In the morning,
Beowulf, who had slept in another part of the palace, was sent for and
greeted Hrothgar, unaware of his loss.
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 atheling, as AEschere proved him.
The flickering death-spirit became in Heorot
His hand-to-hand murderer; I cannot tell whither
The cruel one turned, in the carcass exulting,
By cramming discovered. The quarrel she wreaked then,
The last night igone Grendel thou killedst
In grewsomest 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,
Who mourneth in spirit the treasure-bestower,
Her heavy heart-sorrow; the hand is now lifeless
Which availed yon in every wish that you cherished.
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