Now whene’er the stalwart Siegfried had donned that Hood of Night,
He gat from its overscreening exceeding fulness of might;
In twelve men’s strength he clad him, as the runes of the old songs run.
So it fell, by the Dwarf-lords’ cunning that glorious bride was won.
Yea, and so wondrous-shapen was that strange cloudy Hood,
That a man overpalled by its shrouding might do even that which he would,
Yea, after his heart’s good pleasure, for of none was he espied:
Therewith did he win Queen Brunhild—and through her at the last he died.
“Now, ere we set forth on our journey, unto me, O Siegfried, declare
How best for our honour and glory over the sea we may fare.