Ere long time was over, / 'neath the Fiddler's hand,
Who of his art did give him / such share to understand
That beneath his broadsword / smitten to death he lay.
Old Hildebrand avenged him / as bade his mighty arm alway.
"Alack that knight so loved," / spake Master Hildebrand,
"Here should thus lie fallen / 'neath Volker's hand.
Now lived his latest hour / in sooth this Fiddler hath."
Filled was the hero Hildebrand / straightway with a mighty wrath.
With might smote he Volker / that severed flew the band
E'en to the hall's wide limit / far on either hand
From shield and eke from helmet / borne by the Fiddler keen;
Therewith the doughty Volker / reft of life at last had been.
Pressed eager to the combat / Dietrich's warriors true,
Smiting that the mail-rings / afar from harness flew,
And that the broken sword-points / soaring aloft ye saw,
The while that reeking blood-stains / did they from riven helmets draw.
There of Tronje Hagen / beheld Volker dead.
In that so bloody carnage / 'twas far the sorest need
Of all that did befall him / in death of friend and man.
Alack! for him what vengeance / Hagen then to wreak began!