Then he saw mid the war-gems a weapon of victory, An ancient giant-sword, of edges a-doughty, Glory of warriors: of weapons 'twas choicest, Only 'twas larger than any man else was [54] 5 Able to bear to the battle-encounter, The good and splendid work of the giants. He grasped then the sword-hilt, knight of the Scyldings, Bold and battle-grim, brandished his ring-sword, Hopeless of living, hotly he smote her, 10 That the fiend-woman's neck firmly it grappled, {and fells the female monster.} Broke through her bone-joints, the bill fully pierced her Fate-cursèd body, she fell to the ground then: The hand-sword was bloody, the hero exulted. The brand was brilliant, brightly it glimmered, 15 Just as from heaven gemlike shineth The torch of the firmament. He glanced 'long the building, And turned by the wall then, Higelac's vassal Raging and wrathful raised his battle-sword Strong by the handle. The edge was not useless 20 To the hero-in-battle, but he speedily wished to Give Grendel requital for the many assaults he Had worked on the West-Danes not once, but often, When he slew in slumber the subjects of Hrothgar, Swallowed down fifteen sleeping retainers 25 Of the folk of the Danemen, and fully as many Carried away, a horrible prey. He gave him requital, grim-raging champion, {Beowulf sees the body of Grendel, and cuts off his head.} When he saw on his rest-place weary of conflict Grendel lying, of life-joys bereavèd, 30 As the battle at Heorot erstwhile had scathed him; His body far bounded, a blow when he suffered, Death having seized him, sword-smiting heavy, And he cut off his head then. Early this noticed The clever carles who as comrades of Hrothgar {The waters are gory.} 35 Gazed on the sea-deeps, that the surging wave-currents Were mightily mingled, the mere-flood was gory: Of the good one the gray-haired together held converse, {Beowulf is given up for dead.} The hoary of head, that they hoped not to see again The atheling ever, that exulting in victory 40 He'd return there to visit the distinguished folk-ruler: [55] Then many concluded the mere-wolf had killed him.[1] The ninth hour came then. From the ness-edge departed The bold-mooded Scyldings; the gold-friend of heroes Homeward betook him. The strangers sat down then 45 Soul-sick, sorrowful, the sea-waves regarding: They wished and yet weened not their well-loved friend-lord {The giant-sword melts.}