In his grip with tenfold fury his war-glaive hissed through the air
In such wise that Hawart’s liegeman must needs give back from his face,
And Hagen, as down the stairway he fled, still held him in chase.
Over his head his buckler he swung up, Iring the strong,
To screen him: yet had the stairway been even thrice so long,
No time had Hagen left him to strike one stroke of sword.
Ha, how the red sparks streaming from his ringing helmet poured!
Yet back unto friends and kinsmen unwounded Iring returned;
And so soon as the Lady Kriemhild the wondrous tidings learned
How against Hagen of Troneg her champion had borne him in fight,