Full fourscore blood-stained litters come softly through the land;
And of these were the more part smitten by dauntless Siegfried’s hand.
They whose pride overweening challenged the Lords of Rhine to the war
Now captives of King Gunther by sore constraint they are.
With joy to thy land that goodly prey do our warriors hale.”
Then flushed into rose the lily at the telling of that tale.
Yea, over her lovely visage for rapture the roses burned
That out of the imminent peril alive and whole had returned
Her knight, her winsome Siegfried, of the young, heart-conquering eyes—
Yea, she rejoiced for her kinsfolk withal in sisterly wise.