Yet safe and sound Sir Iring came to his friends again. Soon then were told to Kriemhild th' achievements of the Dane, And what he unto Hagan had done with his good blade. Thus unto the warrior her fervent thanks she paid. XXVIII "Now God reward thee, Iring! a noble knight thou art; Thou hast reviv'd my courage and comforted my heart. On Hagan's blood-stain'd armor, through thy bold deed, I look." With her own hand then from him his shield for joy she took. XXIX "Your thanks you'd better husband," said Hagan stern and high, "'Twould well befit a warrior his chance once more to try. If then he came back scathless, he'd be indeed a knight. This scratch will boot you little; so e'en a child could smite. XXX "The blood you see so gladly, which streaks my mail with red, It but the more provokes me to heap this land with dead. My strength is undiminish'd, my wrath is now begun; You'll feel how little mischief to me has Iring done." XXXI Iring the Knight of Denmark there stood against the breeze, Cooling him in his mailcoat, with helm unlaced for ease. Loud said those about him how bold he was and brave. Their praise to the good champion the loftiest courage gave. XXXII Then thus outspoke Sir Iring, "Friends! this for certain know; Arm me, and delay not; once more I'll prove my foe. His fierce and haughty bearing I can no longer brook." His shield was hewn and shatter'd; a better straight he took. XXXIII Soon was arm'd the warrior, and better than before; He shook in wrath and fury the weighty spear he bore; With this against his foeman with sturdy strides he went. Hate-sparkling eyes upon him the fierce Sir Hagan bent. XXXIV Th' attack of bold Sir Iring he would not there await; Down the stairs he bounded, and ran upon him straight, Now darting, and now smiting; his wrath was at the height; Little then his prowess avail'd the Danish knight. XXXV The champions smote so fiercely, that fire-red blasts began To burn from either buckler; then Hawart's luckless man So grievously was wounded by Hagan's monstrous main Through sever'd shield and morion, he ne'er was whole again. XXXVI That wound dash'd Iring's courage; he felt him ill bestead; He rais'd his shield yet higher to guard his bleeding head; He deem'd it grievous mischief, the wound it was so sore; Yet at the hand of Hagan had he to suffer more. XXXVII A spear the man of Gunther found lying at his feet; This at the head of Iring he darted sure and fleet, So that the shaft outjutted, quivering, from his brow. A fatal end has Hagan made of his foeman now! XXXVIII