From his shivered helm and his buckler, as the fearless lord of song
Reeled earthward—so to his ending at last came Volker the strong.
Then the men of Dietrich’s war-band into the conflict hurled:
They smote, and the splintered mail-rings flashing afar were whirled,
And shards of the lashing war-glaives went flying high overhead:
Hot from the rifted helmets the torrent blood they shed.
Then marked grim Hagen of Troneg how Volker the knight lay slain.
That was in all this high-tide the deepest-piercing pain
That of any mischance unto kinsman or vassal or friend he had proved.
How sternly did Hagen set him to avenge his best-beloved!