o suddenly and rushing to my mouth,
Thy winding way pursuest through the grape;
For from thy journey many things thou bring'st,
That fill our heads with foolish gaiety.
Yet even so be praised.

[_He goes to the spring._]

Ah no! I must
Do penance first and ye shall witness bear
That I have done it. I'm the thirstiest man
Among you all and I will drink the last,
Because I was so harsh with poor Kriemhild.

HAGEN.

Then I'll begin.

[_He goes to the spring._]

SIEGFRIED (_to GUNTHER_).

Pray look more cheerfully.
I know a way to reconcile thy bride;
Brunhilda's kisses shall ere long be thine.
My joy I will forego as long as thou.

HAGEN (_comes back and lays aside his weapons_).

The weapons will impede me when I stoop.

[_Retires again._]

SIEGFRIED.

Before the full assemblage of thy folk,
Kriemhild will sue for pardon ere we go.
This pledge was freely given, but she longs
To leave and hide her blushes.

HAGEN (_returns_).

Cold as ice!

SIEGFRIED.

Who next?

VOLKER.

First let us eat.

SIEGFRIED.

'Tis well!
[_He goes toward the spring but turns back again._]

Ah yes!

[_He lays aside his weapons. Exit._]

HAGEN (_pointing to the weapons_).

Away with them!

DANKWART (_carries the weapons away_).

HAGEN (_who has taken up his own weapons again and has
meanwhile kept his back turned toward_ GUNTHER; _takes
a running start and throws his spear_).

SIEGFRIED (_cries out_).

My friends!

HAGEN (_exclaims_).

Not quiet yet?

(_To the others._)

No word with him, whatever he may say!

SIEGFRIED (_crawls forward_).

Murdered--while I was drinking! Gunther, Gunther?
Have I deserved this from thee? In thy need
I stood by thee.

HAGEN.

Lop branches from the trees,
We need a bier. Quick, choose the strongest limbs,
For heavy is a dead man.

SIEGFRIED.

I am slain,
But yet not wholly!

[_He springs up._]

Where then is my sword?
They've taken it! Oh, by thy manhood, Hagen,
Give the dead man a sword! I challenge thee
E'en now to mortal combat!

HAGEN.

In his mouth
He has his enemy, yet seeks him still.

SIEGFRIED.

My life drips from me like a candle spent,
And e'en my sword this murderer denies,
Though granting it would render him less vile.
For shame! Such cowardice! He fears my thumb,
For that is all