for the friend and the stranger, even steeds and raiment fair.
Wheresoever a strong young warrior high-born longed sore for the day
That should bring to him knighthood’s golden spurs, all such bade they
To come to the land of Siegmund, to Siegfried’s festal tide,
To be girt with the sword of knighthood, standing by Siegfried’s side.
Long shall men sing of the wonder of that crown of festal days,
How Siegmund and Siegelind won them the treasure-giver’s praise
For the gifts of cost uncounted that they gave with stintless hand,
How the rumour thereof drew strangers from afar into Siegmund’s land.
Came thither squires four hundred in knighthood’s vesture to be
Arrayed with the young prince Siegfried; and maidens comely to see
Sat fashioning goodly raiment, and their love with the threads was enwound,
As they laid the priceless gemstones thereon with the gold set round,
As their broidery-work on the robe-hems gleamed fair in coil on coil
For the strong young knights high-hearted—they were worthy the love-sped toil.
And the King bade dight the high-seats for the guests, for the thanes of pride,
At the feast of the knighting of Siegfried in the heart of the summer-tide.
Then fared they on to the minster, young squires of high degree
And noble knights full many; and in proud humility
Did the elder serve the younger, by the law that from old time came.
On their lips was mirth and laughter, in their eyes the hope of fame.
When they chanted the Mass to the honour of God in the highest height,
The mighty throngs surged inward to gaze on that gallant sight,
When after the ancient custom those squires with spur and brand
Were arrayed, and with honour never since seen in any land.
Then hasted they where harnessed were the steeds abiding their lords:
Then rose in the lists of Siegmund the clash of spears and swords:
Then the halls of the palace re-echoed, as in joyous combat they crashed,
When the mighty-hearted champions forth to the onset flashed.
From old knight and young warrior the clash and the clang rose high:
The splintered spear-shafts flying leapt up to the laughing sky,
The shards of the lances upsoaring to the roof of the palace-hall.
And the earls and the high-born ladies sat throned beholding all.
Then the King bade stay the combat, and they led the war-steeds thence,
From the field wide-strewn with the strong shields, the brave heart’s rifted fence,
Strewn with the costly gemstones wherewith was the grass bestarred
From the glittering shield-bands fallen in the grapple bitter-hard.
Then sat those guests in the feast-hall in their own ordained high-seats;
And the war-toil’s ache was banished like a dream by the goodly meats
And the wines of noble vintage that flowed as a fountain free.
There homeland guest and stranger had honour plenteously.
In gentle sports and joyous had they worn the long day out;
And now the song of the minstrels through the feast-hall went about;
And their singing had goodly guerdon of the ever-bounteous hand,
And their praise was a crown of glory upon all King Siegmund’s land.
Then the King bade Siegfried deliver in fee to his vassals true
Broad lands and stately castles, as himself had been wont to do.
And he gave with hand ungrudging to his fellows of the sword,
That their hearts were glad for his presence, for their coming thitherward.
So the feast sped on and the mirth-tide, till they saw the seventh sun rise;
And all in the olden fashion did the Queen give gifts of price;
Red gold for the love of Siegfried, and in Siegfried’s name she gave.
That to him as the giver of bounty the hearts of all men clave.
Not a wandering bard thereafter in need in the land abode:
Steeds, raiment on these were showered as though with gifts it snowed,
As though there should come no morrow, and men’s lives lack nothing more:
Never were palace-stewards that lavished so of their store.
So filled with the winning of honour that feast-tide fleeted by,
That whiles one heard the earl-folk each unto other cry:
“Well were we if but Prince Siegfried in his father’s stead were our lord!”
But a grief unto him was their longing, and his true heart loathed the word.
While endured the days of Siegmund and Siegelind, their son
Siegfried, the loved and the loving, would in no wise sit on the throne.
But he yearned in his fearless spirit to break the oppressor’s yoke,
And to rid of the fear of the spoiler the hearth of the lowly folk.
(C) No man might make him a mocking: since first the sword he drew,
The praise of the brave was his lodestar; but little rest he knew:
Ever he wooed war-perils, and his battle-triumphant hand
Bare the banner of his glory through many a far-off land.
III.
How Siegfried rode to the City of Worms
Not often the heart of the hero had ache or sorrow known,
Till the tidings came of a fair-one on a wind of rumour blown.
Fair past all heart’s desiring was the Star of Burgundy—
She was doomed to be joy and anguish unto him in the days to be!
With the fame of her glorious beauty there flew forth far and wide
The tale of the queenly spirit, of the heart of tameless pride;
And the souls of princely champions were set on fire of the word,
That from lands afar to the guest-hall of Gunther the King they spurred.
But for all the love of the wooers, and their burning words thereof,
No whit were Kriemhild’s heart-strings once swept by the finger of love,
That she deigned to take of them any for the love of her life and her king.
In a strange land yet was her Falcon with the victory in his wing.
When borne down love’s dream-river was the heart of Siegelind’s son,
As