About the hour of midnight, / or earlier perchance,
The eye of valiant Volker / did catch a helmet's glance
Afar from out the darkness: / the men of Kriemhild sought
How that upon the strangers / might grievous scathe in stealth be wrought.
Quoth thereat the Fiddler: / "Friend Hagen, 'tis full clear
That we do well together / here this watch to share.
I see before us yonder / men arméd for the fight;
I ween they will attack us, / if I their purpose judge aright."
"Be silent, then," spake Hagen, / "and let them come more nigh.
Ere that they perceive us / shall helmets sit awry,
By good swords disjointed / that in our hands do swing.
Tale of vigorous greeting / shall they back to Kriemhild bring."
Amid the Hunnish warriors / one full soon did see,
That well the door was guarded; / straightway then cried he:
"The thing we here did purpose / 'tis need we now give o'er,
For I behold the Fiddler / standing guard before the door.
"Upon his head a helmet / of glancing light is seen,
Welded strong and skilful, / dintless, of clearest sheen.
The mail-rings of his armor / do sparkle like the fire,
Beside him stands eke Hagen; / safe are the strangers from our ire."