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Upstarted Siegmund, crying: “What grief hath happened

Unto the fair Kriemhilda, as thou just now hast said?”

Then spake the herald, weeping, “I cannot it withhold:

Ay! Siegfried hath been murder’d, the Netherlander bold!”

Then spake the noble Siegmund: “Pray let this jesting be,

And of such evil stories, beware, for love of me,

The like you tell to no man,— how Siegfried hath been slain:

In such case could I never live happily again.”

“If thou wilt not believe me when thou hast heard my tale,

With thine own ears ’tis easy to hear Kriemhilda wail;

For she and all her people are mourning Siegfried dead.”

Then sore afraid was Siegmund: and sad was he indeed.

Straight from his couch upsprang he, with five score of his men;

They reach’d their hands in search of their weapons long and keen,

And ran, grief-stricken, thither to where they heard the cries;

Then, too, the thousand warriors of Siegfried bold did rise.

Whilst piteously the women were heard to weep and moan,

Some of the men bethought them that raiment they should don:

Ay, scarcely for their trouble could they their senses keep.

And bitter was the anguish that in their hearts lay deep.

Soon came the royal Siegmund to where Kriemhild did stand.

He spake: “Woe on the journey that brought us to this land

Who hath thy husband taken, and reft me of my son,

And, amidst friends and kinsmen, thus murderously done?”