at the dragon, a scene of desperate combat? Not at all. The poet stops (by
our standards) in midstream, gives us first twenty lines about Wiglaf’s sword and
how his father won it in battle, then another thirty lines of reproach for the cowards
who had deserted their king in his time of need, and then, only then, resumes the
action. At that, Wiglaf manages to make a final eight-line speech of
encouragement as he goes diving “through the dragon’s deadly fumes,” running to
Beowulf’s side. The battle scene, tripartite now, is well worth waiting for; the
point is that for the poet no battle is simply men hacking at each other (or at
monsters of various descriptions). Battle is a way of life, a necessary function of
the worthiest members of society. Kings, and warriors generally (samurai), are the
successful men of the time, the corporation presidents, the space explorers, and the
movie stars. They are people to be known about, to be emulated, but not blindly,
not solely because they are successful (death being the supreme product of their
occupation). Theirs is the good and the true path; in their words, their thoughts,
and their deeds they are the embodiment of the Anglo-Saxon way of life.
This morality, born of its time and its circumstances exactly as our belief in
elections and multiple (and opposing) philosophies of government is born of our
time and our circumstances, does not sound particularly Christian. And yet the
poem is full of Christian sentiments, joined with or superimposed onto this more or
less pagan code of battle-heroism-kingship (shared with the Danes and the Swedes
and peoples all across Europe). Early students of Beowulf sometimes doubted that
a single hand had composed the poem, much as early students of Homer had
doubted that “Homer” had ever existed, as a single human brain in a single human
body. It seems fairly clear, however—and I myself have no doubt—that Beowulf
is the work of one man and that its author was a Christian.
. . .the poet’s clear songs, sung Of the ancient
beginnings of us all, recalling The Almighty making the earth, shaping
These beautiful plains marked off by oceans, Then proudly setting the
sun and moon To glow across the land and light it; The corners of the earth were
made lovely with trees And leaves, made quick with life, with each Of the
nations who now move on its face . . .
(90-98)

This so-called “Song of Creation,” moving and eloquent as it is, enters the poem
somewhat abruptly, following immediately on the introduction of Grendel, who is
“living down in the darkness: and displeased that the Danes are happy in Herot,
their new battle hall. Whoever wrote it was plainly a Christian, but we might say,
having this before us and nothing more, that some monkish hand could have added
these sentiments to improve and correct an essentially pagan epic. But most of the
Christianity in Beowulf is not so easily dismissed as interpolation. “Let God be
thanked!” (Alwealdan thanc), cries Hrothgar, for example, when the Danes
assemble to celebrate Beowulf’s victory over Grendel. These are his first words;
he goes on, almost at once, to assert with great feeling that
. . .the Almighty makes miracles When He pleases,
wonder after wonder, and this world
Rests in His hands . . .
(930-932)

It is God, as I have already noted, who leads Beowulf to victory over Grendel’s
vicious mother, once Beowulf has proved that he is willing and able to help
himself. The examples could be multiplied many times over: the essential nature
of this Christianity may not be quite the same as that practice in twentieth-century
London or in California, but it is an integral part of the poet’s thought and of his
view of life.
The “Song of Creation” shows, too, another of the poet’s many gifts: his
descriptive genius. None of his descriptive passages are autotelic; they are all
purposeful, meant to elucidate or set the stage or accomplish a transition.
And sometimes, when the path ran straight and clear, They would let
their horses race, red And brown and pale yellow backs streaming
Down the road . . .
(864-867)

This is intended, I think, to be a “true” picture rather than a “beautiful” one. The
racing of horses was a proper and highly regarded sport; the animals were likely to
be of these particular colors; and someone standing nearby and watching could
easily see how accurate a description this was. The poet’s listeners—like most Old
English verse, Beowulf was meant to be heard rather than read—had undoubtedly
seen such races themselves, many times over, and they would nod their heads in
recognition and approval. This was indeed how it was—or how it should have
been. But for us, to whom kings are unimportant and monsters nonexistent, to
whom horses are objects to bet on and roads created for hundred-horsepower
motors, what comes through most forcefully is quite simply the clear, sharp beauty
of the scene.
The descriptions of imaginary events are just as vivid:
They could see the water crawling with snakes, Fantastic serpents
swimming in the boiling Lake, and sea-beasts lying on the rocks --The
kind that infest the ocean, in the early Dawn, often ending some ship’s
Journey with their wild jaws . . .
(1425-1430)

The poet had never seen anything like this lake of monsters; neither had his
audience. It was vivid to them I am confident, not as an exercise in imagery but as
a conjuring up of what must exist, somewhere, somehow.
There in the harbor was a ring-prowed fighting Ship, its timbers icy,
waiting, And there they brought the beloved body Of their ring-
giving lord, and laid him near The mast. Next to that noble corpse They
heaped up treasures, jeweled helmets, Hooked swords and coats of mail,
armor
Carried from the ends of the earth . . .
(32-39)

The excavation of Sutton Hoo, a ceremonial and probably a kingly burial ship of
perhaps the seventh century A.D., has shown how small a role fancy played in
such descriptions. (The riches and wonders of Sutton Hoo need no cataloguing,
here.) Like all poets, this one is capable of exaggeration, of stretching a point to
make the story move more easily—but not in truly important matters, and the
burial of a king was, for him, of an importance second to nothing. Even his talk of
precious objects “carried from the ends of the earth” has been proven not a bit
exaggerated: the Sutton Hoo burial treasures include a large silver dish stamped
with the mark of the Byzantine Emperor Anastasius, who died in A.D. 518.
 Almost most attractive to us, of all the many-sided excellences of Beowulf,
is the poet’s insight into people. Combining, in a sense, his concern for Anglo-
Saxon morality with his descriptive and narrative powers, his delineation of men
like Hrothgar and Wiglaf, the care and the eloquence of his portrayals, is deeply
satisfying. Much of it is indirect, accomplished (like the best of contemporary
fictional characterization) through his people’s own words and movements. The
eager excitement of Wulfgar, for example, hurrying off to announce Beowulf’s
arrival to king Hrothgar, fairly leaps from his five-line speech:
“Our warmhearted lord will be told Of your coming; I shall tell our king,
our giver Of bright rings, and hurry back with his word, And speak it
here, however be answers Your request.” . . .
((351-355)

Wulfgar’s enthusiasm is all the more remarkable when we realize that visitors to a
foreign king’s court were usually beggars, outcasts, men whose feudal lord had
died, rebels, or the like. That it could be dangerous, too, to welcome such men is
shown by king Herdred’s fate: see lines 2380-2390.
I have commented, in my Poems from the Old English (Lincoln, Nebraska:
University of Nebraska Press, 1960) on the gentleness and solicitude shown by
Wiglaf. The most notable characterization in the poem, I believe, is that of
Hrothgar, who is brought to life with a fullness and subtlety to which no amount of
quotation can do justice. But lesser figures are evoked with much the same skill.
Hrothgar’s queen, Welthow, is masterfully done: the irony of her appeals, on
behalf of her young sons, must have been apparent to all who listened. Addressing
her husband, and Hrothulf, his nephew, she says:
. . . “But your sons will be safe, Sheltered in Hrothulf’s
gracious protection, If fate takes their father while Hrothulf is alive; I know
your nephew’s kindness, I know He’ll repay in kind the goodness you have
shown him . . .”
(1228-1231)

Her helplessness is pathetically plain.

Characters whose appearance is little more than incidental are also handled
with perception and care: even the slave who stumbles onto the dragon, and who
is later forced to lead Beowulf and his men to the monster, is “afraid of both beast
and men.” The nameless Geats, Beowulf’s companions on his dangerous journey
to Denmark, lie in the darkness of Herot, awaiting Grendel,
. . .each of them sure that he was lost To the home he loved,
to the high-walled towns And friends he had left behind where both he
And they had been raised. Each thought of the Danes Murdered by
Grendel in a hall where Geats
And not Danes now slept . . .
(691-696)

Some of the more or less self-contained episodes, like the famous Finn
section (1068-1159), are developed with a tight, concise skill that shows the poet at
ease in small forms as well as large. (Apparent obscurities in the Finn section, and
elsewhere, are more our fault than his: too many centuries separate us, and too
many universal allusions have become blank spaces for scholarship to struggle to
fill.) The elegy of the last survivor of some unnamed noble race, lines 2247-2266,
is worthy of comparison with such famous Old English poems as “The Ruin” and
“Deor” (see, again, Poems from the Old English). Indeed, though I have no
evidence whatever, such is the poet’s power and virtuosity that I do not believe it
possible for Beowulf to have been the beginning and end of his literary production.
His other work, both early and late, may well have bee destroyed, along with all
the rest of what must be missing from Old English literature. But it may not have
been destroyed; some new Vercelli Book of precious and unique poetry may
someday turn up, in an Italian monastery or almost anywhere.
A few things should be said about this translation, its sources, principles,
and practice. My basic text has been F. Klaeber’s Beowulf (3rd edition, with 1st and
2nd supplements, 1950). I have also made extensive use of E. V. K. Dobbie’s
Beowulf, in the indispensable Anglo-Saxon Poetic Records series (vol .IV, 1953).
A few disputed readings of the manuscript have been drawn from the C. L.
Wrenn’s Beowulf (1953) Other works consulted with some frequency include
Bosworth/Toller, An Ango-Saxon Dictionary (1898); Toller’s Supplement (1921);
J. R .Clark Hall, A Concise Anglo-Saxon Dictionsry (4th edition, with a supplement
by H. D. Meritt, (1960); A. J. Wyatt, An Anglo-Saxon Reader (1919); R. Quirk and
C. L. Wrenn, An Old English Grammar (2nd edition, 1958); and J. and E. M.
Wright, Old English Grammar (3rd edition, 1925). I have also consulted David
Wright’s prose translation. Beowulf (1957), and the R. K. Gordon prose
translation, in his Anglo-Saxon Poetry (1954). And I commend, to the interested
and zealous reader, R. W. Chambers, Beowulf, (3rd edition, with a supplement by
C. L. Wrenn, 1959), and two excellent little books by Dorothy Whitelock, The
Audience of Bowulf (1951) and The beginnings of English Society (1952).
If this listing of authorities makes the translation of Beowulf seem like a
task weighted with scholarly apparatus (and implications), I can only admit that
anyone working with a text so complex and, still so imperfectly understood, must
necessarily rely heavily on every authority he can lay his hands on. It may well be
sufficient, at this point, to cite roughly one-half of Dobbie’s note on the single
word higemæthum, which occurs in line 2909:

This word has been variously explained, by some as dat. ;lur. of a noun, by
others as dat. Plur. of an adjective. Thorpe read hige methum as two words, “with
weary spirit”; all other edd. Print as a compound. Sievers, Beitr. IX, 142 f.,
suggested emending to higemethe, adjective, “weary of mind,” referring to Wiglaf;
this emendation was adopted by Holder (1st ed.), Hothousen (1,2 ed.), and
Sedgefield (1 ed.), but was later withdrawn by Sievers in Bietr. XXXVI, 419.
Grein, Spr. II, 128, assumed a noun higemæth, which he doubtfully glossed as
“reverential, diligentia”; Grein, ed., identified the second element of the
compound with mæth, “measure,” and translated higemæth, (p.139) as
“geziemende Gesinnung, aufmerksame Sorgfalt.” A noun higemæth, “reverence,”
is accepted by Wyatt (who glosses it as “mind-honour, heart-reverence”),
Schücking, and Chambers. Sedgefield (3 ed.), note, translates, “with balance of
mind,’ i.e. impartially”. See also his note in MLRev. XXVIII, 229. Rieger, ZfdPh.
III, 413, would read higemethum, dat. Plur. of the adjective, referring to both the
dead Beowulf and the dragon; so Heyne (4 ed.) and Socin. . . . For a more
complete account of the scholarship on this word, see Hoops, Bwst., pp. 137 f.

This is not in the least untypical; if it does not inspire awe, it should at least create
a feeling of sympathy.
My personal credo, with regard to the making of translations, has not
changed since Poems from the Old English: the following comments from pages
XXIX of that book are still applicable, here.

The translator’s only hope is to re-create something roughly equivalent in

the new language, something that is itself good poetry and that at the same time
carries a reasonable measure of the force and flavor of the original. In this sense
a re-creation can only be a creation . . . Comparatively few lines would meet a
scop’s exacting standards. Essentially, I have used a free four-beat line, without
regard to the usual accent patterns of English verse: the translations are therefore
not tetrameter, in the usual sense of iamb or trochee.

My practice has, however, varied somewhat, and particularly in the matter

alliteration. Beowulf is a poem of 3182 lines; techniques adequate to a group of
shorter works will not necessarily serve it equally well. I have felt it advisable,
even obligatory, to alliterate much more freely, occasionally as the Old English
alliterates, more usually in irregular patterns developed ad hoc. These patterns
include everything from alliteration on the first and fourth stresses to alliteration
that runs through and across several lines. I have also used part-alliteration; I
have sometimes used paired alliteration—two words in a line alliterating according
to one sound, and the other two alliterating to a wholly different sound; I have
even, though infrequently and, I hope, most discreetly, used a bit of internal rhyme.
I should perhaps add that I have tried to let the weight and motion of each line
determine where the stresses (four to a line) fall. The same word, therefore, need
not be an alliterating word (i.e., a stressed word) each time it occurs.
Finally, I want to thank Professor Robert P. Creed, who gave me most
welcome encouragement, and who not only cheerfully but actually eagerly read
through the entire manuscript, making many helpful suggestions en route; and
Professor J. B. Bessinger, of whom –though it seems almost incredible that a
translator should have two such selfless readers—the same must be said.

Burton Raffel
[Much of my correspondence with Professors Creed and Bessenger can now be
read in my The Forked Tongue: A Study of the Translation Process (The Hague:
Mouton, 1971)—B.R.]

Prologue
Hear Me! We’ve heard of Danish heroes,
Ancient kings and the glory they cut
For themselves, swinging mighty swords!
How Shild make slaves of soldiers from every
5 Land, crowds of captives he’d beaten
 Into terror; he’d traveled to Denmark alone,
An abandoned child, but changed his own fate,
Lived to be rich and much honored. He ruled
Lands on all sides: wherever the sea
10 Would take them his soldiers sailed, returned
With tribute and obedience. There was a brave
King! And he gave them more than his glory,
Conceived a son for the Danes, a new leader
Allowed them by the grace of God. They had lived,
15 Before his coming kingless and miserable;
Now the Lord of all life, Ruler
Of glory, blessed them with a prince, Beo,
Whose power and fame soon spread through the world.
20 His father’s warriors were wound round his heart
With golden rings, bound to their prince
By his father’s treasure. So young men build
The future, wisely open-handed in peace,
25 Their fame, and wealth is shaped with a sword.
When his time was come the old king died,
Still strong but called to the Lord’s hands.
His comrades carried him down to the shore,
Bore him as their leader had asked, their lord
30 And companion, while words could move on his tongue.
Shild’s reign had been long; he’d ruled them well.
There in the harbor was a ring-prowed fighting
Ship, its timbers icy, waiting,
And there they brought the beloved body
35 Of their ring-giving lord, and laid him near
The mast. Next to that noble corpse
They heaped up treasures, jeweled helmets,
Hooked swords and coats of mail, armor,
Carried from the ends of the earth: no ship
40 Had ever sailed so brightly fitted,
No king sent forth more deeply mourned.
Forced to set him adrift, floating
As far as the tide might run, they refused
To give him less from their hoards of gold
45 Than those who’d shipped him away, an orphan
And a beggar, to cross the waves alone.
High up over his head they flew
His shining banner, then sadly let
The water pull at the ship, watched it
50 Slowly sliding to where neither rulers
Nor heroes nor anyone can say whose hands
Opened to take that motionless cargo.

1
 Then Beo was king in that Danish castle,
Shild’s son ruling as long as his father
55 And as loved, a famous lord of men.
And he in turn gave his people a son,
The great Healfdane, a fierce fighter
Who led the Danes to the end of his long
Life and left them four children,
60 Three princes to guide them in battle, Hergar
And Hrothgar, and Halga the Good, and one daughter,
Yrs, who was given to Onela, King
Of the Swedes, and became his wife and their queen.
Then Hrothgar, taking the throne, led
65 The Danes to such glory that comrades and kinsmen
Swore by his sword, and youg men swelled
His armies, and he thought of greatness and resolved
To build a hall that would hold his mighty
Band and reach higher toward Heaven than anything
70 That had ever been known to the sons of men.
And in that hall he’d divide the spoils
Of their victories, to old and young what they’d earned
In battle, but leaving the common pastures
Untouched, and taking no lives. The work
75 Was ordered, the timbers tied and shaped
By the hosts that Hrothgar ruled. It was quickly
Ready, that most beautiful of dwellings, built
As he’d wanted, and then he whose word was obeyed
All over the earth named it Herot.
80 His boast come true he commanded a banquet,
Opened out his treasure-full hands.
That towering place, gabled and huge,
Stood waiting for time to pass, for war
To begin, for flames to leap as high
85 As the feud that would light them, and for Herot to burn.
A powerful monster, living down
In the darkness, growled in pain, impatient
As day after day the music rang
Loud in that hall, the harp’s rejoicing
90 Call and the poet’s clear songs, sung
Of the ancient beginnings of the us all, recalling
The Almighty making the earth, shaping
These beautiful plains marked off by oceans,
Then proudly setting the sun and moon
95 To glow across the land and light it;
The corners of the earth were made lovely with trees
And leaves, made quick with life, with each
Of the nations who now move on its face. And then
As now warriors sang of their pleasure:
100 So Hrothgar’s men lived happy in his hall
 Till the monster stirred, that demon, that fiend,
Grendel, who haunted the moors, the wild
Marshes, and made his home in a hell
Not hell but earth. He was spawned in that slime,
105 Conceived by a pair of those monsters born
Of Cain, murderous creatures banished
By God, punished forever for the crime
Of Abel’s death. The Almighty drove
Those demons out, and their exile was bitter,
110 Shut away from men; They split
Into a thousand forms of evil—spirits
And fiends, goblins, monsters, giants,
A brood forever opposing the Lord’s
Will, and again and again defeated.

2
115 Then, when darkness had dropped, Grendel
Went up to Herot, wondering what the warriors
Would do in that hall when their drinking was done.
He found them sprawled in sleep, suspecting
Nothing, their dreams undisturbed. The monster’s
120 Thoughts were as quick as his greed or his claws:
He slipped though the door and there in the silence
Snatched up thirty men, smashed them
Unknowing in their beds and ran out with their bodies,
The blood dripping behind him, back
125 To his lair, delighted with his night’s slaughter.
At daybreak, with the sun’s first light, they saw
How well he had worked, and in that gray morning
Broke their long feast with tears and laments
For the dead. Hrothgar, their lord, sat joyless
130 In Herlot, a mighty prince mourning
The fate of his lost friends and companions,
Knowing by its tracks that some demon had torn
His followers apart. He wept, fearing
The beginning might not be the end. And that night
135 Grendel came again, so set
On murder that no crime could ever be enough,
No savage assault quench his lust
For evil. Then each warrior tried
To escape him, searched for rest in different
140 Beds, as far from Herot as they could find,
Seeing how Grendel hunted when they slept.
Distance was safety; the only survivors
Were those who fled him. Hate had triumphed.
So Grendel ruled, fought with the righteous,
145 One against many, and won; so Herot
 Stood empty, and stayed deserted for years.
Twelve winters of grief for Hrothgar, king
Of the Danes, sorrow heaped at his door
By hell-forged hands. His misery leaped
150 The seas, was told and sung in all
Men’s ears: how Grendel’s hatred began,
How the monster relished his savage war
On the Danes, keeping the boldly feud
Alive, seeking no peace, offering
155 No truce, accepting no settlement, no price
In gold or land, and paying the living
For one crime only with another. No one
Waited for reparation from his plundering claws:
That shadow of death hunted in the darkness,
160 Stalked Hrothgar’s warriors, old
And young, lying in waiting, hidden
In mist, invisibly following them from the edge
Of the marsh, always there, unseen.
So mankind’s enemy continued his crimes,
165 Killing as often as he could, coming
Alone, bloodthirsty and horrible. Though he lived
In Herot, when the night hid him, he never
Dared to touch king Hrothgar’s glorious
Throne, protected by God—God,
170 Whose love Grendel could not know. But Hrothgar’s
Heart was bent. The best and most noble
Of his council debated remedies, sat
In secret sessions, talking of terror
And wondering what the bravest of warriors could do.
175 And sometimes they sacrificed to the old stone gods,
Made heathen vows, hoping for Hell’s
Support, the Devil’s guidance in driving
Their affliction off. That was their way,
And the heathen’s only hope, Hell
180 Always in their hearts, knowing neither God
Nor His passing as He walks through our world, the Lord
O Heaven and earth; their ears could not hear
His praise nor know His glory. Let them
Beware, those who are thrust into danger,
185 Clutched at by trouble, yet can carry no solace
In their hearts, cannot hope to be better! Hail
To those who will rise to God, drop off
Their dead bodies and seek our Father’s peace!

3
So the living sorrow of Healfdane’s son
190 Simmered, bitter and fresh, and no wisdom
 Or strength could break it: that agony hung
On king and people alike, harsh
And unending, violent and cruel, and evil.
In his far-off home Beowulf, Higlac’s
195 Follower and the strongest of the Geats—greater
And stronger than anyone anywhere in this world—
Heard how Grendel filled nights with horror
And quickly commanded a boat fitted out,
Proclaiming that he’d ho to that famous king,
200 Would sail across the sea to Hrothgar,
Now when help was needed. None
Of the wise ones regretted his going, much
As he was loved by the Geats: the omens were good,
And they urged the adventure on. So Beowulf
205 Chose the mightiest men he could find,
The bravest and best of the Geats, fourteen
In all, and led them down to their boat;
He knew the sea, would point the prow
Straight to that distant Danish shore.
210 Then they sailed, set their ship
Out on the waves, under the cliffs.
Ready for what came they wound through the currents,
The seas beating at the sand, and were borne
In the lap of their shining ship, lined
215 With gleaming armor, going safely
In that oak-hard boat to where their hearts took them.
The wind hurried them over the waves,
The ship foamed through the sea like a bird
Until, in the time they had known it would take,
220 Standing in the round-curled prow they could see
Sparkling hills, high and green,
Jutting up over the shore, and rejoicing
In those rock-steep cliffs they quietly ended
Their voyage. Jumping to the ground, the Geats
225 Pushed their boat to the sand and tied it
In place, mail shirts and armor rattling
As they swiftly moored their ship. And then
They gave thanks to God for their easy crossing.
High on a wall a Danish watcher
230 Patrolling along the cliffs saw
The travelers crossing to the shore, their shields
Raised and shining; He came riding down,
Hrothgar’s Lieutenant, spurring his horse,
Needing to know why they’d landed, these men
235 In armor. Shaking his heavy spear
In their faces he spoke:
“Whose soldiers are you,
You who’ve been carried in your deep-keeled ship
 Across the sea-road to this country of mine?
240 Listen! I’ve stood on these cliffs longer
Than you know, keeping our coast free
Of pirates, raiders sneaking ashore
From their ships, seeking our lives and our gold.
None have ever come more openly—
245 And yet you’ve offered no password, no sign
From my prince, no permission from my people for your landing
Here. Nor have I ever seen,
Out of all the men on earth, one greater
Than has come with you; no commoner carries
250 Such weapons, unless his appearance, and his beauty,
Are both lies. You! Tell me your name,
And your father’s; no spies go further onto Danish
Soil than you’ve come already. Strangers,
From wherever it was you sailed, tell it,
255 And tell it quickly, the quicker the better,
I say, for us all. Speak, say
Exactly who you are, and from where, and why.”

4
Their leader answered him, Beowulf unlocking
Words from deep in his breast:
260 “We are Geats,
Men who follow Higlac. My father
Was a famous soldier, known for and wide
As a leader of men. His name was Edgetho.
His life lasted many winters;
265 Wise men all over the earth surely
Remember him still. And we have come seeking
Your prince, Healfdane’s sone, protector
Of this people, only in friendship: instruct us,
Watchman, help us with your words! Our errand
270 Is a great one, our business with the glorious king
Of the Danes no secret; there’s nothing dark
Or hidden in our coming. You know (if we’ve heard
The truth, and been told honestly) that your country
Is cursed with some strange, vicious creature
275 That hunts only at night and that no one
Has seen. It’s said, watchman, that he has slaughtered
Your people, brought terror to the darkness. Perhaps
Hrothgar can hunt, here in my heart,
For some way to drive this devil out—
280 If anything will ever end the evils
Afflicting your wise and famous lord.
Here he can cool his burning sorrow.
Or else he may see his suffering go on
 Forever, for as long as Herot towers
285 High on your hills.”
The mounted officer
Answered him bluntly, the brave watchman:
“A soldier should know the difference between words
And deeds, and keep that knowledge clear
290 In his brain. I believe your words, I trust in
Your friendship. Go forward, weapons and armor
And all, on into Denmark. I’ll guide you
Myself—and my men will guard your ship,
Keep it safe here on our shores,
295 Your fresh-tarred boat, watch it well,
Until that curving prow carries
Across the sea to Geatland a chosen
Warrior who bravely does battle with the creature
Haunting our people, who survives that horror
300 Unhurt, and goes home bearing our love.”
Then they moved on. Their boat lay moored,
Tied tight to its anchor. Glittering at the top
Of their golden helments wild boar heads gleamed,
Shining decorations, swinging as they marched,
305 Erect like guards, like sentinels, as though ready
To fight. They marched, Beowulf and his men
And their guide, until they could see the gables
Of Herot, covered with hammered gold
And glowing in the sunn—that most famous of all dwellings,
310 Towering majestic, its glittering roofs
Visible far across the land.
Their guide reined in his horse, pointing
To that hall, built by Hrothgar for the best
And bravest of his men; the path was plain,
315 They could see their way. And then he spoke:
“Now I must leave you: may the Lord our God
Protect your coming and going! The sea
Is my job, keeping these coasts free
Of invaders, bands of pirates: I must go back.”
5
320 The path he’d shown them was paved, cobbled
Like a Roman rosd. They arrivede with their mail shirts
Glittering, silver-shining links
Clanking an iron song as they came.
Sea-weary still, they set their broad,
325 Battle-hardened shields in rows
Along the wall, then stretched themselves
On Herot’s benches. Their armor rang,
Their ash-wood spears stood in a line,
Gray-tipped and straight: the Geats’ war-gear
330 Were honored weapons.
 A Danish warrior
Asked who they were, their names and their fathers’:
“Where have you carried these gold-carved shields from,
These silvery shirts and helmets, and those spears
335 Set out in long lines? I am Hrothgar’s
Herald and captain. Strangers have come here
Before, but never so freely, so bold.
And you come too proudly to be exiles: not povertly
But your hearts’ high courage has brought you to Hrothgar.”
340 He was answered by a famous soldier, the Geats’
Proud prince:
“We follow Higlac, break bread
At his side. I am Beowulf. My errand
Is for Healfdane’s great son to hear, your glorious
345 Lord; if he chooses to receive us we will greet him,
Salute the chief of the Danes and speak out
Our message.”
Wulfgar replied—a prince
Born to the Swedes, famous for both strength
350 And wisdom:
“Our warmhearted lord will be told
Of your coming; I shall tell our king, our giver
Of bright rings, and hurry back with his word,
And speak it here, however he answers
355 Your request.”
He went quickly to where Htrothgar sat,
Gray and old, in the middle of his men,
And knowing the custom of that court walked straight
To the king’s great chair, stood waiting to be heard,
360 Then spoke:
“There are Geats who have come sailing the open
Ocean to our land, come far over
The high waves, led by a warrior
Called Beowulf. They wait on your word, bring messages
365 For your ears alone. Mu lord, grant them
A gracious answer, see them and hear
What they’ve come for! Their weapons and armor are nobly
Worked—these men are no beggars. And Beowulf
Their prince, who showed them the way to our shores,
370 Is a mighty warrior, powerful and wise.”

6
The Danes’ high prince and protector answered:
“I knew Beowulf as a boy. His father
Was Edgetho, who was given Hrethel’s one daughter
--Hrethel, Higlac’s father. Now Edgetho’s
375 Brave son is here, come visiting a friendly
 King. And I’ve heard that when seamen came,
Bringing their gifts and presents to the Geats,
They wrestled and ran together, and Higlac’s
Young prince showed them a mighty battle-grip,
380 Hands that moved with thirty men’s strength,
And courage to match. Our Holy Father
Has sent him as a sign of His grace, a mark
Of His favor, to help us defeat Grendel
And end that terror. I shall greet him with treasures,
385 Gifts to reward his courage in coming to us.
Quickly, order them all to come to me
Together, Beowulf and his band of Geats.
And tell them, too, how welcome we willmake them!”
Then Wulfgar went to the door and addressed
390 The waiting seafarers with soldier’s words:
“My lord, the great king of the Danes, commands me
To tell you that he knows of your noble birth
And that having come to him from over the open
Sea you have come bravely and are welcome.
395 Now go to him as you are, in your armor and helmets,
But leave your battle-shields here, and your spears,
Let them lie waiting for the promises your words
May make.”
Beowulf arose, with his men
400 Around him, ordering a few to remain
With their weapons, leading the others quickly
Along under Herot’s steep roof into Hrothgar’s
Presence. Standing on that prince’s own hearth,
Helmeted, the silvery metal of his mail shirt
405 Gleaming with a smith’s high art, he greeted
The Danes’ great lord:
“Hail, Hrothgar!
Higlac is my cousin and my king; the days
Of my youth have been filled with glory. Now Grendel’s
410 Name has echoed in our land: sailors
Have brought us stories of Herot, the best
Of all mead-halls, deserted and useless when the moon
Hangs in skies the sun had lit,
Light and life fleeing together.
415 My people have said, the wisest, most knowing
And best of them, that my duty was to go to the Danes’
Great king. They have seen my strength for themselves,
Have watched me rise from the darkness of war,
Dripping with my enemies’ blood. I drove
420 Five great giants into chains, chased
All of that race from the earth. I swam
In the blackness of night, hunting monsters
Out of the ocean, and killing them one
 By one; death was my errand and the fate
425 They had earned. Now Grendel and I are called
Together, and I’ve come. Grant me, then,
Lord and protector of this noble place,
A single request! I have come so far,
Oh shelterer of warriors and your people’s loved friend,
430 That this one favor you should not refuse me—
That I, alone and with the help of my men,
May purge all evil from this hall. I have heard,
Too, that the monster’s scorn of men
Is so great that he needs no weapons and fears none.
435 Nor will I. My lord Higlac
Might think less of me if I let my sword
Go whrer my feet were afraid to, if I hid
Behind some broad linden shield: my hands
Alone shall fight for me, struggle for life
440 Against the monster. God must decide
Who will by given to death’s cold grip.
Grendel’s plan, I think, will be
What it has been before, to invade this hall
And gorge his belly with our bodies. If he can,
445 If he can. And I think, if my time will have come,
There’ll be nothing to mourn over, no corpse to prepare
For its grave: Grendel will carry our bloody
Flesh to the moors, crunch on our bones
And smear torn scraps of our skin on the walls
450 Of his den. No, I expect no Danes
Will fret about sewing our shrouds, if he wins.
And if death does take me, send the hammered
Mail of my armor to Higlac, return
The inheritance I had from Hrethel, and he
455 From Wayland. Fate will unwind as it must!”
7
Hrothgar replied, protector of the Danes:
“Beowulf, you’ve come to us in friendship, and because
Of the reception your father found at our court.
Edgetho had begun a bitter feud,
460 Killing Hathlaf, a Wulfing warrior:
Your father’s countrymen were afraid of war,
If he returned to his home, and they turned him away.
Then he traveled across the curving waves
To the land of the Danes. I was new to the throne,
465 Then, a young man ruling this wide
Kingdom and its gold city: Hergar,
My older brother, a far better man
Than I, had died and dying made me,
Second among Healfdane’s sons, first
470 In this nation. I bought the end of Edgetho’s
 Quarrel, sent ancient treasures through the ocean’s
Furrows to the Wulfings; your father swore
He’d keep that peace. My tongue grows heavy,
And my heart, when I try to tell you what Grendel
475 Has brought us, the damage he’s done, here
In this hall. You see for yourself how much smaller
Our ranks have become, and can guess what we’ve lost
To his terror. Surely the Lord Almighty
Could stop his madness, smother his lust!
480 How many times have my men, glowing
With courage drawn from too many cups
O ale, sworn to stay after dark
And stem that horror with a sweep of their swords.
And then, in the morning, this mead-hall glittering
485 With new light would be drenched with blood, the benches
Stained red, the floors, all wet from that fiend’s
Savage assault—and my soldiers would be fewer
Still, death taking more and more.
But to table, Beowulf, a banquet in you honor:
490 Let us toast your victories, and talk of the future.”
Then Hrothgar’s men gave places to the Geats,
Yielded benches to the brave visitors
And led them to the feast. The keeper of the mead
Came carrying out the carved flasks,
495 And poured that bright sweetness. A poet
Sang, from time to time, in a clear
Pure voice. Danes and visiting Geats
Celebrated as one, drank and rejoiced.
8
Unferth spoke, Ecglaf’s son,
500 Who sat at Hrothgar’s feet, spoke harshly
And sharp (vexed by Beowulf’s adventure,
By their visitor’s courage, and angry that anyone
In Denmark or anywhere on earth had ever
Aquired glory and fame greater
505 Than his own):
“You’re Beowulf, are you—the same
Boastful fool who fought a swinning
Match with Brecca, both of you daring
And young and proud, exploring the deepest
510 Seas, risking your lives for no reason
But the danger? All older and wiser heads warned you
Not to, but no one could check such pride.
With Brecca at your side you swam along
The sea-paths, your swift-moving hands pulling you
515 Over the ocean’s face. Then winter
Churned through the water, the waves ran you
As they willed, and you struggled seven long nights
 To survive. And at the end victory was his,
Not yours. The sea carried him close
520 To his home, to southern Norway, near
The land of the Brondings, where he ruled and was loved,
Where his treasure was piled and his strength protected
His towns and his people. He’d promised to outswim you:
Bonstan’s son make that boast ring true.
525 You’ve been lucky in your battles, Beowulf, but I think
Your luck may change if you challenge Grendel,
Staying a whole night through in this hall,
Waiting where that fiercest of demons can find you.”
Beowulf answered, Edgetho’s great son:
530 “Ah! Unferth, my friend, your face
Is hot with ale, and your tongue has tried
To tell us about Brecca’s doings. But the truth
Is simple: no man swims in the sea
As I can, no strength is a match for mine.
535 As boys, Brecca and I had boasted—
We were both too young to know better—that we’d reisk
Our lives far out at sea, and so
We did. Each of us carried a naked
Sword, prepared for whales or the swift
540 Sharp teeth and beaks of needlefish.
He could never leave me behink, swim faster
Across the waves than I could, and I
Had chosen to remain close to his side.
I remained near him for five long nights,
545 Until a flood swept us apart;
The frozen sea surged around me,
It grew dark, the wind turned bitter, blowing
Rome the north, and the waves were savage. Creatures
Who sleep deep in the sea were stirred
550 Into life—and the iron hammered links
Of my mail shirt, these shining bits of metal
Woven across my breast, saved me
From death. A monster seized me, drew me
Swiftly toward the bottom, swimming with its claws
555 Tight in my flexh. But fate let me
Find its heart with my sword, hack myself
Free; I fought that beast’s last battle,
Left it floating lifeless in the sea.

9
“Other monsters crowed aroung me,
560 Continually attacking. I treated them politely,
Offering the edge of my razor-sharp sword.
But the feast, I think, did not please them, filled
 Their evil bellies with no banquet-rich food,
Thrashing there at the bottom of the sea;
565 By morning they’d decided to sleep on the shore,
Lying on their backs, their blood spilled out
On the sand. Afterwards, sailors could cross
That sea-road and feel no fear; nothing
Would stop their passing. Then God’s bright beacon
570 Appeared in the east, the water lay still,
And at last I could see the land, wind-swept
Cliff-walls at the edge of the coast. Fate saves
The living when they drive away death by themselves!
Lucky or not, nine was the number
575 Of sea-huge monsters I killed. What man,
Anywhere under Heaven’s high arch, has fought
In such darkness, endured more misery or been harder
Pressed? Yet I survived the sea, smashed
The monsters’ hot jaws, swarm home from my journey.
580 The swift-flowing waters swept me along
And I landed on Finnish soil. I’ve heard
No tales of you, Unferth, telling
Of such clashing terror, such contests in the night!
Brecca’s battles were never so bold;
585 Neither he nor you can match me—and I mean
No boast, have announced no more than I know
To be true. And there’s more: you murdered your brothers,
Your Own close kin. Words and bright wit
Won’t help your soul; you’ll suffer hell’s fires
590 Unferth, forever tormented. Ecglaf’s
Proud son, if your hands were as hard, your heart
As fierce as you think it, no fool would dare
To raid your hall, ruin Herot
And oppress its prince as Grendel has done.
595 But he’s learned that terror is his alone,
Discovered he can come for your people with no fear
Of reprisal; he’s found no fighting, here
But only food, only delight.
He murders as he likes, with no mercy, gorges
600 And feasts on your flesh, and expects no trouble,
No quarrel from the quiet Danes. Now
The Geats will show him courage, soon
He can test his strength in battle. And when the sun
Comes up again, opening another
605 Bright day from the south, anyone in Denmark
May enter this hall: that evil will be gone!”
Hrothgar, gray-haired and brave, sat happily
Listening, the famous ring-giver sure,
At last, that Grendel could be killed; he believed
610 In Beowulf’s bold strength and the firmness of his spirit.
 There was the sound of laughter, and the cheerful clanking
Of cups, and pleasant works. Then Welthow,
Hrothgar’s gold-ringed queen, greeted
The warriors; a noble woman who knew
615 What was right, she raised a flowing cup
To Hrothgar first, holding it high
For the lord of the Danes to drink, wishing him
Joy in that feast. The famous king
Drank with pleasure and blessed their banquet.
620 Then Welthow went from warrior to warrior,
Pouring a portion from the jeweled cup
For each, till the bracelet-wearing queen
Had carried the mead-cup among them and it was Beowulf’s
Turn to be served. She saluted the Geats’
625 Great prince, thanked God for answering her prayers,
For allowing her hands the happy duty
Of offering mead to a hero who would help
Her afflicted people. He drank what she poured,
Edgetho’s brave son, then assured the Danish
630 Queen that his heart was firm and his hands
Ready:
“When we crossed the sea, my comrades
And I, I already knew that all
My purpose was this: to win the good will
635 Of your people or die in battle, pressed
In Grendel’s fierce grip. Let me live in greatness
And courage, or here in this hall welcome
My death!”
Welthow was pleased with his words,
640 His bright-tongued boasts; she carried them back
To her lord, walked nobly across to his side.
The feast went on, laughter and music
And the brave words of warriors celebrating
Their delight. Then Hrothgar rose, Healfdane’s
645 Son, heavy with sleep; as soon
As the sun had gone, he knew that Grendel
Would come to Herot, would visit that hall
When night had covered the earth with its net
And the shapes of darkness moved black and silent
650 Through the world. Hrothgar’s warriors rose with him.
He went to Beowulf, embraced the Geats’
Brave prince, wished him well, and hoped
That Herot would be his to command. And them
He declared:
655 “No one strange to this land
Has ever been granted what I’ve given you,
No one ain all the years of my rule.
Make this best of all mead-halls yours, and then
 Keep it free of evil, fight
660 With glory in your heart! Purge Herot
And your ship will sail home with its treasure-holds full!”

10
Then Hrothgar left that hall, the Danes’
Great protector, followed by his court; the queen
Had preceded him and he went to lie at her side,
665 Seek sleep hear his wife. It was said that God
Himself had set a sentinel in Herot,
Brought Beowulf as a guard against Grendel and a shield
Behind whom the king could safely rest.
And Beowulf was ready, firm with our Lord’s
670 High favor and his own bold courage and strength.
He stripped off his mail shirt, his helmet, his sword
Hammered from the hardest iron, and handed
All his weapons and armor to a servant,
Ordered his war-gear guarded till morning.
675 And then, standing beside his bed,
He exclaimed:
“Grendel is no braver, no stronger
Than I am! I could kill him with my sword; I shall not,
Easy as it would be. This fiend is a bold
680 And famous fighter, but his claws and teeth
Scratching at my shield, his clumsy fists
Beating at my sword blade, would be helpless. I will meet him
With my hands empty—unless his heart
Fails him, seeing a soldier waiting
685 Weaponless, unafraid. Let God in His wisdom
Extend His hand where He will, reward
Whom He chooses!”
Then the Geats’ great chief dropped
His head to his pillow, and around him, as ready
690 As they could be, lay the soldiers who had crossed the sea
At his side, each of them sure that he was lost
To the home he loved, to the high-walled towns
And the friends he had left behind where both he
And they had been raised. Each thought of the Danes
695 Murdered by Grendel in a hall where Geats
And not Danes now slept. But God’s dread loom
Was woven with defeat for the monster, good fortune
For the Geats; help against Grendel was with them,
And through the might of a single man
700 They would win. Who doubts that God in His wisdom
And strength holds the earth forever
In His hands? Out in the darkness the monster
 Began to walk. The warriors slept
In that gabled hall where they hoped that He
705 Would keep them safe from evil, guard them
From death till the end of their days was determined
And the thread should be broken. But Beowulf lay wakeful,
Watching, waiting, eager to meet
His enemy, and angry at the thought of his coming.

11
710 Out from the marsh, from the foot of misty
Hills and bogs, bearing God’s hatred,
Grendel came, hoping to kill
Anyone he could trap on this trip to high Herot.
He moved quickly through the cloudy night,
715 Up from his swampland, sliding silently
Toward that gold-shining hall. He had visited Hrothgar’s
Home before, knew the way—
But never, before nor after that night,
Found Herot defended so firmly, his reception
720 So harsh. He journeyed, forever joyless,
Straight to the door, then snapped it open,
Tore its iron fasteners with a touch
And rushed angrily over the threshold.
He strode quickly across the inlaid
725 Floor, snarling and fierce: his eyes
Gleamed in the darkness, burned with a gruesome
Light. Then he stopped, seeing the hall
Crowded with sleeping warriors, stuffed
With rows of young soldiers resting together.
730 And his heart laughed, he relished the sight,
Intended to tear the life from those bodies
By morning; the monster’s mind was hot
With the thought of food and the feasting his belly
Would soon know. But fate, that night, intended
735 Grendel to gnaw the broken bones
Of his last human supper. Human
Eyes were watching his evil steps,
Waiting to see his swift hard claws.
Grendel snatched at the first Geat
740 He came to, ripped him apart, cut
His body to bits with powerful jaws,
Drank the blood from his veins and bolted
Him down, hands and feet; death
And Grendel’s great teeth came together,
745 Snapping life shut. Then he stepped to another
Still body, clutched at Beowulf with his claws,
Grasped at a strong-hearted wakeful sleeper
 --And was instantly seized himself, claws
Bent back as Beowulf leaned up on one arm.
750 That shepherd of evil, guardian of crime,
Knew at once that nowhere on earth
Had he met a man whose hands were harder;
His mind was flooded with fear—but nothing
Could take his talons and himself from that tight
755 Hard grip. Grendel’s one thought was to run
From Beowulf, flee back to his marsh and hide there:
This was a different Herot than the hall he had emptied.
But Higlac’s follower remembered his final
Boast and, standing erect, stopped
760 The monster’s flight, fastened those clows
In his fists till they cracked, clutched Grendel
Closer. The infamous killer fought
For his freedom, wanting no flesh but retreat,
Desiring nothing but escape; his claws
765 Had been caught, he was trapped. That trip to Herot
Was a miserable journey for the writhing monster!
The high hall rang, its roof boards swayed,
And Danes shook with terror. Dow
The aisles the battle swept, angry
770 And wild. Herot trembled, wonderfully
Built to withstand the blows, the struggling
Great bodies beating at its beautiful walls;
Shaped and fastened with iron, inside
And out, artfully worked, the building
775 Stood firm. Its benches rattled, fell
To the floor, gold-covered boards grating
As Grendel and Beowulf battled across them.
Hrothgar’s wise men had fashioned Herot
To stand forever; only fire,
780 They had planned, could shatter what such skill had put
Together, swallow in hot flames such splendor
Of ivory and iron and wood. Suddenly
The sounds changed, the Danes started
In new terror, cowering in their beds as the terrible
785 Screams of the Almighty’s enemy sang
In the darkness, the horrible shrieks of pain
And defeat, the tears torn out of Grendel’s
Taut throat, hell’s captive caught in the arms
Of him who of all the men on earth
790 Was the strongest.

12
That mighty protector of men
Meant to hold the monster till its life
 Leaped out, knowing the fiend was no use
To anyone in Denmark. All of Beolwulf’s
795 Band had jumped from their beds, ancestral
Swords raised and ready, determined
To protect their prince if they could. Their courage
Was great but all wasted: they could hack at Grendel
From every side, trying to open
800 A path for his evil soul, but their points
Could not hurt him, the sharpest and hardest iron
Could not scratch at this skin, for that sin-stained demon
Had bewitched all men’s weapons, laid spells
That blunted every mortal man’s blade.
805 And yet his time hd come, his days
Were over, his death near; down
To Hell he would go, swept groaning and helpless
To the waiting hands of still worse fiends.
Now he discovered—once the afflictor
810 Of men, tormentor of their days—what it meant
To feud with Almighty God: Grendel
Saw that his strength was deserting him, his claws
Bound fast, Higlac’s brave followers tearing at
His hands. The monster’s hatred rose higher,
815 But his power had gone. He twisted in pain,
And the bleeding sinews deep in his shoulder
Snapped, muscle and bone split
And broke. The battle was over, Beowulf
Had been granted new glory: Grendel escaped,
820 But wounded as he was could flee to his den,
Only to die, to wait for the end
Of all his days. And after that bloody
Combat the Danes laughed with delight.
825 He who had come to them from across the sea,
Bold and strong-minded, had driven affliction
Off, purged Herot clean. He was happy,
Now, with that night’s fierce work; the Danes
Had been served as he’d boasted he’d serve them; Beowulf,
830 A prince o the Geats, had killed Grendel,
Ended the grief, the sorrow, the suffering
Forced on Hrothgar’s helpless people
By a bloodthirsty fiend. No Dane doubted
The victory, for the proof, hanging high
835 From the rafters where Beowulf had hung it, was the monster’s
Arm, claw and shoulder and all.

13
And Then, in the morning, crowds surrounded
 Herot, warriors coming to that hall
From faraway lands, princes and leaders
840 Of men hurrying to behold the monster’s
Great staggering tracks. They gaped with no sense
Of sorrow, felt no regret for his suffering,
Went tracing his bloody footprints, his beaten
And lonely flight, to the edge of the lake
845 Where he’d dragged his corpselike way, doomed
And already weary of his vanishing life.
The water was bloody, steaming and boiling
In horrible pounding waves, heat
Sucked from his magic veins; but the swirling
850 Surf had covered his death, hidden
Deep in murky darkness his miserable
End, as hell opened to receive him.
Then old and young rejoiced, turned back
From that happy pilgrimage, mounted their hard-hooved
855 Horses, high-spirited stallions, and rode them
Slowly toward Herot again, retelling
Beowulf’s bravery as they jogged along.
And over and over they swore that nowhere
On earth or under the spreading sky
860 Or between the seas, neither south nor north
Was there a warrior worthier to rule over men.
(But no one meant Beowulf’s praise to belittle
Hrothgar, their kind and gracious king!)
And sometimes, when the path ran straight and clear,
865 They would let their horses race, red
And brown and pale yellow backs streaming
Down the road. And sometimes a proud old soldier
Who had heard songs of the ancient heroes
And could sing them all through, story after story,
870 Would weave a net of words for Beowulf’s
Victory, tying the knot of his verses
Smoothly, swiftly, into place with a poet’s
Quick skill, singing his new song aloud
While he shaped it, and the old songs as well—Siegmund’s
875 Adventures, familiar battles fought
By that glorious son of Vels. And struggles,
Too, against evil and treachery that no one
Had ever heard of, that no one knew
Except Fitla, who had fought at his uncle’s side,
880 Fame that would last him beyond life ande death,
His daring battle with a treasure-rich dragon.
Heaving a hoary gray rock aside
Siegmund had gone down to the dragon alone,
Entered the hole where it hid and swung
890 His sword so savagely that it slit the creature
 Through, pierced its flesh and pinned it
To a wall, hung it where his bright blade rested.
His courage and strength had earned him a king-like
Treasure, brought gold and rich rings to his glorious
895 Hands. He loaded that precious hoard
On his ship and sailed off with a shining cargo.
And the dragon dissolved in its own fierce blood.
No prince, no protector of his warriors, knew power
And fame and glory like Siegmund’s; his name
900 And his treasures grew great. Hermod could have hoped
For at least as much; he was once the mightiest
Of men. But pride and defeat and betrayal
Sent him into exile with the Jutes, and he ended
His life on their swords. That life had been misery
905 After misery, and he spread sorrow as long
As he lived it, heaped troubles on his unhappy people’s
Heads, ignored all wise men’s warnings,
Ruled only with courage. A king
Born, entrusted with ancient treasures
910 And cities full of stronghearted soldiers,
His vanity swelled him so vile and rank
That he could hear no voices but his own. He deserved
To suffer and die. But Beowulf was a prince
Well-loved, followed in friendship, no fear;
915 Hermod’s heart had been hollowed by sin.
The horses ran, when they could, on the gravel
Path. Morning slid past and was gone.
The whole brave company came riding to Herot,
Anxious to celebrate Beowulf’s success
920 And to stare at that arm. And Hrothgar rose
From beside his wife and came with his courtiers
Crowded around him. And Welthow rose
And joined him, his wife and queen with her women,
All of them walking to that wonderful hall.

14
925 Hrothgar stood at the top of the stairway
And stared at Grendel’s great claw, swinging
High from that gold-shining roof. Then he cried:
“Let God be thanked! Grendel’s terrible
Anger hung over our heads too long,
930 Dropping down misery; but the Almighty makes miracles
When He pleases, wonder after wonder, and this world
Rests in His hands. I had given up hope,
Exhausted prayer, expected nothing
But misfortune forever. Herot was empty,
935 Bloody; the wisest and best of our people
 Despaired as deeply, found hope no easier,
Knew nothing, no way to end this unequal
War of men and devils, warriors
And monstrous fiends. One man found it,
940 Came to Denmark with the Lord’s help
Did what none of the Danes could do,
Our wisdom, our strength worthless without him.
The woman who bore him, whoever, wherever,
Alive now, or dead, knew the grace of the God
945 Of our fathers, was granted a son for her glory
And His. Beowulf, best of soldiers,
Let me take you to my heart, make you my son too,
And love you: preserve this passionate peace
Between us. And take, in return, whatever
950 You may want from whatever I own. Warriors
Deserving far less have been granted as much,
Given gifts and honored, though they fourght
No enemy like yours. Glory is now yours
Forever and ever, your courage has earned it,
955 And your strength. May God be as good to you forever
As He has been to you here!”
Then Beowulf answered:
“What we did here was what our hearts helped
Our hands to perform; we came to fight
960 With Grendel, our strength against his. I wish
I could show you, here in Herot, his corpse
Stretched o this floor! I twisted my fingers
Around his clow, ripped and tore at it
As hard as I could: I meant to kill him
965 Right here, hold him so tightly that his heart
Would stop, would break, his life spill
On this floor. But God’s will was again me,
As hard as I held him he still pulled free
And ran, escaped from this hall with the strength
970 Fear had given him. But he offered me his arm
And his claw, saved his life yet left me
That prize. And paying even so willingly
For his freedom he still fled with nothing
But the end of his evil days, ran
975 With death pressing at his back, pain
Splitting his panicked heart, pulling him
Step by step into hell. Let him burn
In torment, lying and trembling, waiting
For the brightness of God to bring him his reward.”
980 Unferth grew quiet, gave up quarreling over
Beowulf’s old battles, stopped all his boasting
Once everyone saw proof of that prince’s strength,
Grendel’s huge claw swinging high
 From Hrothgar’s mead-hall roof, the fingers
985 Of that loathsome hand ending in nails
As hard as bright steel—so hard, they all said,
That not even the sharpest of swords could nave cut
It through, broken it off the monster’s
Arm and ended its life, as Beowulf
990 Had done armed with only his bare hands.

15
Then the king ordered Herot cleaned
And hung with decorations: hundreds of hands,
Men and women, hurried to make
The great hall ready. Golden tapestries
995 Were lined along the walls, for a host
Of visitors to see and take pleasure in. But that glorious
Building was rent and broken, its iron
Hinges cracked and sprung from their corners
All around the hall. Only
1000 Its roof was undamaged when the blood-stained demon
Burst out of Herot, desperately breaking
Beowulf’s grip, running wildly
From what no one escapes, struggle and writhe
As he will. Wanting to stay we go,
1005 All beings here on God’s earth, wherever
It is written, that we go, taking our bodies
From death’s cold bed to the unbroken sleep
That follows life’s feast.
Then Hrothgar made his way
1010 To the hall; it was time, and his heart drew him
To the banquet. No victory was celebrated better,
By more or by better men and their king.
A mighty host, and famous, they lined
The benches, rejoicing; the king and Hrothulf,
1015 His nephew, toasted each other, raised mead-cups
High under Herot’s great roof, their speech
Courteous and warm. King and people
Were one; none of the Danes was plotting,
Then, no treachery hid in their smiles.
1020 Healfdane’s son gave Beowulf a golden
Banner, a fitting flag to signal
His victory, and gave him, as well, a helmet,
And a coat of mail, and an ancient sword;
They were brought to him while the warriors watched. Beowulf
1025 Drank to those presents, not ashamed to be praised,
Richly rewarded in front of them all.
No ring-giver has given four such gifts,
Passed such treasures through his hands, with the grace
 And warmth that Hrothgar showed. The helmet’s
1030 Brim was wound with bands of metal,
Rounded ridges to protect whoever
Wore it from swords swung in the fiercest
Battles, shining iron edges
In hostile hands. And then the protector
1035 Of warriors, lord of the Danes, ordered
Eight horses led to the hall, and into it,
Eight steeds with golden bridles. One stood
With a jeweled saddle on its back, carved
Like the king’s war-seat it was; it had carried
1040 Hrothgar when that great son of Healfdane rode
To war—and each time carried him wherever
The fighting was most fierce, and his followers had fallen.
Then Beowulf had been honored by both the gifts
Hrothgar could have given him, horses and weapons:
1045 The king commanded him to use them well.
Thus that guardian of Denmark’s treasures
Had repaid a battle fought for his people
By giving noble gifts, had earned praise
For himself from those who try to know truth.

16
1050 And more: the lord of Herot ordered
Treasure-gifts for each of the Geats
Who’d sailed with Beowulf and still sat beside him,
Ancient armor and swords—and for the one
Murdered by Grendeel gold was carefully
1055 Paid. The monster would have murdered again
And again had not God, and the hero’s courage,
Turned fate aside. Then and now
Men must lie in their Maker’s holy
Hands, moved only as He wills:
1060 Our hearts must seek out that will. The world,
And its long days full of labor, brings good
And evil; all who remain here meet both.
Hrothgar’s hall resounded with the harp’s
High call, with songs and laughter and the telling
1065 Of tales, stories sung by the court
Poet as the joyful Danes drank
And listened, seated along their mead-benches.
He told them of Finn’s people, attacking
Hnaf with no warning, half wiping out
1070 That Danish tribe, and killing its king.
Finn’s wife, Hnaf’s sister, learned what good faith
Was worth to her husband: his honeyed words
And treachery cost her two beloved lives,
 Her son and her brother, both falling on spears
1075 Guided by fate’s hand. How she wept!
And when morning came she had reason to mourn,
To weep for her dead, her slaughtered son
And the bloody corpse of his uncle—both
The men she most dearly loved, and whose love
1080 She could trust to protect her. But Finn’s troops, too,
Had fallen to Danish spears: too few
Were left to drive the Danes to their death,
To force Hnaf’s follower, Hengest, to flee
The hall where they’d fought and he’d stayed. Finn offered them,
1085 Instead of more war, words of peace:
There would be no victory, they’d divide the hall
And the throne, half to the Danes, half
To the Finn’s followers. When gifts were given
Finn would give Hengest and his soldiers half,
1090 Share shining rings, silver
And gold, with the Danes, bothe sides equal,
All of them richer, all of their purses
Heavy, every man’s heart warm
With the comfort of gold.
1095 Both sides accepted
Peace and agreed to keep it. Finn
Swore it with solemn oaths: what wise men
Had written was his word as well as theirs.
He and the brave Hengest would live
1100 Like brothers; neither leader nor led would break
The truce, would not talk of evil things,
Remind the Danes that the man they served
Killed Hnaf, their lord. They had no king,
And no choice. And he swore that his sword would silence
1105 Wagging tongues if Firsian warriors
Stirred up hatred, brought back the past.
A funeral pyre was prepared, and gold
Was brought; Hnaf’s dead body was dressed
For burning, and the others with him. Bloody
1110 Mail shirts could be seen, and golden helmets,
Some carved with boar-heads, all battle-hard
And as useless, now as the corpses that still wore them,
Soldier after soldier! Then Hnaf’s sister,
Finn’s sad wife, gave her son’s body
1115 To be burned in that fire; the flames charring
His uncle would consume both kinsmen at once.
Then she wept again, and weeping sang
The dead’s last praise. Then Danish king
Was lifted into place, smoke went curling
1120 Up, logs roared, open
Wounds split and burst, skulls
 Melted, blood came bubbling down,
And the greedy fire-demons drank flesh and bones
From the dead of both sides, until nothing was left.
17
1125 Finn released a few of his soldiers,
Allowed them to return to their distant towns
And estates. Hengest lived the whole stormy
Winter through, there with Finn
Whom he hated. But his heart lived in Denmark—
1130 Which he and the other survivors could not visit,
Could not sail to, as long as the wind-whipped sea
Crashed and whirled, or while winter’s cold hands
Froze the water hard, tied it
In icy knots. They would wait for the new year,
1135 For spring to come following the sun, melting
The old year away and reopening the ocean.
Winter was over, the earth grew lovely,
And Hengest dreamed of his home—but revenge
Came first, settling his bitter feud
1140 With Finn, whose bloody sword he could never
Forget. He planned, he waited, wove plans
And waited. Then a Danish warrior dropped
A sword in his lap, a weapon Finn
And his men remembered and feared, and the time
1145 Had come, and Hengest rose, hearing
The Danes’ murmer, and drove his new sword
Into Finn’s belly, butchering that king
Under his own roof. And the Danes rose,
Their hearts full of Finn’s treachery,
1150 And the misery he’d brought them, their sword arms restless
And eager. The hall they’d shared with their enemies
Ran red with enemy blood and bodies
Rolled on the floor beside Finn. They took
The queen, looted everything they could find
1155 That belonged to her dead husband, loaded
Their ship with rings, necklaces, shining
Jewels wonderfully worked, and sailed
Bringing treasure and willing captive to the land
She’d left and had longed for, alone no longer.
1160 The singer finished his song; his listeners
Laughed and drank, their pleasure loud
In that hall. The cup-bearers hurried with their sparkling
Vessels. And then the queen, Welthow, wearing her bright crown,
Appeared among them, came to Hrothgar and Hrothulf, his nephew,
Seated peacefully together, their friendship and Hrothulf’s
1165 good faith still unbroken
And Unferth sat at Hrothgar’s feet; everyone trusted him,
Believed in his courage, although he’d spilled his relatives’ blood.
 Then Welthow spoke:
“Accept this cup,
1170 My lord and king! May happiness come
To the Danes’ great ring-giver; may the Geats receive
Mild words from your mouth, words they have earned!
Let gifts flow freely from your open hands,
Treasures your armies have brought you from all over
1175 The world. I have heard that the greatest of the Geats
Now rests in your heart like a son. Herot
Stands purged, restored by his strength: celebrate
His courage, rejoice and be generous while a kingdom
Sits in you palm, a people and power
1180 That death will steal. But your sons will be safe,
Sheltered in Hrothulf’s gracious protection,
If fate takes their father while Hrothulf is alive;
I know your nephew’s kindness, I know
He’ll repay in kind the goodness you have shown him,
1185 Support your two young sons as you
And I sustained him in his own early days,
His father dead and he but a boy.”
Then she walked to the bench where Hrethric and Hrothmund,
Her two sons, sat together; Beowulf,
1190 Prince of the Geats, was seated between them;
Crossing the hall she sat quietly at their side.

18
They brought a foaming cup and offered it
To Beowulf; it was taken and given in friendship.
And he was given a mail shirt, and golden armbands,
1195 And the most beautiful necklace known to men:
Nowhere in any treasure-hoard anywhere
On earth was there anything like it, not since
Hama carried the Brosings’ necklace
Home to his glorious city, saved
1200 Its tight-carved jewels, and his skin, and his soul
From Ermric’s treachery, and then came to God.
Higlac had it next, Swerting’s
Grandson; defending the golden hoard
His battle-hard hands had won for him, the Geats’
1205 Proud king lost it, was carried away
By fate when too much pride made him feud
With the Frisians. He had asked for misery; it was granted him.
He’d borne those precious stones on a ship’s
Broad back; he fell beneath his shield.
1210 His body, and his shining coat of mail,
And that necklace, all lay for Franks to pluck,
 For jackal warriors to find when they walked through
The rows of corpses; Geats, and their king,
Lay slaughtered wherever the robbers looked.
1215 The warriors shouted. And Welthow spoke:
“Wear these bright jewels, beloved Beowulf;
Enjoy them, and the rings, and the gold, oh fortunate young
Warrior; grow richer, let your fame and your strength
Go hand in hand; and lend these two boys
1220 Your wise and gentle heart! I’ll remember your
Kindness. Your glory is too great to forget:
It will last forever, wherever the earth
Is surrounded by the sea, the winds’ home,
And waves lap at its walls. Be happy
1225 For as long as you live! Your good fortune warms
My soul. Spread your blessed protection
Across my son, and my king’s son!
All men speak softly, here, speak mildlyj
And trust their neighbors, protect their lord,
1230 Are loyal followers who would fight as joyfully
As they drink. May your heart help you do as I ask!”
She returned to her seat. The soldiers ate
And drank like kings. The savage fate
Decreed for them hung dark and unknown, what would follow
1235 After nightfall, when Hrothgar withdrew from the hall,
Sought his bed and left his soldiers
To theirs. Herot would house a host
O men, that night, as it had been meant to do.
They stacked away the benches, spread out
1240 Blankets and pillows. But those beer-drinking sleepers
Lay down with death beside their beds.
They slept with their shining shields at the edge
Of their pillows; the hall was filled with helmets
Hanging near motionless heads; spears
1245 Stood by their hands, their hammered mail shirts
Covered their chests. It was the Danes’ custom
To be ready for war, wherever they rested,
At home or in foreign lands, at their lord’s
Quick call if he needed them, if trouble came
1250 To their king. They knew how soldiers must live!

19
They sank into sleep. The price of that evening’s
Rest was too high for the Dane who bought it
With his life, paying as others had paid
When Grendel inhabited Herot, the hall
1255 His till his crimes pulled him into hell.
And now it was known that a monster had died
 But a monster still lived, and meant revenge.
She’d brooded on her loss, misery had brewed
In her heart, that female horror, Grendel’s
1260 Mother, living in the murky cold lake
Assigned her since Cain had killed his only
Brother, slain his father’s son
With an angry sword. God drove him off,
Outlawed him to the dry and barren desert,
1265 And branded him with a murderer’s mark. And he bore
A race of fiends accursed like their father;
So Grendel was drawn to Herot, an outcast
Come to meet the man who awaited him.
He’d snatched at Beowulf’s arm, but that prince
1270 Remembered God’s grace and the strength He’d given him
And relied on the Lord for all the help,
The comfort and support he would need. He killed
The monster, as God had meant him to do,
Tore the fiend apart and forced him
1275 To run as rapidly as he could toward death’s
Cold waiting hands. His mother’s sad heart,
And her greed, drove her from her den on the dangerous
Pathway of revenge.
So she reached Herot,
1280 Where the Danes slept as though already dead;
Her visit ended their good fortune, reversed
The bright vane of their luck. No female, no matter
How fierce, could have come with a man’s strength,
Fought with the power and courage men fight with,
1285 Smashing their shining swords, their bloody,
Hammer-forged blades onto boar-headed helmets,
Slashing and stabbing with the sharpest of points.
The soldiers raised their shields and drew
Those gleaming swords, swung them above
1290 The piled-up benches, leaving their mail shirts
And their helmets where they’d lain when the terror took
hold of them.
To save her life she moved still faster,
Took a single victim and fled from the hall,
Running to the moors, discovered, but her supper
1295 Assured, sheltered in her dripping claws.
She’d taken Hrothgar’s closest friend,
The man he most loved of all men on earth;
She’d killed a glorious soldier, cut
A noble life short. No Geat could have stopped her:
1300 Beowulf and his band had been given better
Beds; Sleep had come to them in a different
Hall. Then all Herot burst into shouts:
She had carried off Grendel’s claw. Sorrow
 Had returned to Denmark. They’d traded deaths,
1305 Danes and monsters, and no one had won,
Both had lost!
The wise old king
Trembled in anger and grief, his dearest
Friend and adviser dead. Beowulf
1310 Was sent for at once: a messenger went swiftly
To his rooms and brought him. He came, his band
About him, as dawn was breaking through,
The best of all warriors, walking to where Hrothgar
Sat waiting, the gray-haired king wondering
1315 If God would ever end this misery.
The Geats tramped quickly through the hall; their steps
Beat and echoed in the silence. Beowulf
Rehearsed the words he would want with Hrothgar;
He’d ask the Danes’ great lord if all
1320 Were at peace, if the night had passed quietly.

20
Hrothgar answered him, protector of his people:
“There’s no happiness to ask about! Anguish has decended
On the Danes. Esher is dead, Ermlaf’s
Older brother and my own most trusted
1325 Counselor and friend, my comrade, when we went
Into battle, who’d beaten back enemy swords,
Standing at my side. All my soldiers
Should be as he was, their hearts as brave
And as wise! Another wandering fiend
1330 Has found him in Herot, murdered him, fled
With his corpse: he’ll be eaten, his flesh become
A horrible feast—and who knows where
The beast may be hiding, its belly stuffed full?
She’s taken revenge for your victory over Grendel,
1335 For your strength, your mighty grip, and that monster’s
Death. For years he’d been preying on my people;
You came, he was dead in a single day,
And now there’s another one, a second hungry
Fiend, determined to avenge the first,
1340 A monster willing and more than able
To bring us more sorrow—or so it must seem
To the many men mourning that noble
Treasure-giver, for all men were treated
Nobly by those hands now forever closed.
1345 “I’ve heard that my people, peasants working
In the fields, have seen a pair of such fiends
Wandering in the moors and marshes, giant
Monsters living in those desert lands.
 And they’ve said to my wise men that, as well as they could see,
1350 One of the devils was a female creature.
The other, they say, walked through the wilderness
Like a man—but mightier than any man.
They were frightened, and they fled, hoping to find help
In Herot. They named the huge one Grendel:
1355 If he had a father no one knew him,
Or whether there’d been others before these two,
Hidden evil before hidden evil.
They live in secret places, windy
Cliffs, wolf-dens where water pours
1360 From the rocks, then runs underground, where mist
Steams like black clouds, and the groves of trees
Growing out over their lake are all covered
With frozen spray, and wind down snakelike
Roots that reach as far as the water
1365 And help keep it dark. At night that lake
Burns like a torch. No one knows its bottom,
No wisdom reaches such depths. A deer,
Hunted through the woods by packs of hounds,
A stag with great horns, though driven through the forest
1370 From faraway places, prefers to die
On those shores, refuses to save its life
In that water. It isn’t far, nor is it
A pleasant spot! When the wind stirs
And storms, waves splash toward the sky,
1375 As dark as the air, as black as the rain
That the heavens weep. Our only help,
Again, lies with you. Grendel’s mother
Is hidden in her terrible home, in a place
You’ve not seen. Seek it, if you dare! Save us,
1380 Once more, and again twisted gold,
Heaped up ancient treasure, will reward you
For the battle you win!”

21
Beowulf spoke:
“Let your sorrow end! It is better for us all
1385 T avenge our friends, not mourn them forever.
Each of us will come to the end of this life
On earth; he who can earn it should fight
For the glory of his name; fame after death
Is the noblest of goals. Arise, guardian
1390 Of this kingdom, let us go, as quickly as we can,
And have a look at this lady monster.
I promise you this: she’ll find no shelter,
No hole in the ground, no towering tree,
 No deep bottom of a lake, where her sins can hide.
1395 Be patient for one more day of misery;
I ask for no longer.”
The old king leaped
To his feet, gave thanks to God for such words.
Then Hrothgar’s horse was brought, saddled
1400 And bridled. The Danes’ wise ruler rode,
Stately and splendid; shield-bearing soldiers
Marched at his side. The monster’s tracks
Led them through the forest; they followed her heavy
Feet, that had swept straight across
1405 The shadowy wasteland, her burden the lifeless
Body of the best of Hrothgar’s men.
The trail took them up towering, rocky
Hills, and over narrow, winding
Paths they had never seen, down steep
1410 And slippery cliffs where creatures from deep
In the earth hid in their holes. Hrothgar
Rode in front, with a few of his most knowing
Men, to find their way. Then suddenly,
Where clumps of trees bent across
1415 Cold gray stones, they came to a dismal
Wood; below them was the lake, its water
Bloody and bubbling. And the Danes shivered,
Miserable, mighty men tormented
By grief, seeing, there on that cliff
1420 Above the water, Esher’s bloody
Head. They looked down at the lake, felt
How its heat rose up, watched the waves’
Blood-stained swirling. Their battle horns sounded,
Then sounded again. Then they set down their weapons.
1425 They could see the water crawling with snakes,
Fantastic serpents swimming in the boiling
Lake, and sea beasts lying on the rocks
--The kind that infest the ocean, in the early
Dawn, often ending some ship’s
1430 Journey with their wild jaws. They rushed
Angrily out of sight, when the battle horns blew.
Beowulf aimed an arrow at one
Of the beasts, swimming sluggishly away
And the point pierced its hide, stabbed
1435 To its heart; its life leaked out, death
Swept it off. Quickly, before
The dying monster could escape, they hooked
Its thrashing body with their curved boar-spears,
Fought it to land, drew it up on the bluff,
1440 Then stood and stared at the incredible wave-roamer,
Covered with strange scales and horrible. Then Beowulf
 Began to fasten on his armor,
Not afraid for his life but knowing the woven
Mail, with its hammered links, could save
1445 That life when he lowered himself into the lake,
Keep slimy monsters’ claws from snatching at
His heart, preserve him for the battle he was sent
To fight. Hroghgar’s helmet would defend him;
That ancient, shining treasure, encircled
1450 With hard-rolled metal, set there by some smith’s
Long dead hand, would block all battle
Swords, stop all blades from cutting at him
When he’d swum toward the bottom, gone down in the surging
Water, deep toward the swirling sands.
1455 And Unferth helped him, Hrothgar’s courtier
Lent him a famous weapon, a fine,
Hilted old sword named Hrunting; it had
And iron blade, etched and shining
And hardened in blood. No one who’d worn it
1460 Into battle, swung it in dangerous places,
Daring and brave, had ever been deserted—
Nor was Beowulf’s journey the first time it was taken
To an enemy’s camp, or asked to support
Some hero’s courage and win him glory.
1465 Unferth had tried to forget his greeting
To Beowulf, his drunken speech of welcome;
A mighty warrior, he lent his weapon
To a better one. Only Beowulf would risk
His life in that lake; Unferth was afraid,
1470 Gave up that chance to work wonders, win glory
And a hero’s fame. But Beowulf and fear
Were strangers; he stood ready to dive into battle.

22
Then Edgetho’s brave son spoke:
“Remember,
1475 Hrothgar, oh knowing king, now
When my danger is near, the warm works we uttered,
And if your enemy should end my life
Then be, oh generous prince, forever
The father and protector of all whom I leave
1480 Behind me, here in your hands, my beloved
Comrades left with no leader, their leader
Dead. And the precious gifts you gave me,
My friend, send them to Higlac. May he see
In their golden brightness, the Geats’ great lord
1485 Gazing at your treasure, that here in Denmark
I found a noble protector, a giver
 Of rings whose rewards I won and briefly
Relished. And you, Unferth, let
My famous old sword stay in your hands:
1490 I shall shape glory with Hrunting, or death
Will hurry me from this earth!”
As his words ended
He leaped into the lake, would not wait for anyone’s
Answer; the heaving water covered him
1495 Over. For hours he sank through the wave;
At last he saw the mud of the bottom.
And all at once the greedy she-wolf
Who’d ruled those waters for half a hundred
Years discovered him, saw that a creature
1500 From above had come to explore the bottom
Of her wet world. She welcomed him in her claws,
Clutched at him savagely but could not harm him,
Tried to work her fingers through the tight
Ring-woven mail on his breast, but tore
1505 And scratched in vain. Then she carried him, armour
And sword and all, to her home; he struggled
To free his weapon, and failed. The fight
Brought other monsters swimming to see
Her catch, a host of sea beasts who beat at
1510 His mail shirt, stabbing with tusks and teeth
As they followed along. The he realized, suddenly,
That she’d brought him into someone’s battle-hall,
And there the water’s heat could not hurt him,
Nor anything in the lake attack him through
1515 The building’s high-arching roof. A brilliant
Light burned all around him, the lake
Itself like a fiery flame.
Then he saw
The mighty water witch, and swung his sword,
1520 His ring-marked blade, straight at her head;
The iron sang its fierce song,
Sang Beowulf’s strength. But her guest
Discovered that no sword could slice her evil
Skin, that Hrunting could not hurt her, was useless
1525 Now when he needed it. They wrestled, she ripped
And tore and clawed at him, bit holes in his helmet,
And that too failed him; for the first time in years
Of being worn to war it would earn no glory;
It was the last time anyone wear it. But Beowulf
1530 Longed only for fame, leaped back
Into battle. He tossed his sword aside,
Angry; the steel-edged blade lay where
He’d dropped it. If weapons were useless he’d use
His hands, the strength in his fingers. So fame
1535 Comes to the men who mean to win it
And care about nothing else! He raised
His arms and seized her by the shoulder; anger
Doubled his strength, he threw her to the floor.
She fell, Grendel’s fierce mother, and the Geats’
1540 Proud Prince was ready to leap on her. But she rose
At once and repaid him with her clutching claws,
Wildly tearing at him. He was weary, that best
And strongest of soldiers; his feet stumbled
And in an instant she had him down, held helpless.
1545 Squatting with her weight on his stomach, she drew
A dagger, brown with dried blood, and prepared
To avenge her only son. But he was stretched
On his back, and her stabbing blade was blunted
By the woven mail shirt he wore on his chest.
1550 The hammered links held; the point
Could not touch him. He’d have traveled to the bottom of the earth
Edgetho’s son, and died there, if that shining
Woven metal had not helped—anad Holy
God, who sent him victory, gave judgment
1555 For truth and right, Ruler of the Heavens,
Once Beowulf was back on his feet and fighting.

23
Then he saw, hanging on the wall, a heavy
Sword, hammered by giants, strong
And blessed with their magic, the best of all weapons
1560 But so massive that no ordinary man could lift
Its carved and decorated length. He drew it
From its scabbard, broke the chain on its hilt,
And then, savage, now, angry
And desperate, lifted it high over his head
1565 And struck with all the strength he head left,
Caught her in the neck and cut it through,
Broke bones and all. Her body fell
To the floor, lifeless, the sword was wet
With her blood, and Beowulf rejoiced at the sight.
1570 The brilliant light shone, suddenly,
As though burning in that hall, and as bright as Heaven’s
Own candle, lit in the sky. He looked
At her home, then following along the wall
Went walking, his hands tight on the sword,
1575 His heart still angry. He was hunting another
Dead monster, and took his weapon with him
For final revenge against Grendel’s vicious
Attacks, his nighttime raids, over
And over, coming to Herot when Hrothgar’s
1580 Men slept, killing them in their beds,
Eating some on the spot, fifteen
Or more, and running to his loathsome moor
With another such sickening meal waiting
In his pouch. But Beowulf repaid him for those visits,
1585 Found him lying dead in his corner,
Armless, exactly as that fierce fighter
Had sent him out from Herot, then stuck off
His head with a single swift blow. The body
Jerked for the last time, then lay still.
1590 The wise old warriors who surrounded Hrothgar,
Like him staring into the monsters’ lake,
Saw the wavessurging and blood
Spurting through. The spoke about Beowulf,
All the graybeards, whispered together
1595 And said that hope was gone, that the hero
Had lost fame and his life at once, and would never
Return to the living, come back as triumphant
As he had left; almost all agreed that Grendel’s
Mighty mother, the she-wolf, had killed him.
1600 The sun slid over past noon, went further
Down. The Danes gave up, left
The lake and went home, Hrothgar with them.
The Geats stayed, sat sadly, watching,
Imagining they saw their lord but not believing
They would ever see him again.
1605 --Then the sword
Melted, blood-soaked, dripping down
Like water, disappearing like ice when the world’s
Eternal Lord loosens invisible
Fetters and unwinds icicles and frost
1610 As only He can, He who rules
Time and seasons, He who is truly
God. The monsters’ hall was full of
Rich treasures, but all that Beowulf took
Was Grendel’s head and the hilt of the giants’
1615 Jeweled sword; the rest of that ring-marked
Blade had dissolved in Grendel’s steaming
Blood, boiling even after his death.
And then the battle’s only survivor
Swam up and away from those silent corpses;
1620 The water was calm and clean, the whole
Huge lake peaceful once the demons who’d lived in it
Were dead.
Then that noble protector of all seamen
Swam to land, rejoicing in the heavy
1625 Burdens he was bringing with him. He
And all his glorious band of Geats
 Thanked God that their leader had come back unharmed;
They left the lake together. The Geats
Carried Beowulf’s helmet, and his mail shirt.
1630 Behind them the water slowly thickened
As the monster’s blood came seeping up.
They walked quickly, happily, across
Roads all of them remembered, left
1635 Staggering under the weight of Grendel’s skull,
Too heavy for fewer than four of them to handle—
Two on each side of the spear jammed through it—
Yet proud of their ugly load and determined
That the Danes, seated in Herot, should see it.
1640 Soon, fourteen Geats arrived
At the hall, bold and warlike, and with Beowulf,
Their lord and leader, they walked on the mead-hall
Green. Then the Geats; brave prince entered
Herot, covered with glory for the daring
1645 Battles he had fought; he sought Hrothgar
To salute him and show Grendel’s head.
He carried that terrible trophy by the hair,
Brought it straight to where the Danes sat,
Drinking, the queen among them. It was a weird
1650 And wonderful sight, and the warriors stared.

24
Beowulf spoke:
“Hrothgar! Behold,
Great Healfdane’s son, this glorious sign
Of victory, brought you by joyful Geats.
1655 My life was almost lost, fighting for it,
Struggling under water: I’d have been dead at once,
And the fight finished, the she-devil victorious,
If our Father in Heaven had not helped me. Hrunting,
Unferth’s noble weapon, could do nothing,
1660 Nor could I, until the Ruler of the world
Showed me, hanging shining and beautiful
On a wall, a mighty old sword—so God
Gives guidance to those who can find it from no one
Else. I used the weapon He had offered me,
1665 Drew it and, when I could, swung it, killed
The monstrous hag in her own home.
Then the ring-marked blade burned away,
As that boiling blood spilled out. I carried
Off all that was left, this hilt.
1670 I’ve avenged their crimes, and the Danes they’ve killed.
And I promise you that whoever sleeps in Herot
--You, your brave soldiers, anyone
 Of all the people in Denmark, old
Or young—they, and you, may now sleep
1675 Without fear of either monster, mother
Or son.”
Then he gave the golden sword hilt
To Hrothgar, who held it in his wrinkled hands
And stared at what giants had made, and monsters
1680 Owned; it was his, an ancient weapon
Shaped by wonderful smiths, now that Grendel
And his evil mother had been driven from the earth,
God’s enemies scattered and dead. That best
Of swords belonged to the best of Denmark’s
1685 Rulers, the wisest ring-giver Danish
Warriors had ever known. The old king
Bent close to the handle of the ancient relic,
And saw written there the story of ancient wars
Between good and evil, the opening of the waters,
1690 The Flood sweeping giants away, how they suffered
And died, that race who hated the Ruler
Of us all and received judgment from His hands,
Surging waves that found them wherever
They fled. And Hrothgar saw runic letters
1695 Clearly carved in that shining hilt,
Spelling its original owner’s name,
He for whom it was made, with its twisted
Handle and snakelike carvings. Then he spoke,
Healfdane’s son, and everyone was silent.
1700 “What I say,, speaking from a full memory
And after a life spent in seeking
What was right for my people, is this: this prince
Of the Geats, Beowulf, was born a better
Man! Your fame is everywhere, my friend,
Reaches to the ends of the earth, and you hold it in your heart wisely,
1705 Patient with your strength and our weakness. What I said I will do, I will
do,
In the name of the friendsship we’ve sworn. Your strength
must solace your people,
Now, and mine no longer.
“Be not
1710 As Hermod once was to my people, too proud
To care what their hearts hid, bringing them
Only destruction and slaughter. In his mak
Rages e killed them himself, comrades
And followers who ate at his tabvle. At the end
1715 He was alone, knew none of the joys of life
With other men, a famous ruler
Granted greater strength than anyone
Alive in his day but dark and bloodthirsty
 In spirit. He shared out no treasure, showed
1720 His soldiers no road to riches and fame.
And them that affliction on his people’s face
Suffered horribly for his sins. Be taught
By his lesson, learn what a king must be:
I tell his tale, old as I am,
1725 Only for you.
“Our eternal Lord
Grants some men wisdom, some wealth, makes others
Great. The world is God’s, He allows
A man to grow famous, and his family rich,
1730 Gives him land and towns to rule
And delight in, lets his kingdom reach
As far as the world runs—and who
In human unwisdom, in the middle of such power,
Remembers that it all will end, and too soon?
1735 Prosperity, prosperity, prosperity: nothing
Troubles him, no sickness, not passing time,
No sorrows, no sudden war breaking
Out of nowhere, but all the world turns
When he spins it. How can he know when he sins?

25
1740 “And then pride grows in his heart, planted
Quietly but flourishing. And while he keeper of his soul
Sleeps on, while conscience rests and the world
Turns faster a murderer creeps closer, comes carrying
A tight-strung bow with terrible arrows.
1745 And those sharp points strike home, are shot
In his breast, under his helmet. He’s helpless.
And so the Devil’s dark urgings wound him, for he can’t
Remember how he clung to the rotting wealth
Of this world, how he clawed to keep it, how he earned
1750 No honor, no glory, in giving golden
Rings, how he forgot the future glory
God gave him at his birth, and forgetting did not care.
And finally his body fails him, these bones
And flesh quickened by God fall
1755 And die—and some other soul inherits
His place in Heaven, some open-handed
Giver of old treasurers, who takes no delight
In mere gold. Guard against such wickedness,
Beloved Beowulf, best of warriors,
1760 And choose, instead eternal happiness;
Push away pride! Your strebgth, your power,
Are yours for how many tears? Soon
You’ll return them where they came from, sickness or a sword’s edge
 Will end them, or a grasping fire, or the flight
1765 Of a spear, or surging waves, or a knife’s
Bite, or the terror of old age, or your eyes
Darkening over. It will come, death
Comes faster than you think, no one can flee it.
“So I have led the Dnes for half
1770 A hundred years, protectied them from all peoples
On this earth, my sword and my spear so ready
That no one anywhere under God’s high sun
Was eager to wage war here in Denmark.
And here, here too the change has come,
1775 And we wept for our dead when Grendel invaded
Herot, my enemy raided this hall;
My sorrow, my grief, was as great and lasting
As it was helpless. Then thanks be given to God,
Eternal Lord of uss all: you came
1780 And that endless misery was over and I lived,
Now, to behold this bloody head!
Go in, go in: feast, be as happy
As you fame deserves. When morning shines
We shall each have owned more of my treasures.”
1785 Beowulf obeyed him, entered Herot
Cheerfully and took his place at the table.
And once again Danes and Geats
Feasted together, a host of famous
Warriors in a single hall.—Then the web
1790 Of darkness fell and it was night. They rose;
Hrothgar, the gray-haired old Dane, was heavy
With sleep. And Beowulf was glad that a bed
Was waiting, the bravest of warriors exhausted
With work he’d done. A Danish servant
1795 Showed him the road to that far-off, quiet
Country where sleep would come and take him
And his followers; Hrothgar’s visitors were well
Cared, for, whatever they needed was theirs.
Then Beowulf rested; Herot rose high
1800 Above him, gleaming in the darkness; the Geats
Slept till a black-feathered raven sang
His cheerful song and the shining sun
Burned away shadows. And those seafarers hurried
From their beds, anxious to begin the voyage
1805 Home, ready to start, their hearts
Already sailing on a ship’s swift back.
Then Unferth came, with Hrunting, his famous
Sword, and offered it to Beowulf, asked him
To accept a precious gift. The prince
1810 Beowulf sought Hrothgar’s throne, where the king
Sat waiting for his famous visitor’s farewell.
 26
Beowulf spoke:
“We crossed the sea
To come here; it is time to return, to go back
1820 To our beloved lord, Higlac. Denmark
Was a gracious host; you welcomed us warmly.
Anything I can do, here on this earth,
To earn you love, o great king, anything
More than I have done, battles I can fight
1825 In your honor, summon me, I will come as I came
Once before. If I hear, from across the ocean,
That your neighbors have threatened you with war, or oppressed you
As enemies once oppressed you, here, I will bring
A thousand warriors, a thousand armed Geats
1830 To protect your throne. I trust Higlac:
Our king is young, but if I need his help
To better help you, to lend you our strength,
Our battle-sharp spears, to shield you and honor you
As you deserve, I know his words and his deeds
1835 Will support me. And someday, if your oldest sone,
Hrethric, comes visiting our court, he will find
A host of good friends among the Geats:
No one who goes visiting far-off lands
Is more welcome than a strong and noble warrior.”
1840 Hrothgar replied:
“All-knowing God
Must have sent you such words; nothing so wise
From a warrior so young has ever reached
These ancient ears. Your hands are strong,
1845 Your heart and your lips are knowing! If you lord,
Hrethel’s son, is slain by a spear,
Or falls sick and dies, or is killed by a sword,
And you have survived whatever battle
Sweeps him off, I say that the Geats
1850 Could do no better, find no man better
Suited to be king, keeper of warriors
And their treasure, than you—if you take the throne
They will surely offer you. Beloved Beowulf,
You please me more the longer I can keep you
1855 Here in Denmark. You’ve turned Danes
And Geats into brothers, brought peace where once
There was war, and sealed friendship with affection.
This will last as long as I live, and am king here:
We will share our treasures, greeting travelers
1860 From across the sea with outstretched hands;
Ring-prowed ships will carry our gifts
 And the tokens of our love. Your people live
By the old ways, their hearts, like ours, are forever
Open to their friends, but firmly closed
1865 Against their enemies.”
Then he gave the Geats’
Prince a dozen new gifts, prayed
For his safety, commanded him to seek his people,
Yet not to delay too long in visiting
1870 Hrothgar once more. The old king kissed him,
Held that best of all warriors by the shoulder
And wept, unable to hold back his tears.
Gray and wise, he knew how slim
Were his chances of ever greeting Beowulf
1875 Again, but seeing his face he was forced
To hope. His love was too warm to be hidden,
His tears came running too quickly to be checked;
His very blood burned with longing.
And Beowulf left him, left Herot, walked
1880 Across the green in his golden armor,
Exulting in the treasures heaped high in his arms.
His ship was at anchor; he had it ready to sail.
And so Hrothgar’s rich treasures would leave him, travel
Far from that perfect king, without fault
1885 Or blame until winter had followed winter
And age had stolen his strength, spirited it
Off, as it steals from many men.

27
Then the band of Geats, young and brave,
Marching in their ring-locked armor, reached
1890 The shore. The coast-guard saw them coming
And about to go, as he’d seen them before;
He hurried down the hillside, whipping
His horse, but this time shouted no challenge,
Told them only how the Geats would be watching
1895 Too, and would welcome such warriors in shining
Mail. Their broad-beamed ship lay bobbing
At the edge of the sand: they loaded it high
With armor and horses and all the rich treasure
It could hold. The mast stood high and straight
1900 Over heaped-up wealth—Hrothgar’s , and now theirs.
Beowulf rewarded the boat’s watchman,
Who had stayed behind, with a sword that had hammered
Gold wound on its handle: the weapon
Brought him honor. Then the ship left shore, left Denmark,
1905 Traveled through deep water. Deck timbers creaked,
And the wind billowing through the sail stretched
 From the mast, tied tight with ropes, did not hold them
Back, did not keep the ring-prowed ship
From foaming swiftly through the waves, the sea
1910 Currents, across the wide ocean until
They could see familiar geadlands, cliffs
That sprang out of Geatish soil. Driven
By the wind the ship rammed high on the shore.
Harbor guards came running to greet them,
1915 Men who for days had waited and watched
For their beloved comrades to come crossing the waves;
They anchored the high-bowed ship, moored it
Close to the shore, where the booming sea
Could not pull it loose and lead it away.
1920 Then they carried up the golden armor,
The ancient swords, the jewels, brought them
To Higlac’s home, their ring-giver’s hall
Near the sea, where he lived surrounded
By his followers.
1925 He was a famous king, with a fitting
High hall and a wife, Higd, young
But wise and knowing beyond her years.
She was Hareth’s daughter, a noble queen
With none of the niggardly ways of women
1930 Like Thrith. Higd gave the Geats gifts
With open hands. But Thrith was too proud,
An imperious princess with a vicious tongue
And so fierce and wild that her father’s followers
Averted their eyes as she passed, knowing
1935 That if anyone but their king watched where she walked
Her hands would shape a noose to fit
Their necks. She would lie, her father’s lieutenants
Would write out her warrants, and he who had stared
Would end his life on the edge of an ancient
1940 Sword. And how great a sin for a woman,
Whether fair or black, to create fear
And destruction, for a woman, who should walk in the ways
Of peace, to kill with pretended insults.
But Hemming’s kinsman tamed her: his hall-guests
1945 Told a different story, spread the news
That Thrith had forgotten her gory tricks
Once her wise father had sent her to a wedding
With Offa, married her to that brave young soldier,
Sent her across the yellow-green sea
1950 To that gold-adorned champion, a fierce fighter
In war or peace. They praised her, now,
For her generous heart, and her goodness, and the high
And most noble paths she walked, filled
With adoring love for that leader of warriors,
1955 Her husband; he was a man as grave and strong
And good, it is said, as anyone on this earth,
A spear-bold soldier who knew no fear,
Exalted with gifts, victorious in war,
A king who ruled his native land
1960 Wisely and well. Emer was his son,
Hemming’s kinsman, Garmund’s grandson,
A powerful swordsman and his warriors’ shield.

28
Then Beowulf and his men went walking along
The shore, down the broad strip of sand.
1965 The world’s bright candle shone, hurrying
Up from the south. It was a short journey
From their ship to Higlac’s home, to the hall
Where their king, Ongentho’s killer, lived
With his warriors and gave treasures away. They walked
1970 Quickly. The young king knew
They were back, Beowulf and his handful of brave
Men, come safely home; he sat,
Now, waiting to see them, to greet
His battle-comrades when they arrived at his court.
1975 They came. And when Beowulf had bowed to his lord,
And standing in front of the throne had solemnly
Spoken loyal words, Higlac
Ordered him to sit at his side—he
Who had survived, sailed home victorious, next to
1980 His kinsman and king. Mead cups were filled
And Hareth’s daughter took them through the hall,
Carried ale to her husband’s comrades.
Higlac, unable to stay silent, anxious
To know how Beowulf’s adventure had gone
1985 Began to question him, courteous but eager
To be told everything.
“Beloved Beowulf,
Tell us what your trip to far-off places
Brought you, your sudden expedition on the salty
1990 Waves, your search for war in Herot?
Did you end Hrothgar’s hopeless misery,
Could you help that glorious king? Grendel’s
Savagery lay heavy on my heart but I was afraid
To let you go to him; for a long time
1995 I held you here, kept you safe,
Forced you to make the Danes fight
Their own battles. God be praised
That my eyes have beheld you once more, unharmed!”
Beowulf spoke, Edgetho’s brave son:
2000 “My lord Higlac, my meeting with Grendel
And the nighttime battle we fought are known
To everyone in Denmark, where the monster was once
The uncrowned ruler, murdering and eating
Hrothgar’s people, forever bringing them
2005 Misery. I ended his reign, avenged
His crimes so completely in the crashing darkness
That not even the oldest of his evil kind
Will ever boast, lying in sin
And deceit, that the monster beat me. I sought out
2010 Hrothgar, first, came to him in his hall;
When Healfdane’s famous son heard
That I’d come to challenge Grendel, he gave me
A seat of honor alongside his son.
His followers were drinking; I joined their feast,
2015 Sat with that band, as bright and loud-tongued
As any I’ve ever seen. His famous
Queen went back and forth, hurrying
The cup-bearing boys, giving bracelets
And rings to her husband’s warriors. I heard
2020 The oldest soldiers of all calling
For ale from Hrothgar’s daughter’s hands,
And Freaw was the way they greeted her when she gave them
The golden cups. And Hrothgar will give her
Ingeld, gracious Froda’s son;
2025 She and that ripening soldier will be married,
The Danes’ great lord and protector has declared,
Hoping that his quarrel the Hathobards can be settled
By a woman. He’s wrong; how many wars
Have been put to rest in a prince’s bed?
2030 Few. A bride can bring a little
Peace, make spears silent for a time,
But not for long. Ingeld and all his men
Will be drinking in the hall, when the wedding is done
And Freqw is his wife; the Danes will be wearing
2035 Gleaming armor and ring-marked old swords;
And the prince and his people will remember those treasures,
Will remember that their fathers once wore them, fell
With those helmets on their heads, those swords in their hands.

29
“And seeing their ancestral armor and weapons
2040 Ingeld and his followers will be angry. And one
Of his soldiers, sitting with ale in his cup
And bitterness heavy in his heart, will remember
War and death, and while he sits and drinks
His sharp old tongue will begin to tempt
2045 Some younger warrior, pushing and probing
For a new war:
“ “That sword, that precious old blade
Over there, I think you know it, friend.
Your father carried it, fought with it the last time
2050 He could swing a sword; the Danes killed him
--And many more of our men—and stripped
The dead bodies: the brave, bold Danes!
One of the princess’ people, here,
Now, might be the murderer’s son,
2055 Boasting about his treasures, his ancient
Armor—which ought to be yours, by right.”
“Bitter words will work in a hot-tempered
Brain, pushing up thoughts of the past,
And them, when he can, calling his father’s
2060 Name, the youngster will kill some innocent
Dane, a servant—and bloody sword
In hand will urn from the hall, knowing
His way through the woods. But war will begin
As he runs, to the sound of broken oaths,
2065 And its heat will dry up Ingeld’s heart,
Leave him indifferent to his Danish bride.
Hrothgar may think the Hathobards love him,
Loving Freaw, but the friendship can’t last,
The vows are worthless.
2070 “But of Grendel: you need to
Know more to know everything; I ought to
Go on. It was early in the evening, Heaven’s
Jewel had slid to its rest, and the jealous
Monster, planning murder, came seeking us
2075 Out, stalking us as we guarded Hrothgar’s
Hall. Hondshew, sleeping in his armor,
Was the first Geat he reached: Grendel
Seized him, tore him apart, swallowed him
Down, feet and all, as fate
2080 Had decreed—a glorious young soldier, killed
In his prime. Yet Grendel had only begun
His bloody work, meant to leave us
With his belly and his pouch both full, and Herot
Half-empty. Then he tested his strength against mine,
2085 Hand to hand. His pouch hung
At his side, a huge bag sewn
From a dragon’s skin, worked with a devil’s
Skill; it was closed by a marvelous clasp.
The monster intended to take me, put me
2090 Inside, save me for another meal.
He was bold and strong, but once I stood
On my feet his strength was useless, and it failed him.
 30
“The whole tale of how I killed him,
Repaid him in kind for all the evil
2095 He’d done, would take too long: your people,
My prince, were honored in the doing. He escaped,
Found a few minutes of life, but his hand,
His whole right arm, stayed Herot;
The miserable creature crept away,
2100 Dropped to the bottom of his lake, half dead
As he fell. When the sun had returned, the Danes’
Great king poured out treasure, repaid me
In hammered gold for the bloody battle
I’d fought in his name. He ordered a feast;
2105 There were songs, and the telling of tales. One ancient
Dane told of long-dead times,
And sometimes Hrothgar himself, with the harp
In his lap, stroked its silvery strings
And told wonderful stories, a brave king
2110 Reciting unhappy truths about good
And evil—and sometimes he wove his stories
On the mournful thread of old age, remembering
Buried strength and the battles it had won.
He would weep, the old king, wise with many
2115 Many winters, remembering what he’d done, once,
What he’d seen, what he knew. And so we sat
The day away, feasting. Then darkness
Fell again, and Grendel’s mother
Was waiting, ready for revenge, hating
2120 The Danes for her son’s death. The monstrous
Hag succeeded, burst boldly into Herot
And killed Esher, one of the king’s oldest
And wisest woldiers. But when the sun shone
Once more the death-weary Danes could not build
2125 A pyre and burn his beloved body,
Lay him on flaming logs, return ashes
To dust: she’d carried away his corpse,
Brought it to her den deep in the water.
Hrothgar had wept for many of his men,
2130 But this time his heart melted, this
Was the worst. He begged me, in your name, half-weeping
As he spoke, to seek still greater glory
Deep in the swirling waves, to win
Still higher fame, and the gifts he would give me.
2135 Down in that surging lake I sought
And found her, the horrible hag, fierce
And wild; we fought, clutching and grasping;
 The water ran red with blood and at last,
With a mighty sword that had hung on the wall,
2140 I cut off her head. I had barely escaped
With my life, my death was not written. And the Danes’
Protector, Healfdane’s great son, heaped up
Treasures and precious jewels to reward me.

31
“He lived his life as a good king must:
2145 I lost nothing, none of the gifts
My strength could have earned me. He opened his store
Of gems and armor, let me choose as I liked,
So I could bring his riches to you, my ruler,
And prove his friendship, and my love. Your favor
2150 Still governs my life: I have almost no family,
Higlac, almost no one, now, but you.”
Then Beowulf ordered them to bring in the boar-head
Banner, the towering helmet, the ancient,
Silvery armor, and the gold-carved sword:
2155 “This war-gear was Hrothgar’s reward, my gift
From his wise old hands. He wanted me to tell you,
First whose treasures these were. Hergar
Had owned them, his older brother, who was king
Of Denmark until death gave Hrothgar the throne:
2160 But Hergar kept them, would not give them to Herward,
His brave young son, though the boy had proved
His loyalty. These are yours: may they serve you well!”
And after the gleaming armor four horses
Were led in, four bays, swift and all
2165 Alike. Beowulf had brought his king
Horses and treasure—as a man must,
Not weaving nets of malice for his comrades.
Preparing their death in the dark, with secret,
Cunning tricks. Higlac trusted
2170 His nephew, leaned on his strength, in war,
Each of them intent on the other’s joy.
And Beowulf gave Welthow’s gift, her wonderful
Necklace, to Higd, Higlac’s queen,
And gave her, also, three supple, graceful,
2175 Saddle-bright horses; she received his presents,
Then wore that wonderful jewel on her breast.
So Edgetho’s son proved himself,
Did as a famous soldier must do
If glory is what he seeks: not killing his comrades
2180 In drunken rages, his heart not savage,
But guarding God’s gracious gift, his strength,
Using it only in war, and them using it
 Bravely. And yet as a boy he was scorned;
The Geats considered him worthless. When he sat
2185 In their mead-hall, and their lord was making men rich,
He held no claim on the king’s good will.
They were sure he was lazy, noble but slow.
The world spun round, he was a warrior more famous
Than any, in all the insults were wiped out.
2190 Higlac, protector of his people, brought in
His father’s—Beowulf’s grandfather’s—great sword,
Worked in gold; none of the Geats
Could boast of a better weapon. He laid it
In Beowulf’s lap, then gave him seven
2195 Thousand hides of land, houses
And ground and all. Geatland was home
For both king and prince; their fathers had left them
Buildings and fields—but Higlac’s inheritance
Stretched further, it was he who was king, and was followed.

2200 Afterwards, in the time when Higlac was dead

And Herdred, his son, who’d ruled the Geats
After his father, had followed him into darkeness—
Killed in battle with the Swedes, who smashed
His shield, cut through the soldiers surrounding
2205 `Their king—then, when Higd’s one son
Was gone, Beowulf ruled in Geatland,
Took the throne he’d refused, once,
And held it long and well. He was old
With years and wisdom, fifty winters
2210 A king, when a dragon awoke from its darkness
And dreams and brought terror to his peole. The beast
Had slept in a huge stone tower, with a hidden
Path beneath; a man stumbled on
The entrance, went in, discovered the ancient
2215 Treasure, the pagan jewels and gold
The dragon had been guarding, had dazzled and greedy
Stole a gem-studded cup, and fled.
But now the dragon hid nothing, neither
The theft nor itself; it swept through the darkness,
2220 And all Geatland knew its anger.

32
But the thief had not come to steal; he stole,
And roused the dragon, not from desire
But need. He was someone’s slave, had been beaten
By his masters, had run from all men’s sight,
2225 But with no place to hide; then he found the hidden
Path, and used it. And once inside,
 Seeing the sleeping beast, staring as it
Yawned and stretched, not wanting to wake it,
Terror-struck, he turned and ran for his life,
2230 Taking the jeweled cup.
That tower
Was heaped high with hidden treasure, stored there
Years before by the last survivor
Of a noble race, ancient riches
2235 Left in darkness as the end of a dynasty
Came. Death had taken them, one
By one, and the warrior who watched over all
That remained mourned their fate, expecting,
Soon, the same for himself, knowing
2240 The gold and jewels he had guarded so long
Could not bring him pleasure much longer. He brought
The precious cups, the armor and the ancient
Swords, to a stone tower built
Near the sea, below a cliff, a sealed
2245 Fortress wit no windows, no doors, waves
In front of it, rocks behind. Then he spoke:
“Take these treasures, earth, now that no one
Living can enjoy them. They were yours, in the beginning;
Allow them to return. War and terror
2250 Have swept away my people, shut
Their eyes to delight and to living, closed
The door to all gladness. No one is left
To lift these swords, polish these jeweled
Cups: no one leads, no one follows. These hammered
2255 Helmets, worked with gold, will tarnish
And crack; the hands that should clean an polish them
Are still forever. And these mails shirts, worn
In battle, once, while swords crashed
And blades bit into shields and men,
2260 Will rust away like the warriors who owned them.
None of these treasures will travel to distant
Lands, following their lords. The harp’s
Bright song, the hawk crossing through the hall
On its swift wings, the stallion tramping
2265 In the courtyard—all gone, creatures of every
Kind, and their masters, hurled to the grave!”
And so he spoke, sadly, of those
Long dead, and lived from day to day,
Joyless, until, at last, death touched
2270 His heart and took him too. And a stalker
In the night, a flaming dragon, found
The treasure unguarded; he whom men fear
Came flying through the darkness, wrapped in fire,
Seeking caves and stone-split ruins
2275 But finding gold. Then it stayed, buried
Itself with heathen silver and jewels
It could neither use nor ever abandon.
So mankind’s enemy, the mighty beast,
Slept in those stone walls for hundreds
2280 Of years; a runaway slave roused it,
Stole a jeweled cup and bought
His master’s forgiveness, begged for mercy
And was pardoned when he delighted lord took the present
He bore, turned it in his hands and stared
2285 At the ancient carvings. The cup brought peace
To a slave, pleased his master, but stirred
A dragon’s anger. It turned, hunting
The thief’s tracks, and found them, saw
Where its visitor had come and gone. He’s survived
2290 Had come close enough to touch its scaly
Head and yet lived, as it lifted its cavernous
Jaws, through the grace of almighty God
And a pair of quiet, quick-moving feet.
The dragon followed his steps, anxious
2295 To find the man who had robbed it of its silver
And sleep; it circled around and around
The tower, determined to catch him, but could not,
He had run too fast, the wilderness was empty.
The beast went back to its treasure, planning
2300 A bloody revenge, and found what was missing,
Saw what thieving hands had stolen.
Then it crouched on the stones, counting off
The hours till the Almighty’s candle went out,
And evening came, and wild with anger
2305 Lived in terror, but when Beowulf had learned
Of their trouble his fate was worse, and came quickly

33
Vomiting fire and smoke, the dragon
Burned down their homes. They watched in horror
As the flames rose up: the angry monster
2315 Meant to leave nothing alive. And the signs
Of its anger flickered and glowed in the darkness,
Visible for miles, tokens of its hate
And its cruelty, spread like a warning to the Geats
Who had broken its rest. Then it hurried back
2320 To its tower, to its hidden treasure, before dawn
Could come. It had wrapped its flames around
The Geats; now it trusted in stone
Walls, and its strength, to protect it. But they would not.
Then they came to Beowulf, their king, and announced
2325 That his hall, his throne, the best of buildings,
Had melted away in the dragon’s burning
Breath. Their words brought misery, Beowulf’s
Sorrow beat at his heart: he accused
Himself of breaking God’s law, of bringing
2330 The Almighty’s anger down on his people.
Reproach pounded in his breast, gloomy
And dark, and the world seemed a different place.
But the hall was gone, the dragon’s molten
Breath had licked across it, burned it
2335 To ashes, near the shore it had guarded. The Geats
Deserved revenge; Beowulf, their leader
And lord, began to plan it, ordered
A battle-shield shaped of iron, knowing that
Wood would be useless, that no linden shield
2340 Could help him, protect him, in the flaming heat
Of the beast’s breath. That noble prince
Would end his days on earth, soon,
Would leave this brief life, but would take the dragon
With him, tear it from the heaped-up treasure
2345 It had guarded so long. And he’d go to it alone,
Scorning to lead soldiers against such
And enemy: he saw nothing to fear, thought nothing
Of the beast’s claws, or wings, of flaming
Jaws—he had fought, before, against worse
2350 Odds, had survived, been victorious, in harsher
Battles, beginning in Herot, Hrothgar’s
Unlucky hall. He’d killed Grendel
And his mother, swept that murdering tribe
Away. And he’d fought in HIglac’s war
2355 With the Frisians, fought at his lord’s side
Till a sword reached out and drank Higlac’s
Blood, till a blade swung in the rush
Of battle killed the Geats’ great king.
Then Beowulf escaped, broke through Frisian
2360 Shields and swam to freedom, saving
Thirty sets of armor from the scavenging
Franks, river people who robbed
The dead as they floated by. Beowulf
Offered them only his sword, ended
2365 So many jackal lives that the few
Who were able skulked silently home, glad
To leave him. So Beowulf swam sadly back
To Geatland, almost the only survivor
Of a foolish war. Higlac’s widow
2370 Brought him the crown, offered him the kingdom,
Not trusting Herdred, her son and Higlac’s
To beat off foreign invaders. But Beowulf
 Refused to rule when his lord’s own son
Was alive, and the leaderless Geats could choose
2375 A rightful king. He gave Herdred
All his support, offering an open
Heart where Higlac’s young son could see
Wisdom he still lacked himself: warmth
And good will were what Beowulf brought his new king.
2380 But Swedish exiles came, seeking
Protection; they were rebels against Onela,
Healfdane’s son-in-law and the best ring-giver
His people had ever known. And Onela
Came too, a mighty king, marched
2385 On Geatland with a huge army; Herdred
Had given his word an now he gave
His life, shielding the Swedish strangers.
Onela wanted nothing more:
When Hergred had fallen that famous warrior
2390 Went back to Sweden, let Beowulf rule!

34
But Beowulf remembered how his king had been killecd.
As soon as he could he lent the last
Of the Swedish rebels soldiers and gold,
Helped him to a bitter battle across
2395 The wide sea, where victory, and revenge, and the Swedish
Throne were won, and Onela was slain.
So Edgetho’s son survived, no matter
What dangers he mat, what battles he fought,
Brave and forever triumphant, till the day
2400 Fate sent him to the dragon and sent him death.
A dozen warriors walked with their angry
King, when he was brought to the beast; Beowulf
Knew, by then, what had woken the monster,
And enraged it. The cup had come to him, traveled
2405 From dragon to slave, to master, to king,