Clear was the spring as crystal, pure was the water and cool

Clear was the spring as crystal, pure was the water and cool. Down on the brink bowed Gunther, and stooped his lips to the pool; And when to the full he had drunken, again to his feet did he rise, While still looked Siegfried the fearless on the water with longing eyes. For his courtesy heavily paid he!—his bow and his mighty sword Were borne away by Hagen from their noble-hearted lord. Back swiftly sprang the traitor; on the javelin his grasp he laid, And glared in search of the token at the vest of the man betrayed. Even as Siegfried the noble drank of the life-giving flood, Fair through the crosslet he stabbed him. Sprang from the wound the blood, His heart's blood; and Hagen's tunic was besprent with murder's stain. —Never may hand of warrior such villainy do again!

There in his heart deep-planted the murderer left the spear. How swiftly thence did Hagen flee in his deadly fear! Never on earth so fleetly from the face of man fled he As when Siegfried's limbs at the death-stab leapt convulsively. Forthright did the maddened hero up from the well-brink spring: Stood far out 'twixt his shoulders the long shaft quivering: Swift glanced he around, as thinking to find there bow or sword— Good sooth, he had dealt unto Hagen a richly-earned reward! But now when the deadly-wounded might nowhere find his brand, No weapon save only his buckler lay ready there to his hand: That snatched he up from the well-side, and in chase of the murderer ran. Full soon was the fleeing Hagen outrun by the dying man. Albeit to death he was stricken, he smote with such mighty power That out of the shield-face started and fell to earth in a shower The costly gemstones: rifted was the very buckler's rim— Grim earnest of what stern vengeance he fain would have wreaked upon him! By his hands' resistless smiting was Hagen hurled to the ground: With the clang of that mighty buffet the wood-lawn echoed round. Had he gripped in his hand but his war-glaive, surely had Hagen been slain. Maddened him now that death-wound, a very torment of pain.

Now fled from his face all colour, he was reeling on tottering feet: Fainted his strength from his body as when earth-spilt waters fleet: Death set on his brow his token, his lips were ashen-grey. —Ah, many a comely woman for this mourned many a day!

On flowers with red dew sprinkled the belovèd of Kriemhild fell, With the blood from his wound outbursting as the streams from a spring outwell. Then he brake into bitter upbraiding from the lips by anguish wrung Against them which had compassed his murder by the snare of a lying tongue. Loud cried the deadly-wounded: "Dastards, accursèd be ye! Where now is my guerdon for service to you who have murdered me? Your stay was I still and your helper: for all this death is my meed! O caitiffs, that do unto kinsman and friend so evil a deed! Accursèd for this your offspring, even all that shall see the light, Shall be ever from this day onward! Your malice and your spite Ruthlessly on my body have ye wreaked all causelessly! By all good knights shunned ever for your villainy ye shall be!"

Now by this had the knights run thither, and saw where murdered he lay. To many a man true-hearted was that a joyless day. Who cherished faith and honour, they wailed for the glory slain: Well of them all he deserved it, that battle-fearless thane! The traitor king that consented to his death wept now for it: But the death-stricken cried: "Thou needest not this, thou hypocrite! What doth he to weep for the mischief, who the profit thereof hath won? O'erlate the accursèd repenteth the deed best left undone!"