departed.
May you keep watch over my young warriors,
my comrades in arms, if in combat I perish.
Also, dear Hrothgar, send on to Hygelac
the trove of treasures that you gave to me.
Thus may the king of the Geats, the kin of Hrethel,
see in that gold, when he stares on the treasures,
that I met here a great munificent ruler,
a giver of gold rings, and took joy while I could.
And do let Unferth, that widely known warrior,
have the ancient heirloom, the wave-patterned sword,
with its sharp blade. Meanwhile with Hrunting,
I will seek glory, or death will sweep me away!”
After these words, the prince of the Weder-Geats
hastened away with courage, not waiting at all
for any reply. Roiling waters enveloped
the battle-brave man. Then some time passed
before he might make out the bottom of the mere. At once the one who was thirsting for war,
who ruled over these waters a hundred half-years,
grim and blood-greedy, saw that a man
sought from above this world of strange monsters.
She stretched out to attack him, seizing the hero
in horrible grasp, yet she did not do harm
to his sturdy body, for ringed-mail surrounded him,
so that she might not pierce through that protection,
between the locked rings, with her loathsome talons.
The sea-wolf wrestled this prince in ringed-armor,
bore him down to the bottom, to her own hall,
so he could not—though his courage was strong—
wield any weapons. There he was hard-pressed
by strange beasts in the water; many sea-monsters
tore at his mail-shirt with their savage tusks,
pursuing their prey Then the hero discovered
that he was inside some enemy hall
where he was not threatened by water at all,
nor might he be touched by sudden surgings of flood
because of the hall-roof. He saw light of a fire,
a brilliant gleaming, brightly shining.
The hero saw clearly the demon of the deep,
the mighty mere-woman. He repaid her fierce attack
with his battle-blade, not holding back his stroke,
so the ring-adorned sword sang out on her head
a war-song greedy for blood. Then the Geat found
that the battle-flasher had lost power to bite,
to slash away life, for the sword-edge failed
the prince in his need. Till now it prevailed
in hand-to-hand fighting, shearing through the helmet
and the mail of a fated man. This was the first time
the great treasure had failed to live up to its fame.
Then Hygelac’s kinsman thought only one thought:
not to give up his courage, be mindful of glory.
The angry warrior threw down the patterned weapon,
adorned with art, where it lay on the ground,
strong and steel-edged: he put trust in his strength,
the might of his hand-grip. Thus shall a man do
when he seeks to gain long-lived glory
in furious combat, not caring for his life.
Not flinching from the feud, the prince of the War-Geats
grasped hold of the shoulder of the mother of Grendel,
and bulging with rage, fighting hard in the battle,
he swung her around till she fell on the floor.
Right away after that she repaid his tactic
and crushed him against her in brutal embrace.
She wrestled to throw her spirit-weary foe,
the strongest of warriors, till he slipped and fell down.
She sat on her hall-guest and drew out her dagger,
broad and bright-edged, hoping to avenge her son,
her only offspring. Across his shoulders lay
the woven mail-shirt watching over his life,
guarding against both knife-point and blade.
Then the son of Ecgtheow, stout hero of the Geats,
would have journeyed to death, under wide earth,
except that the battle-shirt, the mail made for war,
provided protection—and the holy God
decreed which was the victor. For the wise lord,
the Ruler of Heaven, decided according to right,
so the hero of the Geats easily got to his feet.
—XXIII—
Then he saw among war-gear a victory-blessed sword,
an old blade made by giants with edges strong and sharp,
the glory of warriors. That was the greatest of weapons,
though its size was so large that no other man
might bear it out to the play of battle—
it was huge and heroic, the
May you keep watch over my young warriors,
my comrades in arms, if in combat I perish.
Also, dear Hrothgar, send on to Hygelac
the trove of treasures that you gave to me.
Thus may the king of the Geats, the kin of Hrethel,
see in that gold, when he stares on the treasures,
that I met here a great munificent ruler,
a giver of gold rings, and took joy while I could.
And do let Unferth, that widely known warrior,
have the ancient heirloom, the wave-patterned sword,
with its sharp blade. Meanwhile with Hrunting,
I will seek glory, or death will sweep me away!”
After these words, the prince of the Weder-Geats
hastened away with courage, not waiting at all
for any reply. Roiling waters enveloped
the battle-brave man. Then some time passed
before he might make out the bottom of the mere. At once the one who was thirsting for war,
who ruled over these waters a hundred half-years,
grim and blood-greedy, saw that a man
sought from above this world of strange monsters.
She stretched out to attack him, seizing the hero
in horrible grasp, yet she did not do harm
to his sturdy body, for ringed-mail surrounded him,
so that she might not pierce through that protection,
between the locked rings, with her loathsome talons.
The sea-wolf wrestled this prince in ringed-armor,
bore him down to the bottom, to her own hall,
so he could not—though his courage was strong—
wield any weapons. There he was hard-pressed
by strange beasts in the water; many sea-monsters
tore at his mail-shirt with their savage tusks,
pursuing their prey Then the hero discovered
that he was inside some enemy hall
where he was not threatened by water at all,
nor might he be touched by sudden surgings of flood
because of the hall-roof. He saw light of a fire,
a brilliant gleaming, brightly shining.
The hero saw clearly the demon of the deep,
the mighty mere-woman. He repaid her fierce attack
with his battle-blade, not holding back his stroke,
so the ring-adorned sword sang out on her head
a war-song greedy for blood. Then the Geat found
that the battle-flasher had lost power to bite,
to slash away life, for the sword-edge failed
the prince in his need. Till now it prevailed
in hand-to-hand fighting, shearing through the helmet
and the mail of a fated man. This was the first time
the great treasure had failed to live up to its fame.
Then Hygelac’s kinsman thought only one thought:
not to give up his courage, be mindful of glory.
The angry warrior threw down the patterned weapon,
adorned with art, where it lay on the ground,
strong and steel-edged: he put trust in his strength,
the might of his hand-grip. Thus shall a man do
when he seeks to gain long-lived glory
in furious combat, not caring for his life.
Not flinching from the feud, the prince of the War-Geats
grasped hold of the shoulder of the mother of Grendel,
and bulging with rage, fighting hard in the battle,
he swung her around till she fell on the floor.
Right away after that she repaid his tactic
and crushed him against her in brutal embrace.
She wrestled to throw her spirit-weary foe,
the strongest of warriors, till he slipped and fell down.
She sat on her hall-guest and drew out her dagger,
broad and bright-edged, hoping to avenge her son,
her only offspring. Across his shoulders lay
the woven mail-shirt watching over his life,
guarding against both knife-point and blade.
Then the son of Ecgtheow, stout hero of the Geats,
would have journeyed to death, under wide earth,
except that the battle-shirt, the mail made for war,
provided protection—and the holy God
decreed which was the victor. For the wise lord,
the Ruler of Heaven, decided according to right,
so the hero of the Geats easily got to his feet.
—XXIII—
Then he saw among war-gear a victory-blessed sword,
an old blade made by giants with edges strong and sharp,
the glory of warriors. That was the greatest of weapons,
though its size was so large that no other man
might bear it out to the play of battle—
it was huge and heroic, the
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