The curly-locked maiden with her keen-edged sword,
105 Smote the hateful-hearted one till she half cut through
Severing his neck, so that swooning he lay
Drunken and death-wounded. Not dead was he yet,
Nor lifeless entirely: the triumphant lady
More earnestly smote the second time
110 The heathen hound, so that his head was thrown
Forth on the floor; foul lay the carcass,
Bereft of a soul; the spirit went elsewhere
Under the burning abyss where abandoned it lay,