XLV
With this new weight of anguish surcharg'd was Kriemhild left,
Of her bold husband widow'd, and of the hoard bereft
By such o'erweening outrage; in tears the mourner lay,
Nor ever ceas'd to sorrow e'en till her dying day.
XLVI
From the death of Siegfried for thirteen years she dwelt
On her wrongs ever brooding, nor joy one moment felt.
The murder of her husband she could not once forget.
To him she still was faithful; that praise is Kriemhild's yet.
XLVII
The wealthy Lady Uta, when death took Dankrat hence,
A sumptuous monastery rais'd at her own expense,
Endowed with rich revenues, which yet its coffers fill;
The abbey of Lorsch they call it; 'tis high in honor still.
XLVIII
Thereto the mourning Kriemhild no little part supplied
Both for the soul of Siegfried and for all souls beside.
She gave both gold and jewels; a wife more chaste and true,
And a more liberal giver man surely never knew.
XLIX