Whatsoever in battle betide thee from any prince or knight,
Not against thee uplifted in anger shall be mine hand,
Though thou slay till thou leave none living of the men of Burgundia-land.”
Bowed unto him in silence that noble-hearted thane;
And all men brake into weeping. That nought might make them refrain
From such sorrow-fraught contention, it was sore calamity.
In Rüdiger perished the father of all true chivalry!
Then Volker the viol-minstrel cried from the stairway’s height:
“Forasmuch as my comrade Hagen his peace unto thee doth plight,
That same shall be moreover assured thee from mine hand.