2. Mundgripe (Ancient English)

[Intro — hall pulse almost silent] Niht feoll on Heorot; hlæhter aswac. Fyr under ascan; ful stodon stille. We Geata þegnas on goldfagum flette ræste sohton; ræd hæfde Beowulf. Byrnan he alegde, bill fram handa, helm and heaðowæpen þegne sealde. “Nis me sweord þearf, gif Grendel cymþ; hand wið handa—Metod deme.” [Verse 1 — restrained double-time] Ic læg on bence; ne ræste min mod. Wægferð wæs geendod, ac wyrd ne slæp. Wind æt duru; wæstm under hrofe; nænig word cwæð—niht us þrengde. Þa com of more, under mistum sweart, se sceadugenga, synnum gefylled. Duru he tobræc; dryhtsele cwacode; ligleoht læg him grimlice on eagum. He geseah us licgan, Geata duguð, slæpende secgas, symbles bedælede. His mod ahloh; he morðres geþohte, blodes brytta, banes gitsung. [Verse 2 — percussion snaps into full speed] Hondscio fyrst he æt ræste genam— ure gefera, gearo to hilde. Banlocan bræc; blod of ædrum dranc; lið and lic he lungre forswealg. Ic gehyrde þæt ban; ic geseah þæt blod. Ne mihte ic sprecan, ne mine hand styran. Þa he forð stop, feorhgyfre gast, Beowulfes bed mid folme gesohte. Folm he ræhte— folm him ongean. Fæst onfeng se freca his feondes hand; finger wið fingre, fæþm wið fæþme. Ne gemette Grendel on middangearde mundgripe maran in menniscan men. His hyge wearð forht; fram he wolde, to fenhopum fleon, under mist hweorfan. Ac Beowulf heold; se beorn ne beah. Þa ongann Heorot hlydan and cwacian. [Refrain — shouted by the Geats] Hand wið handa! Heald hine fæste! Næs sweord betweonum, ne scyldes rand! Hand wið handa! Heald hine fæste! Reced dynede; medubenc bræc! Mægen wið mægen! Mundgripe heard! Grendel wið Beowulf—ban wið ban! Heald hine fæste! (Heald hine fæste!) [Verse 3 — relentless double-time] Bencas bræcon; beamas cwacedon; goldfag reced grof under grapum. Fletbord flysodon, fyr scoc on heorðe; Heorot hlynsode, heardum stefnum. We up astodon, egesa on breostum; ealde lafe we anmod brugdon. Ic sloh mid sweorde, secg æt minre sidan; iren sang hearde—ac ecg ne bat. Ne bill, ne mece, ne beaduiren mihte þone manscaðan mærðe beniman. Us ne cuðe þæt ecga gehwylc Grendles lichoman gretan ne mihte. We wæron þa idel, waepna wealdend, ymbe þa twegen þe waepna ne bæron. Beowulf ana, þurh breosta mægen, heold þone feond mid heardum handum. [Bridge — Grendel's scream over pounding drums] Þa astah wop, wundorlic gryreléoð; utan Dene gehyrdon þæt deaðes galan. Grendel granode; goldsele dynede; næfre ic ær hyrde swylcne hearmstefn. Seonowe sprungon— banlocan burston— eaxl toslat under eorles gripe. Earm fram lichoman! Blod on flette! Feond on fleame! Heorot stod! [Final Refrain — full hall, maximum intensity] Hand wið handa! Heold hine fæste! Næs sweord betweonum, ne scyldes rand! Hand wið handa! Heold hine fæste! Reced dynede; medubenc bræc! Mundgripe! Mundgripe! Mægen Geata! Grendles earm from eaxle ascead! Mundgripe! Mundgripe! Morðor swacode! Se feond blodig to fenne fleah! Heorot ne feoll, þeah heo eall dynede. Heorot stod! (Heorot stod!) Under heahrofe hangode seo hand— siges tacen ofer silentum flette. [Outro — percussion stops; low lyre and voice] Morgen com; mist on morum læg. Dene to dura drifon mid dæge. Heah under hrofe seo hand gyt hangode, grap Grendles, blodige fingras. Ac ic beseah þa benc þær Hondsciō læg. Idel wæs seo ræst; ure wine ne aras. An hand hangode. An hæleð ne aras. Swa wæs seo niht gewunnen! ———————— English Translation ———————— The Hand-Grip [Intro] Night fell upon Heorot; the laughter died. The fire sank into ash; the cups stood still. We Geatish thanes lay upon the gold-bright floor seeking rest; Beowulf had already made his choice. He laid aside his mail-shirt and put down his blade, giving helmet and battle-weapons to a thane. “I need no sword if Grendel comes; hand against hand—let the Creator judge.” [Verse 1] I lay upon the bench, but my mind found no rest. Our voyage over the waves was ended, but fate did not sleep. Wind moved at the door; shadows filled the rafters. No man spoke—the night pressed in around us. Then from the moor he came, black beneath the mist, the shadow-walker, laden with evil. He broke open the door; the great hall trembled; a hideous flame-like light burned in his eyes. He saw us lying there, the company of Geats, sleeping warriors, far from the feast. His heart rejoiced; he thought of slaughter, a hunger for blood, a craving for bone. [Verse 2] Hondscio was the first he seized from his rest— our companion, a man ready for battle. He broke the bone-locks and drank blood from the veins; limb and body he swiftly devoured. I heard the bones. I saw the blood. I could not speak; I could not make my hand move. Then he stepped onward, that life-hungry creature, and reached with his hand toward Beowulf's bed. A hand reached out— and a hand came back to meet it. The warrior closed fast around his enemy's hand; finger against finger, body against body. Nowhere in Middle-earth had Grendel ever met a greater hand-grip in a mortal man. Fear entered his mind; he wanted only to escape, to flee to the fen and vanish beneath the mist. But Beowulf held him; the warrior would not yield. Then Heorot began to roar and shake. [Refrain] Hand against hand! Hold him fast! No sword between them, no rim of a shield! Hand against hand! Hold him fast! The hall thunders; the mead-benches break! Strength against strength! The hand-grip is hard! Grendel against Beowulf—bone against bone! Hold him fast! (Hold him fast!) [Verse 3] Benches shattered; beams trembled; the gold-bright hall groaned beneath their grips. Floorboards splintered; the fire shook upon the hearth; Heorot resounded with terrible noise. We sprang to our feet, fear inside our chests; together we drew our ancient blades. I struck with my sword, warriors beside me; the iron rang hard—but the edge would not bite. No blade, no sword, no battle-iron could take glory from that destroyer. We did not know that every cutting edge was powerless against Grendel's body. There we stood useless, masters of weapons, surrounding the two who carried none. Beowulf alone, through the strength within him, held the enemy in his naked hands. [Bridge] Then the cry rose—a terrible song of horror. Outside, the Danes heard that voice of death. Grendel screamed; the gold-hall thundered. Never before had I heard such a voice of pain. Sinews tore— bone-locks burst— the shoulder split beneath the warrior's grip. Arm from body! Blood on the floor! The enemy fleeing! Heorot standing! [Final Refrain] Hand against hand! He held him fast! No sword between them, no rim of a shield! Hand against hand! He held him fast! The hall thundered; the mead-benches broke! The hand-grip! The hand-grip! The strength of the Geats! Grendel's arm was torn from his shoulder! The hand-grip! The hand-grip! The slaughter ceased! The bleeding enemy fled toward the fen! Heorot did not fall, though the whole hall shook. Heorot stood! (Heorot stood!) High beneath its roof the hand was hung— a sign of victory above the silent floor. [Outro] Morning came; mist lay upon the moors. With daylight the Danes crowded to the doors. High beneath the roof the hand still hung, Grendel's grasp, its fingers stained with blood. But I looked toward the bench where Hondscio had lain. The resting-place was empty; our friend did not rise. One hand was hanging. One warrior did not rise. That was how the night was won.