When she thought on the days passed over, how she dwelt on the green Rhine-shore
With her noble murdered husband, her eyes with tears brimmed o’er.
Yet the ghost of the past aye banned she, that her sorrow none might know,
That she might not shadow the honour which had come after all her woe.
Whatsoe’er was the bounty of others, as an idle wind would it seem
By the lavish giving of Dietrich: all wealth bestowed upon him
By the King, the son of Botlung, was as water spilt on the sand.
Withal were there marvels of bounty from Rüdiger’s open hand.
Yea, also the good knight Blödel, the Lord of Hungary,
Bade open his treasure-coffers, and empty them utterly