O yea, those youths Burgundian would flinch no foot from the fray,
But with those ponderous maces the foes’ helms dinted they.
How grimly the friendless yeomen defended them in the fight!
Those armèd knights from the feast-hall they drave in huddled flight.
Five hundred—yea, more, it may be—fled not, for they lay there dead.
There yeomen and squires all blood-drenched stood and crimson-red.
In a little while thereafter these heavy tidings came
To the knights of King Etzel: with anguish and wrath were their souls aflame
That Blödel with all those warriors nought save death had won.
This had the brother of Hagen with his squires and his yeomen done.