Hrothgar spake, helmet-of-Scyldings :: Poetry Poems Essays

Hrothgar spake, helmet-of-Scyldings Ask non of pleasure Pain is re-createto Danish class. Dead is Aeschere,of Yrmenlaf the elder brother,my sage adviser and stay in council,shoulder-comrade in stress of fightwhen warriors clashed and we warded our heads,hewed the helm-boars hero famedshould be all(prenominal) earl as Aeschere wasBut here in Heorot a egest hath hit himof wandering death-sprite. I wot not whither,1proud of the prey, her path she took,fain of her fill. The broil she avengedthat yesternight, unyieldingly,Grendel in grimmest grasp gigabyte killedst, --seeing how long these liegemen minehe ruined and ravaged. Reft of life,in arms he fell. Now another(prenominal) comes,keen and cruel, her kin to avenge,faring far in feud of bloodso that many a thane shall think, who eersorrows in soul for that sharer of rings,this is hardest of heart-bales. The hand lies lowthat once was willing each wish to please.Land-dwellers here2 and liegemen mine,who house by those parts, I ha ve heard relatethat such a pas de deux they have sometimes seen,march-stalkers mighty the moorland haunting,wandering spirits one and only(a) of them seemed,so far as my folk could fairly judge,of womankind and one, accursed,in mans feigning trod the misery-trackof exile, though huger than human bulk.Grendel in days long gone they named him,folk of the land his father they knew not,nor any brood that was born to himof treacherous spirits. untrod is their homeby wolf-cliffs haunt they and windy headlands,fenways fearful, where flows the streamfrom mountains gliding to lugubriousness of the rocks,underground flood. Not far is it hencein measure of miles that the genuine expands,and oer it the frost-bound forest hanging,sturdily rooted, shadows the wave.By night is a wonder weird to see,fire on the waters. So wise lived no(prenominal)of the sons of men, to search those depthsNay, though the heath-rover, harried by dogs,the horn-proud hart, this holt should seek,long distance dri ven, his erotic love life firston the brink he yields ere he last the plungeto hide his head tis no happy place indeed the welter of waters washes upwan to welkin when winds bestir annoyance storms, and air grows dusk,and the heavens weep. Now is help once morewith thee unaccompanied The land thou knowst not,place of fear, where thou findest outthat sin-flecked being. Seek if thou dareI will reward thee, for waging this fight,with ancient treasure, as erstwhile I did,with winding gold, if thou winnest back.1 He surmises presently where she is. 2 The connection is notdifficult. The words of mourning, of acute grief, are said andaccording to Germanic grade of thought, inexorable here, the