Classic Poem

King Siegfried sat in his lofty hall;
“Ye minstrels, who sings me the best song of all?”
And a youth stepped forth from the waiting band,
His sword on his thigh, and his harp in his hand.

“Three lays have I learned; the first is a song,
Forgotten, King Siegfried, it may be too long;
'T is—Foully by thee my brother was slain.
Ay, foully by thee,—I sing it again!

“Now list to the second; I caught its wild tone,
As I roamed through the dark, stormy midnight alone;
For life or for death, we must battle, we twain,
For life or for death,—I sing it again!”

Then down on the table he lays his harp,
And leap from the scabbards their swords so sharp;
And long they fight, in the sight of all,
Till the King falls dead in the lofty hall.

“Now I sing the third song; 't is the best of the three,
Nor soon shall its music grow tiresome to me;
In his own red blood, King Siegfried lies slain,
In his own red blood,—I sing it again!”