So rent is the joy of the Niblungs; and their simple days and fain
    From that ancient house are departed, and who shall buy them again? 
    For he, the redeemer, the helper, the crown of all their worth,
    They looked upon him and wondered, they loved; and they thrust him
      forth.

    Of the mighty Grief of Gudrun over Sigurd dead.

    Of old in the days past over was Gudrun blent with the dead,
    As she sat in measureless sorrow o’er Sigurd’s wasted bed,
    But no sigh came from her bosom, nor smote she hand in hand,
    Nor wailed with the other women, and the daughters of the land;
    Then the wise of the Earls beheld her, smit cold with her dread intent,
    And they rose one after other, and before the Queen they went;
    Men ancient, men mighty in battle, men sweet of speech were there,
    And they loved her, and entreated, and spake good words to hear: 
    But no tears and no lamenting in Gudrun’s heart would strive
    With the deadly chill of sorrow that none may bear and live.

Now there were the King-folk’s daughters, and wives of the Earls of
war,
The fair, and the noble-hearted, the wise in ancient lore;
And they rose one after other, and stood before the Queen
To tell of their woes past over, and the worst their eyes had seen: 
There was Giaflaug, Giuki’s sister, she was old and stark to see,
And she said: 
“O heavyhearted; they slew my King from me: 
Look up, O child of the Niblungs, and hearken mournful things
Of the woes of living man-folk and the daughters of the Kings! 
Dead now is the last of my brethren; to the dead my sister went;
My son and my little daughter in the earliest days were spent: 
On the earth am I living loveless, long past are the happy days,
They lie with things departed and vain and foolish praise,
And the hopes of hapless people:  yet I sit with the people’s lords
When men are hushed to hearken the least of all my words. 
What else is the wont of the Niblungs? why else by the Gods were they
wrought,
Save to wear down lamentation, and make all sorrow nought?”

    No word of woe gat Gudrun, nor had she will to weep,
    Such weight of woe was on her for the golden Sigurd’s sleep: 
    Her heart was cold and dreadful; nor good from ill she knew
    For the love they had taken from her, and the day with nought to do.

    Then troth-plight maids forsaken, and never-wedded ones,
    And they that mourned dead husbands and the hope of unborn sons,
    These told of their bitterest trouble and the worst their eyes had
      seen;
    “Yet all we live to love thee, and the glory of the Queen. 
    Look up, look up, O Gudrun! what rest for them that wail
    If the Queens of men shall tremble, and the God-kin faint and fail?”

    No voice gat Gudrun’s sorrow, no care she had to weep;
    For the deeds of the day she knew not, nor the dreams of Sigurd’s
      sleep: 
    Her heart was cold and dreadful; nor good from ill she knew,
    Because of her love departed, and the day with nought to do.