When the men of Bloedel / saw thus their master slain,
To fall upon the strangers / would they longer not refrain.
With swords swung high above them / upon the squires they flew
In a grimmest humor. / Soon many must that rashness rue.
Full loudly cried then Dankwart / to all his company:
"Behold ye, noble squires, / the fate that ours must be.
Now quit yourselves with valor, / for evil is our pass,
Though fair to us the summons / hither from Lady Kriemhild was!"
They, too, reached down before them, / who no weapons bore,
And each a massive footstool / snatched from off the floor,
For the Burgundian squires / no whit were they dismayed;
And by the selfsame weapons / was many a dint in helmet made.
How fierce they fought to shield them / the strangers one and all!
E'en their arméd foemen / drove they from the hall.
Or smote dead within it / hundreds five or more;
All the valiant fighters / saw ye drenched with ruddy gore.
Ere long the wondrous tidings / some messenger did tell
Unto Etzel's chieftain / —fierce did their anger swell—
How that slain was Bloedel / and knights full many a one;
The which had Hagen's brother / with his lusty squires done.