And now with the twelfth day’s dawning, as singeth the ancient lay,
The wind in the white sails straining had borne them far on their way
Unto Isenstein the fortress, the hold in Brunhild’s land.
All strange, save only to Siegfried, it seemed to that warrior-band.
When its coronal of towers was beheld of Gunther the King,
And the land’s wide-sweeping marches, he spake sore marvelling:
“Make answer to me, friend Siegfried, dost thou know yonder strand?
Unto whom appertain these castles, unto whom that lordly land?
Never in all my life-days—this thing I needs must own—
Fortress so goodly-builded mine eyes unto me have shown,