I.

THE WOMAN OF THE MERE.

THEN sank they all to sleep. But one bought dear his evening rest;

As oft befell since that gold hall by Grendel was possessed,

Ill doing, till his end was come, and death came

after ill.

'Twas seen and widely known 'mong men that after him lived still

Long after the fierce battle lived-th' avenger of his

blood,

His mother; she, the monstrous hag, upon her woes did brood.

Doomed was she ayein wildered waves and waters cold to dwell,

Since guilty Cain his brother slew, and, with that murder fell

Branded, forsook the joys of men and trod the waste. Thence woke

To life the evil sprites of yore; and Grendel of that

folk,

In death-grips; but Beowulf knew his God-given strength and might,

His glorious gifts, and in the Lord Almighty trusted

right

For help and comfort; therefore he that sprite of hell laid low;

O'erthrew the fiend; and humbled thence did mankind's bitter foe,

Sundered from bliss, go forth to see the dwellings of the dead.

Now wroth and greedy sought his dam the doleful

path to tread,

And for her son's death take revenge. To Heorot she drew near,

Where deep in sleep the Ring-Danes lay around the hall; and fear

Fell on the earls when Grendel's mother in among them burst.

Yet, as the strength of maids to men, so less than at

the first

The terror was-as warlike rage of women is to

men,

When banded sword by hammer forged on boar-helm smites again

And downright shears with reddened blade! Then drawn was keen-edged brand

O'er every bench, and buckler broad was grasped in

many a hand;

No thought for helm or corselet strong when terrorstruck had they !

Discovered now she was in haste, to get unscathed

away,

And, clutching swift an earl, she turned her homeward to the mere.

By the two seas in all his host to Hrothgar none more

dear

Than the shield-warrior thus in sleep from life and welfare riven.

Not there Beowulf then; his bower, after the gifts

were given,

Was elsewhere dight. A cry arose in Heort. With gore imbrued

The well-known hand she took; and through the town was grief renewed.

No bargain good for either side that lives of friends must buy!

Then did the hoary warrior wise, the king, in sad

ness lie

Soon as he knew his chiefest thane and dearest friend was dead.

Beowulf now, the victor knight, swift to the bower they led;

And forth the high-born warrior went amid his band of thanes,

Ere daybreak, there where waited till the pious king of Danes

To see if after woful news God any hope would bring. And o'er the floor the glorious man (while board and bench did ring)

Trod with his troop to greet with words the Ingwines' lord aright,

And ask if, for this pressing call, he'd had a peaceful night?

"Ask not of peace!" then Hrothgar said, "the sorrow is renewed

Of Danish folk.

good

Æschere is dead! the elder brother

Of Yrmenlaf, my counsellor, who knew my inmost

The wandering deadly sprite Has laid her hands on him in Heort,-and whether,

proud of prey

And glad of feast, the fiend again has ta'en her home

ward way

I wot not. She has 'venged the wrong thou didst her

yester-eve

By Grendel's death in fierce close grips, for that he long did grieve

My folk and minished them. In fight he paid his forfeit breath!

Now comes the other mighty foe to wreak her offspring's death;

Far hath she carried on the feud; and therefore every

thane,

Who for his wealth-bestower mourns, must feel heartrending pain:

Low lies the hand that pleasant things gave freely to you all!

The landward dwellers of my folk I've heard, at

talk in hall,

Saying two such mark-steppers great were known to tread the moor;

Foul sprites; the one in woman's shape, as they might know most sure;

The other wretch in guise of man trod o'er the out

cast ways,

(But bigger he than other men), and him in former

days

The country-folk did Grendel call. Their sire no man

can tell,

If ever spirit of the gloom ere them was born. They

dwell

In hidden places, cliffs wolf-haunted, windy nesses

steep,

And wild morass, whence to the plain the mountain

torrents leap

Down from the mist-enfolded hills. Not far

mere,

away the

A mile by measure; o'er it hang the woods, fast-rooted,

sere,

The waters shrouding; nightly there is seen a wonder

dread—

F