"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!" {P. 269} "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.