“Unfettered now is Gunther: we have our swords again!”

Once more of the might of Brunhild terrible proof is shown:

Men into the ring come bearing an exceeding massy stone,

Most huge, a quoit for a Titan, broad withal and round.

Scarce twelve of her thanes could bear it into love’s strange battle-ground.

Even this ever hurled she in contest, when the flight had been sped of the spear.

Thereat were the lords Burgundian thrilled with foreboding fear.

“Who is this that my lord would be wooing?—Beshrew her!” Hagen cried:

“In the nethermost hell might she fitly be plighted the Foul Fiend’s bride!”

On her snow-white arms the Maiden her tunic-sleeves uprolled,