She drew it from the scabbard, / nor might he say her nay,
Though thought she from the warrior / his life to take away.
With both hands high she raised it / and off his head struck she,
Whereat did grieve King Etzel / full sore the sorry sight to see.
"To arms!" cried then the monarch: / "here lieth foully slain
Beneath the hand of woman / of all the doughtiest thane
That e'er was seen in battle / or ever good shield bore!
Though foeman howsoever, / yet grieveth this my heart full sore."
Quoth then the aged Hildebrand: / "Reap no gain she shall,
That thus she dared to slay him. / Whate'er to me befall,
And though myself in direst / need through him have been,
By me shall be avengéd / the death of Tronje's knight full keen."
In wrathful mood then Hildebrand / unto Kriemhild sprung,
And 'gainst the queen full swiftly / his massy blade he swung.
Aloud she then in terror / 'fore Hildebrand did wail,
Yet that she shrieked so loudly, / to save her what might that avail?
So all those warriors fated / by hand of death lay strewn,
And e'en the queen full lofty / in pieces eke was hewn.
Dietrich and royal Etzel / at length to weep began,
And grievously they mournéd / kinsmen slain and many a man.