swords;
    Never a keel sailed out of a harbor
    So splendidly tricked with the trappings of war. 
    They heaped on his bosom a hoard of bright jewels
    To fare with him forth on the flood’s great breast. 
    No less gift they gave than the Unknown provided,
    When alone, as a child, he came in from the mere. 
    High o’er his head waved a bright golden standard—­
    Now let the waves bear their wealth to the holm. 
    Sad-souled they gave back its gift to the ocean,
    Mournful their mood as he sailed out to sea.[4]

“And no man,” says the poet, “neither counselor nor hero, can tell who received that lading.”

One of Scyld’s descendants was Hrothgar, king of the Danes; and with him the story of our Beowulf begins.  Hrothgar in his old age had built near the sea a mead hall called Heorot, the most splendid hall in the whole world, where the king and his thanes gathered nightly to feast and to listen to the songs of his gleemen.  One night, as they were all sleeping, a frightful monster, Grendel, broke into the hall, killed thirty of the sleeping warriors, and carried off their bodies to devour them in his lair under the sea.  The appalling visit was speedily repeated, and fear and death reigned in the great hall.  The warriors fought at first; but fled when they discovered that no weapon could harm the monster.  Heorot was left deserted and silent.  For twelve winters Grendel’s horrible raids continued, and joy was changed to mourning among the Spear Danes.

At last the rumor of Grendel crossed over the sea to the land of the Geats, where a young hero dwelt in the house of his uncle, King Hygelac.  Beowulf was his name, a man of immense strength and courage, and a mighty swimmer who had developed his powers fighting the “nickers,” whales, walruses and seals, in the icebound northern ocean.  When he heard the story, Beowulf was stirred to go and fight the monster and free the Danes, who were his father’s friends.

With fourteen companions he crosses the sea.  There is an excellent bit of ocean poetry here (ll. 210-224), and we get a vivid idea of the hospitality of a brave people by following the poet’s description of Beowulf’s meeting with King Hrothgar and Queen Wealhtheow, and of the joy and feasting and story-telling in Heorot.  The picture of Wealhtheow passing the mead cup to the warriors with her own hand is a noble one, and plainly indicates the reverence paid by these strong men to their wives and mothers.  Night comes on; the fear of Grendel is again upon the Danes, and all withdraw after the king has warned Beowulf of the frightful danger of sleeping in the hall.  But Beowulf lies down with his warriors, saying proudly that, since weapons will not avail against the monster, he will grapple with him bare handed and trust to a warrior’s strength.