Midst the war-gear he saw then a bill victory-wealthy, An old sword of eotens full doughty of edges, The worship of warriors. That was choice of all weapons, Save that more was it made than any man other 1560 In the battle-play ever might bear it afield, So goodly, all glorious, the work of the giants. Then the girdled hilt seiz'd he, the Wolf of the Scyldings, The rough and the sword-grim, and drew forth the ring-sword, Naught weening of life, and wrathful he smote then So that there on her halse the hard edge begripped, And brake through the bone-rings: the bill all through-waded Her flesh-sheathing fey; cring'd she down on the floor; The sword was war-sweaty, the man in his work joy'd. The bright beam shone forth, the light stood withinward, 1570 E'en as down from the heavens' clear high aloft shineth The sky's candle. He all along the house scanned; Then turn'd by the wall along, heav'd up his weapon Hard by the hilts the Hygelac's thane there, Ireful one-reded; naught worthless the edge was Unto the warrior; but rathely now would he To Grendel make payment of many war-onsets, Of them that he wrought on the folk of the West Danes Oftener by mickle than one time alone, Whenas he the hearthfellows of Hrothgar the King 1580 Slew in their slumber and fretted them sleeping, Men fifteen to wit of the folk of the Danes, And e'en such another deal ferry'd off outward, Loathly prey. Now he paid him his guerdon therefor, The fierce champion; so well, that abed there he saw Where Grendel war-weary was lying adown Forlorn of his life, as him ere had scathed The battle at Hart; sprang wide the body, Sithence after death he suffer'd the stroke, The hard swing of sword. Then he smote the head off him. 1590 Now soon were they seeing, those sage of the carles, E'en they who with Hrothgar gaz'd down on the holm, That the surge of the billows was blended about, The sea stain'd with blood. Therewith the hoar-blended, The old men, of the good one gat talking together That they of the Atheling ween'd never eft-soon That he, glad in his war-gain, should wend him a-seeking The mighty king, since unto many it seemed That him the mere-she-wolf had sunder'd and broken. Came then nones of the day, and the ness there they gave up, 1600 The Scyldings the brisk; and then busk'd him home thence-ward The gold-friend of men. But the guests, there they sat All sick of their mood, and star'd on the mere; They wist not, they ween'd not if him their own friend-lord Himself they should see. Now that sword began Because of the war-sweat into icicles war-made, The war-bill, to wane: that was one of the wonders That it melted away most like unto ice When the bond of the frost the Father lets loosen, Unwindeth the wave-ropes, e'en he that hath wielding 1610