How Siegfried Was Bewailed and Buried, XXXVI–LXX

They with the guests lamented, for sore they griev'd as well. What was the offence of Siegfried, none of them could tell, For which by stroke so sudden the chief had lost his life. There with the high-born ladies wept each good burgher's wife.

Joiners and smiths were summon'd to frame a coffin strong, Beset with gold and silver, massy and broad and long, And braced with bars of iron to guard the frailer wood. Then all the crowd about it in dreary sorrow stood.

And now the night was over; forth peep'd the morning fair; Straight bade the noble lady thence to the minster bear The matchless champion Siegfried, her husband lov'd so dear. All her friends close follow'd with many a sigh and tear.

When they the minster enter'd, how many a bell was rung! How many a priest on all sides the mournful requiem sung! Then thither with his meiny came Dankrat's haughty son, And thither too grim Hagan; it had been better left undone.

Then spoke the king, "Dear sister, woe worth this loss of thine! Alas that such misfortune has happ'd to me and mine! For sure the death of Siegfried we ever both must rue." "Nay," said the mournful lady, "so without cause you do,

"For if you really rued it, never had it been. I know you have your sister forgotten quite and clean, So I and my beloved were parted as you see. Good God! would he had granted the stroke had fall'n on me!"

Firmly they made denial; Kriemhild at once replied, "Whoe'er in this is guiltless, let him this proof abide. In sight of all the people let him approach the bier, And so to each beholder shall the plain truth appear."

It is a mighty marvel, which oft e'en now we spy, That, when the blood-stain'd murderer comes to the murder'd nigh, The wounds break out a-bleeding; then to the same befell, And thus could each beholder the guilt of Hagan tell.

The wounds at once burst streaming fast as they did before; Those, who then sorrow'd deeply, now yet lamented more. Then outspake King Gunther, "I give you here to know, He was slain by robbers; Hagan struck ne'er a blow."

"Ay! well know I those robbers," his widow'd sister said; "By the hands of his true comrades may God revenge the dead! False Gunther, and false Hagan! 'twas you, your friend that slew." Thereat the knights of Siegfried gripp'd to their swords anew.

This more distracted Kriemhild; when in her anxious pain Two friends she saw approaching to seek and mourn the slain, Gernot her good brother, and Giselher the young. Their eyes were blind with weeping; true grief their bosoms wrung.

They wept for Kriemhild's husband, and inly sorrowed too. Mass now all would be singing; the doors they open threw, And straight into the minster both men and women press'd. Those, who could well spare Siegfried, mourn'd for him with the rest.

Gernot then and Giselher thus spake, "My sister dear! For this sad death take comfort, all must have sorrow here. We'll do our best to help thee as long as we have life." Yet could not they nor others console the widow'd wife.

His coffin now was ready; it was about midday; From the bier he was lifted whereon till now he lay. Yet would not his pale lady have him laid at once in ground. His friends and faithful followers to further toil were bound.

In richest stuff, deep sighing, they wrapp'd the clay-cold dead. Not one, I ween, was present, but bitter tears he shed. Then wail'd the high-born Uta; deep teen in heart she bore; And all her dames lamented that Siegfried was no more.

Soon as 'twas heard, the murder'd had now been laid in chest, And that the mass was singing, to church the people press'd. For his soul what offerings were brought in all men's view! E'en 'midst foes so deadly, friends had he firm and true.

Then the wretched Kriemhild her chamberlains bespake, "Now must you toil and trouble suffer for my sake. To those who honor'd Siegfried, and dear his widow hold, For the soul of the departed deal out his treasur'd gold."

No child, howe'er so little, just knowing wrong from right, But brought an offering thither; ere buried was the knight, At least a hundred masses they sang the whole day long; Thither all friends of Siegfried's flock'd in, a numerous throng.

When now the chants were over, the crowd would wend away. Then spake the sobbing Kriemhild, "Ah! leave me not, I pray, This night alone to sorrow, and watch th' unheeding dead. With him, my own beloved, all my joys lie withered.

"Three nights, three days, I'll keep him, and gaze upon him still, Till of the dearly dear one I thus have had my fill. What if God be willing that me, too, death should seize? Then well at once were ended poor Kriemhild's miseries."

The people of the city went home as darkness fell; The priests and monks attendant, and all the train, who well Had serv'd the champion living, fair Kriemhild begg'd to stay. Their night was full of sorrow, of dreariment their day.

Many of the woful mourners nor meat nor drink would taste, But for all such as needed at hand was ready plac'd Good store of each provision; this Siegmund took in hand. There mickle toil awaited the Nibelungers' band.

For three whole days together, as we have heard men say, Whoe'er had skill in singing, on them hard labor lay. Sore were their hearts afflicted, as for the soul they pray'd Of that redoubted champion, who there a corpse was laid.

There, too, the poor and needy, who of his own had nought, In hand, by Kriemhild furnish'd, a golden offering brought From Siegfried's proper treasure; when his body lifeless lay, Marks full many a thousand for his soul were given away.

Landed rents and revenues she scatter'd wide around, Wherever sacred convents and holy men were found, And to the poor gave silver and clothes in plenteous store. She proved by all her actions what love to him she bore.

On the third morn when duly the mass was to be sung, With country folk all weeping (such grief their bosoms wrung) The churchyard of the minster was fill'd from end to end. Each wail'd the dead, each sorrow'd as for his dearest friend.

In four days successive were scattered 'mongst the poor Marks some thirty thousand for Siegfried's soul, or more. To the good knight such honor his friends desir'd to pay, When his life was brought to nothing, and his beauty passed away.

The singing now was over, God had been serv'd as due; Then with o'ermastering sorrow strove that empassion'd crew. Next to the grave they brought him from out the minster near. One weeping, one wild wailing was then alone to hear.

Loud shrieking, mov'd the people around the bearers slow; None there, nor man nor woman, but wore one face of woe. 'Twas sung; 'twas said, as fitted, ere he in ground was laid. Ah! what good priests to Siegfried the last sad duties paid!

Ere to the grave advancing his own true lady came, Her sense-o'erpowering sorrow so shook her wasted frame, That oft was need to sprinkle her from the cool-springing well. Boundless was her distraction; the like no tongue can tell.

'Twas strange, such utter anguish dislodged not the frail life. With eager haste to help her flock'd many a wailing wife. Then spake the queen, "Ye warriors! My murder'd Siegfried's best, By your love to your master grant me this last request.

"Let me have one small pleasure 'mid pains so manifold; The stately head of Siegfried I would once more behold." She begg'd so long, so wailful, that less they could not do Than force the coffin open, and give the corpse to view.

So thither they led the lady, where lay the clay-cold dead. With her fine snowy fingers she rais'd his stately head, And kiss'd him lifeless lying; long bending there she stood; Her fair eyes for anguish wept o'er him tears of blood.

How woful was their parting! Borne was she thence away, Walk she could no longer; insensible she lay Through bitterness of sorrow, so lovely and so still, As if Death would have smitten, yet wanted heart to kill.

When now the noble champion was duly laid in ground, O'erwhelm'd with boundless sorrow the valiant chiefs were found, That from the land of Nibelung had come with him erewhile; King Siegmund too thereafter was seldom seen to smile.