Folk of the Danemen, the death-weakened hero, Nor the belovèd liegeman to lay on the pyre; She the corpse had offcarried in the clutch of the foeman ’Neath mountain-brook’s flood. To Hrothgar ’twas saddest Of pains that ever had preyed on the chieftain; By the life of thee the land-prince then me Besought very sadly, in sea-currents’ eddies To display my prowess, to peril my safety, Might-deeds accomplish; much did he promise. I found then the famous flood-current’s cruel, Horrible depth-warder. A while unto us two Hand was in common; the currents were seething With gore that was clotted, and Grendel’s fierce mother’s Head I offhacked in the hall at the bottom With huge-reaching sword-edge, hardly I wrested My life from her clutches; not doomed was I then, But the warden of earlmen afterward gave me Jewels in quantity, kinsman of Healfdene.