Crush it by cunning, unless clutch of the fire
In smoke should consume it. The sound mounted upward
Novel enough; on the North Danes fastened
A terror of anguish, on all of the men there
Who heard from the wall the weeping and plaining,
The song of defeat from the foeman of heaven,
Heard him hymns of horror howl, and his sorrow
Hell-bound bewailing. He held him too firmly
Who was strongest of main-strength of men of that era.
[1] B. and t.B. emend so as to make lines 9 and 10 read: Never in his life, earlier or later, had he, the hell-thane, found a braver hero.—They argue that Beowulf’s companions had done nothing to merit such encomiums as the usual readings allow them.