[lines 194-224a in section III and 8th line from the bottom of folio 134r to 4th line from the bottom of folio 134v on Kevin S. Kiernan's Electronic Beowulf CD]
Images of the original manuscript text of this section, and an mp3 file of Ben Slade reading it in Old English, are here.
{Beowulf hears about Grendel and decides to travel from his home in Geatland (southern Sweden) to Heorot (in northeast Denmark) to see if he can help out.
}
Now there lived overseas
In the land of the Geats a youth of valiance abounding,
Mightiest yet mildest of men, his name Beowulf,
Who, hearing of Grendel and minded to destroy him,
Built a boat of the stoutest timber and chose him
Warriors, fourteen of the best. In shining armour
They boarded the great vessel, beached on the shingle
By the curling tide. Straightway they shoved her off.
They ran up the white sail. And the wind caught her,
The biting wind whipped her over the waves.
Like a strong bird the swan-boat winged her way
Over the grey Baltic, the wintry whale-road,
Till the lookout sighted land-- a sickle of fair sand,
[lines 791-819a in section XII and 8th line from the top of folio 147r to 13th line from the top of folio 147v on Kevin S. Kiernan's Electronic Beowulf CD]
Images of the original manuscript text of this section, and an mp3 file of Ben Slade reading it in Old English, are here.
{At this moment Beowulf and Grendel are fighting and Grendel is howling and screaming and wishing to escape but Beowulf has grabbed Grendel's arm and is using his incredible hand-strength to hold on to him.
}
Greedily he reached his hand for the next-- little reckoning
For Beowulf. The youth clutched it and firmly grappled.
Such torture as this the fiend had never known.
In mortal fear, he was minded to flee his lair,
But Beowulf prisoned him fast. Spilling the benches,
They tugged and heaved, from wall to wall they hurtled.
And the roof rang to their shouting, the huge hall
Rocked, the strong foundations groaned and trembled.
Then Grendel wailed from his wound, his shriek of pain
Roused the Danes in their hiding and shivered to the stars.
The warriors in the hall spun reeling from their couches,
In dull stupor they fumbled for their swords, forgetting
No man-made weapon might avail. Alone, Beowulf
Tore Grendel's arm from his shoulder asunder,
Wrenched it from the root while the tough sinews cracked.
And the monster roared in anguish, well knowing
That deadly was the wound and his mortal days ended.
[lines 1537-1569 in sections XXII and XXIII and 5th line from the bottom of folio 163v, through folio 164r to 4th line from the top of folio 164v on Kevin S. Kiernan's Electronic Beowulf CD] Images of the original manuscript text of this section, and an mp3 file of Ben Slade reading it in Old English, are here. Note: there is a discussion of the word eaxle in line 1537a on my page on Shoulder Grabbing vs. Hair Pulling
{At this moment Beowulf has just failed to hurt Grendel's mother with the sword Hrunting and he tries to wrestle her as he had done with Grendel.
}
Dancing in the firelight, whence issued a shape
More massy than the rest, dark-shouldered,
Towering high, like a mountain hiding the sun.
'Twas the foul she-monster, were-wolf of the deep.
Then drew he his sword, Hrunting the death-dealer,
Prince of a thousand fights. The edge of steel
Slashed home; with a clash upon clash it dinned
Its greedy battle-cry into her skull-- yet failed him,
Crumpling like a reed. Fearless, he flung it aside,
And, trusting the strength of his hands, seized her by the hair,
Wrestling, swung her heavily this way and that
Buffeting and bruising the walls with her crude bulk,
Then bent her to the ground. In a trice, up she reared
Her shaggy frame and, grappling, squashed him down.
Then, like a dizzy sailor trapped in the shrouds
When sea and heaven swing sickening past
As a sudden wave, topheavy, grinds him down
Into the whirl clinging madly, yet strugging
All the while to fight free-- so Beowulf
Under the whelming monster was prisoned fast.
But she, softly keening, brooded upon Grendel
Her son-- her only son-- whom long ago
By the lapping water tenderly herself had suckled;
Whom as a babe she had fended from brute assault
And loved more than her own life; whom Beowulf
Had slain. Boiling for revenge, she drew her knife--
The broad blade glinting in the firelight, her eyes
Gloating-- and struck home.
Then surely
Must Beowulf have died, there in the monster's hall,
Under the joyless water. But his mailcoat, looped
And ragged though it was, guarded his life-house,
And God Almighty in His wisdom set him free.
The warrior sprung up. On the wall, gleaming, he spied
A tremendous sword (by giants of olden time
Forged in the furnace of the sun), undimmed in lustre,
So cumbrous-huge only a hero could wield it.
He grabbed the golden hilt and, wheeling mightily,
Smote with all his strength. Splintering her bone-rings,
The blade hacked through her neck and felled her at his feet,
[lines 1584b-1590 in section XXIII and 7th line from the bottom of folio 164v to first half of the last line of folio 164v on Kevin S. Kiernan's Electronic Beowulf CD]
Images of the original manuscript text of this section, and an mp3 file of Ben Slade reading it in Old English, are here.
{At this moment Beowulf has just discovered Grendel's lifeless body lying in the cave.
}
[lines 2672b-2708a in sections XXXVI and XXXVII and 8th line from the bottom of folio 189A197r, through folio 189A197v to 3rd line from the top of folio 189r on Kevin S. Kiernan's Electronic Beowulf CD]
Images of the original manuscript text of this section, and an mp3 file of Ben Slade reading it in Old English, are here.
{At this moment, Wiglaf has just run into the flames to be by Beowulf's side and the dragon has charged at them both, incinerating Wiglaf's shield.
}
--- In the whiplash and flogging of flame
Steadfast together they fought. Between the King
And the fiery dragon he thrust his linden shield--
The lightning licked it, shrivelled it up like shavings
Thrown by the fire. Then might Wiglaf have perished,
But Beowulf housed him under his iron shield
And rousing his old might, raised high the sword
And struck the dragon. Too strong was the hand-- the steel
Was shivered to pieces.
With savage haste the dragon
Old twilight foe, in whirlwind conflagration
Rushed upon him. Deep into his neck he plunged
His spiked teeth-- the blood spurted, welled
Red over his armour. Then Wiglaf, as love for his lord
Flashed into rage, unshielded sprang at the beast.
Into that fiery furnace he thrust his sword,
With scorched fingers drove it under the scales,
Home to the hilt. And the dragon fell back, his breathing
Laboured, the fire-puffs ponderous and slow. Then Beowulf,
Master of his waning might, drew from his mailcoat
His keen battle-knife; locked in combat with the foe,
He struck at the heart. So smiting, with Wiglaf he felled him;
Together they quenched the fire, together beat out
