Irold, he of Ortland, and Morunc of the Frisian land

Irold, he of Ortland, and Morunc of the Frisian land, Both of those brave champions, one on either hand, Came with lovely Hilda, and Hettel soon were meeting; Worthy was she of praises. Now thought the maid to give the king her greeting.

With her there came young maidens, twenty or even more, All clad in fair white linen,— whiter none e’er wore,— Or best of silken clothing, that could be found by any: Proud were they to wear them, and, gaily decked, they there were seen by many.

The king, both good and stately, then began to greet With well-bred, seemly bearing, the maid he thought was meet To wear the crown hereafter. He gazed on her with yearning; Her in his arms he folded, and fondly kissed the maid, her face upturning.

Then one by one he welcomed all the maidens fair; But one there was among them so lofty in her air She might of birth be kingly: in nought her kin were lacking. She was one of the maidens who with the griffin long her home was making.

She bore the name of Hildeburg: from Hilda, Hagen’s wife, She ever had won the honor befitting her worthy life; Born in the land of Portugal, thence had she been taken. She now saw many strangers: a longing sad for her friends did this awaken.

Hettel to all the maidens gave a welcome free, Yet was their lot no brighter; for when they thought to see An end of all their sadness, upon the coming morrow, Soon as the day was dawning, there came to them again as great a sorrow.

Her throng of high-born followers were greeted on every side; Near to Hagen’s daughter on a flowery meadow wide, Under silken awnings, many there were seated. But Hagen was now too near them; to them from him must many ills be meted.