How Iring Was Slain, XXXVI–LIII

That wound dash'd Iring's courage; he felt him ill bestead; He rais'd his shield yet higher to guard his bleeding head; He deem'd it grievous mischief, the wound it was so sore; Yet at the hand of Hagan had he to suffer more.

A spear the man of Gunther found lying at his feet; This at the head of Iring he darted sure and fleet, So that the shaft outjutted, quivering, from his brow. A fatal end has Hagan made of his foeman now!

Back to his Danes Sir Iring recoil'd with faltering pace; Ere from his head his comrades the helmet could unlace, They broke from it the javelin; then close was death at hand. His kindred wept around him, a sorrow-laden band.

Anon the queen came thither; she o'er the dying bent, Bewailing dauntless Iring with ghastly dreariment, And for his wounds sore weeping, and mourning for his sake. Then thus among his kinsmen the hero faintly spake.

"Fair and noble lady! cease for me to grieve. What avails your weeping? my life I needs must leave; Yes! the wounds are mortal that thus have pierc'd me through. Death will not leave me longer to Etzel and to you."

Then thus to each Thüringian he spake, and every Dane, "Hope not for gifts from Kriemhild, nor count her gold for gain, For here, my friends! I warn you, e'en with my latest breath, If once you fight with Hagan, you needs must look on death."

His lively hue was faded; the stamp of death he bore; For the redoubted Iring his comrades sorrow'd sore. Never could recover stout Hawart's vassal true. Perforce each man of Denmark took to his sword anew.

Irnfried at once and Hawart both hurried toward the hall With a thousand warriors; from amongst them all Loud peal'd the shout of battle; fierce was their wrath and hot. Ah! what a sleet of javelins at those of Rhine they shot!

Upon the valiant gleeman bold Irnfried rush'd amain, But at his hand destruction was all that he could gain. A stern man was the minstrel as e'er in field met foe. Through th' helm he smote the landgrave a deep and deadly blow.

Sir Irnfried on Sir Folker dealt too a sturdy stroke, That of his temper'd hauberk the links asunder broke, And with the dint his harness all sparkled fiery red. Then straight before the minstrel down dropp'd the landgrave dead.

Sir Hawart and Sir Hagan clos'd too in deadly fight; Their strife to each beholder was sure a wondrous sight. Huge strokes from their keen weapons fell thick on either side, Till by the stern Burgundian perforce Sir Hawart died.

When Danes now and Thüringians saw both their leaders slain, Against the house yet fiercer rush'd on the shouting train. Loud round the sounding portal the din of battle peal'd, And many a helm was cloven, and shatter'd many a shield.

"Fall back, my friends!" said Folker, "E'en let them enter in, Yield for a while the passage they so desire to win. Full soon they'll fall together within our bloody hold, And reap with death and ruin Dame Kriemhild's fatal gold."

Those overweening champions the hall had enter'd now; Many a proud head among them was sudden taught to bow Beneath the deadly sword-strokes of the fierce warriors there. Well fought the valiant Gernot, well, too, young Giselher.

A thousand and four together had come into the hall; You might see the broadswords flashing rise and fall; Soon the bold intruders all dead together lay; Of those renown'd Burgundians strange marvels one might say.

Thereafter reigned deep silence; the din of war was hush'd; Through every creak and cranny the blood on all sides gush'd From that huge hill of slaughter; red did the gutters run. So much was through their prowess by those of Rhineland done!

With that the bold Burgundians sat down awhile to rest. His bloody sword and buckler down laid each panting guest. Still stood th' unwearied minstrel on guard the house before, To watch if any foeman should seek to force the door.

Sore wail'd the royal Etzel, sore too his lady wept, And sobbing dames and damsels like mournful concert kept. Fell Death, I ween, had taken his oath to do them ill. Alas! by those fierce strangers more were to perish still.