And they smote, and the death swift-leaping with the buckler aside they dashed.
Yet nought might withstand the keenness of their swords all-sundering;
And Rüdiger the Hero smote mightily Gernot the King,
Smote through the flint-hard helmet, that the blood rushed down the blade:
But swiftly the good knight dreadless that deadly stroke repaid.
In his hand was the gift of the Margrave; he swung on high that steel:
Though unto death he was wounded, yet one grim stroke did he deal:
It crashed through the hard-knit buckler, it shore through the helmet-band—
Alas, the doom went with it of the lord of the open hand!
Ah me! such rich gifts never so ill requited were.