Straight he cried in answer: / "Who hath done such deed?" "That hath done Sir Bloedel / and knights that he did lead. Eke made he meet atonement, / that may'st thou understand: His head from off his body / have I struck with mine own hand." 1954 "'Tis little cause for sorrow," / Hagen spake again, "When they tell the story / of a valiant thane, That he to death was smitten / by knight of high degree. The less a cause for weeping / to winsome women shall it be. 1955 "Now tell me, brother Dankwart, / how thou so red may'st be; From thy wounds thou sufferest, / I ween, full grievously. Lives he within this country / who serves thee in such way, Him must the devil shelter, / or for the deed his life shall pay." 1956 "Behold me here all scatheless. / My gear is wet with blood, From wounds of others, natheless, / now hath flowed that flood, Of whom this day so many / beneath my broadsword fell: Must I make solemn witness, / ne'er knew I full the tale to tell." 1957 He answered: "Brother Dankwart, / now take thy stand before, And Huns let never any / make passage by the door. I'll speak unto these warriors, / as needs must spoken be: Dead lie all our followers, / slain by foulest treachery." 1958 "Must I here be chamberlain," / replied the warrior keen, "Well know I such high monarchs / aright to serve, I ween. So will I guard the stairway / as sorts with honor well." Ne'er to the thanes of Kriemhild / so sorry case before befell. 1959 "To me 'tis mickle wonder," / Hagen spake again, "What thing unto his neighbor / whispers each Hunnish thane. I ween they'd forego the service / of him who keeps the door, And who such high court tidings / to his friends of Burgundy bore. 1960 "Long since of Lady Kriemhild / the story I did hear, How unavenged her sorrow / she might no longer bear. A memory-cup now quaff we / and pay for royal cheer! The youthful lord of Hunland / shall make the first instalment here." 1961 Thereat the child Ortlieb / doughty Hagen slew, That from the sword downward / the blood to hand-grip flew, And into lap of Kriemhild / the severed head down rolled. Then might ye see 'mid warriors / a slaughter great and grim unfold. 1962 By both hands swiftly wielded, / his blade then cut the air And smote upon the tutor / who had the child in care, That down before the table / his head that instant lay: It was a sorry payment / wherewith he did the tutor pay. 1963 His eye 'fore Etzel's table / a minstrel espied: To whom in hasty manner / did wrathful Hagen stride, Where moved it on the fiddle / his right hand off smote he; "Have that for thy message / unto the land of Burgundy." 1964 "Alack my hand!" did Werbel / that same minstrel moan; "What, Sir Hagen of Tronje, / have I to thee done? I bore a faithful message / unto thy master's land. How may I more make music / thus by thee bereft of hand?" 1965