Free Beowulf by Frederick Rebsamen

guest:
 
“Have luck with this neck-ring beloved Beowulf
 
accept these gifts gold-gleaming treasures
 
and use them well—may you win always
 
make known your strength and save for these boys
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wise counsel-words—I’ll reward you for that.
 
You have earned such fame that from far and near
 
in this wide middle-earth men will honor you
 
as far as the sea circles this windyard
 
these high cliffwalls. Keep while you live
 
peace with your courage. I’ll repay you for that
 
with bright treasure-gifts. Be to my sons
 
a gentle hero with joy in your heart.
 
Each man at this feast is faithful to all
 
loyal to his lord loving in mindthoughts—
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these thanes are together good men and strong
 
these drunken warriors do as I bid them.”
 
She sat then to banquet the best of feasting
 
warmed with wine-cups—warriors rejoiced
 
unwary of their fate waiting for destiny
 
like friends before them at failing of day
 
when Hrothgar left them to lie in his bower
 
went to his rest. War-Danes guarded
 
the darkening meadhall as in days gone by.
 
They cleared the bench-planks, brought for sleeprest
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bedding and bolsters. A beer-drinker there
 
ready for his doom rested among them.
 
They set by their heads where hands could reach them
 
bright linden-shields—on benches above them
 
over sleeping warriors weapons were ready
 
hard mask-helmets hand-locked corselets
 
stout-shafted spears. They were seldom caught
 
unready for war waking or sleeping
 
at home or afield held themselves ready
 
for their lord’s command moments of swordplay
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their war-sovereign’s needs—they were worthy men.

II
 
They sank to their sleep. One sorely paid
 
for his evening slumber like others before him
 
since Grendel came to them greedy hall-watcher
 
rage in his blood till he blundered at last
 
death came to him. The Danes discovered
 
that one still living waited for that night
 
slouched through the shadows searching for revenge
 
grim murder-fiend—Grendel’s hell-mother
 
bereaved monster-wife mourned for her child.
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She was damned to hide in a dark water-home
 
cold wildwood stream since Cain murdered
 
his only brother-kin beat down to earth
 
his father’s son-child. He was sent for that
 
marked with murder from man’s company
 
banished to wasteland. Then woke from his loins
 
misbegotten monsters. Among them was Grendel
 
hate-hearted fiend who found at Heorot
 
a waking strength-warrior waiting in that hall.
 
Grendel grabbed him grappled his hand—
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but mindful of power the mercy of his strength
 
that bountiful gift from God’s kingdom
 
the warrior caught him clamped in his fingers
 
that great claw-hand crushed that night-killer
 
gripped him to death. Grendel went slinking
 
crossed the moorland to his cold death-cavern
 
exiled from mercy. Then his mother sorrowed
 
grieved for her child greedy for man-blood
 
went prowling for vengeance payment for her son.
 
She came then to Heorot where careless Shield-Danes
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slumbered peacefully. They soon found there
 
the old night-torture when in through the door
 
came Grendel’s mother. Her great warrior-strength
 
was less than her son’s as little as a woman’s
 
is weaker in warfare than a weaponed man’s
 
when bloodied swordblades smith-hammered edges
 
slash helmet-crowns hard over boar-crests
 
gold-handled swords slash against helmets.
 
Sleeping warriors woke to the fight
 
reached for swordblades raised linden-shields
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hoisted their weapons—helmets and corselets
 
were left by the benches in that lunging raid.
 
She yearned to leave them longed to be away
 
flee with her life when they found her there—
 
quickly she snared a single