She recked not how fared it with Gunther, so she all restfully lay. There must he hang in torment through the weary night till the day, Yea, until shot through the casement were the shafts of the dawning light. --Had he ever been stalwart of body, now passing faint was his might! "Make answer to me, Lord Gunther, wouldst haply be sore dismayed If thy chamberlains entered and found thee," spake that lovely maid, "Hanging a shackled captive, by a woman's hand so bound?" But he answered, "Therein thy dishonour and thine own hurt should be found. {P. 87} Yea also, and little honour," said the King, "were this for me. By thy queenly heart and thy kindness, let me now draw nigh unto thee! And if thou dost abhor my embraces, and my love dost wholly contemn, This hand of mine shall touch not so much as thy vesture's hem." Then loosed she the King, that hanging he should not longer abide; And he went to the couch, and he laid him in sooth by that fair one's side, Yet so far off, and he bare him so fearful-reverent, That he stirred not her fine-spun vesture; nor once did her heart relent. Then came who waited upon them, which bare to them fresh attire Whereof upon such a morning was more than heart could desire. But, how blithe soe'er were his people, in bitter heaviness Went the Lord of the land: on his forehead did the crown royal heavily press. After the land's old custom, whereunto bound are kings, Gunther and Brunhild forbore not from observance of holy things. So passed they on to the minster, and the mass-chant rolled along The aisles: thither also Siegfried came, and a mighty throng. As beseemeth the honour of kingfolk, ready were all things found Which were meet for their arraying, wherein to be robed and crowned, And the oil of consecration. Now all hath been done aright, And they four, joy-triumphant, stand crowned in all men's sight. Unto squires was the accolade given in honour of the King, To six hundred, yea, more it may be, as the olden minstrels sing. High swelled the tides of joyance through all Burgundia-land As the lances crashed and splintered in the sworded warrior's hand. There sat on high at the casements the lovely maidens arow; Lightened before them ever the shield-flash to and fro. But the King the while had sundered himself from his vassal-train: What sport they devised soever, it could not salve his pain.