So fleet were the feet of his good steed, that nought might his speed outrun;
So the praise of cunning woodcraft before them all he won:
In all manner of hunter’s prowess he stood without a peer.
The first of the forest-children that fell before his spear
Was a strong young boar, and the javelin of Siegfried drank its blood.
Not long thereafter a lion fierce-eyed before him stood.
The hound gave tongue—forth leapt he—the hero shot with the bow
Speeding the keen-tipped arrow drawn on his woodland foe.
The shot struck home, and the lion thereafter leapt but thrice;
And the hero’s hunting-fellows acclaimed him with gladsome cries.