That she would not endure her anguish of heart unavenged for aye.
A loving-cup to her vengeance! In Etzel’s wine be it poured!
And the first to spill the death-drink be the hope of the Hunfolk’s Lord!”
Then he lashed at the young child Ortlieb, Hagen the terrible thane,
That down o’er his hand from the sword-blade did the blood of the innocent rain,
And into the lap of his mother hurled was the head from the stroke.
Then mid the knights a murder grim and great awoke.
For next on the young child’s guardian, which tended him truly and well,
A mighty stroke two-handed swift as the lightning fell,
That afront of the foot of the table his head on the floor was cast.