that it gripped her neck and grasped her hard,
her bone-rings breaking: the blade pierced through
that fated-one’s flesh: to floor she sank.
Bloody the blade: he was blithe of his deed.
1570Then blazed forth light. ’Twas bright within
as when from the sky there shines unclouded
heaven’s candle. The hall he scanned.
By the wall then went he; his weapon raised
high by its hilts the Hygelac-thane,
1575angry and eager. That edge was not useless
to the warrior now. He wished with speed
Grendel to guerdon for grim raids many,
for the war he waged on Western-Danes
oftener far than an only time,[1]
1580when of Hrothgar’s hearth-companions
he slew in slumber, in sleep devoured,
fifteen men of the folk of Danes,
and as many others outward bore,
his horrible prey. Well paid for that
1585the wrathful prince! For now prone he saw
Grendel stretched there, spent with war,
spoiled of life, so scathed had left him
Heorot’s battle. The body sprang far
when after death it endured the blow,
1590sword-stroke savage, that severed its head.
- ↑ This belittling variation of the “many raids” just mentioned, the solemnity of the favorite litotes, give an enfeebled air to modern English. The ancient English had other views of poetical style than ours.—The long parenthesis, too, while Beowulf’s sword is uplifted over the dead Grendel, is not to present taste.—The cutting off of the head, as Gering suggests, is to prevent Grendel from visiting his old haunts as a ghost and stirring up new troubles. He could not be harmed by ordinary swords, as all were conjured; but this old giant blade of the monsters has no spell laid on it.
