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Some few there were among them whose wounds were not so bad

But that with gentler usage they yet might life have had,

Who from that height down falling in death must needs lie low;

For this their friends were wailing and grievous was their woe.

Then spake the fiddler Volker, a goodly hero he:

“Now witness I the truth of what hath been told to me:

Base cowards are these Hunsmen, they wail like womankind!

These sorely wounded bodies they ought to tend and bind.”

Then deem’d a certain margrave he spake with purpose good.

He saw one of his kinsmen who lay amid the blood,

And clasp’d his arms about him and sought to drag him thence;

Then shot the ruthless minstrel and slew him with a lance.

And when the others saw it, a panic seized the crowd;

They all against the minstrel began to curse aloud.

Then pluck’d he up a javelin, that temper’d was and keen,

Which by some Hun or other aim’d at himself had been.

This, right across the fortress, he cast with might and main

Far o’er the crowd of people; and thereby Etzel’s men

He warn’d to take their station more distant from the hall.

The folk his mighty prowess now dreaded above all.

Yet still before the palace stood many a thousand men.

Sir Volker and Sir Hagen began to parley then,

And unto the King Etzel all in their minds to tell:

Whence grievous ills thereafter those heroes bold befell.