And through many a strange land cleft he a path by his own right hand:—
Ho for the fiery warriors he found in Burgundia-land!
(C) Or ever this valiant champion to man was fully grown,
By deeds of such marvellous prowess had the might of his hands been shown
That the minstrel’s voice and the harpstrings rang ever with his praise:
Not a tithe thereof is remembered in these the latter days.
But the noontide of his glory, but the spring of his goodlihead—
How marvelled the world at his story, what things were of Siegfried said,
How bloomed as a bower his honour, how goodly he was to behold,
How dreamed of his love fair women, how their eyes the heart’s dream told!