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Beowulf XI
THEN from the
moorland, by
misty crags,
with
God's wrath laden,
Grendel came.
The
monster was minded of mankind now
sundry to
seize in the stately house.
Under
welkin he walked, till the wine-palace there,
gold-hall of men, he gladly
discerned,
flashing with fretwork. Not first time, this,
that he the home of
Hrothgar sought, --
yet ne'er in his life-day, late or early,
such hardy heroes, such
hall-
thanes, found!
To the house the warrior walked apace,
parted from peace; (1) the
portal opended,
though with forged bolts fast, when his fists had
struck it,
and baleful he burst in his
blatant rage,
the house's mouth. All
hastily, then,
o'er fair-paved floor the
fiend trod on,
ireful he
strode; there streamed from his eyes
fearful flashes, like
flame to see.
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He
spied in hall the hero-band,
kin and
clansmen clustered asleep,
hardy
liegemen. Then laughed his heart;
for the monster was minded, ere
morn should dawn,
savage, to sever the soul of each,
life from body, since lusty banquet
waited his will! But
Wyrd forbade him
to seize any more of men on earth
after that evening. Eagerly watched
Hygelac's kinsman his cursed foe,
how he would fare in fell attack.
Not that the
monster was minded to
pause!
Straightway he
seized a
sleeping warrior
for the first, and
tore him
fiercely asunder,
the bone-frame bit, drank blood in streams,
swallowed him
piecemeal: swiftly thus
the lifeless corse was clear
devoured,
e'en feet and hands. Then farther he hied;
for the hardy hero with hand he grasped,
felt for the foe with fiendish claw,
for the hero reclining, -- who clutched it boldly,
prompt to answer, propped on his arm.
Soon then saw that shepherd-of-evils
that never he met in this middle-world,
in the ways of earth, another
wight
with heavier hand-gripe; at heart he
feared,
sorrowed in soul, -- none the sooner escaped!
Fain would he
flee, his fastness seek,
the den of devils: no doings now
such as oft he had done in days of old!
Then bethought him the hardy
Hygelac-
thane
of his boast at evening: up he bounded,
grasped firm his foe, whose fingers cracked.
The fiend made off, but the earl close followed.
The
monster meant -- if he might at all --
to fling himself free, and far away
fly to the fens, -- knew his fingers' power
in the gripe of the grim one. Gruesome march
to
Heorot this monster of harm had made!
Din filled the room; the
Danes were
bereft,
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castle-dwellers and
clansmen all,
earls, of their ale. Angry were both
those savage hall-guards: the house resounded.
Wonder it was the wine-hall firm
in the strain of their struggle stood, to earth
the fair house fell not; too fast it was
within and without by its iron bands
craftily clamped; though there crashed from sill
many a
mead-
bench -- men have told me --
gay with gold, where the grim foes wrestled.
So well had weened the wisest Scyldings
that not ever at all might any man
that bone-decked, brave house break asunder,
crush by craft, -- unless clasp of fire
in smoke engulfed it. -- Again uprose
din redoubled. Danes of the North
with fear and
frenzy were
filled, each one,
who from the wall that wailing heard,
God's foe sounding his
grisly song,
cry of the
conquered, clamorous pain
from captive of hell. Too closely held him
he who of men in might was strongest
in that same day of this our life.
(1) That is, he was a "
lost soul," doomed to
hell.