"Now tell me, brother Dankwart, why are you so red? Your wounds, methinks, oppress you; they must have sorely bled. If he's yet in this country who has harm'd you thus in strife, But the foul fiend aid him, it shall cost his life." VII "You see me whole and hearty; my weed with blood is wet, But 'tis from wounds of others whom sword to sword I met, Of whom I slew so many, though furious all and fell, That, if I had to swear it, th' amount I ne'er could tell." VIII Said th' other, "Brother Dankwart, keep guard upon the door; Let not one Hungarian step the threshold o'er. Straight, as need impels us, converse with them will I. Our friends by their devices were guiltless done to die." IX "Since I'm to be door-keeper," replied the champion true "(And well to such great monarchs such service I can do), As fits me, 'gainst all comers the staircase I'll maintain." Naught could be more distasteful to Kriemhild's knightly train. X "In sooth," resum'd Sir Hagan, "I can't but wonder here, What now these Huns are whisp'ring each in his fellow's ear. I ween, they well could spare him, who keeps the door so bold, Him, who to us Burgundians his courtly tale has told. XI "Long have I heard and often of moody Kriemhild tell, That still her heart's deep sorrow she harbors fierce and fell; Now then let's drink to friendship! king's wine shall quench our thirst, And the young Prince of Hungary himself shall pledge us first." XII With that the good Knight Hagan smote Ortlieb the young child; The gushing blood, down flowing, both sword and hand defil'd; Into the lap of Kriemhild bounded the ghastly head. At once among the warriors a fearful butchery spread. XIII Then with both hands uplifted he dealt a stroke at large 'Gainst the grave-visag'd tutor, who had the child in charge; His sever'd head down falling, before the table lay. For all his learned lessons t' faith 'twas sorry pay. XIV Just then at Etzel's table a minstrel met his view; Upon him in an instant in wrath Sir Hagan flew. His right hand on his viol off lopp'd he suddenly; "Take that for the kind message thou brought'st to Burgundy." XV "Alas! my hands!" cried Werbel frantic with pain and woe, "What have I done, Sir Hagan, that you should serve me so? I came in faith and honor into your master's land. How can I now make music since I have lost my hand?" XVI Little reck'd Sir Hagan if ne'er he fiddled more; Then round his death-strokes dealing he stretch'd upon the floor Many a good knight of Etzel's, and wide the slaughter spread, Turning to bale the banquet, and heap'd the hall with dead. XVII