Fast they fell around him, shot by the Hegeling foemen, thronging quickly.
Then from the clash of sword-blades a mighty noise arose.
Those who would slay wild Hagen soon beneath his blows
Were seen to reel and stagger. Hettel, the noble fighter,
Drew near to Hilda’s father; at this the maiden wept, with tears most bitter.
It was indeed a wonder, as we the tale have heard,
So strong and brave was Hagen, that Hettel, the Hegeling lord,
Before him held his footing. As soon as, wildly fighting,
They had reached each other, their helmets rang beneath the heavy smiting.
But not so quickly ended was yet the stormy fight.
Soon was Hettel wounded by brave King Hagen’s might:
Wâ-te the old of Sturmland, with his kin, to Hettel hasted,
With Irold, too, and Morunc— knights as good as foemen’s lands e’er wasted.
Now came the brave old Fru-te and Wâ-te with his throng:
Knights there were a thousand— the press of them was strong.
Hettel’s Hegeling kinsmen, well their weapons plying,
Wounded many foemen; on every side stretched low, the men were lying.
After bravest fighting, now had reached the land
The followers of Hagen; then crowded to the sand,
After his friends so faithful, a host from Ireland’s borders.
Soon were helmets shattered: grimly they fought to win the maids from their warders.
Hagen saw then near him Hettel, the youthful knight:
Many strong and stalwart were shorn of strength outright,
Both by those from Daneland and the Hegeling lieges:
Now to meet wild Hagen every one old Wâ-te loud beseeches.
Then, by his strength, King Hagen broke thro’ the crowd a path,
And with his sword hewed boldly; well he wreaked his wrath,
Because his much-loved daughter from him by craft was taken;
Coats of mail lay fallen: the wrongs of Hagen hate in him did waken.
He might not quench his anger with the sword alone;
By the thrust of his heavy long-spear soon were overthrown
Many a knight most daring: never the tale was given
By these unto their kinsmen, of how in the stormy fight their luck had thriven.
Now came Wâ-te quickly, the knight well born and good;
Soon of his well-loved kinsmen he saw the flowing blood,
Under the slash of broadswords, out of their armor dripping:
Of those who would have helped him, five hundred wounded men in death were sleeping.
Everywhere were gathered friends as well as foes,
All in uproar minged; a mighty din arose.
Wâ-te and wild Hagen rushed on each other madly,
Whoe’er could shun their pathway of all the risk he had fled was thinking gladly.
Hagen laid on Wâ-te many a heavy blow—
Well his strength he wielded. Their helmets were aglow
With fiery sparks outflashing— like to brands they glittered;
Each cleft the other’s helmet, and ever still, each other’s blows they bettered.
The ground beneath was trembling with aged Wâ-te’s stroke:
Scarcely could the maidens of his onslaught shun the shock.
Now the wounds of Hettel his faithful friends were binding;
He then began to ask them where his cousin Wâ-te he could be finding.
With Hagen, “of kings the Devil,” he found old Wâ-te soon:
The skill of him of Sturmland to guard himself was shown:
Brave were both these warriors, and oft the tale was spoken
How Wâ-te the bold and Hagen in hardest strife had each his anger wroken.
Hagen’s spear was broken erelong on Wâ-te’s shield:
Well in the fight he bore it, and strength enough did wield.
Ne’er on the field of warfare did blows of men fall thicker,
Even of bravest warriors; Wâ-te scorned to flinch, or seem the worker.
Hagen cleft the head-piece of Hettel’s brave old man,
The trusty, daring Wâ-te, till blood from his helmet ran,
From out his wounds fast flowing. Now the wind blew colder,
For eventide was nearing; the struggling throng in fight but grew the bolder.
Wâ-te gave back in anger each grim and deadly blow,
Making the blood, like tear-drops, on Hagen’s breast to flow;
Strokes he gave his foeman, until the sword-blade glittered
On the bosses of his helmet; daylight before his darkened eyesight flittered.
Wounded, too, was Irold, Ortland’s champion brave.
Though many there lay dying from the wounds that Hagen gave,
Yet the blows of Wâ-te still did Hagen batter.
Sorely wept the maidens when of so many swords they heard the clatter.
Now, in fear and sorrow, Hilda, the maiden fair,
Cried unto King Hettel, and begged of him to spare
Her father from old Wâ-te, the fight so grimly waging.
He called for his standard-bearer, and bade him lead his men where the strife was raging.
Then the kingly Hettel right well and bravely fought;
Soon he found old Wâ-te, to whom no joy it brought:
Then Hettel called to Hagen: “Let hatred hence be driven;
So shall it raise your honor, if now our friends no more to death be given.”
Hagen shouted loudly— fell indeed was his mood—
“Who bids that we be parted?” Then cried the warrior good:
“I bid it, I, King Hettel, the Hegelings’ lord and master,
Who for the Lady Hilda sent my friends so far, from you to wrest her.”
Then spake the lordly Hagen: “Since first to me ’twas told
How you to win my daughter showed yourself so bold,
This to your name with warriors shame has ne’er been doing;
Clever was the cunning to which your winning of my child is owing.”
Hettel then sprang nearer, as oft by one is done,
Who thinks to stop the fighting. Grim was the mood yet shown
By the bold and aged Wâ-te; but he and Hagen yielded:
Then with all his followers Hagen stepped back, nor longer his weapon wielded.
Now the lordly Hettel his helmet laid aside;
A truce was loudly called for by all, both far and wide;
’Twas said by Hilda’s father there was an end of fighting:
For many a day, the maidens had heard no tale their ears so much delighting.
The men took off the armor which they in fight had worn,
And now at last they rested. Many then must mourn
For wounds, in warfare given, whence the blood was welling;
But many lay there also who never more on thoughts of war were dwelling.
Then stepped forth King Hettel and near to Hagen stood,
And thus he spake to the warrior: “Since I well have wooed
Your lovely daughter Hilda, ’tis fit that you allow her
To wear the crown beside me: my many well-bred knights will fealty show her.”
Then Hettel sent for Wâ-te, of whom he was in need;
For many years now ended, of him it had been said
That he from some wild woman had learned a leech’s cunning:
Wâ-te, forsooth, was skilful to heal deep wounds and stanch the life-blood running.
Wâ-te laid by his weapons; his wounds he first had bound.
Herbs that were good for healing by him were quickly found;
He had a box full costly, that in it held a plaster.
Now the fair Queen Hilda besought his help, and at his feet she cast her.
She said, “My dear friend Wâ-te, my father heal, I pray;
For this, whate’er you ask me, I ne’er will say you nay;
And help
