From cheek the color faded, / death's sure token wore
Iring the gallant warrior: / thereat they grieved full sore.
Nor more in life might tarry / Hawart's valiant knight:
Enraged the men of Denmark / again did arm them for the fight.
Irnfried and Hawart / before the hall then sprang
Leading thousand warriors. / Full furious a clang
Of weapons then on all sides / loud and great ye hear.
Against the men of Burgundy / how hurled they many a mighty spear!
Straight the valiant Irnfried / the minstrel rushed upon,
But naught but grievous injury / 'neath his hand he won:
For the noble Fiddler / did the landgrave smite
E'en through the well-wrought helmet; / yea, grim and savage was the knight.
Sir Irnfried then in answer / the valiant minstrel smote,
That must fly asunder / the rings of his mailed coat
Which showered o'er his cuirass / like sparks of fire red.
Soon must yet the landgrave / fall before the Fiddler dead.
Eke were come together / Hawart and Hagen bold,
And saw he deeds of wonder / who did the sight behold.
Swift flew the sword and fiercely / swung by each hero's hand.
But soon lay Hawart prostrate / before him of Burgundian land.