Red gold for the love of Siegfried, and in Siegfried’s name she gave.
That to him as the giver of bounty the hearts of all men clave.
Not a wandering bard thereafter in need in the land abode:
Steeds, raiment on these were showered as though with gifts it snowed,
As though there should come no morrow, and men’s lives lack nothing more:
Never were palace-stewards that lavished so of their store.
So filled with the winning of honour that feast-tide fleeted by,
That whiles one heard the earl-folk each unto other cry:
“Well were we if but Prince Siegfried in his father’s stead were our lord!”
But a grief unto him was their longing, and his true heart loathed the word.