. The story of Siegfried . oming home. The glorious hero struggled in the last agony. Thegrass and flowers were covered with his blood ; the treesshivered, as if in sympathy with him, and dropped theirleaves upon the ground; the birds stopped singing, andsorrowfully flew away; and a solemn silence fell uponthe earth, as if the very heart of Nature had beencrushed. And the men who stood around — all save the fourguilty ones — bowed their heads upon their hands, andgave way to one wild burst of grief. Then tenderlythey took up Siegfried, and laid him upon a shield,with his mighty weapons by him.
. The story of Siegfried . oming home. The glorious hero struggled in the last agony. Thegrass and flowers were covered with his blood ; the treesshivered, as if in sympathy with him, and dropped theirleaves upon the ground; the birds stopped singing, andsorrowfully flew away; and a solemn silence fell uponthe earth, as if the very heart of Nature had beencrushed. And the men who stood around — all save the fourguilty ones — bowed their heads upon their hands, andgave way to one wild burst of grief. Then tenderlythey took up Siegfried, and laid him upon a shield,with his mighty weapons by him. And, when thesorrowing Night had spread her black mantle over themid-world, they carried him silently out of the forest,and across the river, and brought him, by Gunthersorders, to the old castle, which now nevermore wouldresound with mirth and gladness. And they laid himat Kriemhilds door, and stole sadly away to their ownplaces, and each one thought bitterly of the • See Note 33 at the end of this Q Wi—i ow •-* «5 wX How the Hoard was brought to Burgundy. 283 ADVENTURE XX. HOW THE HOARD WAS BROUGHTTO BURGUNDY. AND what was done on the morrow ? Too sad is the tale of Kriemhilds woe and her grieffor the mighty dead. Let us pass it by in tearful, pity-ing silence, nor wish to awaken the echoes of thatmorning of hopeless anguish which dawned on thecold and cheerless dwelling of the kings. For peacehad fled from Burgundy, nevermore to return. Siegfried was dead. Faded, now, was the glory of theNibelungen Land, and gone was the mid-worlds hope. It is told in ancient story, how men built a funeral-pile far out on the grassy meadows, where the quietriver flows; and how, in busy silence, they laid thesun-dried beams of ash and elm together, and madeready the heros couch; and how the pile was dightwith many a sun-bright shield, with war-coats andglittering helms, and silks and rich dyed cloths fromthe South-land, and furs, and fine-wrought ivory, an
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