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Then Hrothgar rose with his band of heroes,
and left the hall, wanting his bedmate,
his queen Wealhtheow. The king had set,
so it is said, a guard against Grendel,
but the prince of the Geats trusted God's favour.
He stripped from his breast his iron mail,
laid down his helm, and handed his sword,
embellished iron, the best of weapons,
to his retainer, bidding him guard
the battle-gear. Beowulf spoke then,
a brave promise:
"I am as great in battle deeds
as Grendel himself. Therefore my sword
is not for slaying him. His skills are coarser
than mine, however he hews my shield,
whatever the strength of his famed malice.
If he seeks battle with no weapons,
then the Holy Lord, in his wisdom,
will hand out glory as seems fitting."
Then the bold one laid down his head
on his bolster, and around him
many brave men prepared for rest.
None of them thought he would see again
his dear home, would ever greet
his loved people, his native town,
for each had heard of the wine-hall slaughter
when death had carried off many Danes.
But mighty God was weaving their war-luck:
through one man's strength, all would prevail.
As night lost its colours, there came gliding
the shadow-walker. The bowmen slept,
slack at their guard, knowing the Maker
would not permit them to be dragged to darkness:
all except one, who watched in anger,
swelling for battle.
--
Editor, Masthead: http://www.masthead.net.au
Blog: http://theatrenotes.blogspot.com
Home page: http://www.alisoncroggon.com
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