"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. {P. 301} "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!