Then again brake forth in the feast-hall a yet more fearful din.
Grimly the guests avenged them for the broken troth and the wrong.
Ha, how were the helmets cloven by the arm of Volker the strong!
To the clash of that deadly music King Gunther turned him about—
“Hearst thou the tunes, O Hagen, that Volker beateth out
On the heads of the Huns, whosoever essay the door that he keeps?
Red are the strings of the viol whereover his swift bow leaps!”
“Sore is mine heart above measure for this thing,” Hagen replied,
“That in this hall-feast I am sundered afar from the good thane’s side
Ever was I his comrade, and he true comrade to me.