Quickly then he seized a warrior and as quickly devoured him.  But as he stretched forth his hand to seize another, Beowulf gripped him in his awful grasp.

Then began a terrible combat.  The hall echoed with cries and sounds of clashing steel.  The Goths awoke, joining in the fight, but all their swords were of no avail against the ogre.  With his bare hands alone Beowulf fought, and thought to kill the monster.  But Grendel escaped, though wounded to death indeed, and leaving his hand, arm, and shoulder behind in Beowulf’s grip.

When morning came there was much rejoicing.  Hrothgar made a great feast, at which he gave rich gifts to Beowulf and his friends.  The evening passed in song and laughter, and when darkness fell the Danes lay down to rest in the hall as of old.

But the evil was not over.  Grendel indeed was slain, but his mother, an ogre almost as fierce as he, was ready to avenge him.  So when night fell she hastened to the hall, and carried off Hrothgar’s best loved thane.

“Then was there a cry in Heorot.  Then was the prudent king, the hoary warrior, sad of mood, when he learned that his princely thane, the dearest to him, no longer lived.  Quickly was Beowulf fetched to the bower, the man happy in victory, at break of day.”

And when Beowulf heard the mournful tale he comforted the King with brave and kindly words, and quickly he set forth to the dreadful mere, the dwelling of the water-witch, Grendel’s mother.  And here he plunged in ready to fight.

“Soon did she, who thirsting for gore, grim and greedy, for a hundred years had held the circuit of the waves, discover that some one of men, some strange being, was trying from above the land.  She grappled then towards him, she seized the warrior in her foul claws.”

Then beneath the waves was there a fierce struggle, but Beowulf in the end conquered.  The water-witch was slain, and rejoicing, the hero returned to Hrothgar.

Now indeed had peace come to the Danes, and loaded with thanks and rewards, Beowulf returned homeward.

Many years passed.  Beowulf himself became king in his own land, and for fifty years he ruled well, and kept his folk in peace.  Then it fell that a fearful Fire-Dragon wasted all the land, and Beowulf, mindful of his deeds of old, set forth to slay him.

Yet ere he fought, he bade farewell to all his thanes, for he knew well that this should be his last fight.

“Then greeted he every one of the men, the bold helm bearer greeted his dear comrades for the last time.  I would not bear sword or weapon against the worm if I knew how else I might proudly grapple with the wretch, as I of old with Grendel did.  But I ween this war fire is hot, fierce and poisonous; therefore have I on me shield and byrnie. . . .  Then did the famous warrior arise beside his shield, hard under helmet he bare the sword-shirt, under the cliffs of stone, he trusted in the strength of one man; nor is such an expedition for a coward.”