LXIV
Loud shrieking, mov'd the people around the bearers slow;
None there, nor man nor woman, but wore one face of woe.
'Twas sung; 'twas said, as fitted, ere he in ground was laid.
Ah! what good priests to Siegfried the last sad duties paid!
LXV
Ere to the grave advancing his own true lady came,
Her sense-o'erpowering sorrow so shook her wasted frame,
That oft was need to sprinkle her from the cool-springing well.
Boundless was her distraction; the like no tongue can tell.
LXVI
'Twas strange, such utter anguish dislodged not the frail life.
With eager haste to help her flock'd many a wailing wife.
Then spake the queen, "Ye warriors! My murder'd Siegfried's best,
By your love to your master grant me this last request.
LXVII
"Let me have one small pleasure 'mid pains so manifold;
The stately head of Siegfried I would once more behold."
She begg'd so long, so wailful, that less they could not do
Than force the coffin open, and give the corpse to view.
LXVIII
So thither they led the lady, where lay the clay-cold dead.
With her fine snowy fingers she rais'd his stately head,
And kiss'd him lifeless lying; long bending there she stood;
Her fair eyes for anguish wept o'er him tears of blood.