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But brook’d not the thane Hagen to stay for his advance;—

He ran full speed towards him, with blows of sword and lance,

Until he reach’d the stairs’ foot; his wrath was fierce and dread,

And all the strength of Iring stood him in little stead.

They slash’d right through the bucklers, till each of them began

With ruddy fire to sparkle. And ere long Haward’s man

By the broadsword of Hagen was desperately smit

Through shield and armour: never mote he get well of it.

When that the chieftain Iring was of the wound aware,

His shield unto his helm-band he raised, to rest it there.

He thought that with this damage he now had got his fill:

The liegeman of King Gunther had more to give him still.

Before his feet did Hagen a javelin espy;

And with it straight at Iring, the Danish chief, let fly,—

So well, that from his forehead the shaft thereof stuck out.

For him the warrior Hagen a cruel end had wrought.

Iring must needs betake him the Danish folk unto;

But ere they loosed the helmet from off the chief, they drew

Out from his head the lance-shaft; then death to him came nigh.

His kinsfolk all were wailing: well might they, verily.

Then came the queen towards him, and over him she leant,

And for the stalwart Iring gave to her sorrow vent;

She wept, his wounds beholding, and bitter was her grief.

Then spake unto his kinsmen that brave and gallant chief: