Gunther the valiant war-king, with never-resting hand Faced the far-famous heroes, the knights of Amelung-land; {P. 312} And Giselher, princely champion, lashed at the helmets bright Till crimson they showed and dripping with blood in the storm of fight. Dankwart the brother of Hagen exceeding grimly fought; All knightly deeds that in battle he theretofore had wrought Against the knights of Etzel, as an idle wind seemed all: Then first did the battle-frenzy on the son of Aldrian fall. Right well did Ritschart and Gerbart, Helfrich and Wichart, in strife; In many a battle-tempest had they spared nor limb nor life, And they proved their ancient prowess on Gunther's men that day. There gallantly Wolfbrand breasted the surges of the fray. There fought like a very madman the old knight Hildebrand; There many a thane Burgundian 'neath stalwart Wolfhart's hand, His soul from his limbs sword-sundered, amidst the blood sank down. So avenged were Rüdiger's death-wounds by those warriors of renown! There fought the war-duke Siegstab by the wind of his wrath swept on. Ha, what strong-welded helmets by Dietrich's sister's son, As he burst through the reeling war-ranks, were cleft on the heads of foes! Never in battle-tempest did man deal knightlier blows. Then drew nigh Volker the stalwart, and an evil sight he beheld, Saw from cleft rings of hauberks how blood in torrents welled 'Neath the smiting of valiant Siegstab, and the hero's wrath rose high, And he leapt upon that slayer--and ended suddenly By the hand of the viol-minstrel were the days of Siegstab the brave. Such proof of his battle-cunning Volker the terrible gave That his life from the sword-edge fleeted, and dead he lay in his blood But hard by fury-kindled the avenger Hildebrand stood. "Woe for my lord, my belovèd," cried Master Hildebrand, "He who to our sorrow lieth here slain by Volker's hand! Now surely this viol-minstrel hath stricken his own death-stroke!" In Hildebrand the dreadless never grimlier wrath awoke. So mightily smote he Volker, that he cleft his helm-band through: Afar to the walls of the feast-hall the shards on all sides flew {P. 313} From his shivered helm and his buckler, as the fearless lord of song Reeled earthward--so to his ending at last came Volker the strong. Then the men of Dietrich's war-band into the conflict hurled: They smote, and the splintered mail-rings flashing afar were whirled, And shards of the lashing war-glaives went flying high overhead: Hot from the rifted helmets the torrent blood they shed.