By the hand of the viol-minstrel were the days of Siegstab the brave.
Such proof of his battle-cunning Volker the terrible gave
That his life from the sword-edge fleeted, and dead he lay in his blood
But hard by fury-kindled the avenger Hildebrand stood.
“Woe for my lord, my belovèd,” cried Master Hildebrand,
“He who to our sorrow lieth here slain by Volker’s hand!
Now surely this viol-minstrel hath stricken his own death-stroke!”
In Hildebrand the dreadless never grimlier wrath awoke.
So mightily smote he Volker, that he cleft his helm-band through:
Afar to the walls of the feast-hall the shards on all sides flew