Chapter 3: II

WENT he forth to find at fall of nightthat haughty house, and heed whereverthe Ring-Danes, outrevelled, to rest had gone.Found within it the atheling bandasleep after feasting and fearless of sorrow,of human hardship. Unhallowed wight,grim and greedy, he grasped betimes,wrathful, reckless, from resting-places,thirty of the thanes, and thence he rushedfain of his fell spoil, faring homeward,laden with slaughter, his lair to seek.Then at the dawning, as day was breaking,the might of Grendel to men was known;then after wassail was wail uplifted,loud moan in the morn. The mighty chief,atheling excellent, unblithe sat,labored in woe for the loss of his thanes,when once had been traced the trail of the fiend,spirit accurst: too cruel that sorrow,too long, too loathsome. Not late the respite;with night returning, anew beganruthless murder; he recked no whit,firm in his guilt, of the feud and crime.They were easy to find who elsewhere soughtin room remote their rest at night,bed in the bowers, {2a} when that bale was shown,was seen in sooth, with surest token, --the hall-thane's {2b} hate. Such held themselvesfar and fast who the fiend outran!Thus ruled unrighteous and raged his fillone against all; until empty stoodthat lordly building, and long it bode so.Twelve years' tide the trouble he bore,sovran of Scyldings, sorrows in plenty,boundless cares. There came unhiddentidings true to the tribes of men,in sorrowful songs, how ceaselessly Grendelharassed Hrothgar, what hate he bore him,what murder and massacre, many a year,feud unfading, -- refused consentto deal with any of Daneland's earls,make pact of peace, or compound for gold:still less did the wise men ween to getgreat fee for the feud from his fiendish hands.But the evil one ambushed old and youngdeath-shadow dark, and dogged them still,lured, or lurked in the livelong nightof misty moorlands: men may say notwhere the haunts of these Hell-Runes {2c} be.Such heaping of horrors the hater of men,lonely roamer, wrought unceasing,harassings heavy. O'er Heorot he lorded,gold-bright hall, in gloomy nights;and ne'er could the prince {2d} approach his throne,-- 'twas judgment of God, -- or have joy in his hall.Sore was the sorrow to Scyldings'-friend,heart-rending misery. Many noblessat assembled, and searched out counselhow it were best for bold-hearted menagainst harassing terror to try their hand.Whiles they vowed in their heathen fanesaltar-offerings, asked with words {2e}that the slayer-of-souls would succor give themfor the pain of their people. Their practice this,their heathen hope; 'twas Hell they thought ofin mood of their mind. Almighty they knew not,Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord,nor Heaven's-Helmet heeded they ever,Wielder-of-Wonder. -- Woe for that manwho in harm and hatred hales his soulto fiery embraces; -- nor favor nor changeawaits he ever. But well for himthat after death-day may draw to his Lord,and friendship find in the Father's arms!