He answered: "Brother Dankwart, / now take thy stand before,
And Huns let never any / make passage by the door.
I'll speak unto these warriors, / as needs must spoken be:
Dead lie all our followers, / slain by foulest treachery."
"Must I here be chamberlain," / replied the warrior keen,
"Well know I such high monarchs / aright to serve, I ween.
So will I guard the stairway / as sorts with honor well."
Ne'er to the thanes of Kriemhild / so sorry case before befell.
"To me 'tis mickle wonder," / Hagen spake again,
"What thing unto his neighbor / whispers each Hunnish thane.
I ween they'd forego the service / of him who keeps the door,
And who such high court tidings / to his friends of Burgundy bore.
"Long since of Lady Kriemhild / the story I did hear,
How unavenged her sorrow / she might no longer bear.
A memory-cup now quaff we / and pay for royal cheer!
The youthful lord of Hunland / shall make the first instalment here."
Thereat the child Ortlieb / doughty Hagen slew,
That from the sword downward / the blood to hand-grip flew,
And into lap of Kriemhild / the severed head down rolled.
Then might ye see 'mid warriors / a slaughter great and grim unfold.