New plots she devised, for her hatred was cruel as the grave.
Destined thereby to perish was many a hero brave.
XXXI.
How they bore them at Mass and Tourney
“So chill now groweth mine harness,” said Volker unto his friend,
“That I trow in no long season will the night-tide draw to an end.
Yea, and I feel by the dawn-breeze that hard at hand is the day.”
Then waked they many a hero that still in slumber lay.
Now on the guests in the great hall the morning light shone fair,
And Hagen fell to question the good knights gathered there
If they would go to the minster the chanting of mass to hear;