Adventure
I
Kriemhilda
To us, in olden legends,
is many a marvel told
Of praise-deserving heroes,
of labours manifold,
Of weeping and of wailing,
of joy and festival;
Ye shall of bold knights’ battling
now hear a wondrous tale.
A very noble maiden
grew up in Burgundy;
Than hers no greater beauty
in any land might be:
The maid was called Kriemhilda—
a woman passing fair—
For whose sake many a warrior
his life must needs forbear.
To love that lovely maiden
seem’d but to be her due;
None bore her spite, and many
did for her favour sue.
Fair were beyond all measure
her noble form and face:
Her virtues were sufficient
all womankind to grace.
Three noble kings and wealthy
guarded her as their own:
Sir Gunther and Sir Gernot,
for deeds of honour known,
And Giselher the youngest,
a gallant warrior he:
The lady was the sister
and ward of all the three.
These princes were right gentle,
and came of noble race,
Bold, and of strength unequalled,
peerless in knightly grace;
“The kingdom of Burgundia,”
thus was their country hight;—
All Etzel’s land rang later
with their great deeds of might.
At Worms upon the Rhine flood,
they dwelt in power and might,
And there, in fealty, served them
full many a haughty knight,
With honourable service
throughout their earthly life.—
That life had woeful ending
from two great ladies’ strife.
Their mother was Dame Uté,
a queen exceeding rich,
And Dankrat was their father,
broad lands he left to each
When he this life departed;
he was a mighty man,
Who, e’en while yet a stripling,
his knightly deeds began.
The three kings, who came after,
were, as I’ve said before.
All men of strength and valour;
and to them fealty swore
The flower of noble knighthood,
of whom with truth ’twas said,
That strong they were and dauntless,
in sharp fight undismayed.
Foremost of them was Hagen,
of Tronjé; then his brother—
Sir Dankwart the swift-footed;
Ortwein of Metz another;
And Eckewart and Gere,
who both were margraves hight;
With Volker of Alsatia—
a stout and proven knight.
Rumold the kitchen-master,
a knight of high degree,
Sindold and Hunold also,
whose duty ’twas to see
That courtly rites and honours
were aye observèd well,
With many another gallant,
whom time would fail to tell.
Dankwart, he was the Marshal,
his nephew Ortwein bore
The office of High Sewer,
in that proud court of yore;
Sir Sindold was Cupbearer,
and a bold knight men say,
The Chamberlain was Hunold;
all honourable they.
Of all this courtly service,
and of their far-famed might,
And of the worth and valour
of each heroic knight,
And of their life as courtiers,
through all their joyous days,
To give a true account were
beyond my simple lays.
Meanwhile, amid this splendour,
the maid Kriemhilda dreamed
That she had reared a falcon—
strong, fair and wild he seem’d—
And that two eagles rent him
before her very eyes;—
No worse grief could life bring her
in any evil guise.
Quick to her mother Uté
she told the vision dread—
Who, after her own manner,
the dream interpreted:
“This falcon of thy rearing,
thy noble husband he—
And now may God defend him,
or he is lost to thee!”
“What sayest thou of husbands,
O dearest mother mine?
Never for hero’s wooing
shall I, your daughter, pine!
Spotless and fair would I be,
as now, unto my death;—
I would forego the sorrow
that lurks man’s love beneath.”
“Forswear not Love thus lightly,”
her mother answer gave,
“If heart’s joy ever reach thee
in life, as women crave,
Through man’s love thou must gain it;—
thou wert a seemly bride
If God do not deny thee
a good knight at thy side.”
“Ah, let alone such counsel,
my mother dear, I pray!
By many a woman’s witness
’tis proven, clear as day,
How heart’s delight too often
with sorrow sore is paid;—
Lest such mischance befall me,
I’ll shun them both,” she said.
So, in her mind Kriemhilda
held ever Love at bay,
And lived in happy freedom
for many a merry day;—
Caring for nought and no one;—
and yet it was her fate
To be one day, in honour,
a gallant warrior’s mate.
It was the self-same falcon
that she in dreams did see,
Just as her mother told her;
and bloody was to be
Her vengeance on her kinsmen,
by whom the deed was done—
For one man’s death did perish
full many a mother’s son.