In a shroud all silken / they the dead man wound.
I ween that never any / that wept not might be found.
There mournéd full of sorrow / Ute the queen full high
And all of her attendants / that such a noble knight did die.
When did hear the people / how they in minster sung,
And that he there lay coffined, / came then a mickle throng:
For his soul's reposing / what offerings they bore!
E'en amid his enemies / found he of good friends a store.
Kriemhild the poor lady / to her attendants spake:
"Let them shun no trouble / to suffer for my sake,
Who to him are friendly-minded / and me in honor hold;
For the soul of Siegfried / meted be to them his gold."
Child so small there was not, / did it but reason have,
But offering carried thither. / Ere he was laid in grave,
More than a hundred masses / upon the day they sung,
Of all the friends of Siegfried / was gathered there a mickle throng.
When were the masses over, / the folk departed soon.
Then spake the Lady Kriemhild: / "Leave ye me not alone
To pass the night in watching / by this chosen thane now dead,
With whose passing from me / all my joy of life hath fled.