Thrice fell they aback yet living to the heart of
the fated ring; And they looked and their band was little, and no
man but was wounded sore, And the hall seemed growing greater, such hosts of
foes it bore,
So tossed the iron harvest from wall to gilded wall; And they looked and the white-clad Gudrun sat
silent over all.
Then the churls and thralls of the Eastland howled
out as wolves accurst, But oft gaped the Niblungs voiceless, for they choked
with anger and thirst; And the hall grew hot as a furnace, and men drank
their flowing blood, Men laughed and gnawed on their shield-rims, men
knew not where they stood, And saw not what was before them; as in the dark
men smote, Men died heart-broken, unsmitten; men wept with
the cry in the throat, Men lived on full of war-shafts, men cast their
shields aside And caught the spears to their bosoms; men rushed
with none beside, And fell unarmed on the foemen, and tore and slew
in death : And still down rained the arrows as the rain across
the heath; Still proud o'er all the turmoil stood the Kings of
Giuki born,
�� �
