Of war, ’neath the trampling of fighters he was drowned in a lake of blood.
“Ah, woe is me for my brother,” cried Giselher, “here laid low!
Woe for the tale of sorrow that hour by hour doth grow!
Yea, for my young bride’s father for ever must I lament.
The bitter scathe is twofold, and the grief that mine heart hath rent.”
Giselher looked on the father of his bride, where dead he lay;
Then turned he from him to his vengeance on the last of the foes’ array.
Death stalked through the hall aye searching for the men of the Margrave slain,
Till of all Bechlaren’s vassals alive did none remain.
Thereafter Gunther and Hagen and Giselher the young,