"Beneath our feet no longer / here the dead must lie.
But ere in storm of battle / at hand of Huns to die,
We'll deal such wounds around us / as 'tis my joy to see.
Thereon," spake Giselher, / "my heart is fixed right steadfastly."
"I joy in such a master," / Hagen spake again:
"Such counsel well befitteth / alone so valiant thane
As my youthful master / hath shown himself this day.
Therefor, O men of Burgundy, / every one rejoice ye may."
Then followed they his counsel / and from the hall they bore
Seven thousand bodies / and cast them from the door.
Adown the mounting stairway / all together fell,
Whereat a sound of wailing / did from mourning kinsmen swell.
Many a man among them / so slight wound did bear
That he were yet recovered / had he but gentle care,
Who yet falling headlong / now surely must be dead.
Thereat did grieve their kinsmen / as verily was sorest need.
Then outspake the Fiddler, / Volker a hero bold:
"Now do I find how truly / hath to me been told
That cowards are the Hun-men / who do like women weep.
Rather should be their effort / their wounded kin alive to keep."