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13 CHAPTER II The Scop chants what it was that Grendel did. Grendel visited Heorot as the retainers slept, and seized thirty of them and made off; and there great woe and terror at Heorot and in the Burg (town) of Danishmen. And for twelve years Grendel continued his visits, and Hrothgar and his councillors were at whether he always was lucky enough to make off with thirty, as on the first night; but we believe there must have been many, Danishmen to have kept Grendel busy so long at Heorot, and it seems strange that their combined strength,- they were men, too, with such goodly spears and swords,- was not equal to slaying Cannibal Grendel. But so it was. Perhaps he bore a charmed life, and could be conquered only by Some One against whom the charm was powerless. Who might that Some One be? Then fared he forth, did Grendel, to seek at dead of night The high house, how the Ring-Danes, after their beer, were dight. The aethelings he found there, aslumber after mirth; Naught they knew of sorrow, naught of human dearth. The Creature of damnation, the grim, the greedy One, The fierce One in his fury, was ready there anon; And, where they rested, reft he thirty, thane by thane, And thence went faring homeward, of his plunder fain, With his fill of slaughter, to seek his lairs again. In the dawning, at the daybreak, arose of men the wail, A mickle morning-uproar, after their yester-ale, When Grendel’s strength in battle to sons of men was plain. Blitheless sate the high Prince, the Aetheling so good; That strong Heart stricken sate, o’er lost thanes abrood, What time the court set eyes on the curse’d Monster’s trail, Too strong that strife for Danefolk, too long the bane and bale. Eftsoons, but one night after, was he at work once more, With more of loathly slaughter, nor mourned a whit therefor, A whit for feud and foul deed-in sin was he so bound! Then might ye mark full many who somewhat further found Resting-places elsewhere,- in outer bowers their bed, When, by so clear a token, to them was soothly said The hate of this new Hall- Thane. More far, more tight, all such Did keep themselves thereafter who ‘scaped that devil’s clutch! So ruled he and so ravaged, in wrong the one ‘gainst all, Till idle stood and empty that excelling hall. Mickle long the while was: twelve winters’ tide Hrothgar dreed disaster, woes with never end, Sorrows unbounded, he, the Scyldings’ Friend. |