[Observes Hagen, who, while the oat was being sworn, has stood behind him.
Why hast not thou plighted thy troth?
HAGEN
My blood had soured the good draught.
It flows not pure
And noble like yours;
Stubborn and cold,
Slow it runs,
My cheek refusing to redden.
I hold aloof
From hot-blooded bonds.
GUNTHER [To Siegfried.
Heed not him and his spleen.
SIEGFRIED
[Puts on his shield again.
Up, then, and off!
Back to the boat!
Sail swift to the mountain!
[He steps nearer to Gunther and points at him.