- XX -

Hrothgar replied, the ruler of the Scyldings:
“Ask not about gladness! Grief is renewed
for the Danish people. Aeschere is dead,
the elder brother of Yrmenlaf the Dane.
Gone is my counselor, my close advisor,
my shoulder-companion when we in warfare
shielded our heads as troops clashed in conflict,
striking boar-helmets. So should a warrior be,
a loyal leader of men, as Aeschere surely was!
Here in Heorot, he was slain by the hand
of a wandering marauder. I know not where
she went from here, exulting in the horrid carcass,
reveling in her feast. Thus she avenged the feud
from your slaughtering her son two nights ago,
in fearsome fighting with your powerful grip,
since he had a long while destroyed and depleted
the numbers of my people. He perished in battle,
forfeited his life, and now comes another
of the mighty evil-doers to avenge her kinsman,
and she has gone far to reach her revenge,
as many a thane may certainly think,
who grieves for Aeschere, his giver of treasure,
in the pain of heart-sorrow. The hand now lies dead
which ever dealt kindly with all you desired.

I have heard my people who live in this land,
my own hall-counselors, relate strange stories
that they themselves saw two of such
great march-dwellers holding sway in the moors,
unearthly creatures. One of that couple was,
as far as they clearly might make out,
the likeness of a woman, while the other wretch
walked the ways of exile in the form of a man,
though much more massive than any other human.
From olden days, those who dwelt in those lands
named that one Grendel. They knew not his father,
or whether that father ever had other offspring,
dark-spirited creatures. They lived in a distant land
of desolate wolf-slopes and of windy headlands,
a dangerous marsh-path. A mountain stream there
departs in dark mist far under the rock walls,
an underground flood. It is not far from here,
measured in miles, where the mere stands.
Great trees hang above it, heavy with frost,
woods held fast by roots overshadow the water.
An omen of evil every night may be seen—
flames on that flood. There is no one so wise
that he can determine its bottomless depth.
Though the heath-stepper, a stag with strong horns,
seeking safety in woods was forced into flight,
pressed hard by hounds, it would rather surrender
its life on the bank before jumping in that water
to protect itself. That is no pleasant place!
Towering waves, surge upward on high,
dark under clouds, when the wind whips up
terrible storms, and the sky blackens with gloom
as the heavens wail.

Our only hope for help
rests with you alone. You have not yet encountered
that place of great peril, where you can find
that creature of sin—seek it if you dare!
I will give you gifts, many ancient treasures,
for your help in this feud, even as I earlier gave
twisted gold rings, when you return a victor.”