Meted the mead-path with a meyny of maidens. XV. KING HROTHGAR AND HIS THANES LOOK ON THE ARM OF GRENDEL. CONVERSE BETWIXT HROTHGAR AND BEOWULF CONCERNING THE BATTLE. Out then spake Hrothgar; for he to the hall went, By the staple a-standing the steep roof he saw Shining fair with the gold, and the hand there of Grendel: For this sight that I see to the All-wielder thanks Befall now forthwith, for foul evil I bided, All griefs from this Grendel; but God, glory's Herder, 930 Wonder on wonder ever can work. Unyore was it then when I for myself Might ween never more, wide all through my life-days, Of the booting of woes; when all blood-besprinkled The best of all houses stood sword-gory here; Wide then had the woe thrust off each of the wise Of them that were looking that never life-long That land-work of the folk they might ward from the loathly, From ill wights and devils. But now hath a warrior Through the might of the Lord a deed made thereunto 940 Which we, and all we together, in nowise By wisdom might work. What! well might be saying That maid whosoever this son brought to birth According to man's kind, if yet she be living, That the Maker of old time to her was all-gracious In the bearing of bairns. O Beowulf, I now Thee best of all men as a son unto me Will love in my heart, and hold thou henceforward Our kinship new-made now; nor to thee shall be lacking As to longings of world-goods whereof I have wielding; 950 Full oft I for lesser things guerdon have given, The worship of hoards, to a warrior was weaker, A worser in strife. Now thyself for thyself By deeds hast thou fram'd it that liveth thy fair fame For ever and ever. So may the All-wielder With good pay thee ever, as erst he hath done it. Then Beowulf spake out, the Ecgtheow's bairn: That work of much might with mickle of love We framed with fighting, and frowardly ventur'd The might of the uncouth; now I would that rather 960 Thou mightest have look'd on the very man there, The foe in his fret-gear all worn unto falling. There him in all haste with hard griping did I On the slaughter-bed deem it to bind him indeed, That he for my hand-grip should have to be lying All busy for life: but his body fled off. Him then, I might not (since would not the Maker) From his wayfaring sunder, nor naught so well sought I The life-foe; o'er-mickle of might was he yet, The foeman afoot: but his hand has he left us, 970 A life-ward, a-warding the ways of his wending, His arm and his shoulder therewith. Yet in nowise That wretch of the grooms any solace hath got him, Nor longer will live the loathly deed-doer, Beswinked with sins; for the sore hath him now In the grip of need grievous, in strait hold togather'd With bonds that be baleful: there shall he abide,