Forth from the fens, from the misty moorlands,
    Grendel came gliding—­God’s wrath[5] he bore—­
    Came under clouds, until he saw clearly,
    Glittering with gold plates, the mead hall of men. 
    Down fell the door, though fastened with fire bands;
    Open it sprang at the stroke of his paw. 
    Swollen with rage burst in the bale-bringer;
    Flamed in his eyes a fierce light, likest fire.[6]

At the sight of men again sleeping in the hall, Grendel laughs in his heart, thinking of his feast.  He seizes the nearest sleeper, crushes his “bone case” with a bite, tears him limb from limb, and swallows him.  Then he creeps to the couch of Beowulf and stretches out a claw, only to find it clutched in a grip of steel.  A sudden terror strikes the monster’s heart.  He roars, struggles, tries to jerk his arm free; but Beowulf leaps to his feet and grapples his enemy bare handed.  To and fro they surge.  Tables are overturned; golden benches ripped from their fastenings; the whole building quakes, and only its iron bands keep it from falling to pieces.  Beowulf’s companions are on their feet now, hacking vainly at the monster with swords and battle-axes, adding their shouts to the crashing of furniture and the howling “war song” of Grendel.  Outside in the town the Danes stand shivering at the uproar.  Slowly the monster struggles to the door, dragging Beowulf, whose fingers crack with the strain, but who never relaxes his first grip.  Suddenly a wide wound opens in the monster’s side; the sinews snap; the whole arm is wrenched off at the shoulder; and Grendel escapes shrieking across the moor, and plunges into the sea to die.

Beowulf first exults in his night’s work; then he hangs the huge arm with its terrible claws from a cross-beam over the king’s seat, as one would hang up a bear’s skin after a hunt.  At daylight came the Danes; and all day long, in the intervals of singing, story-telling, speech making, and gift giving, they return to wonder at the mighty “grip of Grendel” and to rejoice in Beowulf’s victory.

When night falls a great feast is spread in Heorot, and the Danes sleep once more in the great hall.  At midnight comes another monster, a horrible, half-human creature,[7] mother of Grendel, raging to avenge her offspring.  She thunders at the door; the Danes leap up and grasp their weapons; but the monster enters, seizes Aeschere, who is friend and adviser of the king, and rushes away with him over the fens.

The old scenes of sorrow are reviewed in the morning; but Beowulf says simply: 

    Sorrow not, wise man.  It is better for each
    That his friend he avenge than that he mourn much. 
    Each of us shall the end await
    Of worldly life:  let him who may gain
    Honor ere death.  That is for a warrior,
    When he is dead, afterwards best. 
    Arise, kingdom’s guardian!  Let us quickly go
    To view the track of Grendel’s kinsman. 
    I promise it thee:  he will not escape,
    Nor in earth’s bosom, nor in mountain-wood,
    Nor in ocean’s depths, go where he will.[8]