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Battle With Grendel

Out from the marsh, from the foot of misty

Hills and bogs, bearing God's hatred,

Grendel came, hoping to kill

Anyone he could trap on this trip to high Herot.

He moved quickly through the cloudy night,

Up from his swampland, sliding silently

Toward that gold-shining hall. He had visited Hrothgar's

Home before, knew the way

But never, before nor after that night,

Found Herot defended so firmly, his reception

So harsh. He journeyed, forever joyless,

Straight to the door, then snapped it open,

Tore its iron fasteners with a touch

And rushed angrily over the threshold.

He strode quickly across the inlaid

Floor, snarling and fierce: his eyes

Gleamed in the darkness, burned with a gruesome

Light. Then he stopped, seeing the hall

Crowded with sleeping warriors, stuffed

With rows of young soldiers resting together.

And his heart laughed, he relished the sight,

Intended to tear the life from those bodies

By morning; the monster's mind was hot

With the thought of food and the feasting his belly

Would soon know. But fate, that night, intended

Grendel to gnaw the broken bones

Of his last human supper. Human

Eyes were watching his evil steps,

Waiting to see his swift hard claws.

Grendel snatched at the first Geat

He came to, ripped him apart, cut

His body to bits with powerful jaws,

Drank the blood from his veins and bolted

Him down, hands and feet; death

And Grendel's great teeth came together,

Snapping life shut. Then he stepped to another

Still body, clutched at Beowulf with his claws,

Grasped at a strong-hearted wakeful sleeper —

And was instantly seized himself, claws

Bent back as Beowulf leaned up on one arm.

That shepherd of evil, guardian of crime,

Knew at once that nowhere on earth

Had he met a man whose hands were harder;

His mind was flooded with fear—but nothing

Could take his talons and himself from that tight

Hard grip. Grendel's one thought was to run

From Beowulf, flee back to his marsh and hide there:

This was a different Herot than the hall he had emptied.

But Higlac's follower remembered his final

Boast and, standing erect, stopped

The monster's flight, fastened those claws

In his fists till they cracked, clutched Grendel

Closer. The infamous killer fought

For his freedom, wanting no flesh but retreat,

Desiring nothing but escape; his claws

Had been caught, he was trapped. That trip to Herot

Was a miserable journey for the writhing monster!

The high hall rang, its roof boards swayed,

And Danes shook with terror. Down

The aisles the battle swept, angry

And wild. Herot trembled, wonderfully

Built to withstand the blows, the struggling

Great bodies beating at its beautiful walls;

Shaped and fastened with iron, inside

And out, artfully worked, the building

Stood firm. Its benches rattled, fell

To the floor, gold-covered boards grating

As Grendel and Beowulf battled across them.

Hrothgar's wise men had fashioned Herot

To stand forever; only fire,

They had planned, could shatter what such skill had put

Together, swallow in hot flames such splendor

Of ivory and iron and wood. Suddenly

The sounds changed, the Danes started

In new terror, cowering in their beds as the terrible

Screams of the Almighty's enemy sang

In the darkness, the horrible shrieks of pain

And defeat, the tears torn out of Grendel's

Taut throat, hell's captive caught in the arms

Of him who of all the men on earth

Was the strongest.

That mighty protector of men

Meant to hold the monster till its life

Leaped out, knowing the fiend was no use

To anyone in Denmark. All of Beowulf's

Band had jumped from their beds, ancestral

Swords raised and ready, determined

To protect their prince if they could. Their courage

Was great but all wasted: they could hack at Grendel

From every side, trying to open

A path for his evil soul, but their points

Could not hurt him, the sharpest and hardest iron

Could not scratch at his skin, for that sin-stained demon

Had bewitched all men's weapons, laid spells

That blunted every mortal man's blade.

And yet his time had come, his days

Were over, his death near; down

To hell he would go, swept groaning and helpless

To the waiting hands of still worse fiends.

Now he discovered—once the afflictor

Of men, tormentor of their days—what it meant

To feud with Almighty God: Grendel

Saw that his strength was deserting him, his claws

Bound fast, Higlac's brave follower tearing at

His hands. The monster's hatred rose higher,

But his power had gone. He twisted in pain,

And the bleeding sinews deep in his shoulder

Snapped, muscle and bone split

And broke. The battle was over, Beowulf

Had been granted new glory: Grendel escaped,

But wounded as he was could flee to his den,

His miserable hole at the bottom of, the marsh,

Only to die, to wait for the end

Of all his days. And after that bloody

Combat the Danes laughed with delight.

He who had come to them from across the sea,

Bold and strong-minded, had driven affliction

Off, purged Herot clean. He was happy,

Now, with that night's fierce work; the Danes

Had been served as he'd boasted he'd serve them; Beowulf,

A prince of the Geats, had killed Grendel,

Ended the grief, the sorrow, the suffering

Forced on Hrothgar's helpless people

By a bloodthirsty fiend. No Dane doubted

The victory, for the proof, hanging high

From the rafters where Beowulf had hung it, was the monster's

Arm, claw and shoulder and all.