LXXIII
"To us 'tis little pleasing," Gernot made reply,
"That we should lands be seizing, whose lords should slaughter'd lie
That we may win unjustly; our lands are fair and wide;
We are their rightful masters, and none they need beside."
LXXIV
Grim glar'd King Gunther's warriors (of gathering wrath the sign!)
Among them lower'd the darkest the knight of Metz, Ortwine.
"It irks me much," exclaim'd he, "to hear these words of pride.
Sir King! by haughty Siegfried thou'rt wrongfully defied.
LXXV
"Were thou and thy brave brethren stript of those arms you boast,
While he to back his quarrel should bring a royal host,
E'en then I'd trust to teach him a humbler pitch to fly,
And cower as low before us, as now he mounteth high."
LXXVI
Wroth was at this defiance the chief of Netherland.
He cried, "Thou durst not venture 'gainst me to lift thy hand.
I am a mighty monarch, a monarch's man art thou;
Should twelve like thee resist me, twelve such to one should bow."
LXXVII
Then 'gan for swords call loudly the knight of Metz, Ortwine,
The sister's son of Hagan, pride of his lofty line.
It irk'd him that his uncle so long had silent stood.
Bold Gernot interposing thus cool'd his fiery mood.