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Then came Grendel, stalking from the moors among the misty hill-slopes, and he bore God’s anger. And the wicked scather of human kind fully intended to ensnare a certain one in the high hall. So he wended his way under the welkin to where he knew that the best of wine-halls, the gold-hall of man, was adorned with gold plating. Nor was that the first time that he sought out the home of Hrothgar. Nor ever in former or later days did he find a harder welcome from hall-thanes. Then the creature bereft of all joy came to the great hall, and the door, strongly bound with fire-bands, soon sprang open at his touch. And the evil-minded one in his fury burst open the door of the palace. And soon after this the enemy, angry in mind, was treading o’er the doomèd floor. And a fearsome light streamed forth from his eyes likest to a flame. And he could see many a warrior in that palace, a troop of peace-lovers asleep together, a company of kinsmen, and he laughed aloud. Then the terrible monster fully intended to cut off from life every one of them there, when he was expecting abundance of meat. But that fate was not yet, that he should lay hold of any more of human kind after that night.

Then Grendel came stalking from the moors among the misty hills, bearing God’s anger. The wicked destroyer of humankind fully intended to trap someone in the great hall. So he traveled beneath the sky toward the finest of drinking halls, whose gold-covered walls he knew well. He had visited Hrothgar’s home before. But never, before or since, did he meet fiercer resistance from the hall’s warriors. Then the joyless creature reached the great hall. The door, firmly reinforced with iron bands, sprang open at his touch. In his fury, the evil creature burst open the palace door. Soon the angry enemy was walking across the doomed floor. A terrifying light shone from his eyes, like a flame. He saw many warriors in the palace, a band of peace-loving kinsmen sleeping together, and he laughed aloud. The terrible monster fully intended to kill every one of them, expecting a feast of flesh. But fate would not allow him to seize any more human beings after that night.

Then did Beowulf, kinsman of Hygelac, see the dire distress, how the wicked scather would fare with sudden grip. Nor did the monster think to delay, but at the first he quickly laid hold of a sleeping warrior, and tore him to pieces all unawares, and bit at the flesh and drank the streaming blood, and devoured huge pieces of flesh. And soon he had eaten up both feet and hands of the man he had killed. Then he stepped up to the great-hearted warrior¹⁶ where he lay on the bed, and took him in his hands. He reached out his hand against the enemy, and quickly received him with hostile intent, and sat upon his arm. The Keeper of crimes soon was finding that he never had met in all the quarters of the earth amongst other men a greater hand-grip. And in mind and heart he was fearful, and eager to be gone and to flee away into darkness to seek the troop of devils. But that was not his fate, as it had been in days of yore. Then the good kinsman of Hygelac remembered the evening talk, and stood upright and laid hold upon him. His fingers burst. The giant was going forth, but the earl stepped after. The famous one intended to escape more widely, howsoever he might, and to flee on his way thence to the sloping hollows of the fens. That journey was sorrowful, which the harmful scather took to Hart. The lordly hall resounded. And great terror there was to all the Danes, the castle-dwellers, to each of the brave. And both the mighty guardians were fiercely angry. The hall resounded. Then was it great wonder that the wine-hall withstood the bold fighters, and that it fell not to the earth, that fair earth-dwelling. But very firm it was standing, cunningly shaped by craft of the smith, within and without. Then on the floor was many a mead-bench, as I have heard tell, decked out with gold, where the fierce ones were striving. Nor did the wise Danes formerly suppose that any man could break down a hall so noble and decorated with antlers, or cunningly destroy it, unless the bosom of flame swallowed it up in smoke. The roaring went up now enough. And an awful terror came to the North Danes, to each one of those who heard weeping from the ramparts, the enemy of God singing a fierce song, a song that was empty of victory, and the captive of hell lamenting his sorrow. For he that was strongest of men in strength held him fast on the day of his life.

Then Beowulf, kinsman of Hygelac, saw the terrible danger and how the wicked ravager would attack with a sudden grip. The monster did not think of delaying. He quickly seized a sleeping warrior, tore him apart before he knew what was happening, and bit into his flesh. He drank the streaming blood and devoured great chunks of flesh. Soon he had eaten both the hands and feet of the man he had killed. Then he approached the great-hearted warrior¹⁶ lying on the bed and seized him. Beowulf reached out against his enemy, quickly met his attack, and sat up on his arm. The master of crimes soon found that he had never met a man anywhere on earth with a stronger grip. Fear filled his mind and heart. He longed to escape into the darkness and seek the company of devils. But escape was not to be his fate, as it had been in days gone by. Then Hygelac’s brave kinsman remembered the evening’s words, stood upright, and seized the monster. His fingers burst. The giant tried to move away, but the warrior followed. The famed monster meant to escape farther, however he could, and flee to the sloping hollows of the fens. The journey the deadly ravager had made to Hart brought him sorrow. The great hall echoed. Terror seized all the Danes who lived in the stronghold, every brave man among them. Both mighty fighters raged fiercely. The hall resounded. It was a great wonder that the wine-hall withstood the bold fighters. That beautiful building did not fall to the ground. It stood firm, skillfully built by the smith’s craft, inside and out. As I have heard, many gold-decorated mead-benches lay on the floor where the fierce opponents struggled. The wise Danes had never imagined that any man could tear down so noble a hall, decorated with antlers. Nor had they thought anyone could skillfully destroy the hall, unless flames swallowed it in smoke. Now the roaring rose loud. Dreadful terror gripped the North Danes, every one who heard the wailing from the ramparts. God’s enemy was singing a fierce song, a song without victory. Hell’s captive was crying out in sorrow. For the strongest man alive held him fast.