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Then did the ancient gird him e’en as the stripling bade.

But lo! before he knew it, in fighting gear array’d,

Were standing Dietrich’s warriors, with drawn sword everyone.

This thing the hero liked not, and gladly had forgone.

He asked where they were going. “Along with you we’ll fare!

Perchance Hagen of Tronjé so much the less may dare

With mocking speech to meet you,— which well he knows to use.”

When that he heard, the warrior no longer could refuse.

The gallant Volker saw them in armour fully dight,

Those knights of Bern come marching, all Dietrich’s men of might;

Their swords were girt upon them, they carried shield in hand.

Unto his lords he told it of the Burgundian land.

Then spake the fiddle-player: “Yonder I see them go,

The followers of Dietrich,— in semblance of a foe,

With weapons and in helmets: us mean they to withstand.

I trow for us poor exiles misfortune is at hand.”

E’en at the selfsame moment came Hildebrand to him,

And at his feet his buckler he set upon its rim.

The followers of Gunther to question then he sought “Alas! what harm, good heroes, to you hath Rüdeger wrought?

“Me hath my master Dietrich sent unto you to say:

‘If any one among you hath by his hand this day

Laid low the noble margrave,— as we are told by some, — An injury so grievous we ne’er could overcome.’”