Battle With Grendel

Out from the marsh, from the foot of misty Hills and bogs, bearing God’s hatred, Grendel came, hoping to kill
395 Anyone he could trap on this trip to high Herot. He moved quickly through the cloudy night, Up from his swampland, sliding silently Toward that gold-shining hall. He had visited Hrothgar’s Home before, knew the way—
400 But never, before nor after that night, Found Herot defended so firmly, his reception so harsh. He journeyed, forever joyless, straight to the door, then snapped it open, Tore its iron fasteners with a touch,
405 And rushed angrily over the threshold. He strode quickly across the inlaid Floor, snarling and fierce: His eyes Gleamed in the darkness, burned with a gruesome Light. Then he stopped, seeing the hall
410 Crowded with sleeping warriors, stuffed With rows of young soldiers resting together. And his heart laughed, he relished the sight, Intended to tear the life from those bodies By morning; the monster’s mind was hot
415 With the thought of food and the feasting his belly Would soon know. But fate, that night, intended Grendel to gnaw the broken bones Of his last human supper. Human Eyes were watching his evil steps,
420 Waiting to see his swift hard claws. Grendel snatched at the first Geat He came to, ripped him apart, cut His body to bits with powerful jaws, Drank the blood from his veins, and bolted
425 Him down, hands and feet; death And Grendel’s great teeth came together, Snapping life shut. Then he stepped to another Still body, clutched at Beowulf with his claws, Grasped at a strong-hearted wakeful sleeper
430 —And was instantly seized himself, claws Bent back as Beowulf leaned up on one arm. That shepherd of evil, guardian of crime, Knew at once that nowhere on earth Had he met a man whose hands were harder;
435 His mind was flooded with fear—but nothing Could take his talons and himself from that tight 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.
440 But Higlac’s follower remembered his final Boast and, standing erect, stopped The monster’s flight, fastened those claws In his fists till they cracked, clutched Grendel Closer. The infamous killer fought
445 For his freedom, wanting no flesh but retreat, Desiring nothing but escape; his claws 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,
450 And Danes shook with terror. Down The aisles the battle swept, angry And wild. Herot trembled, wonderfully Built to withstand the blows, the struggling Great bodies beating at its beautiful walls;
455 Shaped and fastened with iron, inside And out, artfully worked, the building Stood firm. Its benches rattled, fell To the floor, gold-covered boards grating As Grendel and Beowulf battled across them.
460 Hrothgar’s wise men had fashioned Herot To stand forever; only fire, They had planned, could shatter what such skill had put Together, swallow in hot flames such splendor Of ivory and iron and wood. Suddenly
465 The sounds changed, the Danes started In new terror, cowering in their beds as the terrible Screams of the Almighty’s enemy sang In the darkness, the horrible shrieks of pain And defeat, the tears torn out of Grendel’s
470 Taut throat, hell’s captive caught in the arms Of him who of all the men on earth Was the strongest.
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That mighty protector of men Meant to hold the monster till its life Leaped out, knowing the fiend was no use
475 To anyone in Denmark. All of Beowulf’s 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
480 From every side, trying to open A path for his evil soul, but their points Could not hurt him, the sharpest and hardest iron Could not scratch at his skin, for that sin-stained demon Had bewitched all men’s weapons, laid spells
485 That blunted every mortal man’s blade. And yet his time had 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.
490 Now he discovered—once the afflictor 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 follower tearing at
495 His hands. The monster’s hatred rose higher, 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
500 Had been granted new glory: Grendel escaped, But wounded as he was could flee to his den, His miserable hole at the bottom of the marsh, Only to die, to wait for the end Of all his days. And after that bloody
505 Combat the Danes laughed with delight. 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
510 Had been served as he’d boasted he’d serve them; Beowulf, A prince of 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
515 The victory, for the proof, hanging high From the rafters where Beowulf had hung it, was the monster’s Arm, claw and shoulder and all.

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And then, in the morning, crowds surrounded Herot, warriors coming to that hall
520 From faraway lands, princes and leaders 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
525 And lonely flight, to the edge of the lake 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
530 Sucked from his magic veins; but the swirling 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
535 From that happy pilgrimage, mounted their hard-hooved 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
540 On earth or under the spreading sky 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!) . . .
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545 . . . “They live in secret places, windy Cliffs, wolf-dens where water pours 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
550 With frozen spray, and wind down snakelike Roots that reach as far as the water 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,
555 Hunted through the woods by packs of hounds, A stag with great horns, though driven through the forest From faraway places, prefers to die On those shores, refuses to save its life In that water. It isn’t far, nor is it
560 A pleasant spot! When the wind stirs And storms, waves splash toward the sky, As dark as the air, as black as the rain That the heavens weep. Our only help, Again, lies with you. Grendel’s mother
565 Is hidden in her terrible home, in a place You’ve not seen. Seek it, if you dare! Save us, Once more, and again twisted gold, Heaped-up ancient treasure, will reward you For the battle you win!”