Where stayed they for rest and for slumber, no witness hath testified. Swift ran the tale of their coming through all the country-side, How the sons of Uta the noble unto Etzel's feast would fare. At the last they won unto Passau, and good was their welcome there. The noble princes' uncle, the bishop Pilgerin, Was exceeding gladdened in spirit to behold his royal kin, When into his land with comrades so many and knightly they rode. How fain he was to behold them his deeds right speedily showed. Friends thronged to meet them and greet them afar from the city-wall; And, seeing that lodging in Passau could not be found for them all, To the farther side of the river to a mead were the more part led Wherein by the squires were pavilions and many a fair tent spread. There were they constrained to tarry for the space of one whole day And the night that followed thereafter: right well entreated were they. Thence riding forth and onward, unto Rüdiger's land they passed, And to him the joyful tidings of their coming sped full fast.
Now when by the night's rest strengthened those way-worn warriors were, And by this were drawing nearer to the land of Rüdiger, { P. 223} There, hard by the marches sleeping, on a certain man did they light, From whose side was stolen by Hagen a goodly glaive of fight. Now the name of the sleeper was Eckwart, a good and noble knight; And exceeding sorrowful-hearted was he for his swordless plight, For the weapon lost through the passing of heroes the while he slept. He was warder of Rüdiger's marches, but for once ill guard had he kept. "Ah, woe is me," cried Eckwart, "that I wake to know this shame! Alas for me, that ever the Burgundians hitherward came! Siegfried's death was the well-spring of all my calamity! Alas for my betrayal of Rüdiger's trust in me!" Full well was heard by Hagen the sorrow of that good knight. He restored him his sword, and he added six armlets of red gold bright: "Take these for thy guerdon, hero, and be thou a friend to us now. Though here unguarded thou liest, a valiant thane art thou." "God guerdon thee for thine armlets!" Eckwart the knight replied. "Yet must I surely sorrow that ye to the Huns will ride. Thou wast the slayer of Siegfried: here hate is undying still. Look well to thyself!--I counsel in all faith and good-will."