Never the knights of Etzel knew grief so bitter-keen.
When they saw the corpse of the Margrave held forth in their sight, ah then
Utterly it passeth the power of tongue or pen
To tell of the wild lamentation that from women and men wailed high,
The voice of a people’s anguish, an exceeding bitter cry.
So passing great was the sorrow of Etzel the mighty King,
That, as when a wounded lion maketh the forest ring
With his roar, so loud he lamented, and the Queen shrieked forth her pain.
So wailed they in measureless dolour for noble Rüdiger slain.