"Hrothgar spake, the protector of the Scyldings; "For a defence, O my friend Beowulf, and for a succour hast thou sought us. Thy father avenged by striking, the mightiest of feuds: he was the slaughterer of Heatholaf, among the Wylfings... Full oft drunken with beer, the sons of battle promised over the ale cup, that they would in the beer-hall await Grendel's war, with the terrors of swords. Then was this meadhall at the morning tide, this palace stained with gore when the day dawned; all the benched floor reeking with blood, the hall with gore shed by the sword: I owned all the fewer of my faithful retainers, my dear young men whom there death took away. Sit now to the feast, and joyfully eat, exulting in victory among my warriors, as thy mind may excite thee." Then was for the sons of the Geats, altogether, a bench cleared in the beer-hall; there the bold of spirit, free from quarrel, went to sit: the thane observed his office, he that in his hand bare the twisted ale cup; he poured the bright sweet liquor; meanwhile the poet sang serene in Heorot, there was joy of heroes, no little pomp of Danes and Westerns."