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In off the moors, down through the mist bandsGod-cursed Grendel came greedily loping. The bane of the race of men roamed forth, Hunting for a prey in the high hall.Under the cloud-murk he moved towards itUntil it shone above him, a sheer keepOf fortified gold. Nor was that the first timeHe had scouted the grounds of Hrothgar's dwelling-Although never in his life, before or since, Did he find harder fortune or hall-defenders.Spurned and joyless, he journeyed on aheadAnd arrived at the bawn. The iron-braced doorTurned on its hinge when his hands touched it.Then his rage boiled over, he ripped open The mouth of this building, maddening for blood, Pacing the length of the patterned floorWith his loathsome tread, while a baleful light, Flame more than light, flared from his eyes. He saw many men in the mansion, sleeping, A ranked company of kinsmen and warriorsQuartered together. And his glee was demonic, Picturing the mayhem: before morningHe would rip life from limb and devour them, Feed on their flesh; but his fate that night Was due to change, his days of ravening Had come to an end.

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