The mist-covered moor-fens; men do not know where Witches and wizards wander and ramble. So the foe of mankind many of evils Grievous injuries, often accomplished, Horrible hermit; Heort he frequented, Gem-bedecked palace, when night-shades had fallen (Since God did oppose him, not the throne could he touch, The light-flashing jewel, love of Him knew not). ’Twas a fearful affliction to the friend of the Scyldings Soul-crushing sorrow. Not seldom in private Sat the king in his council; conference held they What the braves should determine ’gainst terrors unlooked for. At the shrines of their idols often they promised Gifts and offerings, earnestly prayed they The devil from hell would help them to lighten Their people’s oppression. Such practice they used then, Hope of the heathen; hell they remembered In innermost spirit, God they knew not, Judge of their actions, All-wielding Ruler, No praise could they give the Guardian of Heaven,