The people of the city went home as darkness fell; The priests and monks attendant, and all the train, who well Had serv'd the champion living, fair Kriemhild begg'd to stay. Their night was full of sorrow, of dreariment their day. LVII Many of the woful mourners nor meat nor drink would taste, But for all such as needed at hand was ready plac'd Good store of each provision; this Siegmund took in hand. There mickle toil awaited the Nibelungers' band. LVIII For three whole days together, as we have heard men say, Whoe'er had skill in singing, on them hard labor lay. Sore were their hearts afflicted, as for the soul they pray'd Of that redoubted champion, who there a corpse was laid. LIX There, too, the poor and needy, who of his own had nought, In hand, by Kriemhild furnish'd, a golden offering brought From Siegfried's proper treasure; when his body lifeless lay, Marks full many a thousand for his soul were given away. LX Landed rents and revenues she scatter'd wide around, Wherever sacred convents and holy men were found, And to the poor gave silver and clothes in plenteous store. She proved by all her actions what love to him she bore. LXI On the third morn when duly the mass was to be sung, With country folk all weeping (such grief their bosoms wrung) The churchyard of the minster was fill'd from end to end. Each wail'd the dead, each sorrow'd as for his dearest friend. LXII In four days successive were scattered 'mongst the poor Marks some thirty thousand for Siegfried's soul, or more. To the good knight such honor his friends desir'd to pay, When his life was brought to nothing, and his beauty passed away. LXIII The singing now was over, God had been serv'd as due; Then with o'ermastering sorrow strove that empassion'd crew. Next to the grave they brought him from out the minster near. One weeping, one wild wailing was then alone to hear. LXIV Loud shrieking, mov'd the people around the bearers slow; None there, nor man nor woman, but wore one face of woe. 'Twas sung; 'twas said, as fitted, ere he in ground was laid. Ah! what good priests to Siegfried the last sad duties paid! LXV Ere to the grave advancing his own true lady came, Her sense-o'erpowering sorrow so shook her wasted frame, That oft was need to sprinkle her from the cool-springing well. Boundless was her distraction; the like no tongue can tell. LXVI 'Twas strange, such utter anguish dislodged not the frail life. With eager haste to help her flock'd many a wailing wife. Then spake the queen, "Ye warriors! My murder'd Siegfried's best, By your love to your master grant me this last request. LXVII