Nor Herwic’s men nor Siegfried’s yet would leave the fight

Nor Herwic’s men nor Siegfried’s yet would leave the fight; They to the last had struggled, and many a bravest knight Upon the field lay wounded, or in death was sleeping. This was told to the women, who now began a wild, unmeasured weeping.

How well the daring Wâ-te in battle-storm did fight! Strong was he and skilful, and oft the aged knight Gave to the foe heart-sorrow, by all the ill he wrought him: Ever to fight with his warriors, by the side of the boldest and best, his wishes taught him.

Horant, too, from Denmark, brave was he enough! Beneath his hand were shattered helmets strong and tough; Ne’er by him ’twas forgotten to wear his armor shining; Ill he wrought to many, and oft the ranks of his foemen he was thinning.

The quick and fearless Morunc boldly stretched his hand Ofttimes beyond his buckler, and oft the fight he gained. To shun the king of Moorland ne’er would he be seeking; Upon that king, so mighty, he the wrath of Herwic now was wreaking.

The great and doughty Hettel, when that his daughter fair Had sent to beg her father in Herwic’s fight to share, That peace at last might follow, fought for him not idly: If life were dear to any, ’twere best to shun King Hettel’s borders widely.

Bravely strove King Herwic on the field and at the gate; None than he fought better. His head was often wet, Beneath his armor dripping, with sweat that fast was oozing. In death were many deafened; they who would crush him must their lives be losing.