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Then presently to meet him the noble Dietrich came.

Great was the might of Gunther, and well ’twas known to fame.

Nor did he tarry longer;— before the hall he ran.

From their two weapons’ meeting a dreadful din began.

Albeit that Lord Dietrich great fame long time had had,

So sore was Gunther’s anger he raved like one gone mad;

For deadly foe he held him, so bitter was his pain:

’Tis reckon’d still a marvel that Dietrich was not slain.

So strong and full of valour was either of the twain,

The palace walls and turrets rang with their blows again.

While on the goodly helmets with swords they hack’d and hew’d.

Then, verily, King Gunther, a royal courage shew’d.

Yet he of Bern o’ercame him, as likewise he had done

To Hagen; through the hauberk the hero’s blood to run

Was seen, from that sharp weapon wherewith Sir Dietrich clove.

Yet, weary as was Gunther, he valiantly strove.

Bound was the noble chieftain by Dietrich’s hand alone,

Although a king should never such bonds have undergone.

He thought if he should leave them, the king and vassal, free,

That all on whom they lighted by them fordone must be.

Dietrich of Bern then took him a captive, closely-bound,

And by the hand he led him where he Kriemhilda found.

At sight of his affliction her sorrows greatly waned;

She spake: “Be welcome, Gunther, of the Burgundian land!”