From rank unto rank of their thousands the evil tidings flew.
Pale with a ghastly foreboding many a good knight grew,
As the hideous terror gripped them of the bitter death so near
At the end of this festival-faring, and their hearts were cold with fear.
That place was nigh unto Möring where they passed across the flood,
Where the ferryman of Elsè poured out his life in blood.
Again to the rest spake Hagen: “I have made for myself by the way
Foes, and our march shall shortly be beset by their array.
To-day have I slain their boatman while yet was the morning grey,
And by this have they heard the tidings. Haste ye, prepare for the fray,