Yet the Dane with his uttermost striving might compass not his will.
So Iring turned him from Hagen, who was woundless yet of his blows,
And now with the viol-minstrel in conflict did he close.
He weened, as he hailed grim sword-strokes, he should smite his foeman down;
But of fence exceeding cunning was that champion of renown.
So starkly smote the minstrel, that the studs were whirled through the air
By Volker’s strong hand stricken from the shield that Iring bare.
So he left him standing unwounded, for a terrible foe was he:
Then turned he, and leapt upon Gunther, the Lord of Burgundy.
So champion clashed with champion, giants in battle-might,