Hrothgar rejoined, helm of the Scyldings: “Ask not of joyance! Grief is renewed to The folk of the Danemen. Dead is Aeschere, Yrmenlaf’s brother, older than he, My true-hearted counsellor, trusty adviser, Shoulder-companion, when fighting in battle Our heads we protected, when troopers were clashing, And heroes were dashing; such an earl should be ever, An erst-worthy 26 atheling, as Aeschere proved him. The flickering death-spirit became in Heorot His hand-to-hand murderer; I can not tell whither The cruel one turned in the carcass exulting, By cramming discovered. The quarrel she wreaked then, That last night igone Grendel thou killedst In gruesomest manner, with grim-holding clutches, Since too long he had lessened my liege-troop and wasted My folk-men so foully. He fell in the battle With forfeit of life, and another has followed, A mighty crime-worker, her kinsman avenging, And henceforth hath ’stablished her hatred unyielding, As it well may appear to many a liegeman,