With horn of hart, would e'er be loosed, or in men's strife be broke, Save when the outstretched arms of fire should swallow it in smoke! Uprose the cry again renewed; and at the sound did fall An eerie dread on every Dane who listened from the wall, And heard the enemy of God his shriek of horror yell, Not glory's song, the bitter wail of that bond-slave of hell. Fast was he held by him to whom the greatest might was given Of all men in this day of life. For nothing under heaven Would he, the shield of earls, alive that murderer let loose, Nor counted he his own life's-day to any folk of use. Then many of Beowulf's earls unsheathed the good old sword To save the life, if so they might, of their great prince and lord. They knew it not, these fighters keen, when mingling in the fray, Thinking to hew about them well and tear the soul away, That not the choicest blade on earth nor war-bill e'er could bite That scather foul; but edge of sword and every weapon bright Beowulf had forsworn. Yet doomed this day to wretched end Was that bad sprite, and in the power of devils far to wend ! The foe of God, who oft before in mirthful mood had wrought Mischief upon mankind, now found his body served him nought; Still of his hand the valiant thane of Higelac kept hold. Hateful to each the other's life: sore pangs the monster tholed; Soon on his shoulder yawned a wound, atwain sprang sinews riven, Sundered was flesh-and joy of war was to Beowulf given ! Wounded to death must Grendel flee, and seek his joyless home Beneath the shelter of the fens; life's-end he knew was come, And told was all his tale of days! And thus in bloody war The Danes' desires were all fulfilled; for he who came from afar, The wise and brave, had cleansed the hall, and saved from shock of foes; Glad of his night-work now was he and doughty deeds! The woes, The grief of heart that erst they dreed, by bitter need compelled The sorrows of the Danes-were soothed, for well had he upheld, The Gothic chief, his vaunting bold. That was the token fair When down the warrior flung the hand and arm and shoulder there, And all together Grendel's gripe lay neath the lofty roof. VI. THE PURSUIT OF GRENDEL. Round the gift-hall I've heard it told came many men of war, And o'er wide ways at morning-tide came chieftains near and far, To gaze upon that wondrous thing the foe had left behind. And no man sorrowed for his death of those who went to find How wearily the vanquished fiend thence, overcome in fight, Took his last steps to Nicor's mere, death-doomed and put to flight. Blood mingled with the troubled waves-the gloomy waters rolled Hot with the gore of him, death-doomed, soon as in that fen-hold Sundered from bliss, by hell received, his heathen spirit fled. Then from the mere they homeward now their gladsome journey sped, The band of warriors old and young-white was each hero's steed, Proudly their horses they bestrode; and of Beowulf's deed Was spoken much; and oft 'twas said that o'er this great wide earth, By the two seas,* or south or north, was none of higher worth 'Mong shielded men beneath the sky, nor worthier to be king. Yet nowise surely would they blame their lord in anything, Their Hrothgar kind-good king was he! Sometimes their horses dun, Of choicest breed, these warriors made to leap and races run, Where'er the meadow paths seemed fair. Sometimes with ready lore Would Hrothgar's thane, who many a tale could tell of days of yore, With high thoughts laden, shape the truth in ordered words aright; And deftly would he then begin to sing Beowulf's might, And skilfully to weave the tale with other stories told *The Baltic and the German Ocean. Of Sigmund and his glorious deeds, 'the Walsings fighting bold Far travels-wonders many-feuds and crimes—that no man knew Save Fitela, his sister's son, in war his comrade true. Full many of the Eoten race their swords had beaten down; And Sigmund's name, his death-day o'er, was mighty of renown, For he had slain-the brave in war!--the worm that kept the hoard. 'Neath the grey rock that daring deed alone the highborn lord Had wrought; no Fitela was there; yet so did it befall His sword went through the wondrous worm, and struck against the wall, And dead the dragon lay! The glorious chief had done the feat That he the ring-hoard might enjoy as to himself seemed meet. A ship he loaded-to her lap he bore the shining freight; And fire consumed the worm. In glorious deeds was none so great 'Mong wanderers all the nations through as he, the warrior's shield. Thus long ago he throve.* Thereafter Heremod did yield *See Note H. |