2286.
“Woe, for my lord belovéd!” cried Master Hildebrand,
“Who here in death is lying stricken by Volker’s hand:
Henceforth this fiddle-player shall save himself no more!”
Bold Hildebrand was wrathful as ne’er he was before.
2287.
Then smote he so at Volker, that far to either wall
The bands and clasps in pieces were strown about the hall,
From helm and eke from buckler of that same minstrel bold:
And so of sturdy Volker the ending there was told.
2288.
The liegemen then of Dietrich came thronging to the rout;
They smote till from the hauberks the links flew far about,
And splinter’d weapons saw one as high in air they flew;
Hot flowing blood in streamlets from out the helms they drew.
2289.
When Hagen, lord of Tronjé, saw Volker lying slain,
More grievous was his sorrow than all the other pain
That in this high foregathering he had for man or kin.
What vengeance for the hero did Hagen then begin!
2290.
“It shall not long advantage the old man Hildebrand
That yonder lies my helpmate slain by the hero’s hand,—
The veriest good comrade that ever yet I had!”
He raised his shield, and forward he rush’d with hewing blade.
2291.
Meanwhile the stalwart Helfrich had stricken Dankwart low.
To Giselher and Gunther grievous it was enow
When in the stress of battle they saw him fall beneath:
With his own hands already he had avenged his death.
