LITMIR.BIZ

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his voice, through the clangour of battle his shout rang clear:

      “Refrain you from fight, refrain you, all ye of my battle-aid!

      Lo, here is the Son of Siegmund in the strife against us arrayed!

      I have seen, I have known him, Siegfried, the all-resistless lord:

      Of a truth hath the Foul Fiend sent him against us hitherward!

      Let sink my battle-banners,” he cried, “the fight is done!”

      For peace he made entreaty; peace was vouchsafed anon.

      Yet himself must fare as hostage afar to Gunther’s land

      Beneath the hard constraining of dauntless Siegfried’s hand.

      So ceased the weary warriors with one consent from the fight;

      And many a shattered helmet and shield to left and to right

      Did they cast from their hands; nor any of all on the field that lay,

      But blood-besprent from the hewing of Burgundia’s swords were they.

      From the field, by the right of the victor, what captives they would did they lead:

      And the swift war-helpers, Gernot and Hagen, took order with heed

      That the wounded men upon litters be borne: so led they away,

      Captives unto the Rhine-flood, five hundred men from the fray.

      All empty-handed of triumph home rode each Danish knight,

      Nor yet had the Saxons borne them so stoutly in that fight

      That their people should sing their praises: in sorrow and shame went they

      Mid wailing for dear ones fallen in the slaughter of that day.

      Now their needless armour Rhineward the sumpter-beasts might bear,

      For Siegfried the strong and his helpers had rid the land of the fear

      Of foes from border to border: so had he accomplished this

      That all King Gunther’s war-host must acclaim the deed for his.

      Straightway to Worms Prince Gernot hasted the messengers’ feet

      To bear unto friends in the homeland the tidings passing sweet,

      That tale of the might triumphant of the Kings and their war-array,

      The tale of the deeds of the valiant, of the dawn of glory’s day.

      Fast, fast those victory-heralds sped, and the tale was told.

      How leap their hearts for gladness that of late were sorrowful-souled,

      For all those joyful tidings through the jubilant land that ring!

      How instant are high-born ladies with eager questioning

      How had it fared with their dear lords in the King’s war-host who fought!

      Yea, into the presence of Kriemhild was a messenger straightway brought:

      Yet the thing was done as in secret, and she would not that folk should know,

      For the Hero’s sake in whose keeping was her heart from long ago.

      When stood that victory-bringer in her bower before her eyes,

      Kriemhild the lovely bespake him in exceeding gracious wise:

      “Now tell me thy joyful tidings, and my gold shall thy guerdon be;

      And, so nought of the truth be hidden, thou hast ever a friend in me.

      Tell how hath my brother Gernot come forth of the battle-strife,

      And other my friends and kinsmen. Be there many that lost their life?

      Who in that day triumphant was in prowess chief?—say on!”

      Spake the messenger true-hearted: “Sooth, battle-blencher was none;

      But in that stern warrior-onset no champion rode so well,

      O noble Daughter of Princes, if the truth my tongue must tell,

      As the princely stranger-hero, which came from the Netherland;—

      O the marvels of battle-prowess that were wrought by Siegfried’s hand!

      What deeds soever the champions achieved in the battle-play,

      Even Dankwart and Hagen, and other of Gunther’s war-array—

      Their glory, their prowess, were even as an idle wind should sing,

      Set by the deeds of Siegfried, the son of Siegmund the King.

      O yea, in the storm of battle full many a hero they slew:

      But whoso essayed could never tell all the marvels through

      That were wrought by the arm of Siegfried as he rode the surges of fight—

      Ah, many a lady for dear ones slain shall bewail his might!

      Went down before his onset the beloved of many a bride;

      His giant strokes on the helmets o’er the field rang far and wide,

      And forth of the gaping gashes the blood flowed fast and free:—

      O yea, in all achievement the glory of knighthood is he!

      Sooth, many a deed of valour wrought Ortwein, Metz’s Lord;

      Whosoever was touched in the war-storm by the lightning of his sword

      Fell back from his face sore wounded—yea, for the more part slain:

      And thy brother withal to the foemen dealt the deadliest bane

      That ever in battle-tempest hath any champion wrought.

      True witness were this of the chosen warriors there that fought,

      That so mighty in war-achievement were our proud Burgundians found,

      That shame shall touch them never: for aye are they glory-crowned.

      For they smote, and they saw before them many a riderless selle:

      O’er the echoing field their war-glaives rang many a foeman’s knell.

      O yea, the knights of Rhineland rode through that stormy day

      In such wise that their foes repent them that ever they dared the fray.

      And the valiant brethren of Troneg withal dealt deadly bane

      When the war-hosts clashed, when the nations wrestled with desperate strain:

      So many were then hurled earthward by dauntless Hagen’s hand,

      That thereof might a goodly story be told in Burgundia-land.

      Sindold withal and Hunold, ’neath Gernot’s banner who warred,

      These wrought such deeds of prowess, with Rumold the dauntless lord,

      That Lüdiger, king of the Saxons, to his latest hour shall repent

      The folly of that war-challenge to the Lords of Rhineland sent.

      Yet of all the mightiest war-deeds that ever on earth have been,

      From the least even unto the greatest that ever eye hath seen,

      Never were such as Siegfried hath wrought with resistless hand.

      And he bringeth royal captives hither to Gunther’s land;

      Even these with his might overmastering the warrior-prince subdued.

      Of a truth his self-sought evils hath Lüdegast bitterly rued,

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