The long-worthy atheling, sat very woful, Suffered great sorrow, sighed for his liegemen, When they had seen the track of the hateful pursuer, The spirit accursèd: too crushing that sorrow, Too loathsome and lasting. Not longer he tarried,
A bed in the bowers. Then was brought to his notice Told him truly by token apparent The hall-thane’s hatred: he held himself after Further and faster who the foeman did baffle. So ruled he and strongly strove against justice
Certainly known to the children of men Sadly in measures, that long against Hrothgar Grendel struggled:—his grudges he cherished, Murderous malice, many a winter, Strife unremitting, and peacefully wished he
Life-woe to lift from no liegeman at all of The men of the Dane-folk, for money to settle, No counsellor needed count for a moment On handsome amends at the hands of the murderer; The monster of evil fiercely did harass,
The ill-planning death-shade, both elder and younger, Trapping and tricking them. He trod every night then The mist-covered moor-fens; men do not know where Witches and wizards wander and ramble. So the foe of mankind many of evils
’Twas a fearful affliction to the friend of the Scyldings Soul-crushing sorrow. Not seldom in private Sat the king in his council; conference held they What the braves should determine ’gainst terrors unlooked for. At the shrines of their idols often they promised
Judge of their actions, All-wielding Ruler, No praise could they give the Guardian of Heaven, The Wielder of Glory. Woe will be his who Through furious hatred his spirit shall drive to The clutch of the fire, no comfort shall look for,
Wax no wiser; well for the man who, Living his life-days, his Lord may face And find defence in his Father’s embrace!