Words, words!--how long must we pray you?" cried Wolfhart…

"Words, words!—how long must we pray you?" cried Wolfhart with passionate breath. "There lieth our chiefest comfort, by your hands done to death! And we to our sorrow no longer may have our friend in our sight. Let us bear him hence from his slayers, and lay in the grave forthright!" Volker flung back his answer: "None giveth him up at thine hest! He is here—e'en take him from us! The noblest knight and the best Lieth amidst of a blood-pool with death-wounds stricken down. Unto Rüdiger do this service: it shall be your friendship's crown!"

Made answer Wolfhart the dreadless: "God knows, thou master of song, Thou hast little to do to provoke us! Ye have done us enow of wrong! But that awe of my lord constrains me, thou wert in sorry plight! But now must we brook thine insults, since he hath forbidden the fight." Then sneered the viol-minstrel: "Who goeth in timorous doubt Lest he haply transgress a commandment, shall brook full many a flout. Small share of the spirit of heroes I find in a mood so mild!" At the biting speech of his comrade Hagen grimly smiled.

"Thou shalt lack not proof of my spirit!" hotly Wolfhart cried. "I will jangle thy viol-music so, that if ever thou ride Homeward hence to the Rhineland, thou shalt croak a new song there! Thy malapert tongue, thou scorner, with honour I may not bear!" Answered the viol-minstrel: "An thou mar one faintest tone Of the strings of my good viol, the sheen of thy morion Shall be grievously dimmed and sullied with thy blood by my right hand, Howsoever it fall with my riding back to Burgundia-land."

Then Wolfhart had leapt on the minstrel, but in mid rush was he held, By the giant strength of his uncle, old Hildebrand, compelled.

"I see thou wouldst play the madman in thy foolish wrath!" did he cry. "The favour of our Lord Dietrich thou wilt forfeit utterly!" "Let loose thy lion, O keeper, so fiercely he chafes at the chain! But and if to mine hands he cometh," cried Volker the mighty thane, "Although his wondrous prowess had smitten the whole world dead, I will slay him: no more hot answers from that mad tongue shall be sped!"

In the eyes of the Bernese warriors blazed the onset's light: Upswung his buckler Wolfhart, that battle-eager knight: With the leap of a desert lion against that taunter he leapt: Like a torrent up to the stairway his friends behind him swept. But with what great leaps soever to the door of the hall he sped, Old Hildebrand before him sprang to the stairway-head: He would suffer none to outpace him, nor to plunge mid the war-surge first Ready the stern guests waited to quench their battle-thirst. Full upon Hagen rushed he, old Master Hildebrand, Loud rang the swords fierce-smiting in either hero's hand. The crash of their mighty meeting spake out their fury afar. Flashed from their clashing war-glaives a fire-red wind of war. Then suddenly were they sundered by the sweep of the tide of fight, By the inrushing charge of the Bern-folk afire with fury and might. And as Hildebrand from Hagen on the tempest of battle was whirled, Wolfhart the strong in that moment against bold Volker hurled. On the helm of the viol-minstrel so mightily clashed his glaive, That the steel's resistless keenness through the bands of the morion clave: That stroke did the aweless minstrel so fiercely, so swiftly repay, That the sword-smitten harness of Wolfhart was a fountain of fiery spray. From the hauberks, as they hewed them, did the lightning-flashes flare: Grim was the hate these foemen each unto other bare! Yet these twain Wolfwein parted, and he fronted Volker alone: Had he not been a very hero, such deed he had never done!

Gunther the valiant war-king, with never-resting hand Faced the far-famous heroes, the knights of Amelung-land;

And Giselher, princely champion, lashed at the helmets bright Till crimson they showed and dripping with blood in the storm of fight. Dankwart the brother of Hagen exceeding grimly fought; All knightly deeds that in battle he theretofore had wrought Against the knights of Etzel, as an idle wind seemed all: Then first did the battle-frenzy on the son of Aldrian fall. Right well did Ritschart and Gerbart, Helfrich and Wichart, in strife; In many a battle-tempest had they spared nor limb nor life, And they proved their ancient prowess on Gunther's men that day. There gallantly Wolfbrand breasted the surges of the fray. There fought like a very madman the old knight Hildebrand; There many a thane Burgundian 'neath stalwart Wolfhart's hand, His soul from his limbs sword-sundered, amidst the blood sank down. So avenged were Rüdiger's death-wounds by those warriors of renown!

There fought the war-duke Siegstab by the wind of his wrath swept on. Ha, what strong-welded helmets by Dietrich's sister's son, As he burst through the reeling war-ranks, were cleft on the heads of foes! Never in battle-tempest did man deal knightlier blows. Then drew nigh Volker the stalwart, and an evil sight he beheld, Saw from cleft rings of hauberks how blood in torrents welled 'Neath the smiting of valiant Siegstab, and the hero's wrath rose high, And he leapt upon that slayer—and ended suddenly By the hand of the viol-minstrel were the days of Siegstab the brave. Such proof of his battle-cunning Volker the terrible gave That his life from the sword-edge fleeted, and dead he lay in his blood But hard by fury-kindled the avenger Hildebrand stood.

"Woe for my lord, my belovèd," cried Master Hildebrand, "He who to our sorrow lieth here slain by Volker's hand! Now surely this viol-minstrel hath stricken his own death-stroke!" In Hildebrand the dreadless never grimlier wrath awoke. So mightily smote he Volker, that he cleft his helm-band through: Afar to the walls of the feast-hall the shards on all sides flew