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 Thrice fell they aback yet living to the heart of

the fated ring; And they looked and their band was little, and no

man but was wounded sore, And the hall seemed growing greater, such hosts of

foes it bore,

So tossed the iron harvest from wall to gilded wall; And they looked and the white-clad Gudrun sat

silent over all.

Then the churls and thralls of the Eastland howled

out as wolves accurst, But oft gaped the Niblungs voiceless, for they choked

with anger and thirst; And the hall grew hot as a furnace, and men drank

their flowing blood, Men laughed and gnawed on their shield-rims, men

knew not where they stood, And saw not what was before them; as in the dark

men smote, Men died heart-broken, unsmitten; men wept with

the cry in the throat, Men lived on full of war-shafts, men cast their

shields aside And caught the spears to their bosoms; men rushed

with none beside, And fell unarmed on the foemen, and tore and slew

in death : And still down rained the arrows as the rain across

the heath; Still proud o'er all the turmoil stood the Kings of

Giuki born,

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