What reck I of the malice of this King Etzel’s wife?”
Across his knees did Hagen in haughty defiance lay
A flashing glaive of battle, and with restless splendour-ray
A jasper shone on the pommel—spring grass were not so green.
Full well did Kriemhild know it, for Siegfried’s sword had it been.
She saw the brand, and remembered, and anguish it was to see.
Of gold were the hilts, and the scabbard all crimson broidery.
The olden grief was rewakened, and fast did the hot tears flow.
In sooth, with none other purpose had Hagen done it, I trow.
Then close to his side on the settle Volker the unafraid