The Lay of the Nibelung Men

INTRODUCTION (continued 7)

Arthur S. (Arthur Sanders) Way translation

Siegfried, my lord, my belovèd, he murdered treacherously.

Who severeth him from his fellows, my gold shall guerdon him well.

My spirit should inly sorrow, if hurt to the rest befell.”

That one should slay him only? Surely thyself mayst see

That if any beset him, his fellows with him will live or die.

Yea, small and great together, if he fell, in death would lie.”

Then added and spake Lord Dietrich with knightly courtesy:

“O mighty Queen, I pray thee, put all such pleading by.

Never to me have thy kinsmen done any deed of wrong

That I should defy to battle such valiant thanes and strong.

For thy prayer, O noble Lady, small honour to thee is therein

That so thou devisest mischief against the lives of thy kin.

They came under pledge of friendship hither to Etzel’s land.

It must needs be that Siegfried remaineth unavenged by Dietrich’s hand.”

So when in the Bernese champions no treachery might be found,

Unto Blödel her faith she plighted, by oath and by handclasp bound

To give him a fair wide lordship, which Nudung possessed of yore—

But ere long, smitten of Dankwart, he remembered her gift no more.

She said: “O Blödel my brother, unto thee for help I call.

My deadliest foes be gathered in yonder palace-hall,

Even they which murdered Siegfried, my belovèd lord, time was.

Unto him were I bounden for ever who now would avenge my cause.”

Unto her made answer Blödel: “Know thou, O Lady and Queen,

In Etzel’s presence I dare not let this hatred be seen

So long as unto thy kinsmen he showeth his favour still.

Never the King would forgive me, if I wrought them aught of ill.”

“Nay, fear not thou, Lord Blödel; thy friend evermore will I stand,

And with guerdon of my silver and my gold will I fill thine hand,

And will give thee to wife that fair-one who was plighted Nudung’s bride,

And in cherishing her beauty shall thine heart be satisfied.

Her land withal and her castles will I give to be thine of right;

So shalt thou live in joyance evermore, O noble knight,

When thou shalt be lord of the marches that were Nudung’s in days gone by:

Yea, all that to-day I promise will I then do faithfully.”

Then seemed unto Blödel the castles and the gold a guerdon fair,

And the witchery of beauty to his heart became a snare.

Fain was he by battle-prowess to win that fair-one to wife:

But foredoomed thereby was the warrior to cast away his life.

He spake to the Queen: “To the feast-hall pass thou unto thy place.

Ere these be ware of the peril, a tumult will I upraise.

For the wrong he hath done thee shall Hagen make atonement at last,

When this King Gunther’s liegeman in bonds at thy feet I cast.

Now arm you all, my liegemen!” to his vassals did Blödel cry.

“We will forth against our foemen where in harbourage they lie.

My Lady, the wife of King Etzel, constrains me to this assay.

We must needs all set on the hazard life and limb this day!”

So when from Blödel the warrior the Queen had wrung consent

To make beginning of conflict, to the feast-hall thence she went

Beside the great King Etzel, and their knights behind them pressed.

A terrible doom for the strangers she purposed within her breast.

Men saw great kings and mighty the crown before her bear;

Yea, high-born princes many and thanes of high degree

Before the Queen did service in great humility.

And the chiefest and noblest among them were nearest set to his side.

For Christian knights and heathen were diverse meats prepared,

Yet all to the full were feasted, for all in his wisdom he cared.

And there before them the sewers all things in order laid

With diligent heed that nothing of all they lacked should fail:—

Too soon were revel and joyance turned into woe and wail!

Now since the flame of battle could be lit in none other way,—

For the old pain crying for vengeance in Kriemhild’s heart still lay,—

She caused that her child and Etzel’s to the banquet-board should be brought.

How by a vengeful woman could fearfuller deed be wrought?

Forth four men went from the feast-hall of Etzel’s following,

And returned with the young prince Ortlieb, the little child of the King;

And they set him before the princes—and Hagen sat thereby,

He through whose murderous hatred that child was doomed to die.

So then when the great King Etzel beheld his son brought in,

In faith and in lovingkindness he spake unto Kriemhild’s kin:

“Behold, my friends and my kinsmen, mine only son is this,

And the child of Kriemhild your sister: your friend that shall be he is.

If he favour his Rhineland kinsmen, a stalwart man shall he be,

Mighty withal and noble, valiant and comely to see.

If I live, I will make him ruler of lordships twelve in my land:

So service fair shall be rendered to you of Ortlieb’s hand.

Therefore I fain would pray you, belovèd kinsmen mine,

Whensoe’er again ye be riding homeward unto the Rhine,

That ye take him, the child of your sister, in that day home with you,

And show all lovingkindness to my son as kinsmen true.

Train him in ways of honour, till unto man he shall grow;

Then, if to your land a mischief be done of any foe,

And he to his strength be waxen, his aid unto you shall he bring.”

—And all this speech heard Kriemhild, the wife of Etzel the King.

“Yea, well may all these warriors in his loyal faith confide,

If ever he grow unto manhood,” grimly Hagen replied;

“But the young king is but a weakling, I trow, in outward show.

Not oft to the court of Ortlieb shall folk behold me go.”

Then the King looked sharply at Hagen, for stung by the word was he,

Albeit he answered nothing, of his kingly courtesy;

Yet his soul was chafed and indignant, for he deemed it nowise good.

Yea, also was Hagen’s spirit nowise in jesting mood.

No less than the King were his servants indignant, a princely band,

That so evilly Hagen had spoken of the child of the lord of the land.

To sit and endure such insult as gall to their spirit seemed;

But of that which ere long by the warrior should be done, ah, little they dreamed!

Would fain have fallen upon him—yea, that would the King, I wot,

Had his honour permitted; the hero had then been in evil plight.

More cruelly soon did he wrong him, that he slew his child in his sight.

XXXII. Of the Slaughter of the Squires and the Slaying of the Slayer

Now the knights that Blödel gathered arrayed themselves forthright.

To the feast-hall they hied them, a thousand in hauberks harnessed for fight,

To the hall where ranged at the tables the squires with Dankwart sate.

Soon brake there forth between heroes the deadliest of all hate.

In strode the war-thane Blödel, and afront of the board stood grim.

But with friendly courtesy Dankwart the Marshal greeted him:

“With welcoming to our mansion, Lord Blödel, I hail thee now;

Yet I marvel at thy coming. What tidings bringest thou?”

“Thou hast nothing to do to greet me,” sternly Blödel spake;

“Seeing my coming hither an end of thee shall make,

For that Hagen thy brother murdered Siegfried years agone;

For the deed with heroes many shalt thou to the Huns atone.”

“Now nay, my good Lord Blödel,” peaceably Dankwart replied;

“Sooth, this were a sorry ending for us all unto this high-tide!

But a child was I when Siegfried departed from light and life.

No cause know I why hated I should be of Etzel’s wife.”

“For thee, I know not and care not how the truth of the story lies:

Thy kinsmen, Hagen and Gunther, did it in any wise.

Defend you, ye doomed and homeless! Ye live not another day!

Here, now, with your lives the forfeit unto Kriemhild must ye pay!”

“Ha, will ye forbear not?” cried Dankwart, “ye messengers of death!

I repent me of mine entreaty: I had better have spared my breath!”

That keen knight battle-eager leapt from his place at the board;

He swept from out the scabbard a mighty and long sharp sword:

Therewith hath he dealt unto Blödel a stroke that as lightning flashed;

And lo, his head in the helmet down at his feet was dashed.

“That be thy morning bride-gift,” the war-fain warrior cried,

“To the widowed wife of Nudung, whom thou wert to win for bride!

Ay, let them wed her to-morrow to another traitor yet:

If he craveth a dower, that Blödel hath gotten shall he too get!”

So scoffed he touching the tidings that a Hun true-hearted had brought

Of the plot whereby Queen Kriemhild the destruction of all these sought.

Then saw the men of Blödel how their good lord lay slain,

And their hands from the guests Burgundian no longer would they refrain.

With swords for the onset uplifted they rushed in furious mood

On the squires—but this their emprise ere long full many rued.

With a great voice then to his henchmen all did Dankwart cry:

“Ye see well, squires brave-hearted, they have doomed us all to die!

Now, homeless men, defend you, for sore is your need, I ween,

—So then for this were we bidden guests of a gracious queen!”

Then, whoso were swordless, ’twixt table and seat good weapons they found,

For many a massy footstool swung they up from the ground.

O yea, those youths Burgundian would flinch no foot from the fray,

But with those ponderous maces the foes’ helms dinted they.

How grimly the friendless yeomen defended them in the fight!

Those armèd knights from the feast-hall they drave in huddled flight.

Five hundred—yea, more, it may be—fled not, for they lay there dead.

There yeomen and squires all blood-drenched stood and crimson-red.

In a little while thereafter these heavy tidings came

To the knights of King Etzel: with anguish and wrath were their souls aflame

That Blödel with all those warriors nought save death had won.

This had the brother of Hagen with his squires and his yeomen done.

Or ever the King might hear it, a host of the Hunfolk stood,

Two thousand—yea, more, it may be—mail-clad, in furious mood.

They fell on the squires—one ending alone could there be to the strife;—

And they left of all that concourse no single soul in life.

For a mighty host did the traitors lead to that hostelry,

And the homeless men unarmoured withstood them valiantly.

What profited strength and valour? One doom of death did they find.

—But the feet of a terrible vengeance were treading close behind.

Now must ye hear a marvel and a horror hard to be said:

Burgundian squires nine thousand in the hall of blood lay dead,

And with these lay the knights of Dankwart, twelve battle-helpers good;

And alone at last and unholpen in the midst of his foes he stood.

The uproar fell to silence, the tumult was stilled for a space;

Then Dankwart glanced around him o’er the slaughter-reeking place:

“Alas for the dear friends,” cried he, “that here in death lie low!

And I—woe’s me!—I am standing alone in the midst of the foe!”

Upon that one man in fury did countless sword-strokes leap:

But the wife of many a hero for this had cause to weep.

Higher he lifted his buckler; the arm-brace lower he drew.

Then many a rifted harness was drenched with crimson dew.

Cried Aldrian’s son: “My torment is greater than man may bear!

Give way, ye knights of the Hunfolk; let me win forth to free air,

That over the warfare-weary the cooling breeze may play!”

To the door through blows down-hailing he gallantly hewed his way.

When the battle-weary champion forth of the portal sprang,

How many swords unblooded then on his helmet rang

Wielded by them who had seen not the marvels wrought by his hand!

Forth leapt to meet them the hero, the pride of Burgundia-land.

“Now would to God,” cried Dankwart, “that a messenger were but nigh,

Who should tell my brother Hagen of mine extremity,

Who am thus by armèd traitors beset before and behind!

Me from their midst would he rescue, or his own death here would he find.”

Answered the Hunfolk scoffing: “That messenger thou must be,

When into thy brother’s presence we drag a dead man—thee!

Then first shall the liegeman of Gunther gaze on his own heart’s woe.

Thou to the men of King Etzel hast here done mischief enow.”

“Have done with your threats!” he shouted. “Give back, ye traitor brood!

Else many a man’s war-harness will I drench with his own life-blood.

I, even I, to the palace will bear these tidings of bane,

And there of the wrong and the outrage to my lords will I complain.”

Then he plunged in their midst, and such havoc he wrought in the Hunnish horde,

That they shrank before him, and dared not close in the strife of the sword;

But they hurled their spears, till so thickly did the shafts in his buckler stand

That the weight thereof constrained him to cast it away from his hand.

Then thought they to overbear him, that one man shieldless left.

Ha! but he hewed two-handed, and through helmet and brain he cleft.

Before him many a brave man went reeling and staggering back.

High praise and renown bold Dankwart won in the battle-wrack.

Then leapt his adversaries upon him to left and to right:—

Ha! but of these full many too hastily came to the fight!

Full on the foemen charged he, as chargeth a forest-boar

On the hounds in the wood—was valour like his seen ever before?

Ever gushing as streams from a fountain the hot blood reddened his way.

Did e’er knight single-handed more gallantly turn to bay

Facing such hosts of foemen as in that hour did he?

On pressed to the palace the brother of Hagen triumphantly.

The cupbearers heard and the stewards the bickering blades’ fierce clang,

And they caught at their swords, down casting the cups on the floor that rang:

Some clutched spears, dropping the bakemeats that they to the feast-hall bare;

So when Dankwart won to the palace, fresh foemen thronged the stair.

“How now, ye knightly sewers,” did the weary warrior say,

“Of a truth, to the guests of your master meet service should ye pay,

And should bear to the waiting princes the goodly meats through the hall,

And let me bear to my masters the tidings I come withal.”

Whosoe’er with presumptuous courage to bar his coming essayed,

Upon him with his swinging war-glaive such giant strokes he laid,

That the rest all terror-stricken fell back from his fierce onslaught.

Marvels exceeding mighty by his prowess had he wrought.

XXXIII. How the Fight began in Etzel’s Hall

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.

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.

Of a truth the liegemen of Etzel made stout defence that day:

But the guests—ye might see them hewing forth and back their way

Through the length and breadth of the feast-hall of the King with the lightening brand,

While scream and groan of the stricken went up on every hand.

Then they without right gladly would have holpen their friends within:

But when they would force that doorway, small honour could they win.

And they in the hall full gladly would have gotten to outer air,

But past that door-ward Dankwart might none set foot on the stair.

So gathered before that portal throngs upon throngs of foes,

And loud were the helmets ringing as the swords dealt crashing blows.

Then hardly bestead was the warder, Dankwart the unafraid;

But his brother marked his peril, as love and loyalty bade.

With a mighty voice unto Volker straightway did Hagen shout:

“Seest thou yonder, my comrade, how beset by a Hunnish rout

Alone my brother standeth, while down on him stark blows rain?

O friend, do thou help my brother, ere sped be the valiant thane.”

Made answer the viol-minstrel: “Yea verily will I so.”

Through the hall he strode to the music of that strange viol-bow,

That sword of the ice-brook’s temper, that rang in his grasp evermore;

And the Rhineland knights as they heard it gave hearty thanks therefor.

Then unto Dankwart Volker the aweless hero said:

“This day hast thou sorely travailed, and now art thou hardly bestead:

Wherefore to me for thine helping did Hagen thy brother appeal.

Them from without withstand thou, and with these from within will I deal.”

Now without is the door well warded, for Dankwart the keen stands there.

Whosoever would win the threshold back hurled he down the stair.

To the ringing music of sword-blades in many a hero’s hand

Within was the door well warded by Volker of Burgundy-land.

Then over the tossing tumult a cry did the minstrel send:

“Safe warded is the mansion, thou seest, Hagen my friend

The door of Etzel’s palace is locked and bolted amain

Fast as with bars a thousand, by the hands of heroes twain!”

So then when Hagen of Troneg saw that the door was fast,

That battle-eager hero his shield behind him cast;

Then, then in grimmest earnest he began to avenge the wrong.

Then faint grew the hearts of the valiant, and palsied the might of the strong.

When the Prince of Bern, Lord Dietrich, saw the marvels that he wrought,

Saw Hagen the valiant cleaving the morions as he fought,

Then sprang the chief of the Amals on a bench amidst of the hall,

And he cried: “Here Hagen poureth a death-draught bitter as gall!”

Well might the Lord of the Hunfolk be stricken with sore affright.

—What hosts of his friends were falling down gulfs of death in his sight!—

Death’s wings overgloomed him, for round him was closing the foes’ stern ring.

In anguish he sat—what profit was it now unto him to be King?

Then cried in her fear unto Dietrich Kriemhild, a great king’s wife:

“Help me, O noble hero, O help me hence with life!

By the chivalrous honour I pray thee of the princes of Amelung-land!

For if yon Hagen reach me, death is at my right hand.”

“How may I avail to help thee,” Dietrich the princely said,

“O noble Daughter of Princes? For myself do I stand in dread,

So fiercely the wrath is kindled of yon King Gunther’s array,

That for no man’s life can I answer in this season of dismay.”

“Now nay, Lord Dietrich, noblest of all knights,” cried the Queen;

“Let the chivalry of thy spirit in this dark hour be seen.

Forth of this place do thou help me or ever I lie here dead!”

Of a surety the spirit of Kriemhild was anguished with mortal dread.

“Nay then, if perchance it avail you, your help will I essay,

Albeit have I seen never through many a perilous day

Aflame with such bitter fury such hosts of warriors good.

I see from the helmets spurting ’neath sword-strokes ever the blood!”

Then did that peerless warrior uplift a shattering shout:

Like the horn of a wild bull blaring his mighty voice rang out,

That through all the wide-built fortress its thunder-echoes rolled;

So great was the strength of Dietrich, its measure may not be told.

Then heard that shout King Gunther, and he hearkened thereunto

As it pealed o’er the battle-tempest, and the voice of the hero he knew;

And he cried: “The voice of Dietrich!—it fell on mine ear but now.

Our knights in the battle have smitten a friend of his, I trow.

There on the table I see him: he beckoneth with his hand.

Ho ye, my friends and kinsmen, knights of Burgundia-land,

From the strife for a little refrain you, that so we may hear and see

What hurt hath been done unto Dietrich by them of my company.”

So the knights at the prayer of Gunther, at the warrior king’s behest,

Let sink their swords, and the fury of fight for a space had rest.

By that sudden peace did Gunther his power unto all men show:

Then straightway he asked of Dietrich wherefore he cried to him so.

He said: “O noble Dietrich, now who hath lifted a hand

Of any my friends against thee? Willing and ready I stand

To make unto thee atonement, and thy claim to satisfy.

If any had done thee a mischief, grieved to the heart were I.”

Made answer the noble Dietrich: “No wrong hath been wrought unto me.

But let me in peace and safety forth of the hall go free,

And take with me all my people out of the bitter strife;

So will I to thee of a surety be beholden all my life.”

“Wherefore so soon,” cried Wolfhart, “a grace of him dost implore?

Yon viol-minstrel hath barred not, I wot, so fast the door,

But that wide ourselves can set it, till we all therethrough have won.”

“Thou, hold thy peace!” said Dietrich, “no smallest deed hast thou done.”

Spake unto him King Gunther: “This I accord unto you.

Lead all forth of the palace, many be they or few,

So they be not my foemen: of these forth goeth none,

For of these foul wrong hath been done me here in the land of the Hun.”

When Dietrich the noble heard it, around the high-born Queen

Cast he an arm of protection—her fear was deadly-keen!—

And forth of the hall King Etzel he drew with the other hand;

And after Dietrich followed six hundred knights of his band.

Then unto Gunther the Margrave, the noble Rüdiger, cried:

“If thou meanest that forth of the palace any shall win beside

Of such as be fain to serve thee, of this thing do me to wit;

So shall our bond of friendship and peace be abidingly knit.”

Then to his fair bride’s father Giselher straightway spake:

“Let peace and love between us be a bond that none shall break.

The troth-plight of friendship ever do thou and thine maintain.

Go fearless forth of the palace, thou and thy vassal-train.”

When Rüdiger, Lord of the Marches, passed free through the guarded door,

There went with him five hundred—yea, peradventure more—

Friends of the Lord of Bechlaren and his trusty vassal-throng:

But of that fair faith unto Gunther great scathe befell ere long.

Now it happed that a knight of the Hunfolk beheld King Etzel go

Safe under Dietrich’s shielding, and would fain ’scape even so;

But with a stroke so deadly the viol-minstrel swept

The head from the skulker’s shoulders, that to Etzel’s feet it leapt.

So when the Lord of Hunland came forth from the battle-wrack,

He turned him about, and at Volker he looked in amazement back—

“Woe’s me for the guests I have harboured! O day of sorrow and bane

Wherein beneath their prowess all these my knights fall slain!

Woe’s me for my festal high-tide!” that king of nations said:

“Within there fighteth a warrior, Volker, a name of dread.

Like some wild boar he rageth—and a minstrel him they name!

Thank Heaven that safe from the talons of this foul fiend I came!

Doom rings and sings in his measures, red are the strokes of his bow;

In his notes I hear the death-knell of many a knight laid low.

What hath the viol-minstrel against us know I not.

Never by guest such sorrow upon mine house was brought!”

Rüdiger, Lord of the Marches, and Dietrich, Bern’s great thane.

Themselves were steadfast-minded aloof from the quarrel to stay,

And they straitly commanded their vassals to have nought to do with the fray.

To be wrought by those two heroes, which for them fate had in store,

Verily not so lightly had they won that hall-way through

Ere those grim portal-keepers with the sword had smitten them too.

All whom they would had they suffered by this to pass from within;

Then again brake forth in the feast-hall a yet more fearful din.

Grimly the guests avenged them for the broken troth and the wrong.

Ha, how were the helmets cloven by the arm of Volker the strong!

To the clash of that deadly music King Gunther turned him about—

“Hearst thou the tunes, O Hagen, that Volker beateth out

On the heads of the Huns, whosoever essay the door that he keeps?

Red are the strings of the viol whereover his swift bow leaps!”

“Sore is mine heart above measure for this thing,” Hagen replied,

“That in this hall-feast I am sundered afar from the good thane’s side

Ever was I his comrade, and he true comrade to me.

We will dwell, if we win home ever, in love and loyalty.

Behold, Lord King, is Volker to thee not faithful-souled?

Nobly he earneth guerdon of thy silver and thy gold!

His viol-bow goeth cleaving the adamant steel in twain,

And the gemmed helm-crests are shattered and scattered in flashing rain.

Never beheld I minstrel stand such a lord of the fray

As Volker the thane hath proved him on this his glory-day.

Hark, how through helm and shield-plate his measures clash and gride!

He shall yet wear kingly raiment, and goodly steeds bestride.”

So fought they on, till of Hunfolk that in that hall had been

Through all its mist of slaughter no living man was seen.

There was none to fight, and the uproar was hushed, the tumult died.

From their hands the aweless heroes laid now their swords aside.

XXXIV. How they cast forth the Dead

Then sat them down the warriors to rest them toil-forspent.

But forth of the feast-hall doorway Volker and Hagen went;

And leaning upon their bucklers, as in scorn of foes without,

Spake they together, casting at the Hunfolk gibe and flout.

Then cried the Prince Burgundian, Giselher the thane:

“We may not, O friends belovèd, resting longer remain.

We must needs first hale the corpses forth of the palace-hall;

For our foes, I say of a surety, again upon us will fall.

Nowise it befitteth that longer clogging our feet they lie.

Ere the foe in the storm of battle from us wrest victory,

Deep wounds will we hew full many, and sweet is the thought unto me;

Yea, my heart is set on the war-feast,” said Giselher, “steadfastly.”

“Glad am I that such a war-lord I have!” cried Hagen the grim.

“This counsel well beseemeth no meaner knight than him,

But such an one as the young Prince hath proved him to-day in your sight:

And for this, O thanes Burgundian, blithe be your hearts and light!”

Then did they after his counsel, and out through the door they drew

Seven thousand slain men’s corpses, and forth of the palace threw.

Afront of the steps they hurled them adown to the court below.

Then wailed from the friends of the slaughtered lamentation and mourning and woe.

There was many a man among them whose hurts were not so sore,

But that soon, had he gentle tendance, he were whole again as before,

Who yet found death all swiftly, hurled from that cruel height.

Loudly their kin lamented who saw that pitiful sight.

Then shouted the viol-minstrel, the champion dauntless-souled:

“Now well do I see how truly the tale unto me was told

That this is a land of cravens: like women they wail, these Huns,

They who should now be tending the battle-stricken ones!”

Then it seemed to a lord of the marches that he spake not in scoffing mood;

And that same lord had a kinsman there fallen in his blood;

And he thought from the carnage to bear him, and his arms around him he threw;

But the minstrel with a javelin hurled at him, and slew.

Then back from the stairway fled they who in hope had been drawing near,

Cursing the viol-minstrel in the impotent fury of fear.

Then caught up Volker a javelin, stubborn-shafted and keen:

Shot by one of the Hunfolk against himself had it been.

Across the court he sped it, putting his might to the cast,

That it flew o’er their heads fierce-singing; and Etzel’s men were aghast,

As he warned them to safer standing, from the hall-door far away.

At his matchless might all people were thrilled with sore dismay.

Before that hall with Etzel in thousands the Hunfolk stood.

And now did Volker and Hagen in scornful-reckless mood

Set them to gall the Hun-king, and with bitter taunts to defy.

Ere long grim retribution on the heroes came thereby.

“It were well,” cried Hagen, “to hearten the folk in the evil day,

That the lords of the land should battle in the forefront of the fray,

Even as this day battle those true men, even my lords:

They hew the helmets asunder, blood flieth to meet their swords.”

No battle-blencher was Etzel: he grasped in wrath and pride

His shield—“Risk not at their bidding thine own life!” Kriemhild cried.

“Nay, offer thy shield gold-brimming for a champion of thy war-band.

If thou close with yonder Hagen, death standeth at thy right hand.”

Yet the King was a knight so fearless that he would not refrain from the strife—

Sooth, now such mighty princes more dearly tender their life!—

Their lord from the fray by his shield-band his servants needs must hale.

Then with grim laughter Hagen again at the King ’gan rail:

“Good sooth, ’tis a far-away kinship,” he cried with bitter jeer,

“That hath drawn this Etzel and Siegfried each unto other so near!

He wantoned with yonder Kriemhild or ever she looked on thee!

What ho, King Etzel the craven, what grudge hast thou against me?”

In the ears of the great Queen tingled the scoffer’s every word:

Black grew the heart of Kriemhild at the thought that his taunt was heard

Of all those vassals of Etzel, when he dared to make her a jest;

And she set her once more to enkindle her champions against that guest.

She cried: “Whosoever will smite me yon Hagen of Troneg dead,

And bring for a trophy hither and cast at my feet his head,

For him the shield of Etzel will I fill with gold to the brim,

Yea also, castles for guerdon and land will I give unto him.”

“I wot not why these falter,” the viol-minstrel said.

“Never have I seen heroes stand so sorely adread,

When offered in all men’s hearing is all that wealth of gold.

Of a truth, never more will Etzel unto these be gracious-souled.

These things of shame and scorning, on the bread of the King they feed,

And behold, they now forsake him in the stress of his sorest need!

Of such I behold full many: utterly cowed are they—

And they name them heroes!—branded are they with contempt for aye!”

For his kin and his perished liegemen did he make bitter moan.

From many a land around him stood knights on every side,

And wept with the King for the sorrow of that heavy festal tide.

“Warriors I see full many with false tears weeping here;

But little do they for the helping of their king in his evil case.

They eat the bread of their master to their shame and confusion of face!”

And of all that throng was no man more stung with shame and ruth

Than Iring, Lord of the Marches, a knight from the land of the Dane;

And in sooth in no long season he proved it in battle-strain.

XXXV. How Iring fought and died

Then shouted the Margrave Iring, the lord of the Danefolk’s land:

“Ever on quest of honour have I set mine heart and hand,

And have done my best endeavour where surges of fight tossed high.

Bring me mine harness! My prowess against yon Hagen I try.”

“Thou shalt do it to thy destruction!” did Hagen scornfully say.

“Thou shouldst better bid these Hunfolk to shrink yet farther away.

Though twain, yea, three of you rushing essay to win this hall,

Back grievously hurt will I send them; adown this stair shall they fall.”

“Not for thy threats I refrain me!” cried Iring with shining eyes.

“Full oft ere this have I ventured on as perilous emprise.

Alone will I withstand thee, and not with words, but the sword.

What care I for all thy vaunting, O thou tongue-valiant lord?”

Then with speed was the good thane Iring sheathed in knightly mail

And Irnfried of Thuringia, a heart unused to quail,

And Hawart the strong, with a thousand warriors in battle-array,

Stood eager to go where Iring the hero led the way.

Then looked the viol-minstrel, and beheld that huge war-band

That would press on after Iring, armed all with shield and brand,

And upon their heads had they settled and laced the helmets bright.

Then was the valiant Volker exceeding wroth at the sight.

“Seest thou, friend Hagen,” he shouted, “how Iring cometh on,

He that but now made proffer to meet thee in battle alone?

Is it seemly that heroes be liars? contempt upon such I pour.

Lo, armed at his side come onward a thousand knights or more!”

“Liar me thou no liars!” Hawart’s liegeman replied.

“Unto you did I give a promise, and by that will I abide.

My word shall not be broken for any craven fear!

Be Hagen never so grimly, alone will I meet him here.”

Thereat did Iring bow him at his friends’ and liegemen’s feet:

“Suffer ye me unholpen,” he said, “yon knight to meet.”

Right sorely loth they consented, for known to them well was the might

Of Hagen the Burgundian, the overweening knight.

So long did he entreat them that at last they needs must yield.

When his friends and his faithful vassals beheld him steadfast-willed,

And marked how he thirsted for honour, at the last they let him go.

Then did begin a grapple most grim ’twixt foe and foe.

Iring the knight of Daneland a casting-spear upswung;

For a fence of his breast the hero his shield before him flung:

Swift to the meeting with Hagen to the door of the hall he sprang;

Then burst forth ’twixt those champions a mighty battle-clang.

The hands of the twain, ere they grappled, sped the javelins’ flight:

They pierced through the strong-knit bucklers, they rang on the hauberks bright,

That high above their helmets the splintered spear-staves flew;

And swiftly the two grim warriors their swords from the scabbards drew.

Measureless might had Hagen the dauntless above all men;

Yet starkly did Iring smite him, that the castle rang again:

Through the halls and the towers of the palace did their blows’ wild echoes thrill.

Yet the Dane with his uttermost striving might compass not his will.

So Iring turned him from Hagen, who was woundless yet of his blows,

And now with the viol-minstrel in conflict did he close.

He weened, as he hailed grim sword-strokes, he should smite his foeman down;

But of fence exceeding cunning was that champion of renown.

So starkly smote the minstrel, that the studs were whirled through the air

By Volker’s strong hand stricken from the shield that Iring bare.

So he left him standing unwounded, for a terrible foe was he:

Then turned he, and leapt upon Gunther, the Lord of Burgundy.

So champion clashed with champion, giants in battle-might,

Gunther and Iring, and starkly each the other they smite;

Yet neither could redden the armour of other with gushing blood,

For the strong-knit links of the harness the edge of the steel withstood.

From Gunther he swiftly hath turned him, and now upon Gernot he springs;

He smiteth his mail, and he heweth flashes of flame from the rings.

But Gernot the lord Burgundian with such stark fury fought,

That to death’s sheer brink his prowess the valiant Iring brought.

But he sprang from the Prince—as a panther’s swift was the leap of the thane—

And four good knights Burgundian with four great strokes hath he slain;

In the noble host of the vassals from Worms over Rhine they came.

Never ere then so hotly did the wrath of Giselher flame.

“By the living God, Sir Iring,” the young prince Giselher cried,

“Unto me shalt thou make atonement for these that here have died

Even now by thy battle-brand stricken!” He leapt upon his foe,

And he lashed with a stroke so mighty that the Dane reeled back from the blow:

As hurled from the hands of the smiter, backward he fell in blood,

That it seemed unto all beholders that the warrior stalwart and good

Should never strike in battle another stroke of brand:

Yet Iring the while unwounded lay of Giselher’s hand.

In sooth, so rang his helmet, so clashed the sword on his head,

That stunned he lay, and his senses awhile were utterly fled;

And indeed for a space he knew not whether he yet lived on.

Even this unto him had the prowess of valiant Giselher done.

When he came to himself, and out of the darkness his soul awoke

From the swoon wherein it had sunken at the falling of that great stroke,

Then thought he: “Behold, I am living! Moreover, wound have I none.

Now know I Giselher’s prowess, the might of the valiant one!”

Around him the feet of the foemen he heard, as they moved to and fro.

Had they known that he lived, right swiftly had they ended him, I trow!

The voice of Giselher heard he withal as he stood hard by;

And he pondered how from the foemen that ringed him round he should fly.

From the blood like a very madman upsprang to his feet the knight—

Well might he thank his fleetness for speeding thence his flight!

As out through the door he darted, lo, there did Hagen stand,

And the Dane hailed blows upon him with swift and sudden hand.

Then Hagen thought: “Thou art surely now in the clutches of death!

Except the Foul Fiend help thee, thou drawest thy latest breath!”

Yet indeed had he wounded Hagen with a stroke through his helm that clave:

That deed had he done with Waske, a mighty battle-glaive.

When Hagen the grim-hearted of the wound so dealt was ware,

In his grip with tenfold fury his war-glaive hissed through the air

In such wise that Hawart’s liegeman must needs give back from his face,

And Hagen, as down the stairway he fled, still held him in chase.

Over his head his buckler he swung up, Iring the strong,

To screen him: yet had the stairway been even thrice so long,

No time had Hagen left him to strike one stroke of sword.

Ha, how the red sparks streaming from his ringing helmet poured!

Yet back unto friends and kinsmen unwounded Iring returned;

And so soon as the Lady Kriemhild the wondrous tidings learned

How against Hagen of Troneg her champion had borne him in fight,

For this that Daughter of Princes poured forth her thanks to the knight:

“Now God reward thee, Iring, thou thane renowned and bold!

To mine heart hast thou brought comfort, and made me joyful-souled.

Lo, I see on the battle-harness of Hagen a bloody stain!”

And for joy took Kriemhild the buckler herself from the hand of the thane.

“Small cause wilt thou have to thank him,” cried Hagen in fierce disdain:

“Let but thy valorous champion essay the deed again;

If alive he win back ever, a hero indeed shall he be;

And as for the wound he hath dealt me, small joy shall it be unto thee!

For the little scratch I have gotten that mine harness reddeneth,

It hath but enkindled my fury unto many a warrior’s death:

Against the liegeman of Hawart mine anger it doth but whet.

Small scathe thy champion Iring hath done unto Hagen yet!”

For a space in the breeze fresh-blowing stood Iring of Danish land:

He cooled his limbs in his harness, he loosed his helmet-band.

All round him the folk stood praising his might and his chivalry,

And the heart of the Lord of the Marches thereat beat proud and high.

Then once again spake Iring: “Good friends, I pray you go

And bring new arms: I am purposed again to essay yon foe,

If I haply may still the boaster, and abase the arrogant head.”

Sore hacked was his shield, but a better they gave him in its stead.

Soon stood the knight full-armoured in stronger warrior-gear:

He grasped in his battle-fury a stubborn-shafted spear,

And he set his face unto Hagen to defy him to fight once more;

Then leapt to meet him the hatred of that murder-wolf of war.

For Hagen the thane would wait not for the coming of Iring’s feet,

But hurling javelins before him he sprang his foe to meet

Down all the length of the stairway: his fury was passing great.

Ah, little did Iring’s prowess avail in the hour of fate!

As the swords hewed through the bucklers, it was as a fierce wind blew

The sparks of a burning forest. Then Hawart’s liegeman true

Gat from the sword of Hagen a wound that bit to the brain

Crashing through buckler and helmet—he was never whole again.

When ware was the good knight Iring of the bite of the sword-edge keen,

Higher he swung his buckler his rifted helm to screen.

He weened that in that grim sword-gash he had gotten scathe enow;

But Gunther’s liegeman dealt him a yet more deadly blow:

For Hagen caught at a javelin that lay at his feet on the ground;

At the Daneland hero he hurled it, and his shieldless face it found,

And lo, the quivering spear-shaft stood out from his head behind.

From the hand of Hagen the mighty a grim end did he find.

Back to the ranks of his people staggered the fainting Dane;

But ere they could raise the helmet from the piercèd head of the thane,

They must needs draw out the spear-shaft:—death’s hand upon him lay,

And his friends brake forth into weeping: good cause to weep had they!

Then Kriemhild, Daughter of Princes, to the stricken man drew nigh,

And she cried over Iring the stalwart an exceeding bitter cry;

Over his wounds sore wept she: her heart was wrung with grief.

Then spake in his kinsmen’s presence that battle-fearless chief:

“Forbear thy lamentation, O Lady royal-born.

What now availeth thy weeping? My life from my limbs is torn:

Out through the wounds I have gotten it fleeteth fast away.

Death putteth an end to my service of Etzel and thee this day.”

Unto Dane he turned and Thuringian, and bespake that warrior-band:

“The gifts that the Queen hath proffered, take heed that no man’s hand

Be tempted to earn that guerdon of the shining gold and red;

For if ye encounter Hagen, ye shall look on the place of the dead.”

Bloodless-grey was his visage: the tokens of death showed plain

On the brow of the valiant Iring. Their hearts were wrung with pain

For Hawart’s hero-vassal, brave heart for ever stilled!

Then a sudden fury of battle the Danemark warriors thrilled.

On charged they, Irnfried and Hawart: they leapt to the guarded door,

And a thousand heroes followed. Then roar on shattering roar

Rang round in crashing echoes unearthly wild and high.

What hail of massy javelins did against the Burgundians fly!

Full on the viol-minstrel did Irnfried the dauntless run,

But bitter scathe his daring from the hand of Volker won;

For he dealt, that noble minstrel, the landgrave such a blow

That it cleft through the firm-knit helmet—in sooth was he grim enow!

Wounded to death, yet Irnfried smote one mighty stroke,

And the sword through the rings of the hauberk on the breast of the minstrel broke,

And over his mail fell flashing the links in a fiery rain:—

But now was he sped, and the landgrave fell, by the minstrel slain.

Man against man clashed Hagen and Hawart in grapple of fight;

A tale might he tell of wonders who had looked upon that sight.

Like lashing rain fell swordstrokes from either hero’s hand,

Till slain was the death-doomed Hawart by him of Burgundia-land.

When Danefolk and Thuringians beheld how their lords were slain,

Maddened afront of the palace yet grimmer battle-strain,

As they struggled with mighty hand-strokes to win that portal through,

And through many a shield and helmet did the flashing steel-edge hew.

“Give back from the door,” cried Volker, “and let these enter in!

Ha, but the prize that they look for not a man of them all shall win!

One and all shall they perish—ay, and that full soon.

With death shall they earn their guerdon, Queen Kriemhild’s golden boon!”

Into the hall of slaughter those men high-hearted pressed,

But soon did many a warrior stoop to the earth his crest.

Fast, fast by the lightning sword-strokes of its warders were they slain.

Well fought the dauntless Gernot, well Giselher the thane.

Into the great hall thronged they, a thousand men and four;

Then flashed and flickered above them the dancing glaives of war,

Till at last by the grim guests slaughtered one and all they lay.

Well may bards sing the wonders of Burgundia’s vengeance-day!

Then suddenly died the tumult, there was silence in that hall,

Save the sound of the blood-streams pouring through the channels in the wall

And rushing without down the rain-shutes, the blood of knightly foes

Slain by the men of Rhineland with their swords’ resistless blows.

Then sat them down war-weary the sons of Burgundia-land:

Dropped was the massy buckler and the sword from the red right hand.

Yet standing before the doorway did the valiant minstrel stay,

And watched, if haply a foeman would yet draw near for the fray.

Sorely the King lamented, and the Queen, with bitter cry;

Sisters and wives were wailing in bereavement’s agony.

Ah, death, I ween, full surely against them an oath had sworn,

For many a warrior’s life-thread by the guests was yet to be shorn.

XXXVI. How the Queen bade set fire to the Hall

“Unlace ye now your helmets,” spake Hagen Troneg’s lord.

“I and my comrade Volker will again keep watch and ward;

And if yon vassals of Etzel once more the onset essay,

Straightway will I warn my masters with all the speed I may.”

Then loosed was the band of his helmet by many a warrior good;

And they sat them down on the corpses that lay there in their blood,

Which had come by the hands Burgundian to their death, and cumbered the floor,

The while with bitter hatred the Hunfolk scowled at the door.

Ere the evening shadows had fallen, the King by hest and prayer,

With Kriemhild the Queen, had persuaded that with hope of fortune fair

The Huns should essay the onset again: in huge array

They stood, full twenty thousand in ordered ranks for the fray.

Then a wilder battle-tempest against the King’s guests swept.

Dankwart, the brother of Hagen, the mighty warrior, leapt

From beside his lords to the foemen to meet them afront of the hall.

They deemed him verily death-doomed, yet scatheless he won through all.

Long lasted that stubborn conflict till the shadows darkened down;

And the guests still stood unflinching like heroes of renown

Against the hosts of Etzel through that long summer day.

Ha, what unnumbered heroes in death before them lay!

In the fair midsummer season was that mighty murder wrought,

When Kriemhild for her heart’s anguish revenge so dearly bought

On her own nearest kinsfolk and on many guiltless men,

By reason whereof King Etzel knew never joy again.

Nay, in the strife’s beginning one thought in her breast she nursed,

That Hagen alone by her vengeance to a bloody end should come:—

But therein was the Foul Fiend working to fashion for all one doom.

The day was past: the heroes were now in evil strait.

Weary and famished, it seemed them swift death were a better fate

Than long to linger in torment of hunger and thirst and pain.

Wherefore the knights high-hearted for a truce with their foes were fain.

They asked that the King might meet them before the feast-hall door.

Then the heroes with armour-soilure blackened, and red with gore,

Strode forth of the hall, and amidst them stood the Princes three:

But their haggard eyes found nowhere one glance of sympathy.

And now stand Etzel and Kriemhild that place of death before—

Theirs is the whole land, therefore waxeth their host evermore—

Then spake the King to the King’s guests: “Say, what would ye of me?

Haply for peace ye petition? Hardly this may be

After the wrongs ye have done me, and your ruthless work of death.

Ye shall not in any wise win it so long as I draw breath.

My child whom ye have murdered, and all my friends laid low—

Look ye for peace and forgiveness for these? In sooth, not so!”

“Enforced,” made answer Gunther, “were we by a grievous wrong.

Within their lodging murdered were all mine henchman-throng,

Murdered by thine own heroes!—whereby had I earned such meed?

I came to thee trustful-hearted, I held thee a friend indeed!”

Then spake of the Princes Burgundian the youngest, Giselher:

“Ye warriors of King Etzel which be yet alive, give ear.

What have ye against me, heroes? What have I done unto you,

I, who to this land journeyed with loving heart and true?”

“Thy love!” they replied: “our castles are filled by reason thereof

With mourning, and all our country! We well could have spared thy love,

Hadst thou never journeyed hither from Worms beyond the Rhine!

The whole land lieth orphaned through thee and those brethren of thine!”

Then in mighty indignation Gunther the hero cried:

“Would ye suffer this deadly hatred even now to be laid aside

In peace with the homeless warriors, for us and for you it were well.

For no guilt of ours is the anger of Etzel the King so fell.”

The King to the guests gave answer: “Not yet made equal they are,

Your sufferings and Etzel’s—the bitter travail of war,

The scathe and the deadly insult that ye have loaded on me—

For these no man of you living cometh forth into liberty!”

To the King made answer Gernot the stalwart and valorous:

“At the least may God incline thee to do one grace unto us:

Slay us indeed, the homeless; but let us forth unto you

From this prison into the open: for your honour this should ye do.

Whatsoever then may betide us, be it quickly over and done.

Ye have hosts of men unwounded: if they dare one and all set on,

They shall give to the battle-weary death and a soon-won rest.

How long shall we knights linger thus grievously distressed?”

Now the warriors of King Etzel would lightly have done them the grace

That the heroes forth of the feast-hall should come to the open space.

But so soon as Kriemhild heard it, in anguish of wrath she cried

Against it; and unto the homeless was this last boon denied.

“Nay, noble knights,” she pleaded, “the thing ye incline unto

Ye never will grant, if ye hearken to faithful counsel and true,

To let these murder-lusters set foot forth of the hall!

If ye do it, many your kinsmen in the pit of death shall fall.

If only three were living, my brethren, Uta’s sons,

And to free air of heaven came forth those mighty ones,

To cool their scalding harness, ye were lost!—not lightly I warn;

For verily braver heroes on earth were never born.”

Spake Giselher the young Prince: “O fairest sister mine,

In an evil hour did I trust thee, at whose word I passed over Rhine

A bidden guest to thy country—nay rather to this sore strait!

What have I done to the Hunfolk to earn me this evil fate?

Unto thee have I kept troth ever; never I wronged thee in aught.

Unto Etzel’s palace riding I came with this one thought

That to me thou wert loving-hearted, O sister cherished of me.

Now show unto us thy mercy: ah, surely so it must be!”

“I show unto you no mercy: no mercy to me was shown!

Unto me hath Hagen of Troneg foul wrong and ruthless done,

And for this is there no atonement, so long as I yet have life;

And for this must ye all pay forfeit!” So spake King Etzel’s wife.

“Yet—yet if Hagen only for hostage to me ye give,

Not utterly will I deny you, I will haply let you live,

Forasmuch as ye be my brethren; sons of my mother ye are:

So will I commune of pardon with these my men of war.”

“Now God in Heaven forbid it!” Gernot indignantly cried.

“Though yet we numbered a thousand, we would all die side by side—

We who are yet thy kinsmen!—ere one man of us all

Shall be rendered up for a hostage: that shame shall never befall.”

“So then we must needs all perish,” did the young Prince Giselher say;

“Yet none shall hinder our dying like knights in our war-array.

If any be fain to fight us, ready here we stand.

No friend I forsake, betraying the troth of my right hand!”

Then spake the valiant Dankwart; in the word was his true heart shown:

“Verily Hagen my brother standeth not here alone.

We asked of them peace: their denial thereof shall work them woe!

Yea, by my troth, to their sorrow they yet shall find it so.”

Then spake that Daughter of Princes: “O heroes valiant and strong

Go forward unto the stairway, and avenge us of our wrong;

And to you will I aye be beholden, even as is meet and right,

And the insolent outrage of Hagen will I to the full requite.

Let none of all their warriors tarry without the door;

And I will cause yon feast-hall to be fired at its corners four:

So shall I have meet vengeance for all mine anguish of heart!”

Swiftly the warriors of Etzel set them to play their part.

Them that without were standing they drave back through the door

With swords and with hail of javelins: loud rang the battle-roar.

Yet in all that stress the princes and liegemen were sundered not:

From loyal faith to each other never they swerved one jot.

Then the wife of Etzel commanded to set the hall aflame.

Now on the heroes the torment of a fiery furnace came.

The house was enwrapped in the leaping flames by a great wind blown.

Never, I ween, such anguish by a leaguered host was known!

Within were there voices crying: “Woe’s me for this horror of pain!

Better that dead we were lying in the storm of battle slain!

God upon us have mercy!—how utterly are we lost!

Grimly the Queen is wreaking her vengeance on all this host!”

Cried a voice yet again through the hot reek: “Here must we meet our doom!

Unto such a festal high-tide did the false King bid us come?

Thirst in this flaming furnace so sore tormenteth me,

That fainteth my life and faileth in this mine agony!”

Then shouted Hagen of Troneg: “O noble knights and good,

Whoso by thirst is tormented, here let him drink of the blood.

In heat thus fiercely scorching better than wine it is:

In this our strait moreover may we find none better than this.”

Then a certain knight which heard him went unto one of the dead;

He bowed him down to the death-gash, he loosed the helm from his head;

He drank of the blood fresh-flowing, and deep and long he quaffed

Of a cup theretofore untasted, and sweet to his lips was the draught.

“God guerdon thee, Lord Hagen,” the weary warrior cried,

“For this good drink I have gotten, who took thy counsel for guide!

Never hath cupbearer poured me more soul-refreshing wine.

So long as I live am I bounden to thee for this rede of thine.”

Now when his fellows heard it, that counsel seemed them good,

And behold, there was many another that likewise drank of the blood:

Therefrom in the frames of the warriors was strength and life renewed;

By many a wife on the morrow in the death of her lord was it rued.

From the roof great fragments flaming fell heavily all round;

But their heads with the shields they warded, and dashed the brands to the ground.

The rolling smoke and the scorching tormented them full sore:

Never, I ween, unto heroes befell such pain before.

Then again spake Hagen of Troneg: “Stand ye close to the wall:

Suffer ye not the firebrands on your helmet-bands to fall,

But beneath your feet do ye trample and quench in blood the flame.

Unto an evil high-tide at Kriemhild’s bidding we came!”

Amid such tribulation the night drew on to an end.

And ever the valiant minstrel kept guard with Hagen his friend,

Before the palace-portal on his shield-rim resting a hand,

Aye watching against new onslaughts from the men of Etzel’s land.

By reason thereof, in the morning there lived so many the more.

Albeit on them at the windows more hotly the flame-tongues played,

Unflinching did they withstand them as valour and honour bade.

Then spake the viol-minstrel: “Now go we into the hall.

These Huns shall deem peradventure that their enemies one and all

Be dead through the fiery torment wherewith we have been beset;

But I ween there be some that in grapple of fight shall close with them yet.”

Then of the Princes Burgundian the youngest, Giselher, spake:

“Lo now, a cold wind riseth: the day shall, I trow, soon break.

May God in Heaven vouchsafe us that a happier day may dawn!

To an ill high-tide by the bidding of my sister were we drawn!”

Spake after a space another: “Now I discern the day.

Then, seeing nought else remaineth, and for us there is but one way,

E’en make you ready, my masters, as needeth to be done.

At the least will we die with honour, seeing escape is none.”

Now thought, as he well might, Etzel that the guests by this were dead,

Forspent with battle-travail and with flames encompassèd;

Yet there six hundred warriors still dauntless stood at bay.

No king on earth had ever better knights than they.

Now the watchers that spied on the strangers full well by this were ware

That many a guest was living, what grievous scathe soe’er

And torment had been suffered by the kings and their warrior-band.

They beheld in the blackened feast-hall a goodly company stand.

Then one brought word unto Kriemhild that yet lived many a foe.

“Nay,” cried the Queen in amazement, “never can this be so—

Never, that one man living through such a fire could come!

Nay, I must needs think rather that all have found one doom.”

Full fain would Princes and liegemen yet have been spared to live,

Had any been moved by mercy that boon at the last to give.

There was none: they could find no daysman in all the Hunfolk’s land:

Therefore did they for their slaying avenge them with willing hand.

A sudden greeting received they in the first of the morning-red,

Even a furious onslaught, that the heroes were hardly bestead.

With javelins flying before it rolled up that battle-flood;

Yet ever the knights unquailing with ranks unbroken stood.

Now were the hosts of Etzel high-wrought and eager-souled,

For they looked to win the guerdon of Kriemhild’s lavished gold;

And they burned to prove them loyal in fulfilling their King’s command—

But for many an one doom waited, swift death was hard at hand.

Of her gifts and her promises marvels now might the minstrel sing.

She bade men bear upon bucklers the gold bright-glittering;

And on all that desired and would take it freely did she bestow.

Never was wealth so lavished to spur men against a foe.

So a mighty array of warriors all-armed to the door drew near.

Then cried the viol-minstrel: “O yea, yet are we here!

Never so gladly beheld I heroes come to the fight

As these which have taken the treasure of the King to do us despite.”

Then many a stern voice shouted: “Ye heroes, come more nigh!

Make ye an end of us quickly, seeing we needs must die!

Here shall ye find none waiting save them whom death is to win!”

Soon were the bucklers heavy with the spears that quivered therein.

What shall I more say?—hundreds twelve, with toil and strain

Of mightiest sword-strokes battled to break through once and again;

But with gaping wounds the defenders cooled their fiery mood.

By none could their strife be parted: rushed in torrents the blood

Out of the death-deep gashes: fast, fast men fell and died.

Lamentation for dear friends perished shrieked up on every side.

So fought they, till all those champions of Etzel the mighty fell,

And nought was heard but the wailing of them that loved them well.

XXXVII. How the Margrave Rüdiger was slain

That morn had the homeless heroes like battling giants warred.

And now came into the courtyard of the palace Gotlind’s lord;

And he saw what fearful havoc had been wrought unto Hun and to guest.

Wept Rüdiger the true-hearted with sorrow-burdened breast.

“Alas and alas,” cried the hero, “that I live this day to see!

And none can now put an ending to this calamity!

Fain would I make reconcilement, but now no word of peace

Will the King hear, seeing that ever doth the mischief done him increase.”

Then Rüdiger the noble sent unto Dietrich of Bern,

If perchance some little relenting he might win from Etzel the stern.

But the Lord of Bern sent answer: “The doom who now may stay?

No man will King Etzel suffer to stand between him and the prey.”

Then a certain man of the Hunfolk saw Rüdiger making dole

With weeping eyes; for long time had he stood there bitter of soul.

And spake to the Queen that scorner: “Behold him idly stand

Whom Etzel and thou have exalted above all else in the land!

Lordships he hath and vassals; to him all minister.

Wherefore be castles so many committed to Rüdiger,

Those stately towers that he holdeth now of the King our Lord?

No knightly blow hath he stricken in this war-storm with his sword.

Meseemeth he recketh little what here unto us may betide,

So himself be full of substance and his greed be satisfied.

Men vaunt him a champion braver than any in all our array:

Little enow hath he proved it in this our evil day!”

In sorrow and wrath the hero, the man of the loyal heart,

Glared on the Hunnish mocker who hurled that slander-dart.

He thought: “For this thou payest! A craven am I, saidst thou?

In the presence of kings too loudly hast thou told thy story now!”

He clenched his fist in his anger; full on the scoffer he ran,

And with such might resistless he smote that Hunnish man,

That down to the earth he dashed him, and dead at his feet did he lie.

But the sorrow of King Etzel was made but the more thereby.

“Away with thee, vile caitiff!” did the good knight Rüdiger cry.

“Trouble enow and anguish of soul before had I!

What hast thou to do to taunt me that here I have struck no blow?

Of a truth to hate yon strangers reason have I enow.

Yea, now were I striving against them to the uttermost of my might,

Were it not that I was escort hither to prince and knight.

Yea, it was I that convoyed them to my lord Etzel’s land;

Therefore I may not against them uplift my wretched hand.”

Then to the Lord of the Marches did Etzel the great King say:

“Rüdiger, noble hero, how hast thou helped us to-day?

Good sooth, in the land have perished more than enough of my folk:

No more murders are needed! Thou hast stricken an evil stroke.”

But the noble knight made answer: “He angered my spirit sore;

For he taunted me with mine honours and my wealth’s unstinted store,

With the gifts that with hand ungrudging thou hast heaped upon me, O King!

Of a truth to the reckless liar was his scoff an evil thing!”

Drew nigh that Daughter of Princes, which also had seen it done,

That deed which the hero’s anger had wrought on the hapless Hun.

Bitterly did she lament it, many a tear she shed;

And unto Rüdiger spake she: “Wherein have we merited

That to me and the King yet further thou shouldst multiply sorrow and pain?

Thou hast, O Rüdiger, promised unto us, yea, once and again,

That thou wouldst venture thine honour, yea, and thy life for us.

Oft have I heard knights yield thee the prize of the valorous.

Of the oath-plight now I remind thee that thou swarest by thy right hand,

When, chosen of knights, thou didst woo me to be queen of Etzel’s land,

That thou wouldst render me service even to our life’s end.

Never—ah me all-hapless!—had I such need of a friend!”

“O Queen, no whit I deny it, an oath unto thee did I take

That my life and my very honour I would venture for thy sake.

But to peril my soul’s salvation!—that have I never sworn.

It was I that brought to this high-tide those princes nobly-born.”

“Rüdiger,” said she, “bethink thee of that thy plighted troth,

How that in all mine affliction—thou didst promise and seal it by oath—

Aye wouldst thou be mine avenger, in my wrongs wouldst stand by my side.”

Made answer the Lord of the Marches: “Never yet hath my word been belied!”

Then did the great King Etzel set him withal to entreat;

And they knelt in supplication, they twain, at the hero’s feet.

Then was the noble Margrave ’neath a burden of sorrow bowed,

And the loyal knight in anguish of spirit cried aloud:

“Woe’s me, the God-forsaken, that I live to see this day!

All my manhood’s honour must I now cast away,

All loyal faith God-given, and all my knightly renown!

Ah God in Heaven, why rather may death not smite me down?

Which deed soever I turn from, to take the other on me,

I play the part of a traitor, I act all evilly.

Though I take the part of neither, still will the world cry shame.

Oh that He now would guide me, from whose fashioning hands I came!”

They hung upon him so sorely, the King and Kriemhild his wife,

That doomed was many a warrior to cast away his life

By Rüdiger’s right hand smitten, yea, the hero’s self must die.

Now hearken ye to the story of the woe he won thereby.

Well knew he that scathe and sorrow unmixed should be all his gain.

Of a truth unto Etzel and Kriemhild had he denied full fain

Herein to fulfil their pleasure. A dark thought haunted his breast,

That the world would hold him accursèd if he slew one single guest.

Then spake once more unto Etzel that hero battle-bold:

“Lord King, take back, I pray thee, all things that of thee I hold,

My lordships and my castles—I will keep nor wealth nor lands.

Forth on my feet into exile will I fare with empty hands.

Only my wife and my daughter will I lead by the hand with me.

I choose this, rather than passing to meet death perjured-souled.

In an evil hour to thy service did I bind me to earn thy gold!”

But answer made King Etzel: “Who then shall mine helper be?

Behold, thy land and thy vassals, all these I committed to thee

To the end that thou mightest avenge me on whoso should do me despite.

Do this, and next unto Etzel shalt thou reign in kingly might.”

But Rüdiger made answer: “How can I do this thing?

Unto mine house I bade them with friendly welcoming,

With meats and with drinks love-lavished their feast did I array,

And I gave to them gifts at parting—shall I fall on them now and slay?

What if the world misdeem me, and say that Rüdiger quailed?

At the least in all true service to them have I never failed.

If now I should fall upon them, that were a deed most vile.

I should sorely rue the friendship knit up with these erewhile.

I gave to wife my daughter unto Giselher the thane:

On earth no worthier bridegroom for my dear child could I gain,

Nor in knightly spirit nor honour, nor in faith, nor in this world’s good.

Never was prince thus youthful so chivalrous of mood.”

But again made answer Kriemhild: “O Rüdiger, noble chief,

Think also on us; have pity on all our wrongs and our grief,

Upon mine and my Lord King Etzel’s; yea, ponder well thereon.

No host in the wide world ever more pestilent guests hath won.”

Thereat unto Queen Kriemhild did the Lord of the Marches say:

“His life must be rendered in payment by Rüdiger this day

For all the kindness showed me of thee and my Lord the King.

For this must I die: remaineth no space for lingering.

This day I know of a surety my castles and my land

Shall be yielded up, shall be wrested from me by a foeman’s hand.

I commit to your lovingkindness my wife and my fatherless child,

And all mine household abiding in Bechlaren’s halls exiled.”

“Now God reward thee,” answered the King, “O Rüdiger!”—

Even he and the Lady Kriemhild, so glad at heart they were—

“The care of all thy people as a solemn trust we receive.

Yet, as I hope salvation, I look that thyself shalt live.”

So did he set on the hazard both soul and mortal life.

And now brake forth into weeping Kriemhild, Etzel’s wife.

But he said: “I must keep unbroken the oath that I sware unto thee.

Alas for you, friends! Sad-hearted I become your enemy!”

So from King Etzel’s presence he departed heavy of cheer;

And he looked, and behold, his warriors to their lord had now drawn near.

And he cried: “Ye must forthwith arm you, all ye my faithful ones.

Woe’s me, I must needs do battle with Burgundia’s valiant sons!”

Straightway his warriors shouted, “Ho, bring my battle-gear!”

Then here might ye see a helmet, and a massy buckler here

Across the court borne swiftly by the squires for their lords to don.

Too soon were the evil tidings to the haughty strangers known!

Now Rüdiger stood full-armoured, with his five hundred men:

Twelve knights of Etzel’s war-band joined them withal to him then:

They thirsted to win them glory in the storm of the battle-strain—

But they knew not the end of the story, nor that death should be all their gain.

Strode forward under helmet the Lord of the Marches there.

Battle-glaives keen-whetted the knights of Rüdiger bare:

Each man gripped by the arm-brace a broad shield burnished bright;

And the viol-minstrel beheld them, and his heart sank down at the sight.

And behold, his fair bride’s father young Giselher saw come,

On his gallant head his helmet:—what should he divine therefrom

As touching the warrior’s purpose, but the help of a loyal ally?

And his soul went out to meet him, his heart with joy beat high.

“Thank God for such true friendship,” in gladness the young Prince cried,

“As we won for our help in trouble, when we rode unto this high-tide!

Now unto us deliverance for my young bride’s sake draws nigh.

By my faith, my heart rejoiceth that wedded to her am I!”

“On a broken reed thou leanest,” the viol-minstrel said.

“When sawest thou heroes so many with helmet laced on head

Draw near for reconcilement, and with swords made bare in the hand?

Against us he cometh, to render service for castles and land.”

Or ever the viol-minstrel had fully spoken the word,

In front of the great hall-portal men saw that noble lord.

He set his goodly buckler on the earth before his feet,

And he looked on the friends he could help not, on the faces he might not greet.

Then cried the noble Margrave to the hall, a cry of woe:

“O dauntless men of the Niblungs, now guard you against a foe!

Ye ought to have had mine helping—that debt will never be paid!

We were friends close-knit by troth-plight—to my troth am I renegade!”

Then sorely aghast at his saying were the warriors hard-bestead.

Their joy for his coming withered, and hope at the birth fell dead.

This friend must battle against them, he whom they loved was their foe!

From their enemies had they suffered travail and hurt enow.

“Now God in Heaven forbid it,” Gunther the knightly cried,

“That this thy friendship to usward so utterly be belied,

And the trust wherewith we trusted in our own familiar friend!

Nay, but I will not believe it, that all this so shall end!”

“For me there is no returning,” the valiant warrior spake.

“With you I must needs do battle, even for mine oath’s sake.

Now stand on your guard, brave heroes, by all your love of life!

From mine oath will she not release me, this King Etzel’s wife.”

“Too late,” the King made answer, “thy love dost thou forswear.

Now God on high reward thee, thou noble Rüdiger,

For the faith and the lovingkindness that thou hast shown us still,

So thou to the end maintain it, and all thy pledge fulfil.

Unto thee will we aye be beholden for the gifts that thou didst give,

Even I and my friends, so thou leave us unharmed of thee to live,

For the sake of the gifts most princely whereby our trust was won

When to Etzel’s land thou didst bring us. O Rüdiger, think thereon!”

“How gladly this would I grant you,” the good thane Rüdiger said,

“How gladly lavish upon you the gifts of my bountihead,

So much as my soul desireth—how gladly do all this,

And no serpent-tongue of slander against my name should hiss!”

“Ah Rüdiger, refrain thee!” Prince Gernot pleaded yet.

“Never a host before thee with kindlier welcome met

Guests, nor with mien so gracious, as we were greeted of thee;

And for this, if we win hence living, requited shalt thou be.”

“Would God, O noble Gernot,” in anguish Rüdiger said,

“That ye were again in Rhineland, and that I were lying dead

With mine honour still unsullied, since I cannot but fall on thee!

Never were heroes entreated of friends so evilly!”

“Lord Rüdiger, God reward thee,” again did Gernot reply,

“For the gifts of thy princely bounty! Distressed for thy death am I,

In that all that chivalrous spirit should be doomed to perish with thee.

Lo here that sword which thou gavest, O noble thane, unto me.

Not once this steel hath failed me through this distressful tide;

Beneath its undulled edges hath many a hero died:

A lordly blade and a goodly, stubborn it is and bright.

Of a truth, such royal bounty was never bestowed of knight.

Yet, if thou wilt nowise refrain thee, but wilt raise against us thine hand,

If thou slaughter these my kinsmen which here beside me stand,

Then with thine own good war-glaive I needs must take thy life.

Wherefore for thee I sorrow, and for thy noble wife.”

“May God vouchsafe it, Gernot, and may it so befall,

That in all things as thou desirest, so may it be, yea, in all,

And that thou and all thy kinsfolk in life may long endure!

In you should the trust of the widow and my fatherless child be sure.”

Spake Giselher, son of Uta, the Prince of Burgundy:

“How canst thou so, Lord Margrave? These which have come with me,

Unto thee are they all love-bounden. An ill deed dost thou essay!

Thy daughter by thee shall be widowed, who scarce is a bride this day.

If thou and thy battle-helpers beset me now in fight,

What treason unto friendship should this be in all men’s sight,

For that beyond all other in thee did I confide

In the hour wherein I won me thy daughter to be my bride!”

“Ah, think thou on thy troth-plight!” spake Rüdiger answering;

“And if God shall bring you safely forth hence, O noble king,

Requite not thou on my daughter the sin of Rüdiger.

By all thy princely honour, be gracious unto her!”

“It were meet that I held to the troth-plight,” young Giselher replied;

“Yet, if mine high-born kinsmen who stand in the hall at my side,

If these by thy deed shall perish, snapped is the twofold chain,

The love ’twixt me and thy daughter, and the friendship ’twixt us twain.”

“Then God have mercy upon us!” so did the hero groan.

Then his men uplifted their bucklers, and now were at point to set on

Against those guests, to grapple in fight in Kriemhild’s hall:—

But suddenly from the stair-head aloud did Hagen call:

“For a little space yet tarry, O Rüdiger, noble heart!”

Said Hagen; “once more commune we, ere the links of friendship part,

With thee, even I and my masters, in our sore extremity.

What profit is this unto Etzel, that here the homeless die?

Myself am in grievous trouble,” furthermore Hagen spake:

“The shield that the Lady Gotlind gave me to bear for her sake,

Even this in the strife with the Hunfolk was in fragments hewn from mine hand;

A memorial of thy kindness I brought it to Etzel’s land.

Now would that God in Heaven would grant to me this one prayer,

That such a trusty buckler even I might also bear

As that which is on thy shoulder, O Rüdiger, noble knight!

Then, though I had not a hauberk, I were fenced in the storm of the fight.”

“How gladly to thee would I render my shield for thy battle-screen,

If I dared unto thine hand give it in presence of Kriemhild the Queen!—

Yet take it, O take it, Hagen, and grip it thou with thine hand.

Ah, that thou mightest but bear it back to Burgundia-land!”

When that warrior noble-hearted so freely gave his shield,

Red grew the eyes of heroes many, with hot tears filled.

That was his last gift—never again, till time shall end,

Will Rüdiger of Bechlaren give aught to guest or friend.

How stern soever was Hagen, and unused to the melting mood,

Yet thrilled with ruth was his spirit for the gift which the hero who stood

Now on the very grave-brink so freely gave unto him.

Mourned many a high-born warrior, and their eyes with tears were dim.

“Now God in Heaven reward thee, Rüdiger, noblest of men!

In all the earth thy fellow shall never be seen again,

Who givest to friendless warriors the best of all thy store.

May God vouchsafe that the glory of thy goodness live evermore!

Woe’s me for the word thou bringest!” Hagen cried again:

“Already we bear a burden too heavy of grief and pain.

God pity us, if battle we must with a friend like this!”

Answered the Lord of the Marches, “As thine my heart’s grief is.”

“Now, Rüdiger noble-hearted, thee for thy gift I requite:

Whatsoever in battle betide thee from any prince or knight,

Not against thee uplifted in anger shall be mine hand,

Though thou slay till thou leave none living of the men of Burgundia-land.”

Bowed unto him in silence that noble-hearted thane;

And all men brake into weeping. That nought might make them refrain

From such sorrow-fraught contention, it was sore calamity.

In Rüdiger perished the father of all true chivalry!

Then Volker the viol-minstrel cried from the stairway’s height:

“Forasmuch as my comrade Hagen his peace unto thee doth plight,

That same shall be moreover assured thee from mine hand.

Of a surety well didst thou earn it at our coming into this land.

Take thou, O noble Margrave, the message I leave with thee:

These ruddy golden armlets Dame Gotlind gave unto me

To wear them at this great high-tide, a memorial of her love,

I do it, thyself beholdest: be thou my witness thereof.”

“Now would to God in Heaven,” earnestly Rüdiger cried,

“That the Margravine might give thee as many more beside!

Unto my wife, my belovèd, full fain will I tell the tale,

If so be that I live to behold her: doubt not my word shall fail.”

Soon as the promise was given, a shield the knight up-caught:

No whit more there would he linger: unto madness of fury wrought

He leapt on the guests Burgundian like a knightly battle-lord.

Fast, fast the strokes down-lightened from the mighty Margrave’s sword.

Twain, even Volker and Hagen, aside from his path withdrew,

According as these two champions erewhile had pledged them to do.

Yet dauntless foes so many by the gate-tower fronted him

That the Margrave in that first onset knew well that his peril was grim.

Gunther and Gernot, for slaughter athirst, let him win his way

Into the hall: like heroes eager they were for the fray.

But Giselher shrank from his coming, for his heart was wrung with pain;

And he would not face him in battle, being loth to slay or be slain.

Now the men of Rüdiger’s war-band swarm up to meet their foes

After their lord undaunted; in the grapple of fight they close;

Keen armour-sundering weapons in mighty hands they wield;

Many a helmet cleave they, they hack through many a shield.

Then also the battle-weary flashed many a lightning stroke

Down on the men of Bechlaren: the unswerving edges broke

Deep through the strong-linked hauberks, yea, to the heart they won.

Of these in the storm of battle was many a marvel done.

Now in the hall were gathered all Rüdiger’s gallant array.

No longer hung back Volker and Hagen; they plunged mid the fray;

They thrust, and they spared not any, save one only man;

They smote, and from riven helmets the blood in torrents ran.

Wildly and sternly the clangour of the hailing sword-strokes rang:

Steel buckler-bands were shattered, the loosened shield-plates sprang:

The precious stones of their blazons to the blood-pools flashed like rain.

Never shall such grim battle be fought in the world again!

To right and to left death’s highway the Lord of Bechlaren hewed;

Sank roaring surges of battle before his fury subdued.

By deeds was approved the prowess that day of Rüdiger,

A lord of the ringing battle, without reproach or fear.

Unflinching there stood Gunther and Gernot side by side:

They lashed at the reeling war-ranks, and many a hero died.

Smote Giselher and Dankwart, and of life and limb recked nought;

Many a stalwart champion to his latest day they brought.

Of his giant strength the Margrave gave tokens all too true:

Dreadless and mighty-weaponed, how many a foe he slew!

That saw a Prince Burgundian, and his grief and wrath ’gan swell:—

Then, then death’s imminent shadow o’er the noble Rüdiger fell:—

It was Gernot the strong; to the hero he shouted across the hall,

To the Margrave crying: “So many of my people before thee fall,

Thou wilt leave, O Rüdiger, living no man of my vassal-train!

I am stung into wrath above measure; from vengeance no more I refrain!

Now shall the gift thou gavest be turned into scathe for thee,

Since thou of my nearest and dearest hast reft so many from me.

Hitherward turn thee, face me, thou noble and dreadless man!

For thy gift will I give full payment, the uttermost that I can.”

Ere, cleaving the war-waves, the Margrave might win unto where he stood,

Bright rings of many a hauberk were crimson-sullied with blood;

But at last those glory-cravers in the deadly grapple clashed;

And they smote, and the death swift-leaping with the buckler aside they dashed.

Yet nought might withstand the keenness of their swords all-sundering;

And Rüdiger the Hero smote mightily Gernot the King,

Smote through the flint-hard helmet, that the blood rushed down the blade:

But swiftly the good knight dreadless that deadly stroke repaid.

In his hand was the gift of the Margrave; he swung on high that steel:

Though unto death he was wounded, yet one grim stroke did he deal:

It crashed through the hard-knit buckler, it shore through the helmet-band—

Alas, the doom went with it of the lord of the open hand!

Ah me! such rich gifts never so ill requited were.

Down fell they dead together, Gernot and Rüdiger.

In the war-storm each by other smitten on one doom came;

And Hagen saw, and his anger burst into sudden flame,

And shouted the Hero of Troneg: “Evil hath come upon us!

Such grievous hurt have we suffered by these who have perished thus,

That for two lands and two peoples nor amends nor atonement there is.

To the homeless shall Rüdiger’s heroes now pay forfeit for this!”

Many a man down-beaten not sorely hurt fell there,

Who might of his wounds have recovered, but overwhelmed by the flood

Of war, ’neath the trampling of fighters he was drowned in a lake of blood.

“Ah, woe is me for my brother,” cried Giselher, “here laid low!

Woe for the tale of sorrow that hour by hour doth grow!

Yea, for my young bride’s father for ever must I lament.

The bitter scathe is twofold, and the grief that mine heart hath rent.”

Giselher looked on the father of his bride, where dead he lay;

Then turned he from him to his vengeance on the last of the foes’ array.

Death stalked through the hall aye searching for the men of the Margrave slain,

Till of all Bechlaren’s vassals alive did none remain.

Thereafter Gunther and Hagen and Giselher the young,

And Dankwart and Volker the minstrel, the knights of fame far-sung,

Unto that place went together where those dead twain were found,

And sorely wept and lamented those heroes song-renowned.

“Evilly death hath robbed us!” cried the young Prince Giselher:

“Yet now refrain your weeping: let us forth to the outer air;

Let us cool these reeking hauberks, O battle-weary thanes.

Unto us, I ween, God willeth that but little of life remains.”

Sitting was one, one leaning against the stairway-wall;

But again their hands were idle, for Rüdiger’s liegemen all

Lay dead within: the tumult of war had fallen asleep.

Then Etzel’s heart misgave him, so long was the hush and so deep.

“Woe’s me for this treacherous service!” in anger cried the Queen:

“Too long be they holding parley! Our enemies therewithin

Are like to be wholly scatheless of our champion Rüdiger’s hand!

He is plotting to send them safely back to Burgundia-land!

What boots it, O King Etzel, that on this man we have heaped

All wealth he desired soever? A foul return have we reaped!

He that was pledged to avenge us, a truce with our foes will he make!”

Unto her made answer Volker, and the knightly minstrel spake:

“Not so, alas, is the story, O Queen exalted high;

And—dared I unto such high-born lady to give the lie—

Thou dost lie in thy throat most foully of Rüdiger’s trust betrayed.

A sorry truce with the homeless he and his knights have made!

With such good will he accomplished the hest of the King his lord,

That he and all his liegemen be lying slain with the sword.

Look round thee now, Queen Kriemhild, for another whom thou mayst send,

For truly hath Rüdiger served thee unto the bitter end.

If haply thou wilt not believe me, let thine eyes bear witness to thee.”

Then, to her heart’s deep anguish, they gave proof plain to see;

For they brought that mangled hero unto where of the King was he seen.

Never the knights of Etzel knew grief so bitter-keen.