The Huns, by anger driven, / ere Etzel was aware,
Two thousand men or over, / did quick themselves prepare.
They fell upon those squires / —e'en so it had to be—
And never any living / they left of all that company.
A mickle host they faithless / unto those quarters brought,
But lustily the strangers / 'gainst their assailants fought.
What booted swiftest valor? / Soon must all lie dead.
A dire woe thereafter / on many a man was visited.
Now may ye hear a wondrous / tale of honor told:
Of squires full nine thousand / soon in death lay cold,
And eke good knights a dozen / there of Dankwart's band.
Forlorn ye saw him only / the last amid his foemen stand.
The din at last was ended / and lulled the battle-sound,
When the valiant Dankwart / did cast a glance around.
"Alack for my companions," / cried he, "now from me reft.
Alack that I now only / forlorn amid my foes am left."
The swords upon his body / fell full thick and fast,
Which rashness many a warrior's / widow mourned at last.
His shield he higher lifted / and drew the strap more low:
Down coats of ring-made armor / made he the ebbing blood to flow.