The rolling smoke and the scorching tormented them full sore:
Never, I ween, unto heroes befell such pain before.
Then again spake Hagen of Troneg: “Stand ye close to the wall:
Suffer ye not the firebrands on your helmet-bands to fall,
But beneath your feet do ye trample and quench in blood the flame.
Unto an evil high-tide at Kriemhild’s bidding we came!”
Amid such tribulation the night drew on to an end.
And ever the valiant minstrel kept guard with Hagen his friend,
Before the palace-portal on his shield-rim resting a hand,
Aye watching against new onslaughts from the men of Etzel’s land.