Beowulf
III. Grendel’s Visits
At night came Grendel to the Heorot, Hothgar’s great mead-hall, and attacked the sleeping heroes. He carried off thirty of them and devoured them. In the morning twilight, Grendel’s deed became known, and a cry of agony rose up in Heorot. The monster returned again the following night. For twelve long winters this sorrow continued, and King Hrothgar was plunged in grief; and for twelve long years did his beautiful mead-hall, destined for joyful things, stand idle. The king and his counsel deliberated in vain and called upon their gods for help (the true God they did not know).
The passage below tells of Grendel’s depredations and Hrothgar’s despair.
Beowulf
Anonymous
III. Grendel’s Visits
Gewât þâ neósian, syððan niht becom,
heán hûses, hû hit Hring-Dene
äfter beór-þege gebûn häfdon.
Fand þâ þær inne äðelinga gedriht
swefan äfter symble; sorge ne cûðon,
won-sceaft wera. Wiht unhælo
grim and grædig gearo sôna wäs,
reóc and rêðe, and on räste genam
þritig þegna: þanon eft gewât
hûðe hrêmig tô hâm faran,
mid þære wäl-fylle wîca neósan.
Þâ wäs on uhtan mid ær-däge
Grendles gûð-cräft gumum undyrne:
þâ wäs äfter wiste wôp up âhafen,
micel morgen-swêg. Mære þeóden,
äðeling ær-gôd, unblîðe sät,
þolode þrýð-swýð, þegn-sorge dreáh,
syððan hie þäs lâðan lâst sceáwedon,
wergan gâstes; wäs þät gewin tô strang,
lâð and longsum. Näs hit lengra fyrst,
ac ymb âne niht eft gefremede
morð-beala mâre and nô mearn fore
fæhðe and fyrene; wäs tô fäst on þâm.
Þâ wäs eáð-fynde, þe him elles hwær
gerûmlîcor räste sôhte,
bed äfter bûrum, þâ him gebeácnod wäs,
gesägd sôðlîce sweotolan tâcne
heal-þegnes hete; heóld hine syððan
fyr and fästor, se þäm feónde ätwand.
Swâ rîxode and wið rihte wan
âna wið eallum, ôð þät îdel stôd
hûsa sêlest. Wäs seó hwîl micel:
twelf wintra tîd torn geþolode
wine Scyldinga, weána gehwelcne,
sîdra sorga; forþam syððan wearð
ylda bearnum undyrne cûð,
gyddum geômore, þätte Grendel wan,
hwîle wið Hrôðgâr;— hete-nîðas wäg,
fyrene and fæhðe fela missera,
singale säce, sibbe ne wolde
wið manna hwone mägenes Deniga
feorh-bealo feorran, feó þingian,
ne þær nænig witena wênan þorfte
beorhtre bôte tô banan folmum;
atol äglæca êhtende wäs,
deorc deáð-scûa duguðe and geogoðe
seomade and syrede. Sin-nihte heóld
mistige môras; men ne cunnon,
hwyder hel-rûnan hwyrftum scrîðað.
Swâ fela fyrena feónd man-cynnes,
atol ân-gengea, oft gefremede
heardra hýnða; Heorot eardode,
sinc-fâge sel sweartum nihtum
(nô he þone gif-stôl grêtan môste,
mâððum for metode, ne his myne wisse);
þät wäs wræc micel wine Scyldinga,
môdes brecða. Monig-oft gesät
rîce tô rûne; ræd eahtedon,
hwät swîð-ferhðum sêlest wære
wið fær-gryrum tô gefremmanne.
Hwîlum hie gehêton ät härg-trafum
wig-weorðunga, wordum bædon,
þät him gâst-bona geóce gefremede
wið þeód-þreáum. Swylc wäs þeáw hyra,
hæðenra hyht; helle gemundon
in môd-sefan, metod hie ne cûðon,
dæda dêmend, ne wiston hie drihten god,
ne hie hûru heofena helm hêrian ne cûðon,
wuldres waldend. Wâ bið þäm þe sceal
þurh slîðne nîð sâwle bescûfan
in fýres fäðm, frôfre ne wênan,
wihte gewendan; wel bið þäm þe môt
äfter deáð-däge drihten sêcean
and tô fäder fäðmum freoðo wilnian
Translation
III. GRENDEL’s VISITS
III.
Translation: Francis B. Gummere (1910)
Went he forth to find at fall of night that haughty house, and heed 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,
laden with slaughter, his lair to seek.
Then at the dawning, as day was breaking,
the might of Grendel to men was known;
then after wassail was wail uplifted, loud moan in the morn. The mighty chief,
atheling excellent, unblithe sat,
labored in woe 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 loathsome. Not late the respite;
with night returning, anew began ruthless murder; he recked no whit,
firm in his guilt, of the feud and crime.
They were easy to find who elsewhere sought
in room remote their rest at night,
bed in the bowers, when that bale was shown, was seen in sooth, with surest token,
the hall-thane's 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 bode so.
Twelve years' tide the trouble he bore, sovran of Scyldings, sorrows in plenty, boundless cares. There came unhidden
tidings true to the tribes of men,
in sorrowful songs, how ceaselessly Grendel
harassed Hrothgar, what hate he bore him,
what murder and massacre, many a year,
feud unfading, -- refused consent
to deal with any of Daneland's earls,
make pact 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 ambushed old and young
death-shadow dark, and dogged them still,
lured, or lurked in the livelong night
of misty moorlands: men may say not where the haunts of these Hell-Runes be.
Such heaping of horrors the hater of men,
lonely roamer, wrought unceasing,
harassings heavy. O'er Heorot he lorded,
gold-bright hall, in gloomy nights;
and ne'er could the prince approach his throne,
-- 'twas judgment of God, -- or have joy in his hall.
Sore was the sorrow to Scyldings'-friend,
heart-rending misery. Many nobles
sat assembled, and searched out counsel
how it were best for bold-hearted men
against harassing terror to try their hand.
Whiles they vowed in their heathen fanes
altar-offerings, asked with words that the slayer-of-souls would succor give them
for the pain of their people. Their practice this,
their heathen hope; 'twas Hell they thought of
in mood of their mind. Almighty they knew not,
Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord,
nor Heaven's-Helmet heeded they ever,
Wielder-of-Wonder. -- Woe for that man
who in harm and hatred hales his soul
to fiery 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!
III.
Translation: JL Hall
(1892)
When the sun was sunken, he set out to visit
The lofty hall-building, how the Ring-Danes had used it
For beds and benches when the banquet was over.
Then he found there reposing many a noble
Asleep after supper; sorrow the heroes,
Misery knew not. The monster of evil
Greedy and cruel tarried but little,
Fell and frantic, and forced from their slumbers
Thirty of thanemen; thence he departed
Leaping and laughing, his lair to return to,
With surfeit of slaughter sallying homeward.
In the dusk of the dawning, as the day was just breaking,
Was Grendel’s prowess revealed to the warriors:
Then, his meal-taking finished, a moan was uplifted,
Morning-cry mighty. The man-ruler famous,
The long-worthy atheling, sat very woful,
Suffered great sorrow, sighed for his liegemen,
When they had seen the track of the hateful pursuer,
The spirit accursèd: too crushing that sorrow,
Too loathsome and lasting. Not longer he tarried,
But one night after continued his slaughter
Shameless and shocking, shrinking but little
From malice and murder; they mastered him fully.
He was easy to find then who otherwhere looked for
A pleasanter place of repose in the lodges,
A bed in the bowers. Then was brought to his notice
Told him truly by token apparent
The hall-thane’s hatred: he held himself after
Further and faster who the foeman did baffle.
So ruled he and strongly strove against justice
Lone against all men, till empty uptowered
The choicest of houses. Long was the season:
Twelve-winters’ time torture suffered
The friend of the Scyldings, every affliction,
Endless agony; hence it after became
Certainly known to the children of men
Sadly in measures, that long against Hrothgar
Grendel struggled:—his grudges he cherished,
Murderous malice, many a winter,
Strife unremitting, and peacefully wished he
Life-woe to lift from no liegeman at all of
The men of the Dane-folk, for money to settle,
No counsellor needed count for a moment
On handsome amends at the hands of the murderer;
The monster of evil fiercely did harass,
The ill-planning death-shade, both elder and younger,
Trapping and tricking them. He trod every night then
The mist-covered moor-fens; men do not know where
Witches and wizards wander and ramble.
So the foe of mankind many of evils
Grievous injuries, often accomplished,
Horrible hermit; Heort he frequented,
Gem-bedecked palace, when night-shades had fallen
(Since God did oppose him, not the throne could he touch,
The light-flashing jewel, love of Him knew not).
’Twas a fearful affliction to the friend of the Scyldings
Soul-crushing sorrow. Not seldom in private
Sat the king in his council; conference held they
What the braves should determine ’gainst terrors unlooked for.
At the shrines of their idols often they promised
Gifts and offerings, earnestly prayed they
The devil from hell would help them to lighten
Their people’s oppression. Such practice they used then,
Hope of the heathen; hell they remembered
In innermost spirit, God they knew not,
Judge of their actions, All-wielding Ruler,
No praise could they give the Guardian of Heaven,
The Wielder of Glory. Woe will be his who
Through furious hatred his spirit shall drive to
The clutch of the fire, no comfort shall look for,
Wax no wiser; well for the man who,
Living his life-days, his Lord may face
And find defence in his Father’s embrace!
The original Old English passage is taken from Beowulf (1883), as edited by James Harrison and Robert Sharp. This work is in the public domain.
The translations, by Francis Gummere (1910) and JL Hall (1892), are also in the public domain.
