Hrothgar’s horse was saddled and bridled,
a steed with braided mane. The wise king went forth,
fully equipped, with his war-band marching on foot,
shouldering their shields. The tracks of the enemy
were clear to see along paths through the woods,
going over the ground, heading straight toward
the murky moor, where the mother of Grendel
bore the lifeless corpse of the best of chieftains
who ruled with Hrothgar over their homeland.
The noble band of warriors picked their way
over steep stone-slopes, up a narrow path,
going one-by-one on the unknown way,
by high headlands—home to many monsters.
Hrothgar rode ahead with a few advisors,
from among his wise men, to scout the area,
when he abruptly encountered great mountain-trees,
leaning out over masses of old gray stone,
a wood without joy, overhanging the water
stirred up with blood. Then all the Danes suffered,
their spirits in pain, as grief pierced the nobles,
these friends of the Scyldings, for many a thane
felt comrade-loss when they came upon
the head of Aeschere on the cliff by the mere.
Brave warriors looked on waters roiling with blood,
seething with gore. Time and again, the horn sounded
a song eager for battle, as the war-band rested.
They saw in the water a great swarming of serpents,
strange sea-beasts roaming around the mere,
and water-monsters sprawled on the slopes of the cliffs,
which often in mid-morning set out to hunt prey,
bringing sorrow to many along the sail-road,
these dragons and beasts. They slid from the banks,
bulging with bitter hate, when they heard the call
of the war-horn for battle. A Geatish warrior cut off
the life,
the warring in waves, of one such monster
with a bow-shot arrow, so that the strong shaft
sank into its heart. Then was it slower in swimming
through seas, as it was seized in the grip of death.
That wondrous wave-roamer was quickly grappled,
with ferocious force, right there in those waters,
by spears tipped with cruel barbs for attacking boars
and dragged onto shore. There men looked on
that horrible strange beast. Then Beowulf put on
his armor for battle, without fear for his life.
His coat of mail, with hard links forged by hand,
broad and well-fashioned, was sufficiently strong
to safeguard his life while searching the waters,
so no battle-clashing might injure his breast,
nor furious foe’s grasp might rob him of life.
And a gleaming helmet guarded his head,
for whatever he met at the bottom of the mere,
plunging in surging waters wearing that treasure
with splendid bands encircled, as a smith in old times
had fashioned weapons for war, adorned with wonders,
the likenesses of boars, so that no sword or battle-blade
might ever bite through to bring harm to the hero.
Then to aid him in his time of need, Hrothgar’s
hall-speaker
did not lend the Geat the least powerful of weapons—
a great hilted sword by the name of Hrunting,
which was one of the foremost of ancient treasures,
a blade of iron etched with adders entwined,
made strong by battle-blood. Never had it failed
any man
whose hands had wielded it in the heat of battle,
daring to go forth on a venture fraught with terrors
in the homeland of foes. Nor was it the first time
the sword was called on to perform deeds of courage.
It seems that strong Unferth, the son of Ecglaf,
did not bear in mind the taunts he had spoken before,
drunken with wine, when he lent this great weapon
to the better sword-warrior. He would not himself dare
to take a chance with his life under the war of the waves,
doing deeds of bravery. Thus he lost lasting fame,
his reputation for boldness. That was not so for Beowulf,
as he armed himself with war-gear for battle.
—XXII —
Then Beowulf spoke, the son of Ecgtheow:
“Consider now, famous kinsman of Healfdene,
wise prince, and gold-giving friend to the people,
I am eager for this exploit that we two spoke of—
if in relieving your need I should lose my life,
I ask you ever after to assume the place
of devoted father when I have
a steed with braided mane. The wise king went forth,
fully equipped, with his war-band marching on foot,
shouldering their shields. The tracks of the enemy
were clear to see along paths through the woods,
going over the ground, heading straight toward
the murky moor, where the mother of Grendel
bore the lifeless corpse of the best of chieftains
who ruled with Hrothgar over their homeland.
The noble band of warriors picked their way
over steep stone-slopes, up a narrow path,
going one-by-one on the unknown way,
by high headlands—home to many monsters.
Hrothgar rode ahead with a few advisors,
from among his wise men, to scout the area,
when he abruptly encountered great mountain-trees,
leaning out over masses of old gray stone,
a wood without joy, overhanging the water
stirred up with blood. Then all the Danes suffered,
their spirits in pain, as grief pierced the nobles,
these friends of the Scyldings, for many a thane
felt comrade-loss when they came upon
the head of Aeschere on the cliff by the mere.
Brave warriors looked on waters roiling with blood,
seething with gore. Time and again, the horn sounded
a song eager for battle, as the war-band rested.
They saw in the water a great swarming of serpents,
strange sea-beasts roaming around the mere,
and water-monsters sprawled on the slopes of the cliffs,
which often in mid-morning set out to hunt prey,
bringing sorrow to many along the sail-road,
these dragons and beasts. They slid from the banks,
bulging with bitter hate, when they heard the call
of the war-horn for battle. A Geatish warrior cut off
the life,
the warring in waves, of one such monster
with a bow-shot arrow, so that the strong shaft
sank into its heart. Then was it slower in swimming
through seas, as it was seized in the grip of death.
That wondrous wave-roamer was quickly grappled,
with ferocious force, right there in those waters,
by spears tipped with cruel barbs for attacking boars
and dragged onto shore. There men looked on
that horrible strange beast. Then Beowulf put on
his armor for battle, without fear for his life.
His coat of mail, with hard links forged by hand,
broad and well-fashioned, was sufficiently strong
to safeguard his life while searching the waters,
so no battle-clashing might injure his breast,
nor furious foe’s grasp might rob him of life.
And a gleaming helmet guarded his head,
for whatever he met at the bottom of the mere,
plunging in surging waters wearing that treasure
with splendid bands encircled, as a smith in old times
had fashioned weapons for war, adorned with wonders,
the likenesses of boars, so that no sword or battle-blade
might ever bite through to bring harm to the hero.
Then to aid him in his time of need, Hrothgar’s
hall-speaker
did not lend the Geat the least powerful of weapons—
a great hilted sword by the name of Hrunting,
which was one of the foremost of ancient treasures,
a blade of iron etched with adders entwined,
made strong by battle-blood. Never had it failed
any man
whose hands had wielded it in the heat of battle,
daring to go forth on a venture fraught with terrors
in the homeland of foes. Nor was it the first time
the sword was called on to perform deeds of courage.
It seems that strong Unferth, the son of Ecglaf,
did not bear in mind the taunts he had spoken before,
drunken with wine, when he lent this great weapon
to the better sword-warrior. He would not himself dare
to take a chance with his life under the war of the waves,
doing deeds of bravery. Thus he lost lasting fame,
his reputation for boldness. That was not so for Beowulf,
as he armed himself with war-gear for battle.
—XXII —
Then Beowulf spoke, the son of Ecgtheow:
“Consider now, famous kinsman of Healfdene,
wise prince, and gold-giving friend to the people,
I am eager for this exploit that we two spoke of—
if in relieving your need I should lose my life,
I ask you ever after to assume the place
of devoted father when I have
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