Just then at Etzel's table a minstrel met his view;
Upon him in an instant in wrath Sir Hagan flew.
His right hand on his viol off lopp'd he suddenly;
"Take that for the kind message thou brought'st to Burgundy."
XV
"Alas! my hands!" cried Werbel frantic with pain and woe,
"What have I done, Sir Hagan, that you should serve me so?
I came in faith and honor into your master's land.
How can I now make music since I have lost my hand?"
XVI
Little reck'd Sir Hagan if ne'er he fiddled more;
Then round his death-strokes dealing he stretch'd upon the floor
Many a good knight of Etzel's, and wide the slaughter spread,
Turning to bale the banquet, and heap'd the hall with dead.
XVII
Up the ready Folker leapt from table quick;
In his hand loud clatter'd his deadly fiddlestick.
Harsh crashing notes discordant King Gunther's minstrel play'd.
Ah! what a host of foemen among the Huns he made!
XVIII
Up, too, leapt from table the royal brethren three;
They thought to part the battle ere mischief more should be.
But lost was all their labor, vain was all help of man;
When Folker and stern Hagan once so to rage began.