II

　　WENT he forth¹ to find at fall of night

　　that haughty² house， and heed³ wherever

　　the Ring-Danes， outrevelled， to rest had gone.

　　Found within it the atheling band

　　asleep after feasting and fearless of sorrow，

　　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，

　　laden⁴ with slaughter⁵， his lair⁶ to seek.

　　Then at the dawning， as day was breaking，

　　the might of Grendel to men was known；

　　then after wassail was wail⁷ uplifted，

　　loud moan in the morn. The mighty⁸ chief，

　　atheling excellent， unblithe sat，

　　labored⁹ in woe¹⁰ 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 loathsome¹¹. Not late the respite¹²；

　　with night returning， anew began

　　ruthless murder； he recked no whit¹³，

　　firm in his guilt¹⁴， of the feud¹⁵ and crime.

　　They were easy to find who elsewhere sought

　　in room remote their rest at night，

　　bed in the bowers，1 when that bale was shown，

　　was seen in sooth， with surest token， ——

　　the hall-thane's2 hate. Such held themselves

　　far and fast who the fiend outran！

　　Thus ruled unrighteous and raged his fill

　　one against all； until empty stood

　　that lordly building， and long it bode¹⁶ so.

　　Twelve years' tide the trouble he bore，

　　sovran of Scyldings， sorrows in plenty，

　　boundless¹⁷ cares. There came unhidden

　　tidings true to the tribes of men，

　　in sorrowful songs， how ceaselessly Grendel

　　harassed¹⁸ Hrothgar， what hate he bore him，

　　what murder and massacre¹⁹， many a year，

　　feud unfading， —— refused consent

　　to deal with any of Daneland's earls，

　　make pact²⁰ 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 ambushed²¹ old and young

　　death-shadow dark， and dogged them still，

　　lured²²， or lurked²³ in the livelong night

　　of misty²⁴ moorlands： men may say not

　　where the haunts of these Hell-Runes3 be.

　　Such heaping of horrors the hater of men，

　　lonely roamer， wrought²⁵ unceasing，

　　harassings heavy. O'er Heorot he lorded，

　　gold-bright hall， in gloomy nights；

　　and ne'er could the prince4 approach his throne，

　　—— 'twas judgment²⁷ of God， —— or have joy in his hall.

　　Sore was the sorrow to Scyldings'-friend，

　　heart-rending misery²⁸. Many nobles

　　sat assembled， and searched out counsel

　　how it were best for bold-hearted men

　　against harassing²⁶ terror to try their hand.

　　Whiles they vowed²⁹ in their heathen fanes

　　altar-offerings， asked with words5

　　that the slayer-of-souls would succor³⁰ give them

　　for the pain of their people. Their practice this，

　　their heathen hope； 'twas Hell they thought of

　　in mood of their mind. Almighty³¹ they knew not，

　　Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord，

　　nor Heaven's-Helmet heeded³² they ever，

　　Wielder-of-Wonder. —— Woe for that man

　　who in harm and hatred³³ hales his soul

　　to fiery³⁴ 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！

　　[1] The smaller buildings within the main enclosure but separate from the hall.

　　[2] Grendel.

　　[3] “Sorcerers-of-hell.”

　　[4] Hrothgar， who is the “Scyldings'-friend” of 170.

　　[5] That is， in formal or prescribed phrase.

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