Danes of the North with fear and frenzy were filled, each one, who from the wall that wailing heard, God’s foe sounding his grisly song, cry of the conquered, clamorous pain from captive of hell. His night-work pleased him, his deed and its honor. Din rose in hall. Eomer woke to him, help of heroes, Hemming’s kinsman, Grandson of Garmund, grim in war. Eagerly watched Hygelac’s kinsman his cursed foe, how he would fare in fell attack. Dead is Aeschere, of Yrmenlaf the elder brother, my sage adviser and stay in council, shoulder-comrade in stress of fight when warriors clashed and we warded our heads, hewed the helm-boars; hero famed should be every earl as Aeschere was! Dead was her son through war-hate of Weders; now, woman monstrous with fury fell a foeman she slew, avenged her offspring.
Blessed God out of his mercy this man hath sent to Danes of the West, as I ween indeed, against horror of Grendel. A henchman attended, carried the carven cup in hand, served the clear mead. And since, by them on the fathomless sea-ways sailor-folk are never molested. For Wyrd oft saveth earl undoomed if he doughty be! But the guests sat on, stared at the surges, sick in heart, and wished, yet weened not, their winsome lord again to see. Dead was her son through war-hate of Weders; now, woman monstrous with fury fell a foeman she slew, avenged her offspring. In hand he took a golden goblet, nor gave he it back, stole with it away, while the watcher slept, by thievish wiles: for the warden’s wrath prince and people must pay betimes!