'Twas e'en on a midsummer befell that murderous fight,
When on her nearest kinsmen and many a noble knight
Dame Kriemhild wreak'd the anguish that long in heart she bore,
Whence inly griev'd King Etzel, nor joy knew ever more.
VII
Yet on such sweeping slaughter at first she had not thought;
She only had for vengeance on one transgressor sought.
She wish'd that but on Hagan the stroke of death might fall;
Twas the foul fiend's contriving, that they should perish all.
VIII
And now the day was ended; ill were they then bestead.
They thought, 'twere surely better that they at once were dead,
Than in slow torture lingering unhopeful of release.
Those high and haughty warriors, ah! how they yearn'd for peace!
They begg'd the Huns, King Etzel to bring before the hall;
Themselves then, blood-bedabbled and harness-stain'd withal,
With the three royal brethren from th' house mov'd faint and slow.
To whom to plain, they knew not, in their o'ermastering woe.
X
So near them both Etzel and Kriemhild drew;
To them belong'd the country; their host thus greater grew.
He thus bespake the strangers, "Now what would you with me?
Hope you for peace and friendship? that sure can hardly be.