Yet from the prince he freed him, / for nimble was he too.
Four of the men of Burgundy / the knight full sudden slew
Of those that followed with them / from Worms across the Rhine.
Thereupon might nothing / the wrath of Giselher confine.
"God wot well, Sir Iring," / young Giselher then cried,
"Now must thou make requital / for them that here have died
'Neath thy hand so sudden." / He rushed upon him so
And smote the knight of Denmark / that he might not withstand the blow.
Into the blood down fell he / staggering 'neath its might,
That all who there beheld it / might deem the noble knight
Sword again would never / wield amid the fray.
Yet 'neath the stroke of Giselher / Iring all unwounded lay.
Bedazed by helmet's sounding / where ringing sword swung down,
Full suddenly his senses / so from the knight were flown:
That of his life no longer / harbored he a thought.
That the doughty Giselher / by his mighty arm had wrought.
When somewhat was subsided / the din within his head
From mighty blow so sudden / on him was visited,
Thought he: "I still am living / and bear no mortal wound.
How great the might of Giselher, / till now unwitting, have I found."