Who beneath his breastplate a shirt of silk was wearing;
(In Abalie ’twas woven;) were it not for this, his end he must be nearing.
[865]
Hardly from him could Ludwig with life and limb go free;
The spot he would fain be leaving, for Wâ-te was ill to see
When he was roused to anger, and to win the day was trying:
Struck by his hand were many, who, brave in warfare, now on the field lay dying.
[866]
Irold and young Hartmut each on the other sprang:
On either side their weapons on the foeman’s helmet rang;