"I hold me no meaner in matters of prowess,
In warlike achievements, than Grendel does himself;
Hence I seek not with sword-edge to sooth him to slumber,
Of life to bereave him, though well I am able.

{We will fight with nature's weapons only.}

20 No battle-skill[1] has he, that blows he should strike me,
To shatter my shield, though sure he is mighty
[25] In strife and destruction; but struggling by night we
Shall do without edges, dare he to look for
Weaponless warfare, and wise-mooded Father
25 The glory apportion, God ever-holy,

{God may decide who shall conquer}

On which hand soever to him seemeth proper."
Then the brave-mooded hero bent to his slumber,
The pillow received the cheek of the noble;

{The Geatish warriors lie down.}

And many a martial mere-thane attending
30 Sank to his slumber. Seemed it unlikely

{They thought it very unlikely that they should ever see their homes
again.}

That ever thereafter any should hope to