Grendel'S Raid
Þâ com of môre under mist-hleoðumGrendel gongan, godes yrre bär.Mynte se mân-scaða manna cynnessumne besyrwan in sele þam heán;wôd under wolcnum, tô þäs þe he wîn-reced,gold-sele gumena, gearwost wissefättum fâhne. Ne wäs þät forma sîð,þät he Hrôðgâres hâm gesôhte:næfre he on aldor-dagum ær ne siððanheardran häle, heal-þegnas fand!Com þâ tô recede rinc sîðiandreámum bedæled. Duru sôna onarnfýr-bendum fäst, syððan he hire folmum hrân;onbräd þâ bealo-hydig, þâ he âbolgen wäs,
Out of the moor, under the misty hills,Grendel came walking, carrying God’s fury with him.The monster meant to trap one moreof mankind in that high hall.He moved beneath the clouds until he knew wellwhere the wine-hall, the gold-hall of men,stood gleaming with plated gold.This was not the first time he had come looking for Hrothgar’s home —but never before or after in all his daysdid he find harder luck, tougher hall-guards.The warrior came marching to the building,a man cut off from joy. The door burst open at once,fast in its fire-forged bands, the moment his hands touched it;he wrenched wide the hall’s mouth, sick with malice,
recedes mûðan. Raðe äfter þonon fâgne flôr feónd treddode,eode yrre-môd; him of eágum stôdlîge gelîcost leóht unfäger.Geseah he in recede rinca manige,swefan sibbe-gedriht samod ätgädere,mago-rinca heáp: þâ his môd âhlôg,mynte þät he gedælde, ær þon däg cwôme,atol aglæca, ânra gehwylceslîf wið lîce, þâ him âlumpen wäswist-fylle wên. Ne wäs þät wyrd þâ gen,þät he mâ môste manna cynnesþicgean ofer þâ niht. Þrýð-swýð beheóldmæg Higelâces, hû se mân-scaða
raging as he was. Quickly after thatthe fiend trod the shining floor,stalking in fury; from his eyes camea light most like flame, an ugly glow.He saw in the hall a crowd of warriors,a kinship of sleepers lying together,a heap of young men — and his heart laughed,for he meant, before day came,that horror, to tear apartlife from body, every one of them,since he expected a full feast.But it was not fate, not yet,that he would take any more menthat night. Mighty in strength, the kinsman of Hygelac
under fær-gripum gefaran wolde.Ne þät se aglæca yldan þôhte,ac he gefêng hraðe forman siðeslæpendne rinc, slât unwearnum,bât bân-locan, blôd êdrum dranc,syn-snædum swealh: sôna häfdeunlyfigendes eal gefeormodfêt and folma. Forð neár ätstôp,nam þâ mid handa hige-þihtignerinc on räste; ræhte ongeánfeónd mid folme, he onfêng hraðeinwit-þancum and wið earm gesät.Sôna þät onfunde fyrena hyrde,þät he ne mêtte middan-geardes
watched closely to see how the monsterwould move in his sudden onslaughts.The fiend had no mind to wait;he seized without warning, on his first pass,a sleeping soldier, tore into him savagely,bit through the bone-locks, drank the blood as it ran,swallowed him down in great gulps; soon he had eatenentirely the feet and hands of the dead man.He stepped in closer, took with his handthe strong-hearted warrior where he lay resting;reached for him with his claw — the fiend caught itquickly, with hostile intent, and sat up against the arm.At once the shepherd of crimes discoveredthat he had never met, in all the regions of this world,
eorðan sceáta on elran menmund-gripe mâran: he on môde wearðforht on ferhðe, nô þý ær fram meahte;hyge wäs him hin-fûs, wolde on heolster fleón,sêcan deófla gedräg: ne wäs his drohtoð þær,swylce he on ealder-dagum ær gemêtte.Gemunde þâ se gôda mæg Higelâcesæfen-spræce, up-lang âstôdand him fäste wiðfêng. Fingras burston;eoten wäs ût-weard, eorl furður stôp.Mynte se mæra, þær he meahte swâ,wîdre gewindan and on weg þanonfleón on fen-hopu; wiste his fingra geweald
in any other man on earth,a mightier grip of hand:he grew afraid in his heart,could not break free any sooner; his spirit was set on flight,he wanted to bolt for the shadows, seek out the company of devils —his time there was nothing like what he had met with before in his life.Then Hygelac’s good kinsman rememberedhis boast from the evening before, stood bolt uprightand held him fast. Fingers cracked;the giant strained outward, the earl stepped in further.The famous one meant, if he only could,to break loose wider and get away from there,flee to the fen-refuges; he knew the strength of his fingerswas caught in an angry man’s grip.
on grames grâpum. Þät wäs geócor sîð,þät se hearm-scaða tô Heorute âteáh:dryht-sele dynede, Denum eallum wearð,ceaster-bûendum, cênra gehwylcum,eorlum ealu-scerwen. Yrre wæron begen,rêðe rên-weardas. Reced hlynsode;þâ wäs wundor micel, þät se wîn-selewiðhäfde heaðo-deórum, þät he on hrusan ne feól,fäger fold-bold; ac he þäs fäste wäsinnan and ûtan îren-bendumsearo-þoncum besmiðod. Þær fram sylle âbeágmedu-benc monig mîne gefræge,golde geregnad, þær þâ graman wunnon;
That was a bitter journey the harm-doer had made to Heorot:the hall thundered, and every Dane,every man in that stronghold, every brave one,felt an ale-hall terror. Both fighters were furious,the fierce guardians of that hall. The building roared;it was a great wonder that the wine-hallwithstood two men so battle-hardened, that it did not collapse to earth,that fair building — but it had been made so fast,bound inside and out with iron bandsby cunning smith-craft. There, from the floor,many a mead-bench was wrenched loose, so I have heard,gold-adorned, where the furious ones grappled;the wise men of the Scyldings had never expected
þäs ne wêndon ær witan Scyldinga,þät hit â mid gemete manna ænigbetlîc and bân-fâg tôbrecan meahte,listum tôlûcan, nymðe lîges fäðmswulge on swaðule. Swêg up âstâgniwe geneahhe; Norð-Denum stôdatelîc egesa ânra gehwylcumþâra þe of wealle wôp gehýrdon,gryre-leóð galan godes andsacan,sige-leásne sang, sâr wânigeanhelle häftan. Heóld hine tô fästese þe manna wäs mägene strengeston þäm däge þysses lîfes.
that any man alive could everbreak it apart by main strength,that splendid, antler-bright hall, take it apart by cunning,unless the grip of fire should swallow it in flame.A sound rose up, strange and constant; a terrible dread seizedevery one of the North-Daneswho heard, from outside the wall, the weeping,the terror-song sung by God’s enemy,the victory-less song, the sore lamentof hell’s own captive. He held him too fast,that man who was, of all men living,the strongest in the grip of his handin that day of this life.