And oft in his thoughts’ wild tumult he paled, and anon flushed red.
There Siegelind’s son stood moveless, and so winsome did he seem
As though by the hand of a master were the angel of his dream
Limned on the missal-parchment: none looked on him, and forbore
To own that so comely a hero had none seen theretofore.
Then the knights that attended Kriemhild bade all to left and to right
Avoid from the path, and obedient to the word was many a knight.
What joy it was to behold them, that heart-uplifted throng,
As the gentle-nurtured ladies all queenlike swept along!
Then spake the Prince Burgundian, and Gernot uttered his rede: