LITMIR.BIZ

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      Such warriors as earn rich guerdon when war-kings lavish their gold;

      Rode Dankwart the brother of Hagen, and with these was Ortwein found.

      So they marched on the path of honour, they marched to be glory-crowned.

      “Lord King,” spake Siegfried, “I pray thee, at home do thou abide,

      While the good knights after my banner forth to the battle shall ride;

      Stay thou, that the hearts of the weak ones may be strong in thy fearlessness;

      And I will guard thine honour and thy wealth in the battle’s stress.

      And they that were fain to seek thee at Worms by the waters of Rhine,

      With them will I take such order, that nought shall they harm that is thine.

      Yea, we into their own homeland so far will ride in our raid,

      That soon shall the overweening be with sorrow sore dismayed.”

      From Rhine through the land of Hesse rode on that hero-host,

      And over the Saxon marches, where the fight should be won and lost;

      And they drave the spoil, and they harried with flame the land of the foe:

      Ha, bitter straits and anguish did the robber war-kings know!

      So they came to the Saxon marches, and the vanguard pressed on still.

      Then Siegfried the mighty champion asked of the chieftains’ will:

      “Whom now shall we make our warder of camp and of sumpter-train?”

      —Ha, never of war-raid the Saxons suffered deadlier bane!

      So they said, “Let the henchmen that follow the wielders of spear and brand

      Be warded of Dankwart the valiant, of the swift death-dealing hand;

      So shall our loss be the lesser from Lüdiger’s plundering horde.

      Yea, leave with him Ortwein: our rear-guard shall these twain safely ward.”

      “Then will myself ride onward,” spake Siegfried the knight straightway,

      “To watch for the foe’s on-coming, and to spy out their array,

      Until I shall know of a surety where now their warriors are.”

      And with speed fair Siegelind’s scion stood sheathed in his harness of war.

      So the host he committed to Hagen, or ever he rode on the quest,

      Even to him and to Gernot, the knight of the dauntless breast.

      So into the land of the Saxons rode he forward alone—

      Yea, to fashion a tale for the minstrels, a tale of glory won!

      Then spied he onward-surging o’er the plain a host of war,

      So huge that Burgundia’s warriors by these were outnumbered far;

      For their tale was two-score thousand, yea, more than this, I trow.

      Then leapt his heart and lightened his eyes with the battle-glow.

      Now afront of the host of the foemen there rode a goodly knight,

      To watch for a battle-token, in shining harness dight.

      And Siegfried the hero beheld him, and on him that champion gazed,

      And the eyes of each upon other with the fury of battle blazed.

      Now who was the keen war-eagle that on watching pinions hung?

      A gleaming shield all-golden from his leftward shoulder was slung.

      King Lüdegast was the warrior that thus o’er the host kept ward.

      Lo, the noble stranger-hero against him is spurring hard!

      And the wrath of the lord of the Danefolk by the battle-challenge is stirred,

      And the mighty steeds to the onset are racing fierily spurred.

      In their strong grip over the shield-rims they couched their lances low—

      Ha, but the proud king knew not that he rode to his shame and his woe!

      The war-steeds hearkened the spur-sting, and swift as arrows they leapt,

      And the kings clashed like unto breakers by a tempest-blast on-swept;

      And knightly they wheeled to the onset their reeling steeds with the rein,

      And with swords they essayed the decision of strife, that terrible twain.

      At each stroke of the hero Siegfried far round the whole plain rung,

      And the helmet was flashing and flaming as with fire from a torch outflung;

      Even so were the red sparks leaping ’neath the sword in the hero’s hand.

      Lions both were the Dane-king and the Lord of the Nether Land,

      For with many a furious sword-stroke did the king of the Daneland smite;

      Yea, this one and that at the bucklers hewed with his uttermost might.

      Now their strife was beheld of thirty knights of the king’s war-band:

      But or ever these might reach him victor did Siegfried stand.

      For with three wide-gaping gashes he made that war-king reel;

      They sundered the shining harness, the welded links of steel;

      On the great sword’s cleaving lightning swift followed the rain of blood;

      Then groaned the king of the Danefolk in bitterness of mood.

      For his life must he make supplication: “I will pay for my ransoming,”

      He cried, “the land of Denmark! I am Lüdegast the king!”

      But by this full nigh were his war-band, the knights that from far had seen

      Betwixt these two fore-scouters what deadly strife had been.

      Then Siegfried would lead the vanquished away; but they fell forthright

      Upon him, those thirty warriors, yet his hand by its single might

      Aye guarded his princely captive with strokes that fell like hail;

      And soon to that king’s defenders had he dealt yet deadlier bale.

      For he smote, that captive-warder, the thirty, till dead they lay,

      Save one that turned his horse-rein, and swiftly fled away,

      And bare the bitter tidings of all to the host of the Danes,

      And his shattered helmet witnessed thereto with its bloody stains.

      Then were the knights of Daneland shame-stricken and bitter-souled,

      When the tale how their king was a captive that day in their ears was told.

      And they bare to his brother the tidings, and the storm of his wrath outbrake

      In madness of fury and anguish for his captive brother’s sake.

      Now by this had the king of the Danefolk been led from the field of fight

      Back to the host of Gunther by Siegfried’s resistless might;

      And to Hagen’s hand did he give him: glad were his friends for the word

      That the King of the land of Denmark was the spoil of Siegfried’s sword!

      Then they cried through the host, “To the spear-staves bind ye the banners on!”

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