"O woe is me!" spake Dankwart, / the son of Aldrian.
"Now back, ye Hunnish fighters, / let me the open gain,
That the air give cooling / to me storm-weary wight."
In splendid valor moving / strode forward then anew the knight.
As thus he battle-weary / through the hall's portal sprang,
What swords of new-come fighters / upon his helmet rang!
They who not yet had witnessed / what wonders wrought his hand,
Rashly rushed they forward / to thwart him of Burgundian land.
"Now would to God," quoth Dankwart, / "I found a messenger
Who to my brother Hagen / might the tidings bear,
That 'fore host of foemen / in such sad case am I!
From hence he'd surely help me, / or by my side he slain would lie."
Then Hunnish knights gave answer: / "Thyself the messenger
Shalt be, when to thy brother / thee a corse we bear.
So shall that thane of Gunther / first true sorrow know.
Upon the royal Etzel / here hast thou wrought so grievous woe."
Quoth he: "Now leave such boasting / and yield me passage free,
Else shall mail-rings a many / with blood bespattered be.
Myself will tell the tidings / soon at Etzel's court,
And eke unto my masters / of this my travail make report."