| |
| WENT he forth to find at fall of night | |
| that haughty house, and heed wherever | |
| the Ring-Danes, outrevelled, to rest had gone. | |
| Found within it the atheling band | |
| asleep after feasting and fearless of sorrow, | 5 |
| of human hardship. Unhallowed wight, | |
| grim and greedy, he grasped betimes, | |
| wrathful, reckless, from resting-places, | |
| thirty of the thanes, and thence he rushed | |
| fain of his fell spoil, faring homeward, | 10 |
| laden with slaughter, his lair to seek. | |
| Then at the dawning, as day was breaking, | |
| the might of Grendel to men was known; | |
| then after wassail was wail uplifted, | |
| loud moan in the morn. The mighty chief, | 15 |
| atheling excellent, unblithe sat, | |
| labored in woe for the loss of his thanes, | |
| when once had been traced the trail of the fiend, | |
| spirit accurst: too cruel that sorrow, | |
| too long, too loathsome. Not late the respite; | 20 |
| with night returning, anew began | |
| ruthless murder; he recked no whit, | |
| firm in his guilt, of the feud and crime. | |
| They were easy to find who elsewhere sought | |
| in room remote their rest at night, | 25 |
| bed in the bowers, 1 when that bale was shown, | |
| was seen in sooth, with surest token,— | |
| the hall-thane’s 2 hate. Such held themselves | |
| far and fast who the fiend outran! | |
| Thus ruled unrighteous and raged his fill | 30 |
| one against all; until empty stood | |
| that lordly building, and long it bode so. | |
| Twelve years’ tide the trouble he bore, | |
| sovran of Scyldings, sorrows in plenty, | |
| boundless cares. There came unhidden | 35 |
| tidings true to the tribes of men, | |
| in sorrowful songs, how ceaselessly Grendel | |
| harassed Hrothgar, what hate he bore him, | |
| what murder and massacre, many a year, | |
| feud unfading,—refused consent | 40 |
| to deal with any of Daneland’s earls, | |
| make pact of peace, or compound for gold: | |
| still less did the wise men ween to get | |
| great fee for the feud from his fiendish hands. | |
| But the evil one ambushed old and young, | 45 |
| death-shadow dark, and dogged them still, | |
| lured, or lurked in the livelong night | |
| of misty moorlands: men may say not | |
| where the haunts of these Hell-Runes 3 be. | |
| Such heaping of horrors the hater of men, | 50 |
| lonely roamer, wrought unceasing, | |
| harassings heavy. o’er Heorot he lorded, | |
| gold-bright hall, in gloomy nights; | |
| and ne’er could the prince 4 approach his throne, | |
| —’twas judgment of God,—or have joy in his hall. | 55 |
| Sore was the sorrow to Scyldings’-friend, | |
| heart-rending misery. Many nobles | |
| sat assembled, and searched out counsel | |
| how it were best for bold-hearted men | |
| against harassing terror to try their hand. | 60 |
| Whiles they vowed in their heathen fanes | |
| altar-offerings, asked with words 5 | |
| that the slayer-of-souls would succor give them | |
| for the pain of their people. Their practice this, | |
| their heathen hope; ’twas Hell they thought of | 65 |
| in mood of their mind. Almighty they knew not, | |
| Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord, | |
| nor Heaven’-Helmet heeded they ever, | |
| Wielder-of-Wonder.—Woe for that man | |
| who in harm and hatred hales his soul | 70 |
| to fiery embraces;—nor favor nor change | |
| awaits he ever. But well for him | |
| that after death-day may draw to his Lord, | |
| and friendship find in the Father’s arms! | |
