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“Dear Wolfhart, woe betide me! if thou from me art torn,

Too quickly may I rue me that ever I was born!

And Siegestab and Wolfwin, and none the less Wolfbrand.

Who now shall help my journey back to the Amelungs’ land?

Helfrich the ever gallant, and have they laid him low?

And Gerebart and Wichart,— how weep for them enow?

Of all my joy and pleasure the ending is this day:

Fain would I die for sorrow— alas that no man may!”

Then for himself Lord Dietrich sought out a suit to wear,

And Master Hildebrand help’d him to don his fighting gear.

So sore was the lamenting made by the stalwart man,

That all the house to echo with his loud voice began.

But quickly he recover’d a fitting hero’s mood,

And grimly was his armour donn’d by that warrior good.

A shield compact right firmly he carried in his hand;—

Then straightway forth he sallied with Master Hildebrand.

Spake Hagen, lord of Tronjé: “I see there, drawing nigh,

The noble warrior Dietrich; for that great injury

That here hath him befallen, he will upon us set.

This day ’twill be discover’d who doth the honours get.