From the hand of Hagen the mighty a grim end did he find.
Back to the ranks of his people staggered the fainting Dane;
But ere they could raise the helmet from the piercèd head of the thane,
They must needs draw out the spear-shaft:—death’s hand upon him lay,
And his friends brake forth into weeping: good cause to weep had they!
Then Kriemhild, Daughter of Princes, to the stricken man drew nigh,
And she cried over Iring the stalwart an exceeding bitter cry;
Over his wounds sore wept she: her heart was wrung with grief.
Then spake in his kinsmen’s presence that battle-fearless chief:
“Forbear thy lamentation, O Lady royal-born.