They showed him mickle honor / thereafter many a day,
And more by times a thousand / than I to you could say.
His might respect did merit, / ye may full well know that.
Scarce a man e'er saw him / who bore him longer any hate.
And when they held their pastime, / the kings with many a man,
Then was he ever foremost; / whatever they began,
None there that was his equal, / —so mickle was his might—
If they the stone were putting, / or hurling shaft with rival knight.
As is the knightly custom, / before the ladies fair
To games they turned for pastime, / these knights of mettle rare;
Then ever saw they gladly / the hero of Netherland.
But he had fixed his fancy / to win one fairest maiden's hand.
In all that they were doing / he'd take a ready part.
A winsome loving maiden / he bore within his heart;
Him only loved that lady, / whose face he ne'er had seen,
But she full oft in secret / of him spake fairest words, I ween.
And when before the castle / they sped in tournament,
The good knights and squires, / oft-times the maiden went
And gazed adown from casement, / Kriemhild the princess rare.
Pastime there was none other / for her that could with this compare.