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The warden of the Danish coast was riding his rounds one morning when he beheld from the white cliffs a strange war-vessel making for the shore. Skilfully the men on board her ran her through the surf, and beached her in a little creek between the cliffs, and made her fast to a rock by stout cables. Only for a little time the valiant warden watched them from afar, and then, one man against fifteen, he rode quickly down and challenged the warriors.

"What are ye warlike men   wielding bright weapons,
Wearing grey corselets and   boar-adorned helmets,
Who o'er the water-paths   come with your foaming keel
Ploughing the ocean surge?  I was appointed
Warden of Denmark's shores;   watch hold I by the wave
That on this Danish coast   no deadly enemy
Leading troops over sea   should land to injure.
None have here landed yet   more frankly coming
Than this fair company:   and yet ye answer not
The password of warriors,   and customs of kinsmen.
Ne'er have mine eyes beheld   a mightier warrior,
An earl more lordly than   is he the chief of you;
He is no common man;   if looks belie him not,
He is a hero bold,   worthily weaponed.
Anon must I know of you   kindred and country,
Lest ye of spies should go   free on our Danish soil.
Now ye men from afar,   sailing the surging sea,
Have heard my earnest thought:   best is a quick reply,
That I may swiftly know   whence ye have hither come."

Then Beowulf, with fearless eyes, gazed in the face of the warden and told him simply and unboastfully who he was, from whence he came, and what was his errand. He had come as the nation’s deliverer, to slay the thing that

“Cometh in dark of night, sateth his secret hate,
Worketh through fearsome awe, slaughter and shame.”

With joy the warden heard his noble words.

“My men shall beach your ship,” he said, “and make her fast with a barrier of oars against the greedy tide. Come with me to the king.”

It was a gallant band that strode into Heorot, where sat the old king, gloom overshadowing his soul. And fit leader for a band of heroes was Beowulf, a giant figure in ring-mail, spear and shield gleaming in his hand, and by his side the mighty sword, Naegeling. To Hrothgar, as to the warden, Beowulf told the reason of his coming, and hope began again to live in the heart of the king.

That night the warriors from the land of the Goths were feasted in the great banqueting-hall where, for twelve unhappy years, voices had never rung out so bravely and so merrily. The queen herself poured out the mead with which the king and the men from Gothland pledged each other, and with her own hand she passed the goblet to each one. When, last of it all, it came to the guest of honour, Beowulf took the cup of mead from the fair queen and solemnly pledged himself to save the land from the evil thing that devoured it like a pestilence, or to die in his endeavour.