So then when the aweless Dankwart strode through the…

So then when the aweless Dankwart strode through the feast-hall door, Shouting to Etzel's servants, "Back! bar my path no more!" Behold, with the blood of slaughter all his apparel dripped, And a sword exceeding mighty unsheathed in his hand he gripped.

(C) In that instant it was, when Dankwart through the portal entered so, That men were bearing Ortlieb through the feast-hall to and fro From table unto table to the princes one after one— And now through his evil tidings was the innocent undone! For loud and clear cried Dankwart in the presence of all that throng: "Thou sittest, O brother Hagen, here at thine ease too long! Unto you and to God in Heaven of wrong unto us I complain. Our knights and our squires together in the hostelry lie slain!" Cried Hagen to him in answer: "Now who hath done this thing?" "This was the deed of Blödel and of them of his following: But dearly he paid for his treason, unto all men here be it said; For with these mine hands from his shoulders have I hewn the traitor's head."

"He hath paid for his wrong too lightly," Hagen the dauntless cried, "If men may but say of the traitor as of any knight who hath died, That stilled by the hands of a hero he hath slept the iron sleep; Fair ladies for one so smitten shall have less cause to weep. Make answer to me, dear brother, how art thou thus all red? I trow thou hast been sore wounded, and full evilly hast sped. If the villain be here in presence who did this deed contrive, Except the Foul Fiend help him, he goeth not hence alive!" "Nay, before you I stand unwounded; my raiment is wet with blood; But it gushed from the deadly gashes of other war-thanes good

Whereof this day so many beneath my sword-edge fell— If I must make oath of their number, good sooth, I could not tell."

"Brother Dankwart," he cried, "our warder of yon door do thou be, And let no man of the Hunfolk win forth of the hall by thee. Now with these knights will I reason, as our wrong constraineth us. Dead lie our fellows guiltless: it is they have entreated them thus!" "Must I," said the valiant hero, "be the chamber-sentinel? In presence of kings so mighty the office liketh me well. Dear as I cherish mine honour, I will faithfully guard yon stair." At his word on the knights of Kriemhild fell the shadow of despair.

"Now exceeding sorely I marvel," rang Hagen's bitter jeer, "What secret the Hunfolk whisper each in his fellow's ear. I ween they would gladly spare him who watcheth yonder the door, Who unto the men Burgundian such royal tidings bore! Long time since, I bethink me, have I heard Queen Kriemhild say That she would not endure her anguish of heart unavenged for aye. A loving-cup to her vengeance! In Etzel's wine be it poured! And the first to spill the death-drink be the hope of the Hunfolk's Lord!" Then he lashed at the young child Ortlieb, Hagen the terrible thane, That down o'er his hand from the sword-blade did the blood of the innocent rain, And into the lap of his mother hurled was the head from the stroke. Then mid the knights a murder grim and great awoke. For next on the young child's guardian, which tended him truly and well, A mighty stroke two-handed swift as the lightning fell, That afront of the foot of the table his head on the floor was cast. A woeful guerdon he gave him for all his travail past!

He marked where at Etzel's table was seated a minstrel-man: Swiftly upon him Hagen in madness of fury ran; He smote him where on his viol rested the bard's right hand— "That have thou for the message thou broughtest to Burgundy-land!"

"Woe for mine hand!" cried Werbel the harper of Etzel the King. "Wherein, Lord Hagen of Troneg, have I wronged thee in anything? I came to the land of thy masters in faith and in loyalty. How shall I waken my music who am maimed of mine hand by thee?" Little enow recked Hagen, though never he harped again! Then up and down the feast-hall he raged, till his hands had slain Full many a knight of Etzel, to sate his murder-lust: Many an earl in the palace through the gates of death he thrust.

Volker the battle-eager from his place at the table sprang; His viol-bow now was his war-glaive, and loud in the hands it rang Of that viol-minstrel of Gunther: a music of death did he wake: Many a foe mid the Hunfolk for kinsmen slain did he make. Leapt up withal from the table the noble Princes three: They would fain have parted the fighters, ere wilder the work should be, But all in vain was their prudence, and nothing availed their might; For those twain, Volker and Hagen, were mad with the fury of fight.

Now ware was the Lord of Rhineland that he could not still the fray: Then himself unsheathed his war-glaive, and fell on the foes' array, And he cleft their shining hauberks, and dealt wounds deep and wide. What man of his hands was the hero that havoc testified. Then also Gernot the stalwart plunged mid the surges of strife: Out of many a valiant champion of the Huns he smote the life. With the keen-edged brand of battle, the gift that Rüdiger gave, For many a knight of Etzel did he open the gates of the grave. Then the youngest son of Uta hurled into the tempest-roar: His battle-brand victorious through many a morion shore Of the warriors of King Etzel, the pride of the Hunfolk's land. Ay, marvels of hero-prowess were wrought by Giselher's hand. But, how brave were the rest soever, the kings and their vassal-train, Yet no man like unto Volker might ye see, as he battled amain Facing the starkest foemen—ha, 'twas a warrior good! Many a champion before him fell wounded to death in his blood.