By both hands swiftly wielded, / his blade then cut the air
And smote upon the tutor / who had the child in care,
That down before the table / his head that instant lay:
It was a sorry payment / wherewith he did the tutor pay.
His eye 'fore Etzel's table / a minstrel espied:
To whom in hasty manner / did wrathful Hagen stride,
Where moved it on the fiddle / his right hand off smote he;
"Have that for thy message / unto the land of Burgundy."
"Alack my hand!" did Werbel / that same minstrel moan;
"What, Sir Hagen of Tronje, / have I to thee done?
I bore a faithful message / unto thy master's land.
How may I more make music / thus by thee bereft of hand?"
Little in sooth recked Hagen, / fiddled he nevermore.
Then in the hall all wrathful / wrought he havoc sore
Upon the thanes of Etzel / whereof he many slew;
Ere they might find exit, / to death then smote he not a few.
Volker the full valiant / up sprang from board also:
In his hand full clearly / rang out his fiddle-bow,
For mightily did fiddle / Gunther's minstrel thane.
What host of foes he made him / because of Hunnish warriors slain!