The hard swing of sword. Then he smote the head off him.
Now soon were they seeing, those sage of the carles,
E'en they who with Hrothgar gaz'd down on the holm,
That the surge of the billows was blended about,
The sea stain'd with blood. Therewith the hoar-blended,
The old men, of the good one gat talking together
That they of the Atheling ween'd never eft-soon
That he, glad in his war-gain, should wend him a-seeking
The mighty king, since unto many it seemed
That him the mere-she-wolf had sunder'd and broken.