Then the wife of Etzel commanded to set the hall aflame.
Now on the heroes the torment of a fiery furnace came.
The house was enwrapped in the leaping flames by a great wind blown.
Never, I ween, such anguish by a leaguered host was known!
Within were there voices crying: “Woe’s me for this horror of pain!
Better that dead we were lying in the storm of battle slain!
God upon us have mercy!—how utterly are we lost!
Grimly the Queen is wreaking her vengeance on all this host!”
Cried a voice yet again through the hot reek: “Here must we meet our doom!
Unto such a festal high-tide did the false King bid us come?