Bethought him then Beowulf of his words at even

tide;

Upright he sprang with tightened grip, even till his fingers bled,

Close following the fiend outside when from the house he fled.

The monster cast about in thought how he might far

ther go

And seek the mere amid the fens-he knew that grasp

of foe

Held fast his fingers' strength. His path a bitter end had found

At Heorot! Loudly the lordly hall re-echoed to the sound!

To every Dane who dwelt in burg-to boldest warriors

all

The ale seemed savourless, so fierce the fighting in the hall.

Great wonder was that hall of men these fighters'

rage withstood,

And that it fell not to the ground, that dwelling strong

and good;

But all within it and without 'twas strengthened 'gainst

that day

By iron bands forged cunningly. Yet from the sills,

men say,

Was many a gilded mead-bench torn where those dread

foemen fought.

The wisest Scyldings little weened that house, so goodly wrought

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.