A marvel it is past telling, oft have we known it betide

A marvel it is past telling, oft have we known it betide:— When the slayer murder-polluted is seen by the dead man's side, The wounds bleed in witness against him: so did it now befall, And thereby was the guilt of Hagen made manifest unto all. For the wound brake forth into bleeding, as freely as at the first. Now they that before wept sorely into wilder weeping burst. But answered and spake King Gunther: "Now hearken, the truth is this— He was set on and slain of robbers: no deed of Hagen it is." But Kriemhild replied: "These robbers but all too well I know! God give to the hands of his kinsmen vengeance on his foe! Thou, Gunther, and thou, Hagen, of you was the foul deed done!" Surged forward the vassals of Siegfried, fierce-eager to fall on.

But Kriemhild spake: "Unto mourning be this hour sacred, I pray!" Then two beside of her kinsmen drew nigh where the dead man lay, Even her brethren, Gernot and the stripling Giselher: And in leal faith these bewailed him with all the true souls there. Yea, from the heart they lamented for Kriemhild's perished lord. Now pealed the holy mass-chant: through the doors of the minster poured On every hand young children no less than women and men. Even they whom his death smote lightly, wept with the best for him then. Spake Giselher and Gernot: "O sister, receive of us thou For the death of thy lord consolation: it is past all healing now. Thy loss by our love will we make good, so long as we both shall live." But no one on earth could console her, of none would she comfort receive.

By this was his coffin fashioned, when the sun in the mid-heaven shone. Loving hands from the bier uplifted the corpse that lay thereon. But the Queen said: "Nay, I beseech you, lay him not yet in the grave; Ere then heavy tribute of mourning from all that love him I crave." In a pall most costly-woven that lifeless form they wound. Of a surety none that wept not was in all that concourse found. From her heart poured Uta the noble lamentation and mourning and woe; Wailing were all her handmaids for the princely head brought low.

When the folk heard how in the minster they sang the requiem, And that Siegfried lay in his coffin, there came vast throngs of them With their offerings—ah, how freely!—to buy his soul's repose. Good friends had he without number in the very house of his foes. Kriemhild the hapless woman to her treasure-keeper spake: "Now sorrow ye all in my sorrow, and suffer dole for my sake, All ye whose hearts have loved him, all ye that be true unto me. For the rest of the soul of Siegfried gold to the poor give ye." There was no child so little, so it had understanding at all, But something it brought for the masses for him who lay stark under pall. Yea, full one hundred masses on that one day did they sing. Ah, there was a mighty concourse of lovers of that dead king!

When ended was all the mass-chant, the vast crowd melted away. But again to her friends spake Kriemhild: "Leave me not this day To keep vigil alone o'er the hero, the hope of the world and its pride; Now all the joy of my life-days is buried by his side. Three days, three nights unceasing will I keep vigil here Till my soul is filled with lamenting for him, my lord most dear. Peradventure His white Death-angel for me too God will send; So the sorrow of Kriemhild the hapless should find a blessèd end."

Now homeward the folk of the city were gone to their rest and their sleep: But the priests and the monks aye chanting that vigil with her must keep; And his vassals and leal retainers that served that gallant chief— Ah, weariful nights were appointed to these, and days of grief. Through the days of their mourning many drank not, nor tasted of bread: But, for such as could not endure it, to these was it plainly said: "Eat, drink, for we give to you freely." King Siegmund cared therefor. Then fell on the faithful Niblungs trouble and travail sore.

As telleth the olden story, through three days weary-long Never an hour of respite from holy chant and song

Had any singer of masses. What wealth of offerings Poured in! Then even the poorest could give like very kings. For they sought out the poor and needy, and into their hands was poured By Kriemhild's treasure-warders gold from the dead king's hoard; So brought they of their abundance—ay, now that he lived no more, Thousands of marks for his soul's rest were given from a fathomless store. Lands and their revenues gave she through the whole land everywhere Unto many a hallowed cloister, unto many a man of prayer. Silver they gave unstinted, and raiment unto the poor. So showed she before all people what love to the dead she bore. When rang the bells unto high-mass on that third morning-tide, There were seen all round the minster in the churchyard great and wide The folk of the country weeping; they thronged it from end to end. Yea, in death did they do him service, as unto a dear-loved friend. In these four days of their mourning, as the old bards sang unto me, Marks full thirty thousand, yea, more, it well may be, To the poor were freely given, that all for his soul might pray, Now that all his life and his beauty as a shadow had passed away.

The service of God was ended, into silence sank the song. With a storm of weeping shaken was all that mighty throng. Then out of the dim-lit minster forth to the grave was he borne— Oh wail of the hungry-hearted, oh voice of them that mourn! On moved that endless procession with cries of lamenting loud; No face that was glad, or of woman or man, was in all that crowd. Ere earth to earth they committed, once more did they pray and sing. What countless holy fathers were seen at his burying!

Or ever the true and faithful, the wife, to the grave-side came, With such fierce throes of anguish shaken was all her frame, That they needs must with cool spring-water besprinkle her once and again, So racked was her heart overmeasure with agonies of pain. In sooth, 'twas a marvel exceeding that she died not there outright. Weeping her women upbare her with their hands on the left and the right.

"O ye true men of Siegfried," thus did the sad Queen cry, "I pray you of your compassion, and of your fealty, Vouchsafe unto me in my sorrow this one little grace That once more and for the last time I may look on his lovely face!" So long in her anguish she pleaded, so earnestly she besought, That they needs must at last wrench open the coffin richly wrought. The Queen then thitherward led they, and she bowed her over her dead. In her white hands she enfolded and lifted his comely head; And she kissed that faded glory, that noble knight and good. Her starry eyes for sorrow wept very tears of blood. An exceeding pitiful parting saw all men in that hour. Then softly thence they bare her in whose limbs was left no power. Senseless and stirless lay she in their arms, that stricken wife. It seemed that for very sorrow from her body would fleet her life.

When thus in his grave lay buried that noble and princely thane, Then bowed in measureless sorrow sat all his warrior-train, Even all from the land of the Niblungs that led of his banner had come. Yea, and the old King Siegmund was whelmed in morningless gloom. There was many a man among them that for three days long made moan, And the tears of his bitter anguish were his meat and his drink alone, Till their bodily frames no longer could so endure and live: So they took up the burden of living, and a little they ceased to grieve. (C) But lost unto all things Kriemhild in a deathlike swoon still lay Through the hours of the day and the darkness, even till the second day. Whatsoe'er in her ears they whispered, she knew not anything: And no less stricken of sorrow lay grey-haired Siegmund the King. (C) Scarce to the mind's re-dawning he slowly won at the last: From his limbs by reason of anguish all bodily strength had passed. No marvel that weak was Siegmund! At last drew his liegemen near, Saying: "Lord, let us fare hence homeward: boots not that we linger here!"

XVIII. How Kriemhild would not return to the Lowland with Siegmund