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Gunther, the noble ruler, turn’d at that noise around:

“Hear’st thou yon music, Hagen, which Volker there doth sound

Amid the Hunfolk fiddling, who through the door would go?

He hath a blood-red straker upon his fiddle-bow!”

“Tt grieves me beyond measure,” Hagen in answer spake,

“That I before that warrior a seat in hall should take.

I have been his companion, as he was likewise mine,

And we shall aye be faithful if hence we ever win.

“Now mark, great king, how Volker doth thee and thine uphold

Right willingly he earneth thy silver and thy gold.

Through steel of hardest temper his fiddle-bow will smite;

He breaks from off the helmets their shining crests and bright.

“I never saw a fiddler so nobly hold his own

As this same warrior Volker throughout the day hath done.

On helmet and on buckler his music ringeth clear:

A gallant horse deserves he and raiment rich to wear.”

Of those of Hunnish kindred who had been in that hall,

Not one was left within it alive amongst them all.

Now silenced was the uproar; for none there were to fight:

Aside was laid the weapon of every gallant knight.