A while in gloomy sorrow he view'd his master's head; Then to remorseless Kriemhild thus the warrior said; "E'en to thy wish this business thou to an end hast brought, To such an end, moreover, as Hagan ever thought. Now the brave king Gunther of Burgundy is dead Young Giselher and eke Gernot alike with him are sped; So now, where lies the treasure, none knows save God and me, And told shall it be never, be sure, she-fiend! to thee." Said she, "ill hast thou quitted a debt so deadly scor'd; At least in my possession I'll keep my Siegfried's sword. My lord and lover bore it, when last I saw him go. For him woe wring my bosom, that pass'd all other woe." Forth from the sheath she drew it; that could not be prevent; At once to slay the champion was Kriemhild's stern intent. High with both hands she heav'd it, and off his head did smite. That was seen of king Etzel; he shudder'd at the sight. "Ah!" cried the prince impassion'd, "harrow and welaway! That the hand of a woman the noblest knight should slay, That e'er struck stroke in battle, or ever buckler bore! Albeit I was his foeman, needs must I sorrow sore." Then said the aged Hildebrand, "let not her boast of gain, In that by her contrivance this noble chief was slain. Though to sore strait he brought me, let ruin on me light, But I will take full vengeance for Trony's murdered knight." Hildebrand the aged fierce on Kriemhild sprung: To the death he smote her as his sword he swung. Sudden and remorseless he his wrath did wreak. What could then avail her her fearful thrilling shriek? There now the dreary corpses stretch'd all around were seen; There lay, hewn in pieces, the fair and noble queen. Sir Dietrich and king Etzel, their tears began to start; For kinsmen and for vassals each sorrow'd in his heart. The mighty and the noble there lay together dead; For this had all the people dole and drearihead. The feast of royal Etzel was thus shut up in woe. Pain in the steps of Pleasure treads ever here below. 'Tis more than I can tell you what afterwards befell, Save that there was weeping for friends belov'd so well; Knights and squires, dames and damsels, were seen lamenting all, So here I end my story. This is THE NIBELUNGERS' FALL. --Tr. by Littsom. ROMANCES.