icy and eager armed for a king.
They braced him then, once bright with laughter
shaper of hall-songs, on the ship’s middle-board
hard by the mast. From hills and valleys
rings and bracelets were borne to the shore.
No words have sung of a wealthier grave-ship
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bright with war-weapons ballasted with gold
swords and ring-mail rich for drifting
through the foaming tide far from that land.
Their lord was laden for long sailpaths
with love and sorrow splendid with gifts
for those who had ferried him far through the mist
once sent them a sailor strange treasure-child.
At last they hung high upon the mast
a golden banner then gave him to the sea
to the mounding waves. Their mindgrief was great
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dark with mourning. Men cannot know
cannot truthfully say—singers of tales
sailors or gleemen—who gathered him in.
Then Beaw held them banished war-ravens
sailed through the summers strengthening peace
like his father before him known far abroad
a king to contend with. Time brought a son
high-minded Healfdene who held in his turn
through long glory-years the life-line of Scyld.
Then four strong ones came forth from his queen
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woke to the world warmed the gift-hall—
Heorogar and Hrothgar Halga the good
Yrse the fair one Onela’s hall-queen
that battle-wise Swede’s bed-companion.
Hrothgar was beckoned born for a kingdom
shaped as a lord loved by his hall-thanes
who bore him high as boys became men
and men grew mighty. His mind told him
to raise a throne-house rarest in Denmark
mightiest meadhall in measure and strength
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that the oldest among them ever had beheld
to give freely what God had provided
share his wealth there shape borderlands
love and lead them in light against darkness.
Then, as I heard, help came crowding
from hills and glens hewers of timber
trimmers and weavers. It towered at last
highest of them all—Heorot he named it
who with words wielded the world of the Danes.
Hrothgar was king kept his promise
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gave from his gift-throne goldgifts and peace.
Gables were crossed capped with horn-beams,
waiting for hate-fire high anger-flames.
It was yet too soon for swordswings to clash
not yet the day for dark throne-battle
a blood-minded son and his bride’s father.
Then an alien creature cold wanderer
could no longer endure from his dark exile
bright bench-laughter borne to the rafters
each night in that hall. The harp sounded
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the poet’s clear song. He sang what he knew
of man’s creation the Measurer’s work:
“He shaped the earth opened the heavens
rounded the land locked it in water
then set skyward the sun and the moon
lights to brighten the broad earthyard
beckoned the ground to bear gardens
of limbs and leaves—life He created
of every kind that quickens the earth.”
They lived brightly on the benches of Heorot
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caught up in laughter till a creature brought them
fear in the night an infernal hall-guest.
Grendel circled sounds of the harp
prowled the marshes moors and ice-streams
forests and fens. He found his home
with misshapen monsters in misery and greed.
The Shaper banished him unshriven away
with the kin of Cain killer of his blood.
The Measurer fashioned a fitting revenge
for the death of Abel drove his slayer
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far from mankind and far from His grace.
Cain sired evil cunning man-killers
banished from heartlove born in hatred
giants and fiends jealous man-eaters
long without penance. God paid them for that.
Then Grendel prowled, palled in darkness,
the sleep-warm hall to see how the Danes
after beer and feasting bedded down for rest.
He found inside slumbering warriors
unready for murder. Bereft of remorse
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from love exiled lost and graceless
he growled with envy glared above them
towering with rage. From their rest he snared
thirty hall-thanes loped howling away
gloating with corpses galloping the moors
back to his cavern for a cold banquet.
At dawning of day when darkness lifted
Grendel’s ravage rose with the sun.
The waking Danes wailed to the heavens
a great mourning-song. Their mighty ruler
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lord of a death-hall leaned on his grief
stooped in shadows stunned with thane-sorrow
bent to the tracks of his baneful houseguest
no signs of mercy. His mind was too dark
nightfall in his heart. There was no need to wait
when the sun swung low for he slaughtered again
murdered and feasted fled through dawnmist
damned to darkness doomed with a curse.
It was easy to find those who elsewhere slept
sought distant rest reached for night-cover
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found beds with others when the bad news came
the lifeless messages left by that caller
murderous hall-thane. Men still walking
kept from the shadows no shame in their hearts.
Now a lone rage-ruler reigned through the night
one against all till empty and still
stood the long meadhall. Too long it stood
twelve cold winters wound in despair—
the lord of the Danes dreamed of his lost ones
watched for a sign. Then it widely was known
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in dark Denmark that death lived with them
when weeping heartsongs wailed of Grendel
Hrothgar’s hall-monster hell’s banquet-guest—
lashed by hunger he longed for nightfall
with no pause or pity, poison in his heart.
No plans for payment passed through that mind
money or goldgifts remorse for slaughter—
no somber mourners sued for revenge
death-settlement from that demon’s hands.
He raged at them all envious hell-fiend
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in dark death-shadow doomed young and old
trapped and snared them trailed in nightshade
cloud-misted moors—no man can follow
where God’s enemies glide through the fog.
Dawn brought to them blood-signs of rage—
outcast from grace Grendel went prowling
the empty hall-benches. Heorot received him
in cold darkness damned to his rule.
Yet he never could greet the peaceful gift-throne
love and bounty life-joy and gold
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for the old betrayal outlawed him there.
It was long despair for the lord of the Danes
a breaking of mind. Many a counselor
gathered to whisper groped for messages
ways to escape those woeful night-visits.
Some made promises prayed to idols
swore to
honor them asked them for help
safety from murder. Such was their custom
the hope of heathens hell-thoughts in mind.
They ignored the Measurer Maker of heaven
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Shaper of glory shamed by terror
unable to praise or pray to the Father
wish for his guidance. Woe unto those
with ill in their hearts hopeless and doomed
forcing their souls to the fire’s welcome
praying to names that will never help them
praise without hope. Happier are they
who seek after deathday the Deemer of men
free their soul-bonds to the Father’s embrace.
With sinking heart the son of Healfdene
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endlessly waited wept for an answer
no hope for relief. Too long and merciless
slaughter and greed seemed to his people
narrow and endless nightbale and tears.
In the home of the Geats Hygelac’s thane
gathered the stories of Grendel’s torment
a good man and strong strongest of all
in that broad kingdom born for deliverance
shaped for that hour. He ordered a boat,
lithe wave-cutter, loudly proclaimed
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he would seek the Battle-Danes sail the wave-swells
hail their king there kindle their hearts.
Though they loved him life-seasoned elders
answered his courage urged him onwards
gazed at the weather wished for the sun.
With care this champion chose his spearmen
culled from the Geats their keenest fighters
good men and faithful. Fifteen in all
they sought their seacraft strode to the cliffs
followed their chief to the fallow waves.
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Fast by the headland their hard-keeled boat
waited for westering. Winding in swirls
the sea met the sand. They stored their weapons
bright shields gleaming spears and helmets
strong war-weapons. Shoved through the breakers
the stout-bound wood slid from the land.
They flew on the water fast by the wind blown
sail flecked with foam skimmed the waverolls
through day and darkness. Dawn grayed the sky
and the hour grew near when over the wave-tops
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the coiled bowsprit brought them a sign.
A rising of land reached towards the sun
shining seacliffs steep rock-pillars
stood before them. The sail grew limp
shallows lapped at them shore-sand received them.
The Weather-Geats waded walked their ship up
lashed it to land. Linked steel-corselets
clinked and glistened. They gave thanks then
to the God of them all for guiding them safely.
Watching above them the warden of the shores
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glimpsed from the cliff-top a glinting of armor
as they bore from their boat bright shields and spears
rich with war-weapons. He wrenched his thoughts
groped within his mind who these men might be.
He roused his horse then rode to the seashore—
Hrothgar’s cliff-guardian heaved up his spear
shook it to the sky shouted his challenge:
“Who might you be in your burnished mailcoats
strutting with weapons? Who steered this warboat
deep-running keel across the wave-swells
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here against this shore? I assure you now
I’ve held this guard-post hard against sailors
watched over Denmark down through the years
that no hateful shipband might harbor unfought.
Never have boatmen beached more openly
shield-bearing thanes unsure of your welcome
hoisting no signal to hail peace-tokens
friendship to the Danes. I doubt that I’ve challenged
a loftier shieldman than your leader there
hale in his war-gear—no hall-lounger that
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worthied with weapons—may his wit not belie
so handsome a swordman. I will hear quickly
first where you came from before you move on
you possible pirates pushing further
into Danish land. Now let me advise you
horseless sailors hear my counsel
my heartfelt words: Haste will be best
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