Epic poetry, German -- Translations into English; Nibelungen -- Poetry
While sat the noble Kriemhild a watcher by Siegfried's grave,
Eckwart, Lord of the Marches, unto her with his war-band clave,
In Burgundia-land abiding constrained by his fealty;
And aye for the dead with his mistress he mourned right bitterly.
{P. 150}
At Worms hard by the minster they reared her a palace-hall
Wide and stately-builded, and royally-dight withal:
And there with her handmaids round her that joyless one abode,
And oft she fared to the minster, for she loved the house of God.
There, where her belovèd was buried, full seldom her presence failed;
Day after day did she enter with spirit that inly wailed,
And prayed unto God the Almighty to take to his mercy his soul:
Ay, ever the faithful-hearted made for the knight great dole.
Came Uta and all her women to comfort her day by day;
But Kriemhild's wounded spirit so crushed 'neath affliction lay,
That nothing availed consolation that the lips of the loving spake,
Forasmuch as with sharper anguish did her heart for her lost love
ache
Than wife felt ever for husband, were her sorrow never so keen;
And the love of the true and faithful herein was of all men seen
That on to the end she mourned him, long as endured her life,
Till that great vengeance for Siegfried was wreaked at last by the
wife.
So sat she sorrow-shrouded--truth is it the minstrel saith--
On till the fourth year's dawning after her dear lord's death;
And never a word unto Gunther her lips had uttered yet,
Never her eyes upon Hagen her mortal foe had she set.
Then Hagen spake unto Gunther: "If haply this might be done
That thou so couldst appease thy sister that again ye were set at
one,
Then the gold of the Hoard of the Niblungs might unto thy kingdom be
brought:
And how much might be thine, if Kriemhild unto lovingkindness were
wrought!"
Said Gunther: "We will essay it. By my brethren may she be beguiled:
These shall beset her with pleading that now she be reconciled.
We may win her to bring that treasure--yea, share it willingly."
"Nay, sooth I misdoubt me," said Hagen, "that _this_ may ever be."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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