1834.
Beneath the doorway sat he upon a seat of stone;
A braver fiddle-player in sooth had ne’er been known.
With such sweet-sounding music upon the strings he play’d,
That all the high-born strangers their thanks to Volker paid.
1835.
The sweet clang of his viol made all the house resound.
His strength and skill together right excellent were found.
More softly and more sweetly to fiddle he began,
And lull’d upon their couches full many a troubled man.
1836.
And when they all were sleeping, and he thereof was sure,
The thane took up his buckler upon his arm once more,
And went outside the chamber before the tower to stand,
To guard the sleeping strangers against Kriemhilda’s band.
1837.
When halfway spent the night was, or earlier it might be,
The gallant Volker, watching, a shining helm could see
Far off amid the darkness. ’Twas one of Kriemhild’s men,
Who all to do a mischief unto the guests were fain.
1838.
Then spake the fiddle-player: “My friend, Sir Hagen, there,
Together it is fitting that we this trouble share.
I’ve seen some folk in armour before the house but now,
Else I am much mistaken, they’ll set on us, I trow.”
1839.
“Then hold thy peace,” quoth Hagen, “and let them nearer come.
Or ever they can see us, our swords will have struck home
And split their helmets for them, with double-handed might.
We’ll send them back to Kriemhild, methinks, in sorry plight!”
