Then rose from all his lovers so mighty a cry of grief
That with that wild lamentation did hall and palace ring,
And wailed up the streets of the city the shrieks wide-echoing.
Who then to the wife of Siegfried to speak of comfort dared?
They drew off the blood-stained raiment, and his goodly limbs they bared.
They washed his wounds dark-clotted, they laid him on the bier.
High swelled the tide of anguish in all that held him dear.
Then cried aloud his warriors that came from the Netherland:
“Ready and eager for vengeance waiteth ever our hand.
Here in this castle he lurketh of whom the deed was done!”