The brute from the host of the bandogs fled with his uttermost might:
None save the lord of Kriemhild could follow that headlong flight;
But he swooped on the maddened quarry, with his sword he smote him and slew;
And the shaggy spoil to the camp-fire back the henchmen drew.
Then cried they all which beheld it, “Sooth, here is a stalwart lord!”
Now bade they the princely hunters to the forest banquet-board.
There in a fair green wood-lawn they sat in a great wide ring.
Unto these lordly hunters what goodly meats did they bring!
But the cupbearers far off lingered: no man with wine drew near,
Else never had feasting heroes been served with nobler cheer.