In whom for the kinsmen of Siegfried all hope and desire were won.
They bare to the font baptismal the babe, and they chose him a name,
The name of his uncle Gunther—thereof could he take no shame.
So he grew unto man like his kinsman, a valiant lord should he be.
And with watchful love, as behoved them, they nurtured him heedfully.
Now it came to pass that in those days did the Lady Siegelind die,
And to Uta’s noble daughter passed all her majesty,
As beseemed so royal a lady in the land where her lord bare sway:
Yet sorely for her they lamented whom death had taken away.
Now also beside Rhine-river, as the olden minstrels sing,