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Or ever Siegfried’s widow had come unto the grave,

Her faithful heart with sorrow such bitter strife did have

That they must needs revive her with water from the spring;

Her bitterness of sorrow was past all measuring.

It was a mickle wonder that strength again she found.

With cries of pity, helping, the women throng’d around.

Then spake the Queen: “O liegemen of Siegfried, hearken ye!

I pray you of your fealty a favour grant to me,—

“That after all my sorrow this small grace I may gain,

And on his goodly features may set my eyes again.”

So long did she beseech them, with all her sorrow’s strength,

That they the splendid coffin must break apart at length.

And then they brought the lady to where her love did lie,

And she his fair head lifted, with white hand tenderly,

And in his death she kiss’d him,— the noble knight and good;

Her shining eyes, for sorrow, were weeping tears of blood.

It was a piteous parting, if ever there was one.

And so away they bore her; she could not go alone,

For in a swoon and senseless that noble wife lay low;

Her life, for weal appointed, was wellnigh lost in woe.

When now their noble master within his grave was laid,

Unmeasured was the sorrow that all his followers had,

Who from the Niblung country had borne him company;

And little joy or gladness in Siegmund was to see.