And fell on the hero the war-thanes of either king’s array.
But he thrust and he hewed with Balmung, their sire’s enchanted sword,
Nor stayed, till his might had wrested from the Niblung men the Hoard.
Twelve fearful battle-helpers ’gainst that lone warrior fought,
Strong men, and in stature giants; but their might availed them nought,
For the hand of Siegfried smote them in his fury of battle-lust.
Seven hundred knights of the Niblung land he laid in the dust
With the Sword, the good sword Balmung of the world-renownèd name.
And the heart of many a champion for terror as water became,
Quelled by the lightning-flasher and its lord’s undaunted mood.