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The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults: "About the Author", "Overview", "Setting", "Literary Qualities", "Social Sensitivity", "Topics for Discussion", "Ideas for Reports and Papers". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.
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Table of Contents | |
Section | Page |
Start of eBook | 1 |
BOOK II. | 1 |
BOOK III. | 1 |
BOOK IV. | 1 |
BOOK I. | 2 |
BOOK II. | 50 |
BOOK III. | 106 |
BOOK IV. | 200 |
THE END. | 250 |
Regin.
Of the birth of Sigurd the Son of Sigmund 69
Sigurd getteth to him the horse that is called Greyfell 75
Regin telleth Sigurd of his kindred, and of the Gold that was accursed from ancient days 81
Of the forging of the Sword that is called The Wrath of Sigurd 101
Of Gripir’s Foretelling 108
Sigurd rideth to the Glittering Heath 115
Sigurd slayeth Fafnir the Serpent 121
Sigurd slayeth Regin the Master of Masters on the Glittering Heath 127
How Sigurd took to him the Treasure of the Elf Andvari 132
How Sigurd awoke Brynhild upon Hindfell 134
BRYNHILD.
Of the Dream of Gudrun the Daughter of Giuki 148
How the folk of Lymdale met Sigurd the Volsung in the woodland 158
How Sigurd met Brynhild in Lymdale 162
Of Sigurd’s riding to the Niblungs 168
Of Sigurd’s warfaring in the company of the Niblungs, and of his great fame and glory 177
Of the Cup of evil drink that Grimhild the Wise-wife gave to Sigurd 184
Of the Wedding of Sigurd the Volsung 195
Sigurd rideth with the Niblungs, and wooeth Brynhild for King Gunnar 204
How Brynhild was wedded to Gunnar the Niblung 221
Of the Contention betwixt the Queens 228
Gunnar talketh with Brynhild 240
Of the exceeding great grief and mourning of Brynhild 245
Of the slaying of Sigurd the Volsung 252
Of the mighty Grief of Gudrun over Sigurd dead 262
Of the passing away of Brynhild 268
GUDRUN.
King Atli wooeth and weddeth Gudrun 276
Atli biddeth the Niblungs to him 287
How the Niblungs fare to the Land of King Atli 297
Atli speaketh with the Niblungs 309
Of the Battle in Atli’s Hall 316
Of the Slaying of the Niblung Kings 323
The Ending of Gudrun 338
THE STORY
OF
SIGURD THE VOLSUNG
AND THE
FALL OF THE NIBLUNGS.
SIGMUND.
IN THIS BOOK IS TOLD
OF THE EARLIER DAYS OF THE VOLSUNGS, AND OF
SIGMUND THE FATHER OF
SIGURD, AND OF HIS DEEDS, AND OF HOW HE DIED
WHILE SIGURD WAS YET
UNBORN IN HIS MOTHER’S WOMB.
Of the dwelling of King
Volsung, and the wedding of Signy his
daughter.
There was a dwelling of Kings
ere the world was waxen old;
Dukes were the door-wards
there, and the roofs were thatched with gold;
Earls were the wrights that
wrought it, and silver nailed its doors;
Earls’ wives were the
weaving-women, queens’ daughters strewed its
floors,
And the masters of its song-craft
were the mightiest men that cast
The sails of the storm of
battle adown the bickering blast.
There dwelt men merry-hearted,
and in hope exceeding great
Met the good days and the
evil as they went the way of fate:
There the Gods were unforgotten,
yea whiles they walked with men.
Though e’en in that
world’s beginning rose a murmur now and again
Of the midward time and the
fading and the last of the latter days,
And the entering in of the
terror, and the death of the People’s
Praise.
Thus was the dwelling of Volsung,
the King of the Midworld’s Mark,
As a rose in the winter season,
a candle in the dark;
And as in all other matters
‘twas all earthly houses’ crown,
And the least of its wall-hung
shields was a battle-world’s renown,
So therein withal was a marvel
and a glorious thing to see,
For amidst of its midmost
hall-floor sprang up a mighty tree,
That reared its blessings
roofward, and wreathed the roof-tree dear
With the glory of the summer
and the garland of the year.
I know not how they called
it ere Volsung changed his life,
But his dawning of fair promise,
and his noontide of the strife,
His eve of the battle-reaping
and the garnering of his fame,
Have bred us many a story
and named us many a name;
And when men tell of Volsung,
they call that war-duke’s tree,
That crowned stem, the Branstock;
and so was it told unto me.
So there was the throne of
Volsung beneath its blossoming bower.
But high o’er the roof-crest
red it rose ’twixt tower and tower,
And therein were the wild
hawks dwelling, abiding the dole of
their lord;
And they wailed high over
the wine, and laughed to the waking sword.
Still were its boughs but
for them, when lo on an even of May
Comes a man from Siggeir the
King with a word for his mouth to say:
“All hail to thee King
Volsung, from the King of the Goths I come:
He hath heard of thy sword
victorious and thine abundant home;
He hath heard of thy sons
in the battle, the fillers of Odin’s Hall;
And a word hath the west-wind
blown him, (full fruitful be its fall!)
A word of thy daughter Signy
the crown of womanhood:
Now he deems thy friendship
goodly, and thine help in the battle good,
And for these will he give
his friendship and his battle-aid again:
But if thou wouldst grant
his asking, and make his heart full fain,
Then shalt thou give him a
matter, saith he, without a price,
—Signy the fairer
than fair, Signy the wiser than wise.”
Such words in the hall of
the Volsungs spake the Earl of Siggeir
the Goth,
Bearing the gifts and the
gold, the ring, and the tokens of troth.
But the King’s heart
laughed within him and the King’s sons deemed
it good;
For they dreamed how they
fared with the Goths o’er ocean and acre
and wood,
Till all the north was theirs,
and the utmost southern lands.
But nought said the snow-white
Signy as she sat with folded hands
And gazed at the Goth-king’s
Earl till his heart grew heavy and cold,
As one that half remembers
a tale that the elders have told,
A story of weird and of woe:
then spake King Volsung and said:
“A great king woos thee,
daughter; wilt thou lie in a great king’s bed,
And bear earth’s kings
on thy bosom, that our name may never die?”
A fire lit up her face, and
her voice was e’en as a cry:
“I will sleep in a great
king’s bed, I will bear the lords of the
earth,
And the wrack and the grief
of my youth-days shall be held for
nothing worth.”
Then would he question her
kindly, as one who loved her sore,
But she put forth her hand
and smiled, and her face was flushed no more
“Would God it might
otherwise be! but wert thou to will it not,
Yet should I will it and wed
him, and rue my life and my lot.”
Lowly and soft she said it;
but spake out louder now:
“Be of good cheer, King
Volsung! for such a man art thou,
That what thou dost well-counselled,
goodly and fair it is,
And what thou dost unwitting,
the Gods have bidden thee this:
So work all things together
for the fame of thee and thine.
And now meseems at my wedding
shall be a hallowed sign,
That shall give thine heart
a joyance, whatever shall follow after.”
She spake, and the feast sped
on, and the speech and the song and
the laughter
Went over the words of boding
as the tide of the norland main
Sweeps over the hidden skerry,
the home of the shipman’s bane.
So wendeth his way on the
morrow that Earl of the Gothland King,
Bearing the gifts and the
gold, and King Volsung’s tokening,
And a word in his mouth moreover,
a word of blessing and hail,
And a bidding to King Siggeir
to come ere the June-tide fail
And wed him to white-hand
Signy and bear away his bride,
While sleepeth the field of
the fishes amidst the summer-tide.
So on Mid-Summer Even ere
the undark night began
Siggeir the King of the Goth-folk
went up from the bath of the swan
Unto the Volsung dwelling
with many an Earl about;
There through the glimmering
thicket the linked mail rang out,
And sang as mid the woodways
sings the summer-hidden ford:
There were gold-rings God-fashioned,
and many a Dwarf-wrought sword,
And many a Queen-wrought kirtle
and many a written spear;
So came they to the acres,
and drew the threshold near,
And amidst of the garden blossoms,
on the grassy, fruit-grown land,
Was Volsung the King of the
Wood-world with his sons on either hand;
Therewith down lighted Siggeir
the lord of a mighty folk,
Yet showed he by King Volsung
as the bramble by the oak,
Nor reached his helm to the
shoulder of the least of Volsung’s sons.
And so into the hall they
wended, the Kings and their mighty ones;
And they dight the feast full
glorious, and drank through the
death of the day,
Till the shadowless moon rose
upward, till it wended white away;
Then they went to the gold-hung
beds, and at last for an hour or twain
Were all things still and
silent, save a flaw of the summer rain.
But on the morrow noontide
when the sun was high and bare,
More glorious was the banquet,
and now was Signy there,
And she sat beside King Siggeir,
a glorious bride forsooth;
Ruddy and white was she wrought
as the fair-stained sea-beast’s tooth,
But she neither laughed nor
spake, and her eyes were hard and cold,
And with wandering side-long
looks her lord would she behold.
That saw Sigmund her brother,
the eldest Volsung son,
And oft he looked upon her,
and their eyes met now and anon,
And ruth arose in his heart,
and hate of Siggeir the Goth,
And there had he broken the
wedding, but for plighted promise and
troth.
But those twain were beheld
of Siggeir, and he deemed of the
Volsung kin,
That amid their might and
their malice small honour should he win;
Yet thereof made he no semblance,
but abided times to be
And laughed out with the loudest,
amid the hope and the glee.
And nought of all saw Volsung,
as he dreamed of the coming glory,
And how the Kings of his kindred
should fashion the round world’s
story.
So round about the Branstock
they feast in the gleam of the gold;
And though the deeds of man-folk
were not yet waxen old,
Yet had they tales for songcraft,
and the blossomed garth of rhyme;
Tales of the framing of all
things and the entering in of time
From the halls of the outer
heaven; so near they knew the door.
Wherefore uprose a sea-king,
and his hands that loved the oar
Now dealt with the rippling
harp-gold, and he sang of the shaping
of earth,
And how the stars were lighted,
and where the winds had birth,
And the gleam of the first
of summers on the yet untrodden grass.
But e’en as men’s
hearts were hearkening some heard the thunder pass
O’er the cloudless noontide
heaven; and some men turned about
And deemed that in the doorway
they heard a man laugh out.
Then into the Volsung dwelling
a mighty man there strode,
One-eyed and seeming ancient,
yet bright his visage glowed:
Cloud-blue was the hood upon
him, and his kirtle gleaming-grey
As the latter morning sundog
when the storm is on the way:
A bill he bore on his shoulder,
whose mighty ashen beam
Burnt bright with the flame
of the sea and the blended silver’s gleam.
And such was the guise of
his raiment as the Volsung elders had told
Was borne by their fathers’
fathers, and the first that warred in
the wold.
So strode he to the Branstock
nor greeted any lord,
But forth from his cloudy
raiment he drew a gleaming sword,
And smote it deep in the tree-bole,
and the wild hawks overhead
Laughed ’neath the naked
heaven as at last he spake and said:
“Earls of the Goths,
and Volsungs, abiders on the earth,
Lo there amid the Branstock
a blade of plenteous worth!
The folk of the war-wand’s
forgers wrought never better steel
Since first the burg of heaven
uprose for man-folk’s weal.
Now let the man among you
whose heart and hand may shift
To pluck it from the oakwood
e’en take it for my gift.
Then ne’er, but his
own heart falter, its point and edge shall fail
Until the night’s beginning
and the ending of the tale.
Be merry Earls of the Goth-folk,
O Volsung Sons be wise,
And reap the battle-acre that
ripening for you lies:
For they told me in the wild
wood, I heard on the mountain side,
That the shining house of
heaven is wrought exceeding wide,
And that there the Early-comers
shall have abundant rest
While Earth grows scant of
great ones, and fadeth from its best,
And fadeth from its midward
and groweth poor and vile:—
All hail to thee King Volsung!
farewell for a little while!”
So sweet his speaking sounded,
so wise his words did seem,
That moveless all men sat
there, as in a happy dream
We stir not lest we waken;
but there his speech had end,
And slowly down the hall-floor,
and outward did he wend;
And none would cast him a
question or follow on his ways,
For they knew that the gift
was Odin’s, a sword for the world to
praise.
But now spake Volsung the
King: “Why sit ye silent and still?
Is the Battle-Father’s
visage a token of terror and ill?
Arise O Volsung Children,
Earls of the Goths arise,
And set your hands to the
hilts as mighty men and wise!
Yet deem it not too easy;
for belike a fateful blade
Lies there in the heart of
the Branstock for a fated warrior made.”
Now therewith spake King Siggeir:
“King Volsung give me a grace
To try it the first of all
men, lest another win my place
And mere chance-hap steal
my glory and the gain that I might win.”
Then somewhat laughed King
Volsung, and he said: “O Guest, begin;
Though herein is the first
as the last, for the Gods have long to live,
Nor hath Odin yet forgotten
unto whom the gift he would give.”
Then forth to the tree went
Siggeir, the Goth-folk’s mighty lord,
And laid his hand on the gemstones,
and strained at the glorious sword
Till his heart grew black
with anger; and never a word he said
As he wended back to the high-seat:
but Signy waxed blood-red
When he sat him adown beside
her; and her heart was nigh to break
For the shame and the fateful
boding: and therewith King Volsung spake:
“Thus comes back empty-handed
the mightiest King of Earth,
And how shall the feeble venture?
yet each man knows his worth;
And today may a great beginning
from a little seed upspring
To o’erpass many a great
one that hath the name of King:
So stand forth free and unfree;
stand forth both most and least:
But first ye Earls of the
Goth-folk, ye lovely lords we feast.”
Upstood the Earls of Siggeir,
and each man drew anigh
And deemed his time was coming
for a glorious gain and high;
But for all their mighty shaping
and their deeds in the battle-wood,
No looser in the Branstock
that gift of Odin stood.
Then uprose Volsung’s
homemen, and the fell-abiding folk;
And the yellow-headed shepherds
came gathering round the Oak,
And the searchers of the thicket
and the dealers with the oar:
And the least and the worst
of them all was a mighty man of war.
But for all their mighty shaping,
and the struggle and the strain
Of their hands, the deft in
labour, they tugged thereat in vain;
And still as the shouting
and jeers, and the names of men and the
laughter
Beat backward from gable to
gable, and rattled o’er roof-tree and
rafter,
Moody and still sat Siggeir;
for he said: “They have trained me here
As a mock for their woodland
bondsmen; and yet shall they buy it dear.”
Now the tumult sank a little,
and men cried on Volsung the King
And his sons, the hedge of
battle, to try the fateful thing.
So Volsung laughed, and answered:
“I will set me to the toil,
Lest these my guests of the
Goth-folk should deem I fear the foil.
Yet nought am I ill-sworded,
and the oldest friend is best;
And this, my hand’s
first fellow, will I bear to the grave-mound’s
rest,
Nor wield meanwhile another:
Yea this shall I have in hand
When mid the host of Odin
in the Day of Doom I stand.”
Therewith from his belt of
battle he raised the golden sheath,
And showed the peace-strings
glittering about the hidden death:
Then he laid his hand on the
Branstock, and cried: “O tree beloved,
I thank thee of thy good-heart
that so little thou art moved:
Abide thou thus, green bower,
when I am dead and gone
And the best of all my kindred
a better day hath won!”
Then as a young man laughed
he, and on the hilts of gold
His hand, the battle-breaker,
took fast and certain hold,
And long he drew and strained
him, but mended not the tale,
Yet none the more thereover
his mirth of heart did fail;
But he wended to the high-seat
and thence began to cry:
“Sons I have gotten
and cherished, now stand ye forth to try;
Lest Odin tell in God-home
how from the way he strayed,
And how to the man he would
not he gave away his blade.”
So therewithal rose Rerir,
and wasted might and main;
Then Gunthiof, and then Hunthiof,
they wearied them in vain;
Nought was the might of Agnar;
nought Helgi could avail;
Sigi the tall and Solar no
further brought the tale,
Nor Geirmund the priest of
the temple, nor Gylfi of the wood.
At last by the side of the
Branstock Sigmund the Volsung stood,
And with right hand wise in
battle the precious sword-hilt caught,
Yet in a careless fashion,
as he deemed it all for nought:
When lo, from floor to rafter
went up a shattering shout,
For aloft in the hand of Sigmund
the naked blade shone out
As high o’er his head
he shook it: for the sword had come away
From the grip of the heart
of the Branstock, as though all loose
it lay.
A little while he stood there
mid the glory of the hall,
Like the best of the trees
of the garden, when the April sunbeams fall
On its blossomed boughs in
the morning, and tell of the days to be;
Then back unto the high-seat
he wended soberly;
For this was the thought within
him; Belike the day shall come
When I shall bide here lonely
amid the Volsung home,
Its glory and sole avenger,
its after-summer seed.
Yea, I am the hired of Odin,
his workday will to speed,
And the harvest-tide shall
be heavy.—What then, were it come and past
And I laid by the last of
the sheaves with my wages earned at the last?
He lifted his eyes as he thought
it, for now was he come to his place,
And there he stood by his
father and met Siggeir face to face,
And he saw him blithe and
smiling, and heard him how he spake:
“O best of the sons
of Volsung, I am merry for thy sake
And the glory that thou hast
gained us; but whereas thine hand and
heart
Are e’en now the lords
of the battle, how lack’st thou for thy part
A matter to better the best?
Wilt thou overgild fine gold
Or dye the red rose redder?
So I prithee let me hold
This sword that comes to thine
hand on the day I wed thy kin.
For at home have I a store-house;
there is mountain-gold therein
The weight of a war-king’s
harness; there is silver plenteous store;
There is iron, and huge-wrought
amber, that the southern men love sore,
When they sell me the woven
wonder, the purple born of the sea;
And it hangeth up in that
bower; and all this is a gift for thee:
But the sword that came to
my wedding, methinketh it meet and right,
That it lie on my knees in
the council and stead me in the fight.”
But Sigmund laughed and answered,
and he spake a scornful word:
“And if I take twice
that treasure, will it buy me Odin’s sword,
And the gift that the Gods
have given? will it buy me again to stand
Betwixt two mightiest world-kings
with a longed-for thing in mine hand
That all their might hath
missed of? when the purple-selling men
Come buying thine iron and
amber, dost thou sell thine honour then?
Do they wrap it in bast of
the linden, or run it in moulds of earth?
And shalt thou account mine
honour as a matter of lesser worth?
Came the sword to thy wedding,
Goth-king, to thine hand it never came,
And thence is thine envy whetted
to deal me this word of shame.”
Black then was the heart of
Siggeir, but his face grew pale and red,
Till he drew a smile thereover,
and spake the word and said:
“Nay, pardon me, Signy’s
kinsman! when the heart desires o’ermuch
It teacheth the tongue ill
speaking, and my word belike was such.
But the honour of thee and
thy kindred, I hold it even as mine,
And I love you as my heart-blood,
and take ye this for a sign.
I bid thee now King Volsung,
and these thy glorious sons,
And thine earls and thy dukes
of battle and all thy mighty ones,
To come to the house of the
Goth-kings as honoured guests and dear
And abide the winter over;
that the dusky days and drear
May be glorious with thy presence,
that all folk may praise my life,
And the friends that my fame
hath gotten; and that this my new-wed wife
Thine eyes may make the merrier
till she bear my eldest born.”
Then speedily answered Volsung:
“No king of the earth might scorn
Such noble bidding, Siggeir;
Answered the smooth-speeched
Siggeir: “I thank thee well for this,
And thy bidding is most kingly;
yet take it not amiss
That I wend my ways in the
morning; for we Goth-folk know indeed
That the sea is a foe full
deadly, and a friend that fails at need,
And that Ran who dwells thereunder
will many a man beguile:
And I bear a woman with me;
nor would I for a while
Behold that sea-queen’s
dwelling; for glad at heart am I
Of the realm of the Goths
and the Volsungs, and I look for long to lie
In the arms of the fairest
woman that ever a king may kiss.
So I go mine house to order
for the increase of thy bliss,
That there in nought but joyance
all we may wear the days
And that men of the time hereafter
the more our lives may praise.”
And for all the words of Volsung
e’en so must the matter be,
And Siggeir the Goth and Signy
on the morn shall sail the sea.
But the feast sped on the
fairer, and the more they waxed in disport
And the glee that all men
love, as they knew that the hours were short.
Yet a boding heart bare Sigmund
amid his singing and laughter;
And somewhat Signy wotted
of the deeds that were coming after;
For the wisest of women she
was, and many a thing she knew;
She would hearken the voice
of the midnight till she heard what the
Gods would do,
And her feet fared oft on
the wild, and deep was her communing
With the heart of the glimmering
woodland, where never a fowl may sing.
So fair sped on the feasting
amid the gleam of the gold,
Amid the wine and the joyance;
and many a tale was told
To the harp-strings of that
wedding, whereof the latter days
Yet hold a little glimmer
to wonder at and praise.
Then the undark night drew
over, and faint the high stars shone,
And there on the beds blue-woven
the slumber-tide they won;
Yea while on the brightening
mountain the herd-boy watched his sheep.
Yet soft on the breast of
Signy King Siggeir lay asleep.
How the Volsungs fared
to the Land of the Goths, and of the fall of
King Volsung.
Now or ever the sun shone
houseward, unto King Volsung’s bed
Came Signy stealing barefoot,
and she spake the word and said:
“Awake and hearken,
my father, for though the wedding be done,
And I am the wife of the Goth-king,
yet the Volsungs are not gone.
So I come as a dream of the
night, with a word that the Gods would say,
And think thou thereof in
the day-tide, and let Siggeir go on his way
With me and the gifts and
the gold, but do ye abide in the land,
Nor trust in the guileful
heart and the murder-loving hand,
Lest the kin of the Volsungs
perish, and the world be nothing worth.”
So came the word unto Volsung,
and wit in his heart had birth;
And he sat upright in the
bed and kissed her on the lips;
But he said: “My
word is given, it is gone like the spring-tide ships:
To death or to life must I
journey when the months are come to an end.
Yet my sons my words shall
hearken, and shall nowise with me wend.”
Then she answered, speaking
swiftly: “Nay, have thy sons with thee;
Gather an host together and
a mighty company,
And meet the guile and the
death-snare with battle and with wrack.”
He said: “Nay,
my troth-word plighted e’en so should I draw
aback:
I shall go a guest, as my
word was; of whom shall I be afraid?
For an outworn elder’s
ending shall no mighty moan be made.”
Then answered Signy, weeping:
“I shall see thee yet again
When the battle thou arrayest
on the Goth-folks’ strand in vain.
Heavy and hard are the Norns:
but each man his burden bears;
And what am I to fashion the
fate of the coming years?”
She wept and she wended back
to the Goth-king’s bolster blue,
And Volsung pondered awhile
till slumber over him drew;
But when once more he wakened,
the kingly house was up,
And the homemen gathered together
to drink the parting cup:
And grand amid the hall-floor
was the Goth king in his gear,
And Signy clad for faring
stood by the Branstock dear
With the earls of the Goths
about her: so queenly did she seem,
So calm and ruddy coloured,
that Volsung well might deem
That her words were a fashion
of slumber, a vision of the night.
But they drank the wine of
departing, and brought the horses dight,
And forth abroad the Goth-folk
and the Volsung Children rode,
Nor ever once would Signy
look back to that abode.
So down over acre and heath
they rode to the side of the sea,
And there by the long-ships’
bridges was the ship-host’s company.
Then Signy kissed her brethren
with ruddy mouth and warm,
Nor was there one of the Goth-folk
but blessed her from all harm;
Then sweet she kissed her
father and hung about his neck,
And sure she whispered him
somewhat ere she passed forth toward the
Thenceforward dwelt the Volsungs
in exceeding glorious state,
And merry lived King Volsung,
abiding the day of his fate;
But when the months aforesaid
were well-nigh worn away
To his sons and his folk of
counsel he fell these words to say:
“Ye mind you of Signy’s
wedding and of my plighted troth
To go in two months’
wearing to the house of Siggeir the Goth:
Nor will I hide how Signy
then spake a warning word
And did me to wit that her
husband was a grim and guileful lord,
And would draw us to our undoing
for envy and despite
Concerning the Sword of Odin,
and for dread of the Volsung might.
Now wise is Signy my daughter
and knoweth nought but sooth:
Yet are there seasons and
times when for longing and self-ruth
The hearts of women wander,
and this maybe is such;
Nor for her word of Siggeir
will I trow it overmuch,
Nor altogether doubt it, since
the woman is wrought so wise;
Nor much might my heart love
Siggeir for all his kingly guise.
Yet, shall a king hear murder
when a king’s mouth blessing saith?
So maybe he is bidding me
honour, and maybe he is bidding me death:
Let him do after his fashion,
and I will do no less.
In peace will I go to his
bidding let the spae-wrights ban or bless;
And no man now or hereafter
of Volsung’s blenching shall tell.
But ye, sons, in the land
shall tarry, and heed the realm right well,
Lest the Volsung Children
fade, and the wide world worser grow.”
But with one voice cried all
men, that they one and all would go
To gather the Goth-king’s
honour, or let one fate go over all
If he bade them to battle
and murder, till each by each should fall.
So spake the sons of his body,
and the wise in wisdom and war.
Nor yet might it otherwise
be, though Volsung bade full sore
That he go in some ship of
the merchants with his life alone in his
hand;
With such love he loved his
kindred, and the people of his land.
But at last he said:
“So
be it; for in vain I war with fate,
Who can raise up a king from
the dunghill and make the feeble great.
We will go, a band of friends,
and be merry whatever shall come,
And the Gods, mine own forefathers,
shall take counsel of our home.”
So now, when all things were
ready, in the first of the autumn tide
Adown unto the swan-bath the
Volsung Children ride;
And lightly go a shipboard,
a goodly company,
Though the tale thereof be
scanty and their ships no more than three:
But kings’ sons dealt
with the sail-sheets and earls and dukes of war
Were the halers of the hawsers
and the tuggers at the oar.
So they drew the bridges shipward,
and left the land behind,
And fair astern of the longships
sprang up a following wind;
So swift o’er AEgir’s
acre those mighty sailors ran,
And speedier than all other
ploughed down the furrows wan.
And they came to the land
of the Goth-folk on the even of a day;
And lo by the inmost skerry
a skiff with a sail of grey
That as they neared the foreshore
ran Volsung’s ship aboard,
And there was come white-hand
Signy with her latest warning word.
“O strange,” she
said, “meseemeth, O sweet, your gear to see,
And the well-loved Volsung
faces, and the hands that cherished me.
But short is the time that
is left me for the work I have to win,
Though nought it be but the
speaking of a word ere the worst begin.
For that which I spake aforetime,
the seed of a boding drear,
It hath sprung, it hath blossomed
and born rank harvest of the spear;
Siggeir hath dight the death-snare;
he hath spread the shielded net.
But ye come ere the hour appointed,
and he looks not to meet you yet.
Now blest be the wind that
wafted your sails here over-soon,
For thus have I won me seaward
’twixt the twilight and the moon,
To pray you for all the world’s
sake turn back from the murderous
shore.
—Ah take me hence,
my father, to see my land once more!”
Then sweetly Volsung kissed
her: “Woe am I for thy sake,
But earth the word hath hearkened,
that yet unborn I spake;
How I ne’er would turn
me backward from the sword or the fire of bale;
—I have held that
word till today, and today shall I change the tale?
And look on these thy brethren,
how goodly and great are they,
Wouldst thou have the maidens
mock them, when this pain hath past away
And they sit at the feast
hereafter, that they feared the deadly
stroke?
Let us do our day’s
work deftly for the praise and the glory of folk;
And if the Norns will have
it that the Volsung kin shall fail,
Yet I know of the deed that
dies not, and the name that shall ever
avail.”
But she wept as one sick-hearted:
“Woe’s me for the hope of the morn!
Yet send me not back unto
Siggeir and the evil days and the scorn:
Let me bide the death as ye
bide it, and let a woman feel
That hope of the death of
battle and the rest of the foeman’s steel.”
“Nay nay,” he
said, “go backward: this too thy fate will
have;
For thou art the wife of a
king, and many a matter may’st save.
Farewell! as the days win
over, as sweet as a tale shall it grow,
This day when our hearts were
hardened; and our glory thou shalt know,
And the love wherewith we
loved thee mid the battle and the wrack.”
She kissed them and departed,
and mid the dusk fared back,
And she sat that eve in the
high-seat; and I deem that Siggeir knew
The way that her feet had
wended, and the deed she went to do:
For the man was grim and guileful,
and he knew that the snare was laid
For the mountain bull unblenching
and the lion unafraid.
But when the sun on the morrow
shone over earth and sea
Ashore went the Volsung Children
a goodly company,
And toward King Siggeir’s
dwelling o’er heath and holt they went
But when they came to the
topmost of a certain grassy bent,
Lo there lay the land before
them as thick with shield and spear
As the rich man’s wealthiest
acre with the harvest of the year.
There bade King Volsung tarry
and dight the wedge-array;
“For duly,” he
said, “doeth Siggeir to meet his guests by the
way.”
So shield by shield they serried,
nor ever hath been told
Of any host of battle more
glorious with the gold;
And there stood the high King
Volsung in the very front of war;
And lovelier was his visage
than ever heretofore.
As he rent apart the peace-strings
that his brand of battle bound
And the bright blade gleamed
to the heavens, and he cast the sheath
to the ground.
Then up the steep came the
Goth-folk, and the spear-wood drew anigh,
And earth’s face shook
beneath them, yet cried they never a cry;
And the Volsungs stood all
silent, although forsooth at whiles
O’er the faces grown
earth-weary would play the flickering smiles,
And swords would clink and
rattle: not long had they to bide,
For soon that flood of murder
flowed round the hillock-side;
Then at last the edges mingled,
and if men forebore the shout,
Yet the din of steel and iron
in the grey clouds rang about;
But how to tell of King Volsung,
and the valour of his folk!
Three times the wood of battle
before their edges broke;
And the shield-wall, sorely
dwindled and reft of the ruddy gold,
Against the drift of the war-blast
for the fourth time yet did hold.
But men’s shields were
waxen heavy with the weight of shafts they bore,
And the fifth time many a
champion cast earthward Odin’s door
And gripped the sword two-handed;
and in sheaves the spears came on.
And at last the host of the
Goth-folk within the shield-wall won,
And wild was the work within
it, and oft and o’er again
Forth brake the sons of Volsung,
And mid the hedge of foemen
his blunted sword he threw,
And, laid like the oars of
a longship the level war-shafts pressed
On ’gainst the unshielded
elder, and clashed amidst his breast,
And dead he fell, thrust backward,
and rang on the dead men’s gear:
But still for a certain season
durst no man draw anear.
For ’twas e’en
as a great God’s slaying, and they feared the
wrath
of the sky;
And they deemed their hearts
might harden if awhile they should let
him lie.
Lo, now as the plotting was
long, so short is the tale to tell
How a mighty people’s
leaders in the field of murder fell.
For but feebly burned the
battle when Volsung fell to field,
And all who yet were living
were borne down before the shield:
So sinketh the din and the
tumult; and the earls of the Goths ring
round
That crown of the Kings of
battle laid low upon the ground,
Looking up to the noon-tide
heavens from the place where first he
stood:
But the songful sing above
him and they tell how his end is as good
As the best of the days of
his life-tide; and well as he was loved
By his friends ere the time
of his changing, so now are his foemen
moved
With a love that may never
be worsened, since all the strife is o’er,
And the warders look for his
coming by Odin’s open door.
But his sons, the stay of
battle, alive with many a wound,
Borne down to the earth by
the shield-rush amid the dead lie bound,
And belike a wearier journey
must those lords of battle bide
Ere once more in the Hall
of Odin they sit by their father’s side.
Woe’s me for the boughs
of the Branstock and the hawks that cried on
the fight!
Woe’s me for the tireless
hearthstones and the hangings of delight,
That the women dare not look
on lest they see them sweat with blood!
Woe’s me for the carven
pillars where the spears of the Volsungs stood!
And who next shall shake the
locks, or the silver door-rings meet?
Who shall pace the floor beloved,
worn down by the Volsung feet?
Who shall fill the gold with
the wine, or cry for the triumphing?
Shall it be kindred or foes,
or thief, or thrall, or king?
Of the ending of all Volsung’s
Sons save Sigmund only, and of how he
abideth in the wild wood.
So there the earls of the
Goth-folk lay Volsung ’neath the grass
On the last earth he had trodden;
but his children bound must pass,
When the host is gathered
together, amidst of their array
To the high-built dwelling
of Siggeir; for sooth it is to say,
That he came not into the
battle, nor faced the Volsung sword.
So now as he sat in his high-seat
there came his chiefest lord,
And he said: “I
bear thee tidings of the death of the best of the
brave,
For thy foes are slain or
bondsmen; and have thou Sigmund’s glaive,
If a token thou desirest;
and that shall be surely enough.
And I do thee to wit, King
Siggeir, that the road was exceeding rough,
And that many an earl there
stumbled, who shall evermore lie down.
And indeed I deem King Volsung
for all earthly kingship’s crown.”
Then never a word spake Siggeir,
save: “Where be Volsung’s sons?”
And he said: “Without
are they fettered, those battle-glorious ones:
And methinks ’twere
a deed for a king, and a noble deed for thee,
To break their bonds and heal
them, and send them back o’er the sea,
And abide their wrath and
the bloodfeud for this matter of Volsung’s
slaying:”
“Witless thou waxest,”
said Siggeir, “nor heedest the wise man’s
saying;
‘Slay thou the wolf
by the house-door, lest he slay thee in the wood.’
Yet since I am the overcomer,
and my days henceforth shall be good,
I will quell them with no
death-pains; let the young men smite them
down,
But let me not behold them
when my heart is angrier grown.”
E’en as he uttered the
word was Signy at the door,
And with hurrying feet she
gat her apace to the high-seat floor,
As wan as the dawning-hour,
though never a tear she had:
And she cried: “I
pray thee, Siggeir, now thine heart is merry and glad
With the death and the bonds
of my kinsmen, to grant me this one
prayer,
This one time and no other;
let them breathe the earthly air
For a day, for a day or twain,
ere they wend the way of death,
For ‘sweet to eye while
seen,’ the elders’ saying saith.”
Quoth he: “Thou
art mad with sorrow; wilt thou work thy friends this
woe?
When swift and untormented
e’en I would let them go:
Yet now shalt thou have thine
asking, if it verily is thy will:
Nor forsooth do I begrudge
them a longer tide of ill.”
She said: “I will it, I will it—O sweet to eye while seen!”
Then to his earl spake Siggeir:
“There lies a wood-lawn green
In the first mile of the forest;
there fetter these Volsung men
To the mightiest beam of the
wild-wood, till Queen Signy come again
And pray me a boon for her
brethren, the end of their latter life.”
So the Goth-folk led to the
woodland those gleanings of the strife,
And smote down a great-boled
oak-tree, the mightiest they might find,
And thereto with bonds of
iron the Volsungs did they bind,
And left them there on the
wood-lawn, mid the yew-trees’ compassing,
And went back by the light
of the moon to the dwelling of the king.
But he sent on the morn of
the morrow to see how his foemen fared,
For now as he thought thereover,
o’ermuch he deemed it dared
That he saw not the last of
the Volsungs laid dead before his feet,
Back came his men ere the
noontide, and he deemed their tidings sweet;
For they said: “We
tell thee, King Siggeir, that Geirmund and Gylfi
are gone.
And we deem that a beast of
the wild-wood this murder grim hath done,
For the bones yet lie in the
fetters gnawed fleshless now and white;
But we deemed the eight abiding
sore minished of their might.”
So wore the morn and the noontide,
and the even ’gan to fall,
And watchful eyes held Signy
at home in bower and hall.
And again came the men in
the morning, and spake: “The hopples hold
The bare white bones of Helgi,
and the bones of Solar the bold:
And the six that abide seem
feebler than they were awhile ago.”
Still all the day and the
night-tide must Signy nurse her woe
About the house of King Siggeir,
nor any might she send:
And again came the tale on
the morrow: “Now are two more come to
an end.
For Hunthiof dead and Gunthiof,
their bones lie side by side,
And the four that are left,
us seemeth, no long while will abide.”
O woe for the well-watched
Signy, how often on that day
Must she send her helpless
eyen adown the woodland way!
Yet silent in her bosom she
held her heart of flame.
And again on the morrow morning
the tale was still the same:
“We tell thee now, King
Siggeir, that all will soon be done;
For the two last men of the
Volsungs, they sit there one by one,
And Sigi’s head is drooping,
but somewhat Sigmund sings;
For the man was a mighty warrior,
and a beater down of kings.
But for Rerir and for Agnar,
the last of them is said,
Their bones in the bonds are
abiding, but their souls and lives are
sped.”
That day from the eyes of
the watchers nought Signy strove to depart,
But ever she sat in the high-seat
and nursed the flame in her heart.
In the sight of all people
she sat, with unmoved face and wan,
And to no man gave she a word,
nor looked on any man.
Then the dusk and the dark
drew over, but stirred she never a whit,
And the word of Siggeir’s
sending, she gave no heed to it.
And there on the morrow morning
must he sit him down by her side,
When unto the council of elders
folk came from far and wide.
And there came Siggeir’s
woodmen, and their voice in the hall arose:
“There is no man left
on the tree-beam: some beast hath devoured thy
foes;
There is nought left there
but the bones, and the bonds that the
Volsungs bound.”
No word spake the earls of
the Goth-folk, but the hall rang out with
a sound,
With the wail and the cry
of Signy, as she stood upright on her feet,
And thrust all people from
her, and fled to her bower as fleet
As the hind when she first
is smitten; and her maidens fled away,
Fearing her face and her eyen:
no less at the death of the day
She rose up amid the silence,
and went her ways alone,
And no man watched her or
hindered, for they deemed the story done.
So she went ’twixt the
yellow acres, and the green meads of the sheep,
And or ever she reached the
wild-wood the night was waxen deep
No man she had to lead her,
but the path was trodden well
By those messengers of murder,
the men with the tale to tell;
And the beams of the high
white moon gave a glimmering day through
night
Till she came where that lawn
of the woods lay wide in the flood of
light.
Then she looked, and lo, in
its midmost a mighty man there stood,
And laboured the earth of
the green-sward with a truncheon torn from
the wood;
And behold, it was Sigmund
the Volsung: but she cried and had no fear:
“If thou art living,
Sigmund, what day’s work dost thou here
In the midnight and the forest?
but if thou art nought but a ghost,
Then where are those Volsung
brethren, of whom thou wert best and
most?”
Then he turned about unto
her, and his raiment was fouled and torn,
And his eyen were great and
hollow, as a famished man forlorn;
But he cried: “Hail,
Sister Signy! I looked for thee before,
Though what should a woman
compass, she one alone and no more,
When all we shielded Volsungs
did nought in Siggeir’s land?
O yea, I am living indeed,
and this labour of mine hand
Is to bury the bones of the
Volsungs; and lo, it is well-nigh done.
So draw near, Volsung’s
daughter, and pile we many a stone
Where lie the grey wolf’s
gleanings of what was once so good.”
So she set her hand to the
labour, and they toiled, they twain in
the wood
And when the work was over,
dead night was beginning to fail:
Then spake the white-hand
Signy: “Now shalt thou tell the tale
Of the death of the Volsung
brethren ere the wood thy wrath shall hide,
Ere I wend me back sick-hearted
in the dwelling of kings to abide.”
He said: “We sat
on the tree, and well ye may wot indeed
That we had some hope from
thy good-will amidst that bitter need.
Now none had ’scaped
the sword-edge in the battle utterly,
And so hurt were Agnar and
Helgi, that, unhelped, they were like to
die;
Though for that we deemed
them happier: but now when the moon shone
bright,
And when by a doomed man’s
deeming ’twas the midmost of the night,
Lo, forth from yonder thicket
were two mighty wood-wolves come,
Far huger wrought to my deeming
than the beasts I knew at home:
Forthright on Gylfi and Geirmund
those dogs of the forest fell,
And what of men so hoppled
should be the tale to tell?
They tore them midst the irons,
and slew them then and there,
And long we heard them snarling
o’er that abundant cheer.
Night after night, O my sister,
the story was the same,
And still from the dark and
the thicket the wild-wood were-wolves came
And slew two men of the Volsungs
whom the sword edge might not end.
And every day in the dawning
did the King’s own woodmen wend
To behold those craftsmen’s
carving and rejoice King Siggeir’s heart.
And so was come last midnight,
when I must play my part:
Forsooth when those first
were murdered my heart was as blood and fire;
And I deemed that my bonds
must burst with my uttermost desire
To free my naked hands, that
the vengeance might be wrought;
But now was I wroth with the
Gods, that had made the Volsungs for
nought
And I said: in the Day
of their Doom a man’s help shall they miss;
I will be as a wolf of the
forest, if their kings must come to this;
Or if Siggeir indeed be their
king, and their envy has brought it about
That dead in the dust lies
Volsung, while the last of his seed dies
out.
Therewith from out the thicket
the grey wolves drew anigh,
And the he-wolf fell on Sigi,
but he gave forth never a cry,
And I saw his lips that they
smiled, and his steady eyes for a space;
And therewith was the she-wolf’s
muzzle thrust into my very face.
The Gods helped not, but I
helped; and I too grew wolfish then;
Yea I, who have borne the
sword-hilt high mid the kings of men,
I, lord of the golden harness,
the flame of the Glittering Heath,
Must snarl to the she-wolf’s
snarling, and snap with greedy teeth,
While my hands with the hand-bonds
struggled; my teeth took hold the
first
And amid her mighty writhing
the bonds that bound me burst,
As with Fenrir’s Wolf
it shall be: then the beast with the hopples I
smote,
When my left hand stiff with
the bonds had got her by the throat.
But I turned when I had slain
her, and there lay Sigi dead,
And once more to the night
of the forest the fretting wolf had fled.
As the moon and the twilight
mingled, she stood with kindling eyes,
And answered and said:
“My brother, thou art strong, and thou shalt
be wise:
I am nothing so wroth as thou
art with the ways of death and hell,
For thereof had I a deeming
when all things were seeming well.
In sooth overlong it may linger;
the children of murder shall thrive,
While thy work is a weight
for thine heart, and a toil for thy hand
to drive;
But I wot that the King of
the Goth-folk for his deeds shall surely
pay,
And that I shall live to see
it: but thy wrath shall pass away,
And long shalt thou live on
the earth an exceeding glorious king,
And thy words shall be told
in the market, and all men of thy deeds
shall sing:
Fresh shall thy memory be,
and thine eyes like mine shall gaze
On the day unborn in the darkness,
the last of all earthly days,
The last of the days of battle,
when the host of the Gods is arrayed
And there is an end for ever
of all who were once afraid.
There as thou drawest thy
sword, thou shalt think of the days that
were,
And the foul shall still seem
foul, and the fair shall still seem fair;
But thy wit shall then be
awakened, and thou shalt know indeed
Why the brave man’s
spear is broken, and his war-shield fails at need;
Why the loving is unbeloved;
why the just man falls from his state;
Why the liar gains in a day
what the soothfast strives for late.
Yea, and thy deeds shalt thou
know, and great shall thy gladness be;
As a picture all of gold thy
life-days shalt thou see,
And know that thou too wert
a God to abide through the hurry and haste;
A God in the golden hall,
Then she kissed him and departed,
for the day was nigh at hand,
And by then she had left the
woodways green lay the horse-fed land
Beneath the new-born daylight,
and as she brushed the dew
Betwixt the yellowing acres,
all heaven o’erhead was blue.
And at last on that dwelling
of Kings the golden sunlight lay,
And the morn and the noon
and the even built up another day.
Of the birth and fostering of Sinfiotli, Signy’s Son.
So wrought is the will of
King Siggeir, and he weareth Odin’s sword
And it lies on his knees in
the council and hath no other lord:
And he sendeth earls o’er
the sea-flood to take King Volsung’s land,
And those scattered and shepherdless
sheep must come beneath his hand.
And he holdeth the milk-white
Signy as his handmaid and his wife.
And nought but his will she
doeth, nor raiseth a word of strife;
So his heart is praising his
wisdom, and he deems him of most avail
Of all the lords of the cunning
that teacheth how to prevail.
Now again in a half-month’s
wearing goes Signy into the wild,
And findeth her way by her
wisdom to the dwelling of Volsung’s child.
It was e’en as a house
of the Dwarfs, a rock, and a stony cave.
In the heart of the midmost
thicket by the hidden river’s wave.
There Signy found him watching
how the white-head waters ran,
And she said in her heart
as she saw him that once more she had seen
a man.
His words were few and heavy,
for seldom his sorrow slept,
Yet ever his love went with
them; and men say that Signy wept
When she left that last of
her kindred: yet wept she never more
Amid the earls of Siggeir,
and as lovely as before
Was her face to all men’s
deeming: nor aught it changed for ruth,
Nor for fear nor any longing;
and no man said for sooth
That she ever laughed thereafter
till the day of her death was come.
So is Volsung’s seed
abiding in a rough and narrow home;
And wargear he gat him enough
from the slaying of earls of men,
And gold as much as he would;
though indeed but now and again
He fell on the men of the
merchants, lest, wax he overbold,
The tale of the wood-abider
too oft to the king should be told.
Alone in the woods he abided,
and a master of masters was he
In the craft of the smithying
folk; and whiles would the hunter see,
Belated amid the thicket,
his forge’s glimmering light,
And the boldest of all the
fishers would hear his hammer benight.
Then dim waxed the tale of
the Volsungs, and the word mid the
wood-folk rose
That a King of the Giants
had wakened from amidst the stone-hedged
close,
Where they slept in the heart
of the mountains, and had come adown
to dwell
In the cave whence the Dwarfs
were departed, and they said: It is
aught but well
To come anigh to his house-door,
or wander wide in his woods?
For a tyrannous lord he is,
and a lover of gold and of goods.
So win the long years over, and still sitteth Signy there
Beside the King of the Goth-folk, and is waxen no less fair,
And men and maids hath she gotten who are ready to work her will,
For the worship of her fairness, and remembrance of her ill.
So it fell on a morn of springtide,
as Sigmund sat on the sward
By that ancient house of the Dwarf-kind and fashioned
a golden sword?
By the side of the hidden river he saw a damsel
stand,
And a manchild of ten summers was holding by her
hand.
And she cried:
“O Forest-dweller! harm not
the child nor me,
For I bear a word of Signy’s, and thus she
saith to thee:
’I send thee a man to foster; if his heart
be good at need
Then may he help thy workday; but hearken my words
and heed;
If thou deem that his heart shall avail not, thy
work is over-great
That thou weary thy heart with such-like:
let him wend the ways of
his fate.’”
And no more word spake the maiden, but turned and gat her gone,
And there by the side of the river the child abode alone:
But Sigmund stood on his feet, and across the river he went.
For he knew how the child was Siggeir’s, and of Signy’s fell intent.
So he took the lad on his shoulder, and bade him hold his sword,
And waded back to his dwelling across the rushing ford:
But the youngling fell a prattling, and asked of this and that,
As above the rattle of waters on Sigmund’s shoulder he sat!
And Sigmund deemed in his heart that the boy would be bold enough.
So he fostered him there in the woodland in life full hard and rough
For the space of three months’ wearing; and the lad was deft and
strong,
Yet his sight was a grief to Sigmund because of his father’s wrong.
On a morn to the son of King Siggeir
Sigmund the Volsung said:
“I go to the hunting of deer, bide thou
and bake our bread
Against I bring the venison.”
So forth he fared
on his way,
And came again with the quarry about the noon
of day;
Quoth he: “Is the morn’s work
done?” But the boy said nought for a
space,
And all white he was and quaking as he looked
on Sigmund’s face.
“Tell me, O Son of the Goth-king,”
quoth Sigmund, “how thou hast fared?
Forsooth, is the baking of bread so mighty a thing
to be dared?”
Quoth the lad: “I went
to the meal-sack, and therein was something
quick,
And it moved, and I feared for the serpent, like
a winter ashen stick
That I saw on the stone last even: so I durst
not deal with the thing.”
Loud Sigmund laughed, and answered:
“I have heard of that son of a
king,
Who might not be scared from his bread for all
the worms of the land.”
And therewith he went to the meal-sack and thrust
therein his hand,
And drew forth an ash-grey adder, and a deadly
worm it was:
Then he went to the door of the cave and set it
down in the grass,
While the King’s son quaked and quivered:
then he drew forth his
sword from the sheath,
And said:
“Now fearest thou this, that men
call the serpent of death?”
Then said the son of King Siggeir:
“I am young as yet for the war,
Yet e’en such a blade shall I carry ere
many a month be o’er.”
Then abroad went the King in the wind, and leaned on his naked sword
And stood there many an hour, and mused on Signy’s word.
But at last when the moon was arisen, and the undark night begun,
He sheathed the sword and cried: “Come forth, King Siggeir’s son,
Thou shalt wend from out of the wild-wood and no more will I foster
thee.”
Forth came the son of Siggeir,
and quaked his face to see,
But thereof nought Sigmund
noted, but bade him wend with him.
So they went through the summer
night-tide by many a wood-way dim,
Till they came to a certain
wood-lawn, and Sigmund lingered there,
And spake as his feet brushed
o’er it: “The June flowers blossom
fair.”
So they came to the skirts
of the forest, and the meadows of the neat,
And the earliest wind of dawning
blew over them soft and sweet:
There stayed Sigmund the Volsung,
and said:
“King
Siggeir’s son,
Bide here till the birds are
singing, and the day is well begun;
Then go to the house of the
Goth-king, and find thou Signy the Queen,
And tell unto no man else
the things thou hast heard and seen:
But to her shalt thou tell
what thou wilt, and say this word withal:
’Mother, I come from
the wild-wood, and he saith, whatever befal
Alone will I abide there,
nor have such fosterlings;
For the sons of the Gods may
help me, but never the sons of Kings.’
Go, then, with this word in
thy mouth—or do thou after thy fate,
And, if thou wilt, betray
me!—and repent it early and late.”
Then he turned his back on the
acres, and away to the woodland strode;
But the boy scarce bided the sunrise ere he went
the homeward road;
So he came to the house of the Goth-kings, and
spake with Signy the
Queen,
Nor told he to any other the things he had heard
and seen,
For the heart of a king’s son had he.
But Signy
hearkened his word;
And long she pondered and said: “What
is it my heart hath feared?
And how shall it be with earth’s people
if the kin of the Volsungs die,
And King Volsung unavenged in his mound by the
sea-strand lie?
I have given my best and bravest, as my heart’s
blood I would give,
And my heart and my fame and my body, that the
name of Volsung might
live.
Lo the first gift cast aback: and how shall
it be with the last,—
—If I find out the gift for the giving
before the hour be passed?”
Long while she mused and pondered
while day was thrust on day,
Till the king and the earls of the strangers seemed
shades of the
dreamtide grey
And gone seemed all earth’s people, save
that woman mid the gold
And that man in the depths of the forest in the
cave of the Dwarfs
of old.
And once in the dark she murmured: “Where
then was the ancient song
That the Gods were but twin-born once, and deemed
it nothing wrong
To mingle for the world’s sake, whence had
the AEsir birth,
And the Vanir and the Dwarf-kind, and all the
folk of earth?”
Now amidst those days that
she pondered came a wife of the
witch-folk there,
A woman young and lovesome,
and shaped exceeding fair,
And she spake with Signy the
Queen, and told her of deeds of her craft,
And how the might was with
her her soul from her body to waft
And to take the shape of another
and give her fashion in turn.
Fierce then in the heart of
Signy a sudden flame ’gan burn,
And the eyes of her soul saw
all things, like the blind, whom the
world’s
last fire
Hath healed in one passing
moment ’twixt his death and his desire.
And she thought: “Alone
I will bear it; alone I will take the crime;
On me alone be the shaming,
and the cry of the coming time.
Yea, and he for the life is
fated and the help of many a folk,
And I for the death and the
rest, and deliverance from the yoke.”
Then wan as the midnight moon
she answered the woman and spake:
“Thou art come to the
Goth-queen’s dwelling, wilt thou do so much
for my sake,
And for many a pound of silver
and for rings of the ruddy gold,
As to change thy body for
mine ere the night is waxen old?”
Nought the witch-wife fair
gainsaid it, and they went to the bower
aloft
And hand in hand and alone
they sung the spell-song soft:
Till Signy looked on her guest,
and lo, the face of a queen
With the steadfast eyes of
grey, that so many a grief had seen:
But the guest held forth a
mirror, and Signy shrank aback
From the laughing lips and
the eyes, and the hair of crispy black,
But though she shuddered and
sickened, the false face changed no whit;
But ruddy and white it blossomed
and the smiles played over it;
And the hands were ready to
cling, and beckoning lamps were the eyes,
And the light feet longed
for the dance, and the lips for laughter
and lies.
So that eve in the mid-hall’s
high-seat was the shape of Signy the
Queen,
While swiftly the feet of
the witch-wife brushed over the moonlit
green,
But the soul mid the gleam
of the torches, her thought was of gain
and of gold;
And the soul of the wind-driven
woman, swift-foot in the moonlight
cold,
Her thoughts were of men’s
lives’ changing, and the uttermost ending
of earth,
And the day when death should
be dead, and the new sun’s nightless
birth.
Men say that about that midnight
King Sigmund wakened and heard
The voice of a soft-speeched
woman, shrill-sweet as a dawning bird;
So he rose, and a woman indeed
he saw by the door of the cave
With her raiment wet to her
midmost, as though with the river-wave:
And he cried: “What
wilt thou, what wilt thou? be thou womankind or
fay,
Here is no good abiding, wend
forth upon thy way!”
She said: “I am
nought but a woman, a maid of the earl-folk’s
kin:
And I went by the skirts of
the woodland to the house of my sister
to win,
And have strayed from the
way benighted: and I fear the wolves and
the wild
By the glimmering of thy torchlight
from afar was I beguiled.
Ah, slay me not on thy threshold,
nor send me back again
Through the rattling waves
of thy ford, that I crossed in terror and
pain;
Drive me not to the night
and the darkness, for the wolves of the
wood to devour.
I am weak and thou art mighty:
I will go at the dawning hour.”
So Sigmund looked in her face
and saw that she was fair;
And he said: “Nay,
nought will I harm thee, and thou mayst harbour
here,
God wot if thou fear’st
not me, I have nought to fear thy face:
Though this house be the terror
of men-folk, thou shalt find it as
safe a place
As though I were nought but
thy brother; and then mayst thou tell,
if thou wilt,
Where dwelleth the dread of
the woodland, the bearer of many a guilt,
Though meseems for so goodly
a woman it were all too ill a deed
In reward for the wood-wight’s
guesting to betray him in his need.”
So he took the hand of the
woman and straightway led her in
Where days agone the Dwarf-kind
would their deeds of smithying win:
And he kindled the half-slaked
embers, and gave her of his cheer
Amid the gold and the silver,
and the fight-won raiment dear;
And soft was her voice, and
she sung him sweet tales of yore agone,
Till all his heart was softened;
and the man was all alone,
And in many wise she wooed
him; so they parted not that night,
Nor slept till the morrow
morning, when the woods were waxen bright:
And high above the tree-boughs
shone the sister of the moon,
And hushed were the water-ouzels
with the coming of the noon
When she stepped from the
bed of Sigmund, and left the Dwarf’s abode;
And turned to the dwellings
of men, and the ways where the earl-folk
rode.
But next morn from the house
of the Goth-king the witch-wife went
her ways
With gold and goods and silver,
such store as a queen might praise.
But no long while with Sigmund
dwelt remembrance of that night;
Amid his kingly longings and his many deeds of
might
It fled like the dove in the forest or the down
upon the blast:
Yet heavy and sad were the years, that even in
suchwise passed,
As here it is written aforetime.
Thence were ten
years worn by
When unto that hidden river a man-child drew anigh,
And he looked and beheld how Sigmund wrought on
a helm of gold
By the crag and the stony dwelling where the Dwarf-kin
wrought of old.
Then the boy cried: “Thou art the wood-wight
of whom my mother spake;
But the lad still gazed on Sigmund, and he said: “A wondrous thing!
Here is the cave and the river, and all tokens of the place:
But my mother Signy told me none might behold that face,
And keep his flesh from quaking: but at thee I quake not aught:
Sure I must journey further, lest her errand come to nought:
Yet I would that my foster-father should be such a man as thou.”
But Sigmund answered and said:
“Thou shalt bide in my dwelling now;
And thou mayst wot full surely
that thy mother’s will is done
By this token and no other,
that thou lookedst on Volsung’s son
And smiledst fair in his face:
but tell me thy name and thy years:
And what are the words of
Signy that the son of the Goth-king bears?”
“Sinfiotli they call
me,” he said, “and ten summers have I seen;
And this is the only word
that I bear from Signy the Queen,
That once more a man she sendeth
the work of thine hands to speed,
If he be of the Kings or the
Gods thyself shalt know in thy need.”
So Sigmund looked on the youngling
and his heart unto him yearned;
But he thought: “Shall
I pay the hire ere the worth of the work be
earned?
And what hath my heart to
do to cherish Siggeir’s son;
A brand belike for the burning
when the last of its work is done?”
But there in the wild and
the thicket those twain awhile abode,
And on the lad laid Sigmund
full many a weary load,
And thrust him mid all dangers,
and he bore all passing well,
Where hardihood might help
him; but his heart was fierce and fell;
And ever said Sigmund the
Volsung: The lad hath plenteous part
In the guile and malice of
Siggeir, and in Signy’s hardy heart:
But why should I cherish and
love him, since the end must come at last?
Now a summer and winter and
spring o’er those men of the wilds had
pass’d.
And summer was there again,
when the Volsung spake on a day:
“I will wend to the
wood-deer’s hunting, but thou at home shalt stay,
And deal with the baking of
bread against the even come.”
So he went and came on the
hunting and brought the venison home,
And the child, as ever his
wont was, was glad of his coming back,
And said: “Thou
hast gotten us venison, and the bread shall nowise
lack.”
“Yea,” quoth Sigmund
the Volsung, “hast thou kneaded the meal that
was yonder?”
“Yea, and what other?”
he said; “though therein forsooth was a wonder:
For when I would handle the
meal-sack therein was something quick,
As if the life of an eel-grig
were set in an ashen stick:
But the meal must into the
oven, since we were lacking bread,
And all that is kneaded together,
and the wonder is baked and dead.”
Then Sigmund laughed and answered:
“Thou hast kneaded up therein
The deadliest of all adders
that is of the creeping kin:
So tonight from the bread
refrain thee, lest thy bane should come
of it.”
For here, the tale of the
elders doth men a marvel to wit,
That such was the shaping
of Sigmund among all earthly kings,
That unhurt he handled adders
and other deadly things,
And might drink unscathed
of venom: but Sinfiotli so was wrought,
That no sting of creeping
creatures would harm his body aught.
But now full glad was Sigmund,
and he let his love arise
For the huge-limbed son of
Signy with the fierce and eager eyes;
And all deeds of the sword
he learned him, and showed him feats of war
Where sea and forest mingle,
and up from the ocean’s shore
The highway leads to the market,
and men go up and down,
And the spear-hedged wains
of the merchants fare oft to the
Goth-folk’s
town.
Sweet then Sinfiotli deemed
it to look on the bale-fires’ light,
And the bickering blood-reeds’
tangle, and the fallow blades of fight.
And in three years’
space were his war-deeds far more than the deeds
of a man:
But dread was his face to
behold ere the battle-play began,
And grey and dreadful his
face when the last of the battle sank.
And so the years won over,
and the joy of the woods they drank,
And they gathered gold and
silver, and plenteous outland goods.
But they came to a house on
a day in the uttermost part of the woods
And smote on the door and
entered, when a long while no man bade;
And lo, a gold-hung hall,
and two men on the benches laid
In slumber as deep as the
death; and gold rings great and fair
Those sleepers bore on their
bodies, and broidered southland gear,
And over the head of each
there hung a wolf-skin grey.
Then the drift of a cloudy
dream wrapt Sigmund’s soul away,
And his eyes were set on the
wolf-skin, and long he gazed thereat,
And remembered the words he
uttered when erst on the beam he sat,
That the Gods should miss
a man in the utmost Day of Doom,
And win a wolf in his stead;
and unto his heart came home
That thought, as he gazed
on the wolf-skin and the other days waxed
dim,
And he gathered the thing
in his hand, and did it over him;
So Sigmund and his fellow
rush forth from the golden place;
And though their kings’
hearts bade them the backward way to trace
Unto their Dwarf-wrought dwelling,
and there abide the change,
Yet their wolfish habit drave
them wide through the wood to range,
And draw nigh to the dwellings
of men and fly upon the prey.
And lo now, a band of hunters
on the uttermost woodland way,
And they spy those dogs of
the forest, and fall on with the spear,
Nor deemed that any other
but woodland beasts they were,
And that easy would be the
battle: short is the tale to tell;
For every man of the hunters
amid the thicket fell.
Then onwards fare those were-wolves,
and unto the sea they turn,
And their ravening hearts
are heavy, and sore for the prey they yearn:
And lo, in the last of the
thicket a score of the chaffering men,
And Sinfiotli was wild for
the onset, but Sigmund was wearying then
For the glimmering gold of
his Dwarf-house, and he bade refrain from
the folk,
But wrath burned in the eyes
of Sinfiotli, and forth from the
thicket he broke;
Then rose the axes aloft,
and the swords flashed bright in the sun,
And but little more it needed
that the race of the Volsungs was done,
And the folk of the Gods’
begetting: but at last they quelled the war,
And no man again of the sea-folk
should ever sit by the oar.
Now Sinfiotli fay weary and
faint, but Sigmund howled over the dead,
And wrath in his heart there
gathered, and a dim thought wearied his
head
And his tangled wolfish wit,
that might never understand;
As though some God in his
dreaming had wasted the work of his hand,
And forgotten his craft of
creation; then his wrath swelled up amain
And he turned and fell on
Sinfiotli, who had wrought the wrack and
the bane
And across the throat he tore
him as his very mortal foe
Till a cold dead corpse by
the sea-strand his fosterling lay alow:
Then wearier yet grew Sigmund,
and the dim wit seemed to pass
From his heart grown cold
and feeble; when lo, amid the grass
There came two weazles bickering,
and one bit his mate by the head,
Till she lay there dead before
Then swiftly rose up Sigmund
from where his fosterling lay,
And a long while searched
the thicket, till that three-leaved herb
he found,
And he laid it on Sinfiotli,
who rose up hale and sound
As ever he was in his life-days.
But now in hate they had
That hapless work of the witch-folk,
and the skins that their bodies
clad.
So they turn their faces homeward
and a weary way they go,
Till they come to the hidden
river, and the glimmering house they know.
There now they abide in peace,
and wend abroad no more
Till the last of the nine
days perished, and the spell for a space
was o’er,
And they might cast their
wolf-shapes: so they stood on their feet
upright
Great men again as aforetime,
and they came forth into the light
And looked in each other’s
faces, and belike a change was there
Since they did on the bodies
of wolves, and lay in the wood-wolves’
lair,
And they looked, and sore
they wondered, and they both for speech
did yearn.
First then spake out Sinfiotli:
“Sure I had a craft to learn,
And thou hadst a lesson to
teach, that I left the dwelling of kings,
And came to the wood-wolves’
dwelling; thou hast taught me many things
But the Gods have taught me
more, and at last have abased us both,
That of nought that lieth
before us our hearts and our hands may be
loth.
Come then, how long shall
I tarry till I fashion something great?
Come, Master, and make me
a master that I do the deeds of fate.”
Heavy was Sigmund’s visage
but fierce did his eyen glow,
“This is the deed of thy mastery;—we
twain shall slay my foe—
And how if the foe were thy father?”—
Then he telleth
him Siggeir’s tale:
And saith: “Now think upon it; how
shall thine heart avail
To bear the curse that cometh if thy life endureth
long—
The man that slew his father and amended wrong
with wrong?
Yet if the Gods have made thee a man unlike all
men,
(For thou startest not, nor palest), can I forbear
it then,
To use the thing they have fashioned lest the
Volsung seed should die
And unavenged King Volsung in his mound by the
sea-strand lie?”
Then loud laughed out Sinfiotli, and he said: “I wot indeed
That Signy is my mother, and her will I help at need:
Is the fox of the King-folk my father, that adder of the brake,
Who gave me never a blessing, and many a cursing spake?
Yea, have I in sooth a father, save him that cherished my life,
The Lord of the Helm of Terror, the King of the Flame of Strife?
Lo now my hand is ready to strike what stroke thou wilt,
For I am the sword of the Gods: and thine hand shall hold the hilt.”
Fierce glowed the eyes of
King Sigmund, for he knew the time was come
When the curse King Siggeir
fashioned at last shall seek him home:
And of what shall follow after,
be it evil days, or bliss,
Or praise, or the cursing
of all men,—the Gods shall see to this.
Of the slaying of Siggeir the Goth-king.
So there are those kings abiding,
and they think of nought but the day
When the time at last shall
serve them, to wend on the perilous way.
And so in the first of winter,
when nights grow long and mirk,
They fare unto Siggeir’s
dwelling and seek wherein to lurk.
And by hap ’twas the
tide of twilight, ere the watch of the night
was set
And the watch of the day was
departed, as Sinfiotli minded yet
So now by a passage he wotted
they gat them into the bower
Where lay the biggest wine-tuns,
and there they abode the hour:
Anigh to the hall it was,
but no man came thereto,
But now and again the cup-lord
when King Siggeir’s wine he drew:
Yea and so nigh to the feast-hall,
that they saw the torches shine
When the cup-lord was departed
with King Siggeir’s dear-bought wine,
And they heard the glee of
the people, and the horns and the
beakers’
din,
When the feast was dight in
the hall and the earls were merry therein.
Calm was the face of Sigmund,
and clear were his eyes and bright;
But Sinfiotli gnawed on his
shield-rim, and his face was haggard and
white:
For he deemed the time full
long, ere the fallow blades should leap
In the hush of the midnight
feast-hall o’er King Siggeir’s golden
sleep.
Now it fell that two little
children, Queen Signy’s youngest-born,
Were about the hall that even,
and amid the glee of the horn
They played with a golden
toy, and trundled it here and there,
And thus to that lurking-bower
they drew exceeding near,
When there fell a ring from
their toy, and swiftly rolled away
And into the place of the
wine-tuns, and by Sigmund’s feet made stay;
Then the little ones followed
after, and came to the lurking-place
Where lay those night-abiders,
and met them face to face,
And fled, ere they might hold
them, aback to the thronging hall.
Then leapt those twain to
their feet lest the sword and the murder fall
On their hearts in their narrow
lair and they die without a stroke;
But e’en as they met
the torch-light and the din and tumult of folk,
Lo there on the very threshold
did Signy the Volsung stand,
And one of her last-born children
she had on either hand;
For the children had cried:
“We have seen them—those two among
the
wine,
And their hats are wide and
white, and their garments tinkle and
shine.”
So while men ran to their
weapons, those children Signy took,
And went to meet her kinsmen:
then once more did Sigmund look
On the face of his father’s
daughter, and kind of heart he grew,
As the clash of the coming
battle anigh the doomed men drew:
But wan and fell was Signy;
and she cried:
“The
end is near!
—And thou with
the smile on thy face and the joyful eyes and clear!
But with these thy two betrayers
first stain the edge of fight,
For why should the fruit of
my body outlive my soul tonight?”
But he cried in the front
of the spear-hedge; “Nay this shall be far
from me
To slay thy children sackless,
though my death belike they be.
Now men will be dealing, sister,
and old the night is grown,
And fair in the house of my
fathers the benches are bestrown.”
So she stood aside and gazed:
but Sinfiotli taketh them up
And breaketh each tender body
as a drunkard breaketh a cup;
With a dreadful voice he crieth,
and casteth them down the hall,
And the Goth-folk sunder before
them, and at Siggeir’s feet they fall.
But the fallow blades leapt
naked, and on the battle came,
As the tide of the winter
ocean sweeps up to the beaconing flame.
But firm in the midst of onset
Sigmund the Volsung stood,
And stirred no more for the
sword-strokes than the oldest oak of the
wood
Shall shake to the herd-boys’
whittles: white danced his war-flame’s
gleam,
And oft to men’s beholding
his eyes of God would beam
Clear from the sword-blades’
tangle, and often for a space
Amazed the garth of murder
stared deedless on his face;
Nor back nor forward moved
he: but fierce Sinfiotli went
Where the spears were set
the thickest, and sword with sword was blent;
And great was the death before
him, till he slipped in the blood and
fell:
Then the shield-garth compassed
Sigmund, and short is the tale to tell;
For they bore him down unwounded,
and bonds about him cast:
Nor sore hurt is Sinfiotli,
but is hoppled strait and fast.
Then the Goth-folk went to
slumber when the hall was washed from blood:
But a long while wakened Siggeir,
for fell and fierce was his mood,
And all the days of his kingship
seemed nothing worth as then
While fared the son of Volsung
as well as the worst of men,
While yet that son of Signy
lay untormented there:
Yea the past days of his kingship
seemed blossomless and bare
Since all their might had
failed him to quench the Volsung kin.
So when the first grey dawning
a new day did begin,
King Siggeir bade his bondsmen
to dight an earthen mound
Anigh to the house of the
Goth-kings amid the fruit-grown ground:
And that house of death was
twofold, for ’twas sundered by a stone
Into two woeful chambers:
alone and not alone
Those vanquished thralls of
battle therein should bide their hour,
That each might hear the tidings
of the other’s baleful bower,
Yet have no might to help
him. So now the twain they brought
And weary-dull was Sinfiotli,
with eyes that looked at nought.
But Sigmund fresh and clear-eyed
went to the deadly hall,
And the song arose within
him as he sat within its wall;
Nor aught durst Siggeir mock
him, as he had good will to do,
But went his ways when the
bondmen brought the roofing turfs thereto.
And that was at eve of the
day; and lo now, Signy the white
Wan-faced and eager-eyed stole
through the beginning of night
To the place where the builders
built, and the thralls with
lingering hands
Had roofed in the grave of
Sigmund and hidden the glory of lands,
But over the head of Sinfiotli
for a space were the rafters bare.
Gold then to the thralls she
gave, and promised them days full fair
If they held their peace for
ever of the deed that then she did:
And nothing they gainsayed
it; so she drew forth something hid,
In wrappings of wheat-straw
winded, and into Sinfiotli’s place
She cast it all down swiftly;
then she covereth up her face
And beneath the winter starlight
she wended swift away.
But her gift do the thralls
deem victual, and the thatch on the hall
they lay,
And depart, they too, to their
slumber, now dight was the dwelling
of death.
Then Sigmund hears Sinfiotli,
how he cries through the stone and saith:
“Best unto babe is mother,
well sayeth the elder’s saw;
Here hath Signy sent me swine’s-flesh
in windings of wheaten straw.”
And again he held him silent
of bitter words or of sweet;
And quoth Sigmund, “What
hath betided? is an adder in the meat?”
Then loud his fosterling laughed:
“Yea, a worm of bitter tooth,
The serpent of the Branstock,
the sword of thy days of youth!
I have felt the hilts aforetime;
I have felt how the letters run
On each side of the trench
of blood and the point of that glorious one.
O mother, O mother of kings!
we shall live and our days shall be sweet!
I have loved thee well aforetime,
I shall love thee more when we meet.”
Then Sigmund heard the sword-point
smite on the stone wall’s side,
And slowly mid the darkness
therethrough he heard it gride
As against it bore Sinfiotli:
but he cried out at the last:
“It biteth, O my fosterer!
It cleaves the earth-bone fast!
Now learn we the craft of
the masons that another day may come
When we build a house for
King Siggeir, a strait unlovely home.”
Then in the grave-mound’s
darkness did Sigmund the king upstand;
And unto that saw of battle
he set his naked hand;
And hard the gift of Odin
home to their breasts they drew;
Sawed Sigmund, sawed Sinfiotli,
till the stone was cleft atwo,
And they met and kissed together:
then they hewed and heaved full hard
Till lo, through the bursten
rafters the winter heavens bestarred!
And they leap out merry-hearted;
nor is there need to say
A many words between them
of whither was the way.
For they took the night-watch
sleeping, and slew them one and all
And then on the winter fagots
they made them haste to fall,
They pile the oak-trees cloven,
and when the oak-beams fail
They bear the ash and the
rowan, and build a mighty bale
About the dwelling of Siggeir,
and lay the torch therein.
Then they drew their swords
and watched it till the flames began to win
Hard on to the mid-hall’s
rafters, and those feasters of the folk,
As the fire-flakes fell among
them, to their last of days awoke.
By the gable-door stood Sigmund,
and fierce Sinfiotli stood
Red-lit by the door of the
women in the lane of blazing wood:
To death each doorway opened,
and death was in the hall.
Then amid the gathered Goth-folk
’gan Siggeir the king to call:
“Who lit the fire I
burn in, and what shall buy me peace?
Will ye take my heaped-up
treasure, or ten years of my fields’
increase,
Or half of my father’s
kingdom? O toilers at the oar,
O wasters of the sea-plain,
now labour ye no more!
But take the gifts I bid you,
and lie upon the gold,
And clothe your limbs in purple
and the silken women hold!”
But a great voice cried o’er
the fire: “Nay, no such men are we,
No tuggers at the hawser,
no wasters of the sea:
We will have the gold and
the purple when we list such things to win
But now we think on our fathers,
and avenging of our kin.
Not all King Siggeir’s
kingdom, and not all the world’s increase
For ever and for ever, shall
buy thee life and peace.
For now is the tree-bough
blossomed that sprang from murder’s seed;
And the death-doomed and the
buried are they that do the deed;
Now when the dead shall ask
thee by whom thy days were done,
Thou shalt say by Sigmund
the Volsung, and Sinfiotli, Signy’s son.”
Then stark fear fell on the
earl-folk, and silent they abide
Amid the flaming penfold;
and again the great voice cried,
As the Goth-king’s golden
pillars grew red amidst the blaze:
“Ye women of the Goth-folk,
come forth upon your ways;
And thou, Signy, O my sister,
come forth from death and hell,
That beneath the boughs of
the Branstock once more we twain may dwell.”
Forth came the white-faced
women and passed Sinfiotli’s sword,
Free by the glaive of Odin
the trembling pale ones poured,
But amid their hurrying terror
came never Signy’s feet;
And the pearls of the throne
of Siggeir shrunk in the fervent heat.
Then the men of war surged
outward to the twofold doors of bane,
But there played the sword
of Sigmund amidst the fiery lane
Before the gable door-way,
and by the woman’s door
Sinfiotli sang to the sword-edge
amid the bale-fire’s roar,
And back again to the burning
the earls of the Goth-folk shrank:
And the light low licked the
tables, and the wine of Siggeir drank.
Lo now to the woman’s
doorway, the steel-watched bower of flame,
Clad in her queenly raiment
King Volsung’s daughter came
Before Sinfiotli’s sword-point;
and she said: “O mightiest son,
Best now is our departing
in the day my grief hath won,
And the many days of toiling,
and the travail of my womb,
And the hate, and the fire
of longing: thou, son, and this day of
the doom
Have long been as one to my
heart; and now shall I leave you both,
And well ye may wot of the
slumber my heart is nothing loth;
And all the more, as, meseemeth,
thy day shall not be long
To weary thee with labour
and mingle wrong with wrong.
Yea, and I wot that the daylight
thine eyes had never seen
Save for a great king’s
murder and the shame of a mighty queen.
But let thy soul, I charge
thee, o’er all these things prevail
To make thy short day glorious
and leave a goodly tale.”
She kissed him and departed,
and unto Sigmund went
As now against the dawning
grey grew the winter bent:
As the night and the morning
mingled he saw her face once more,
And he deemed it fair and
ruddy as in the days of yore;
Yet fast the tears fell from
her, and the sobs upheaved her breast:
And she said: “My
youth was happy; but this hour belike is best
Of all the days of my life-tide,
that soon shall have an end.
I have come to greet thee,
Sigmund, then back again must I wend,
For his bed the Goth-king
dighteth: I have lain therein, time was,
And loathed the sleep I won
there: but lo, how all things pass,
And hearts are changed and
softened, for lovely now it seems.
Yet fear not my forgetting:
I shall see thee in my dreams
A mighty king of the world
And indeed as the word she
uttereth, high up the red flames flare
To the nether floor of the
heavens: and yet men see them there,
The golden roofs of Siggeir,
the hall of the silver door
That the Goths and the Gods
had builded to last for evermore.
She said: “Farewell,
my brother, for the earls my candles light,
And I must wend me bedward
lest I lose the flower of night.”
And soft and sweet she kissed
him, ere she turned about again,
And a little while was Signy
beheld of the eyes of men;
And as she crossed the threshold
day brightened at her back,
Nor once did she turn her
earthward from the reek and the whirling
wrack,
But fair in the fashion of
Queens passed on to the heart of the hall.
And then King Siggeir’s
roof-tree upheaved for its utmost fall,
And its huge walls clashed
together, and its mean and lowly things
The fire of death confounded
with the tokens of the kings.
A sign for many people on
the land of the Goths it lay,
A lamp of the earth none needed,
for the bright sun brought the day.
How Sigmund cometh to the
Land of the Volsungs again, and of the
death of Sinfiotli his Son.
Now Sigmund the king bestirs
him, and Sinfiotli, Sigmund’s son,
And they gather a host together,
and many a mighty one;
Then they set the ships in
the sea-flood and sail from the
stranger’s
shore,
And the beaks of the golden
dragons see the Volsungs’ land once more:
And men’s hearts are
fulfilled of joyance; and they cry, The sun
shines now
With never a curse to hide
it, and they shall reap that sow!
Then for many a day sits Sigmund
’neath the boughs of the Branstock
green,
With his earls and lords about
him as the Volsung wont hath been.
And oft he thinketh on Signy
and oft he nameth her name,
And tells how she spent her
joyance and her lifedays and her fame
That the Volsung kin might
blossom and bear the fruit of worth
For the hope of unborn people
and the harvest of the earth.
And again he thinks of the
word that he spake that other day,
How he should abide there
lonely when his kin was passed away,
Their glory and sole avenger,
their after-summer seed.
And now for their fame’s
advancement, and the latter days to speed,
He weddeth a wife of the King-folk;
Borghild she had to name;
And the woman was fair and
lovely and bore him sons of fame;
Men call them Hamond and Helgi,
and when Helgi first saw light,
There came the Norns to his
cradle and gave him life full bright,
And called him Sunlit Hill,
Sharp Sword, and Land of Rings,
And bade him be lovely and
great, and a joy in the tale of kings.
And he waxed up fair and mighty,
and no worser than their word,
And sweet are the tales of
his life-days, and the wonders of his sword,
And the Maid of the Shield
that he wedded, and how he changed his life,
And of marvels wrought in
the gravemound where he rested from the
strife.
But the tale of Sinfiotli
telleth, that wide in the world he went,
And many a wall of ravens
the edge of his warflame rent;
And oft he drave the war-prey
and wasted many a land:
Amidst King Hunding’s
battle he strengthened Helgi’s hand;
And he went before the banners
amidst the steel-grown wood,
When the sons of Hunding gathered
and Helgi’s hope withstood:
Nor less he mowed the war-swathe
in Helgi’s glorious day
When the kings of the hosts
at the Wolf-crag set the battle in array.
Then at home by his father’s
high-seat he wore the winter through;
And the marvel of all men
he was for the deeds whereof they knew,
And the deeds whereof none
wotted, and the deeds to follow after.
And yet but a little while
he loved the song and the laughter,
And the wine that was drunk
in peace, and the swordless lying down,
And the deedless day’s
uprising and the ungirt golden gown.
And he thought of the word
of his mother, that his day should not be
long
To weary his soul with labour
or mingle wrong with wrong;
And his heart was exceeding
hungry o’er all men to prevail,
And make his short day glorious
and leave a goodly tale.
So when green leaves were
lengthening and the spring was come again
He set his ships in the sea-flood
and sailed across the main;
And the brother of Queen Borghild
was his fellow in the war,
A king of hosts hight Gudrod;
and each to each they swore,
And plighted troth for the
helping, and the parting of the prey.
Now a long way over the sea-flood
they went ashore on a day
And fought with a mighty folk-king, and overcame
at last:
Then wide about his kingdom the net of steel they
cast,
And the prey was great and goodly that they drave
unto the strand.
But a greedy heart is Gudrod, and a king of griping
hand,
Though nought he blench from the battle; so he
speaks on a morning
fair,
And saith:
“Upon the foreshore the booty
will we share
If thou wilt help me, fellow, before we sail our
ways.”
Sinfiotli laughed, and answered:
“O’ershort methinks the days
That two kings of war should chaffer like merchants
of the men:
I will come again in the even and look on thy
dealings then,
And take the share thou givest.”
Then he went his
ways withal,
And drank day-long in his warship as in his father’s
hall;
And came again in the even: now hath Gudrod
shared the spoil,
And throughout that day of summer not light had
been his toil:
Forsooth his heap was the lesser; but Sinfiotli
looked thereon,
And saw that a goodly getting had Borghild’s
brother won.
Clean-limbed and stark were the horses, and the
neat were fat and
sleek,
And the men-thralls young and stalwart, and the
women young and meek;
Fair-gilt was the harness of battle, and the raiment
fresh and bright,
And the household stuff new-fashioned for lords’
and earls’ delight.
On his own then looked Sinfiotli, and great it
was forsooth,
But half-foundered were the horses, and a sight
for all men’s ruth
Were the thin-ribbed hungry cow-kind; and the
thralls both carle and
quean
Were the wilful, the weak, and the witless, and
the old and the
ill-beseen;
Spoilt was the harness and house-gear, and the
raiment rags of cloth.
Now Sinfiotli’s men
beheld it and grew exceeding wroth,
But Sinfiotli laughed and
answered: “The day’s work hath been
meet:
Thou hast done well, war-brother,
to sift the chaff from the wheat
Nought have kings’ sons
to meddle with the refuse of the earth,
Nor shall warriors burden
their long-ships with things of nothing
worth.”
Then he cried across the sea-strand
in a voice exceeding great:
“Depart, ye thralls
of the battle; ye have nought to do to wait!
Old, young, and good, and
evil, depart and share the spoil,
That burden of the battle,
that spring and seed of toil.
—But thou king
of the greedy heart, thou king of the thievish grip,
What now wilt thou bear to
the sea-strand and set within my ship
To buy thy life from the slaying?
Unmeet for kings to hear
Of a king the breaker of troth,
of a king the stealer of gear.”
Then mad-wroth waxed King
Gudrod, and he cried: “Stand up, my men!
And slay this wood-abider
lest he slay his brothers again!”
But no sword leapt from its
sheath, and his men shrank back in dread;
Then Sinfiotli’s brow
grew smoother, and at last he spake and said:
“Indeed thou art very
brother of my father Sigmund’s wife:
Wilt thou do so much for thine
honour, wilt thou do so much for thy
life,
As to bide my sword on the
island in the pale of the hazel wands?
For I know thee no battle-blencher,
but a valiant man of thine hands.”
Now nought King Gudrod gainsayeth,
and men dight the hazelled field,
And there on the morrow morning
they clash the sword and shield,
And the fallow blades are
leaping: short is the tale to tell,
For with the third stroke
stricken to field King Gudrod fell.
So there in the holm they
lay him; and plenteous store of gold
Sinfiotli lays beside him
amid that hall of mould;
“For he gripped,”
saith the son of Sigmund, “and gathered for such
a day.”
Then Sinfiotli and his fellows
o’er the sea-flood sail away,
And come to the land of the
Volsungs: but Borghild heareth the tale,
And into the hall she cometh
with eager face and pale
As the kings were feasting
together, and glad was Sigmund grown
Of the words of Sinfiotli’s
battle, and the tale of his great renown:
And there sat the sons of
Borghild, and they hearkened and were glad
Of their brother born in the
wild-wood, and the crown of fame he had.
So she stood before King Sigmund,
and spread her hands abroad:
“I charge thee now,
King Sigmund, as thou art the Volsungs’ lord,
To tell me of my brother,
why cometh he not from the sea?”
Quoth Sinfiotli: “Well
thou wottest and the tale hath come to thee:
The white swords met in the
island; bright there did the war-shields
shine,
And there thy brother abideth,
for his hand was worser than mine.”
But she heeded him never a
whit, but cried on Sigmund and said:
“I charge thee now,
King Sigmund, as thou art the lord of my bed,
To drive this wolf of the
King-folk from out thy guarded land;
Lest all we of thine house
and kindred should fall beneath his hand.”
Then spake King Sigmund the
Volsung: “When thou hast heard the tale,
Thou shalt know that somewhat
thy brother of his oath to my son did
fail;
Nor fell the man all sackless:
nor yet need Sigmund’s son
For any slain in sword-field
to any soul atone.
Yet for the love I bear thee,
and because thy love I know,
And because the man was mighty,
and far afield would go,
I will lay down a mighty weregild,
a heap of the ruddy gold.”
But no word answered Borghild,
for her heart was grim and cold;
And she went from the hall
of the feasting, and lay in her bower
a while;
Nor speech she took, nor gave
it, but brooded deadly guile.
And now again on the morrow
to Sigmund the king she went,
And she saith that her wrath
hath failed her, and that well is she
content
To take the king’s atonement;
and she kissed him soft and sweet,
And she kissed Sinfiotli his
son, and sat down in the golden seat
All merry and glad by seeming,
and blithe to most and least.
And again she biddeth King
Sigmund that he hold a funeral feast
For her brother slain on the
island; and nought he gainsayeth her will.
And so on an eve of the autumn
do men the beakers fill,
And the earls are gathered
together ’neath the boughs of the
Branstock green;
There gold-clad mid the feasting
went Borghild, Sigmund’s Queen,
And she poured the wine for
Sinfiotli, and smiled in his face and said:
“Drink now of this cup
from mine hand, and bury we hate that is dead.”
So he took the cup from her
fingers, nor drank but pondered long
O’er the gathering days
of his labour, and the intermingled wrong.
Now he sat by the side of
his father; and Sigmund spake a word:
“O son, why sittest
thou silent mid the glee of earl and lord?”
“I look in the cup,” quoth Sinfiotli, “and hate therein I see.”
“Well looked it is,”
said Sigmund; “give thou the cup to me,”
And he drained it dry to the
bottom; for ye mind how it was writ
That this king might drink
of venom, and have no hurt of it.
But the song sprang up in
the hall, and merry was Sigmund’s heart,
And he drank of the wine of
King-folk and thrust all care apart.
Then the second time came
Borghild and stood before the twain,
And she said: “O
valiant step-son, how oft shall I say it in vain,
That my hate for thee hath
perished, and the love hath sprouted green?
Wilt thou thrust my gift away,
and shame the hand of a queen?”
So he took the cup from her
fingers, and pondered over it long,
And thought on the labour
that should be, and the wrong that
amendeth wrong.
Then spake Sigmund the King:
“O son, what aileth thine heart,
When the earls of men are
merry, and thrust all care apart?”
But he said: “I have looked in the cup, and I see the deadly snare.”
“Well seen it is,”
quoth Sigmund, “but thy burden I may bear.”
And he took the beaker and drained it, and the
song rose up in the
hall;
And fair bethought King Sigmund his latter days
befall.
But again came Borghild the Queen
and stood with the cup in her hand,
And said: “They are idle liars, those
singers of every land
Who sing how thou fearest nothing; for thou losest
valour and might,
And art fain to live for ever.”
Then she stretched
forth her fingers white,
And he took the cup from her hand, nor drank,
but pondered long
Of the toil that begetteth toil, and the wrong
that beareth wrong.
But Sigmund turned him about, and
he said: “What aileth thee, son?
Shall our life-days never be merry, and our labour
never be done?”
But Sinfiotli said: “I have looked, and lo there is death in the cup.”
And the song, and the tinkling
of harp-strings to the roof-tree
winded up:
And Sigmund was dreamy with wine and the wearing
of many a year;
And the noise and the glee of the people as the
sound of the wild
woods were,
He drank as he spake the word,
and forthwith the venom ran
In a chill flood over his
heart, and down fell the mighty man
With never an uttered death-word
and never a death-changed look,
And the floor of the hall
of the Volsungs beneath his falling shook.
Then up rose the elder of
days with a great and bitter cry
And lifted the head of the
fallen, and none durst come anigh
To hearken the words of his
sorrow, if any words he said,
But such as the Father of
all men might speak over Baldur dead.
And again, as before the death-stroke,
waxed the hall of the
Volsungs dim,
And once more he seemed in
the forest, where he spake with nought
but him.
Then he lifted him up from
the hall-floor and bore him on his breast,
And men who saw Sinfiotli
deemed his heart had gotten rest,
And his eyes were no more
dreadful. Forth fared the Volsung child
With Signy’s son through
the doorway; and the wind was great and wild,
And the moon rode high in
the heavens, and whiles it shone out bright,
And whiles the clouds drew
over. So went he through the night,
Until the dwellings of man-folk
were a long while left behind.
Then came he unto the thicket
and the houses of the wind,
And the feet of the hoary
mountains, and the dwellings of the deer,
And the heaths without a shepherd,
and the houseless dales and drear.
Then lo, a mighty water, a
rushing flood and wide,
And no ferry for the shipless;
so he went along its side,
As a man that seeketh somewhat:
but it widened toward the sea,
And the moon sank down in
the west, and he went o’er a desert lea.
But lo, in that dusk ere the
dawning a glimmering over the flood,
And the sound of the cleaving
of waters, and Sigmund the Volsung stood
By the edge of the swirling
eddy, and a white-sailed boat he saw,
And its keel ran light on
the strand with the last of the dying flaw.
But therein was a man most
mighty, grey-clad like the mountain-cloud,
One-eyed and seeming ancient,
and he spake and hailed him aloud:
“Now whither away, King Sigmund, for thou farest far to-night?”
Spake the King: “I
would cross this water, for my life hath lost its
light,
And mayhap there be deeds
for a king to be found on the further shore.”
“My senders,”
quoth the shipman, “bade me waft a great king
o’er,
So set thy burden a shipboard,
for the night’s face looks toward day.”
So betwixt the earth and the
water his son did Sigmund lay;
But lo, when he fain would
follow, there was neither ship nor man,
Nor aught but his empty bosom
beside that water wan,
That whitened by little and
little as the night’s face looked to the
day.
So he stood a long while gazing
and then turned and gat him away;
And ere the sun of the noon-tide
across the meadows shone
Sigmund the King of the Volsungs
was set in his father’s throne,
And he hearkened and doomed
and portioned, and did all the deeds of
a king.
So the autumn waned and perished,
and the winter brought the spring.
Of the last battle of King Sigmund, and the death of him.
Now is Queen Borghild driven
from the Volsung’s bed and board,
And unwedded sitteth Sigmund
an exceeding mighty lord,
And fareth oft to the war-field,
and addeth fame to fame:
And where’er are the
great ones told of his sons shall the people name;
But short was their day of
harvest and their reaping of renown,
And while men stood by to
marvel they gained their latest crown.
So Sigmund alone abideth of
all the Volsung seed,
And the folk that the Gods
had fashioned lest the earth should lack
a deed
And he said: “The
tree was stalwart, but its boughs are old and worn.
Where now are the children
departed, that amidst my life were born?
I know not the men about me,
and they know not of my ways:
I am nought but a picture
of battle, and a song for the people to
praise.
I must strive with the deeds
of my kingship, and yet when mine hour
is come
It shall meet me as glad as
the goodman when he bringeth the last
load home.”
Now there was a king of the
Islands, whom the tale doth Eylimi call,
And saith he was wise and
valiant, though his kingdom were but small:
He had one only daughter that
Hiordis had to name,
A woman wise and shapely beyond
the praise of fame.
And now saith the son of King
Volsung that his time is short enow
To labour the Volsung garden,
and the hand must be set to the plough:
So he sendeth an earl of the
people to King Eylimi’s high-built hall,
Bearing the gifts and the
tokens, and this word in his mouth withal:
“King Sigmund the son
of Volsung hath sent me here with a word
That plenteous good of thy
daughter among all folk he hath heard,
And he wooeth that wisest
of women that she may sit on his throne,
And lie in the bed of the
Volsungs, and be his wife alone.
And he saith that he thinketh
surely she shall bear the kings of the
earth,
And maybe the best and the
greatest of all who are deemed of worth.
Now hereof would he have an
answer within a half-month’s space,
And these gifts meanwhile
he giveth for the increase of thy grace.”
So King Eylimi hearkened the
message, and hath no word to say,
For an earl of King Lyngi
the mighty is come that very day,
He too for the wooing of Hiordis:
and Lyngi’s realm is at hand,
But afar King Sigmund abideth
o’er many a sea and land:
And the man is young and eager,
and grim and guileful of mood.
At last he sayeth: “Abide
here such space as thou deemest good,
But tomorn shalt thou have thine answer that thine
heart may the
lighter be
For the hearkening of harp and songcraft, and
the dealing with game
and glee.”
Then he went to Queen Hiordis bower, where she
worked in the silk
and the gold
The deeds of the world that should be, and the
deeds that were of old.
And he stood before her and said:
“I have
spoken a word, time was,
That thy will should rule thy wedding; and now
hath it come to pass
That again two kings of the people will woo thy
body to bed.”
So she rose to her feet and hearkened: “And
which be they?” she said.
He spake: “The first is Lyngi, a valiant man and a fair,
A neighbour ill for thy father, if a foe’s name he must bear:
And the next is King Sigmund the Volsung of a land far over sea,
And well thou knowest his kindred, and his might and his valiancy,
And the tales of his heart of a God; and though old he be waxen now,
Yet men deem that the wide world’s blossom from Sigmund’s loins
shall grow.”
Said Hiordis: “I
wot, my father, that hereof may strife arise;
Yet soon spoken is mine answer;
for I, who am called the wise,
Shall I thrust by the praise
of the people, and the tale that no
ending hath,
And the love and the heart
of the godlike, and the
heavenward-leading
path,
For the rose and the stem
of the lily, and the smooth-lipped
youngling’s
kiss,
And the eyes’ desire
that passeth, and the frail unstable bliss?
Now shalt thou tell King Sigmund,
that I deem it the crown of my life
To dwell in the house of his
fathers amidst all peace and strife,
And to bear the sons of his
body: and indeed full well I know
That fair from the loins of
Sigmund shall such a stem outgrow
That all folk of the earth
shall be praising the womb where once he lay
And the paps that his lips
have cherished, and shall bless my happy
day.”
Now the king’s heart
sore misgave him, but herewith must he be content,
And great gifts to the earl
of Lyngi and a word withal he sent,
That the woman’s troth
was plighted to another people’s king.
But King Sigmund’s earl
on the morrow hath joyful yea-saying,
And ere two moons be perished
he shall fetch his bride away.
“And bid him,”
King Eylimi sayeth, “to come with no small array,
But with sword and shield
and war-shaft, lest aught of ill betide.”
So forth goes the earl of
Sigmund across the sea-flood wide,
And comes to the land of the
Volsungs, and meeteth Sigmund the king,
And tells how he sped on his
errand, and the joyful yea-saying.
So King Sigmund maketh him
ready, and they ride adown to the sea
All glorious of gear and raiment,
and a goodly company.
Yet hath Sigmund thought of
his father, and the deed he wrought before,
And hath scorn to gather his
people and all his hosts of war
To wend to the feast and the
wedding: yet are their long-ships ten,
And the shielded folk aboard
them are the mightiest men of men.
So Sigmund goeth a shipboard,
and they hoist their sails to the wind,
And the beaks of the golden
dragons leave the Volsungs’ land behind.
Then come they to Eylimi’s
kingdom, and good welcome have they there,
And when Sigmund looked on
Hiordis, he deemed her wise and fair.
But her heart was exceeding
fain when she saw the glorious king,
And it told her of times that
should be full many a noble thing.
So there is Sigmund wedded
at a great and goodly feast,
And day by day on Hiordis
the joy of her heart increased;
And her father joyed in Sigmund
and his might and majesty,
And dead in the heart of the
Isle-king his ancient fear did lie.
Yet, forsooth, had men looked
seaward, they had seen the gathering
cloud,
And the little wind arising,
that should one day pipe so loud.
For well may ye wot indeed
that King Lyngi the Mighty is wroth,
When he getteth the gifts
and the answer, and that tale of the
woman’s
troth:
And he saith he will have
the gifts and the woman herself withal,
Either for loving or hating,
and that both those heads shall fall.
So now when Sigmund and Hiordis
are wedded a month or more,
And the Volsung bids men dight
them to cross the sea-flood o’er,
Lo, how there cometh the tidings
of measureless mighty hosts
Who are gotten ashore from
their long-ships on the skirts of King
Eylimi’s
coasts.
Sore boded the heart of the
Isle-king of what the end should be.
But Sigmund long beheld him,
and he said: “Thou deem’st of me
That my coming hath brought
thee evil; but put aside such things;
For long have I lived, and
I know it, that the lives of mighty kings
Are not cast away, nor drifted
like the down before the wind;
And surely I know, who say
it, that never would Hiordis’ mind
Have been turned to wed King
Lyngi or aught but the Volsung seed
Come, go we forth to the battle,
that shall be the latest deed
Of thee and me meseemeth:
yea, whether thou live or die,
No more shall the brand of
Odin at peace in his scabbard lie.”
And therewith he brake the
peace-strings and drew the blade of bale,
And Death on the point abided,
Fear sat on the edges pale.
So men ride adown to the sea-strand,
and the kings their hosts array
When the high noon flooded
heaven; and the men of the Volsungs lay,
With King Eylimi’s shielded
champions mid Lyngi’s hosts of war,
As the brown pips lie in the
apple when ye cut it through the core.
But now when the kings were
departed, from the King’s house Hiordis
went,
And before men joined the
battle she came to a woody bent,
Where she lay with one of
her maidens the death and the deeds to
behold.
In the noon sun shone King
Sigmund as an image all of gold,
And he stood before the foremost
and the banner of his fame,
And many a thing he remembered,
and he called on each earl by his name
To do well for the house of
the Volsungs, and the ages yet unborn.
Then he tossed up the sword
of the Branstock, and blew on his
father’s
horn,
Dread of so many a battle,
doom-song of so many a man.
Then all the earth seemed
moving as the hosts of Lyngi ran
On the Volsung men and the
Isle-folk like wolves upon the prey;
But sore was their labour
and toil ere the end of their harvesting day.
On went the Volsung banners,
and on went Sigmund before,
And his sword was the flail
of the tiller on the wheat of the
wheat-thrashing
floor,
And his shield was rent from
his arm, and his helm was sheared from
his head:
But who may draw nigh him
to smite for the heap and the rampart of
dead?
White went his hair on the
wind like the ragged drift of the cloud,
And his dust-driven, blood-beaten
harness was the death-storm’s
angry shroud,
When the summer sun is departing
in the first of the night of wrack;
And his sword was the cleaving
lightning, that smites and is hurried
aback
Ere the hand may rise against
it; and his voice was the following
thunder.
Then cold grew the battle
before him, dead-chilled with the fear and
the wonder:
For again in his ancient eyes
the light of victory gleamed;
From his mouth grown tuneful
and sweet the song of his kindred
streamed;
And no more was he worn and
weary, and no more his life seemed spent:
And with all the hope of his
childhood was his wrath of battle blent;
And he thought: A little
further, and the river of strife is passed,
And I shall sit triumphant
the king of the world at last.
But lo, through the hedge
of the war-shafts a mighty man there came,
One-eyed and seeming ancient,
but his visage shone like flame:
Gleaming-grey was his kirtle,
and his hood was cloudy blue;
And he bore a mighty twi-bill,
as he waded the fight-sheaves through,
And stood face to face with
Sigmund, and upheaved the bill to smite.
Once more round the head of
Ill hour for Sigmund’s
fellows! they fall like the seeded hay
Before the brown scythes’
sweeping, and there the Isle-king fell
In the fore-front of his battle,
wherein he wrought right well,
And soon they were nought
but foemen who stand upon their feet
On the isle-strand by the
ocean where the grass and the sea-sand meet.
And now hath the conquering
War-king another deed to do,
And he saith: “Who
now gainsayeth King Lyngi come to woo,
The lord and the overcomer
and the bane of the Volsung kin?”
So he fares to the Isle-king’s
dwelling a wife of the kings to win;
And the host is gathered together,
and they leave the field of the
dead;
And round as a targe of the
Goth-folk the moon ariseth red.
And so when the last is departed,
and she deems they will come not
aback,
Fares Hiordis forth from the
thicket to the field of the fateful wrack,
And half-dead was her heart
for sorrow as she waded the swathes of
the sword.
Not far did she search the
death-field ere she found her king and lord
On the heap that his glaive
had fashioned: not yet was his spirit past,
Though his hurts were many
and grievous, and his life-blood ebbing
fast;
And glad were his eyes and
open as her wan face over him hung,
And he spake:
“Thou
art sick with sorrow, and I would thou wert not so
young;
Yet as my days passed shall
thine pass; and a short while now it seems
Since my hand first gripped
the sword-hilt, and my glory was but in
dreams.”
She said: “Thou livest,
thou livest! the leeches shall heal thee
still.”
“Nay,” said he, “my heart hath hearkened to Odin’s bidding and will;
For today have mine eyes beheld him: nay, he needed not to speak:
Forsooth I knew of his message and the thing he came to seek.
And now do I live but to tell thee of the days that are yet to come:
And perchance to solace thy sorrow; and then will I get me home
To my kin that are gone before me. Lo, yonder where I stood
The shards of a glaive of battle that was once the best of the good:
Take them and keep them surely. I have livedPage 46
no empty days;
The Norns were my nursing mothers; I have won the people’s praise.
When the Gods for one deed asked me I ever gave them twain;
Spendthrift of glory I was, and great was my life-days’ gain;
Now these shards have been my fellow in the work the Gods would have,
But today hath Odin taken the gift that once he gave.
I have wrought for the Volsungs truly, and yet have I known full well
That a better one than I am shall bear the tale to tell:
And for him shall these shards be smithied; and he shall be my son
To remember what I have forgotten and to do what I left undone.
Under thy girdle he lieth, and how shall I say unto thee,
Unto thee, the wise of women, to cherish him heedfully.
Now, wife, put by thy sorrow for the little day we have had;
For in sooth I deem thou weepest: The days have been fair and glad:
And our valour and wisdom have met, and thou knowest they shall not
die:
Sweet and good were the days, nor yet to the Fates did we cry
For a little longer yet, and a little longer to live:
But we took, we twain in our meeting, all gifts that they had to give:
Our wisdom and valour have kissed, and thine eyes shall see the fruit,
And the joy for his days that shall be hath pierced mine heart to
the root.
Grieve not for me; for thou weepest that thou canst not see my face
How its beauty is not departed, nor the hope of mine eyes grown base.
Indeed I am waxen weary; but who heedeth weariness
That hath been day-long on the mountain in the winter weather’s stress,
And now stands in the lighted doorway and seeth the king draw nigh,
And heareth men dighting the banquet, and the bed wherein he shall
lie?”
Then failed the voice of Sigmund;
but so mighty was the man,
That a long while yet he lingered
till the dusky night grew wan,
And she sat and sorrowed o’er
him, but no more a word he spake.
Then a long way over the sea-flood
the day began to break;
And when the sun was arisen
a little he turned his head
Till the low beams bathed
his eyen, and there lay Sigmund dead.
And the sun rose up on the
earth; but where was the Volsung kin
And the folk that the Gods
had begotten the praise of all people
to win?
How King Sigmund the Volsung
was laid in mound on the sea-side of the
Isle-realm.
Now Hiordis looked from the
dead, and her eyes strayed down to the sea,
And a shielded ship she saw,
and a war-dight company,
Who beached the ship for the
landing: so swift she fled away,
And once more to the depth
of the thicket, wherein her handmaid lay:
And she said: “I
have left my lord, and my lord is dead and gone,
And he gave me a charge full
heavy, and here are we twain alone,
And earls from the sea are
landing: give me thy blue attire,
So the other nought gainsaith
it and they shift their raiment there:
But well-spoken was the maiden,
and a woman tall and fair.
Now the lord of those new-coming
men was a king and the son of a king,
King Elf the son of the Helper,
and he sailed from war-faring
And drew anigh to the Isle-realm
and sailed along the strand;
For the shipmen needed water
and fain would go a-land;
And King Elf stood hard by
the tiller while the world was yet a-cold:
Then the red sun lit the dawning,
and they looked, and lo, behold!
The wrack of a mighty battle,
and heaps of the shielded dead,
And a woman alive amidst them,
a queen with crowned head,
And her eyes strayed down
to the sea-strand, and she saw that
weaponed folk,
And turned and fled to the
thicket: then the lord of the shipmen spoke:
“Lo, here shall we lack
for water, for the brooks with blood shall run,
Yet wend we ashore to behold
it and to wot of the deeds late done.”
So they turned their faces
to Sigmund, and waded the swathes of the
sword.
“O, look ye long,”
said the Sea-king, “for here lieth a mighty lord:
And all these are the deeds
of his war-flame, yet hardy hearts, be
sure,
That they once durst look
in his face or the wrath of his eyen endure;
Though his lips be glad and
smiling as a God that dreameth of mirth.
Would God I were one of his
kindred, for none such are left upon earth.
Now fare we into the thicket,
for thereto is the woman fled,
And belike she shall tell
us the story of this field of the mighty
dead.”
So they wend and find the
women, and bespeak them kind and fair:
Then spake the gold-crowned
handmaid: “Of the Isle-king’s house
we
were,
And I am the Queen called
Hiordis; and the man that lies on the field
Was mine own lord Sigmund
the Volsung, the mightiest under shield.”
Then all amazed were the sea-folk
when they hearkened to that word,
And great and heavy tidings
they deem their ears have heard:
But again spake out the Sea-king:
“And this blue-clad one beside,
So pale, and as tall as a
Goddess, and white and lovely eyed?”
“In sooth and in troth,”
said the woman, “my serving-maid is this;
She hath wept long over the
battle, and sore afraid she is.”
Now the king looks hard upon her, but he saith no word thereto,
And down again to the death-field with the women-folk they go.
There they set their hands to the labour, and amidst the deadly mead
They raise a mound for Sigmund, a mighty house indeed;
And therein they set that folk-king, and goodly was his throne,
And dight with gold and scarlet: and the walls of the house were done
With the cloven shields of the foemen, and banners borne to field;
But none might find his war-helm or the splinters of his shield,
And clenched and fast was his right hand, but no sword therein he had:
For Hiordis spake to the shipmen:
“Our lord and master bade
That the shards of his glaive of battle should go with our lady the
Queen:
And by them that lie a-dying a many things are seen.”
So there lies Sigmund the Volsung,
and far away, forlorn
Are the blossomed boughs of the Branstock, and
the house where he
was born.
To what end was wrought that roof-ridge, and the
rings of the silver
door,
And the fair-carved golden high-seat, and the
many-pictured floor
Worn down by the feet of the Volsungs? or the
hangings of delight,
Or the marvel of its harp-strings, or the Dwarf-wrought
beakers bright?
Then the Gods have fashioned a folk who have fashioned
a house in vain;
It is nought, and for nought they battled, and
nought was their joy
and their pain,
Lo, the noble oak of the forest with his feet
in the flowers and grass,
How the winds that bear the summer o’er
its topmost branches pass,
And the wood-deer dwell beneath it, and the fowl
in its fair twigs
sing,
And there it stands in the forest, an exceeding
glorious thing:
Then come the axes of men, and low it lies on
the ground,
And the crane comes out of the southland, and
its nest is nowhere
found,
And bare and shorn of its blossoms is the house
of the deer of the
wood.
But the tree is a golden dragon; and fair it floats
on the flood,
And beareth the kings and the earl-folk, and is
shield-hung all
without:
And it seeth the blaze of the beacons, and heareth
the war-God’s shout.
There are tidings wherever it cometh, and the
tale of its time shall
be told
A dear name it hath got like a king, and a fame
that groweth not old.
Lo, such is the Volsung dwelling;
lo, such is the deed he hath wrought
Who laboured all his life-days,
and had rest but little or nought,
Who died in the broken battle;
who lies with swordless hand
In the realm that the foe
hath conquered on the edge of a
stranger-land.
How Queen Hiordis is known;
and how she abideth in the house of Elf
the son of the Helper.
Now asketh the king of those
women where now in the world they will go,
And Hiordis speaks for the
twain; “This is now but a land of the foe
And our lady and Queen beseecheth
that unto thine house we wend
And that there thou serve
her kingly that her woes may have an end.”
Fain then was the heart of
the folk-king, and he bade aboard
forth-right.
And they hoist the sails to
the wind and sail by day and by night
Till they come to a land of
the people, and a goodly land it is
Where folk may dwell unharried
and win abundant bliss,
The land of King Elf and the
Helper; and there he bids them abide
In his house that is goodly
shapen, and wrought full high and wide:
And he biddeth the Queen be
merry, and set aside her woe,
And he doth by them better
and better, as day on day doth go.
Now there was the mother of
Elf, and a woman wise was she,
And she spake to her son of
a morning: “I have noted them heedfully.
Those women thou broughtst
from the outlands, and fain now would I wot
Why the worser of the women
the goodlier gear hath got.”
He said: “She hath
named her Hiordis, the wife of the mightiest king,
E’en Sigmund the son
of Volsung with whose name the world doth ring.”
Then the old queen laughed
and answered: “Is it not so, my son.
That the handmaid still gave
counsel when aught of deeds was done?”
He said: “Yea,
she spake mostly; and her words were exceeding wise.
And measureless sweet I deem
her, and dear she is to mine eyes.”
But she said: “Do after
my counsel, and win thee a goodly queen:
Speak ye to the twain unwary, and the truth shall
soon be seen,
And again shall they shift their raiment, if I
am aught but a fool.”
He said: “Thou sayst
well, mother, and settest me well to school.”
So he spake on a day to the women, and said to
the gold-clad one:
“How wottest thou in the winter of the coming
of the sun
When yet the world is darkling?”
She said:
“In the days of my youth
I dwelt in the house of my father, and fair was
the tide forsooth,
And ever I woke at the dawning, for folk betimes
must stir,
Be the meadows bright or darksome; and I drank
of the whey-tub there
As much as the heart desired; and now, though
changed be the days,
I wake athirst in the dawning, because of my wonted
ways.”
Then laughed King Elf and answered:
“A fashion strange enow,
That the feet of the fair queen’s-daughter
must forth to follow the
plough,
Be the acres bright or darkling! But thou
with the eyes of grey.
What sign hast thou to tell thee, that the night
wears into day
When the heavens are mirk as the midnight?”
Said she,
“In the days that were
My father gave me this gold-ring ye see on my
finger here.
And a marvel goeth with it: for when night
waxeth old
I feel it on my finger grown most exceeding cold,
And I know day comes through the darkness; and
such is my dawning
sign.”
Then laughed King Elf and
answered: “Thy father’s house was
fine;
There was gold enough meseemeth—But
come now, say the word
And tell me the speech thou
spakest awrong mine ears have heard,
And that thou wert the wife
of Sigmund the wife of the mightiest King.”
No whit she smiled, but answered.
“Indeed thou sayst the thing:
Such a wealth I had in my
storehouse that I feared the Kings of men.”
He said: “Yet for
nought didst thou hide thee; had I known of the
matter then,
As the daughter of my father
had I held thee in good sooth,
For dear to mine eyes wert
thou waxen, and my heart of thy woe was
ruth.
But now shall I deal with
thee better than thy dealings to me have
been:
For my wife I will bid thee
to be, and the people’s very queen.”
She said: “When
the son of King Sigmund is brought forth to the
light of day
And the world a man hath gotten,
thy will shall I nought gainsay.
And I thank thee for thy goodness,
and I know the love of thine heart;
And I see thy goodly kingdom,
thy country set apart,
With the day of peace begirdled
from the change and the battle’s wrack:
’Tis enough, and more
than enough since none prayeth the past aback.”
Then the King is fain and
merry, and he deems his errand sped,
And that night she sits on
the high-seat with the crown on her
shapely head:
And amidst the song and the
joyance, and the sound of the people’s
praise,
She thinks of the days that
have been, and she dreams of the coming
days.
So passeth the summer season,
and the harvest of the year,
And the latter days of the
winter on toward the springtide wear.
REGIN.
NOW THIS IS THE FIRST
BOOK OF THE LIFE AND DEATH OF SIGURD THE
VOLSUNG, AND THEREIN
IS TOLD OF THE BIRTH OF HIM, AND OF HIS
DEALINGS WITH REGIN
THE MASTER OF MASTERS, AND OF HIS DEEDS IN THE
WASTE PLACES OF THE
EARTH.
Of the birth of Sigurd the son of Sigmund.
Peace lay on the land of the
Helper and the house of Elf his son;
There merry men went bedward
when their tide of toil was done,
And glad was the dawn’s
awakening, and the noon-tide fair and glad:
There no great store had the
franklin, and enough the hireling had;
And a child might go unguarded
the length and breadth of the land
With a purse of gold at his
girdle and gold rings on his hand.
’Twas a country of cunning
craftsmen, and many a thing they wrought,
That the lands of storm desired,
and the homes of warfare sought.
But men deemed it o’er-well
warded by more than its stems of fight,
And told how its earth-born
watchers yet lived of plenteous might.
So hidden was that country,
and few men sailed its sea,
And none came o’er its
mountains of men-folk’s company.
But fair-fruited, many-peopled,
it lies a goodly strip,
’Twixt the mountains
cloudy-headed and the sea-flood’s surging lip,
And a perilous flood is its
ocean, and its mountains, who shall tell
What things in their dales
deserted and their wind-swept heaths may
dwell.
Now a man of the Kings, called
Gripir, in this land of peace abode:
The son of the Helper’s
father, though never lay his load
In the womb of the mother
of Kings that the Helper’s brethren bore;
But of Giant kin was his mother,
of the folk that are seen no more;
Though whiles as ye ride some
fell-road across the heath there comes
The voice of their lone lamenting
o’er their changed and conquered
homes.
A long way off from the sea-strand
and beneath the mountains’ feet
Is the high-built hall of
Gripir, where the waste and the tillage meet;
A noble and plentiful house,
that a little men-folk fear.
But beloved of the crag-dwelling
eagles and the kin of the woodland
deer.
A man of few words was Gripir,
but he knew of all deeds that had been,
And times there came upon
him, when the deeds to be were seen:
No sword had he held in his
hand since his father fell to field,
And against the life of the
slayer he bore undinted shield:
Yet no fear in his heart abided,
nor desired he aught at all,
But he noted the deeds that
had been, and looked for what should
befall.
Again, in the house of the
Helper there dwelt a certain man
Beardless and low of stature,
of visage pinched and wan:
So exceeding old was Regin,
that no son of man could tell
In what year of the days passed
over he came to that land to dwell:
But the youth of King Elf
had he fostered, and the Helper’s youth
thereto,
Yea and his father’s
father’s: the lore of all men he knew,
And was deft in every cunning,
save the dealings of the sword:
So sweet was his tongue-speech
fashioned, that men trowed his every
word;
His hand with the harp-strings
blended was the mingler of delight
With the latter days of sorrow;
all tales he told aright;
The Master of the Masters
in the smithying craft was he;
And he dealt with the wind
and the weather and the stilling of the sea;
Nor might any learn him leech-craft,
for before that race was made,
And that man-folk’s
generation, all their life-days had he weighed.
In this land abideth Hiordis
amid all people’s praise
Till cometh the time appointed:
in the fulness of the days
Through the dark and the dusk
she travailed, till at last in the
dawning hour
Have the deeds of the Volsungs
blossomed, and born their latest flower;
In the bed there lieth a man-child,
and his eyes look straight on
the sun,
And lo, the hope of the people,
and the days of a king are begun.
Men say of the serving-women,
when they cried on the joy of the morn,
When they handled the linen
raiment, and washed the king new-born,
When they bore him back unto
Hiordis, and the weary and happy breast,
And bade her be glad to behold
it, how the best was sprung from the
best,
Yet they shrank in their rejoicing
before the eyes of the child,
So bright and dreadful were
they; yea though the spring morn smiled,
And a thousand birds were
singing round the fair familiar home,
And still as on other mornings
they saw folk go and come,
Yet the hour seemed awful
to them, and the hearts within them burned
As though of fateful matters
their souls were newly learned.
But Hiordis looked on the
Volsung, on her grief and her fond desire,
And the hope of her heart
was quickened, and her joy was a living fire;
And she said: “Now
one of the earthly on the eyes of my child hath
gazed
Nor shrunk before their glory,
nor stayed her love amazed:
I behold thee as Sigmund beholdeth,—and
I was the home of thine
heart—
Woe’s me for the day
when thou wert not, and the hour when we shall
part!”
Then she held him a little
season on her weary and happy breast
And she told him of Sigmund
and Volsung and the best sprung forth
from the best:
She spake to the new-born
baby as one who might understand,
And told him of Sigmund’s
battle, and the dead by the sea-flood’s
strand,
And of all the wars passed
over, and the light with darkness blent.
So she spake, and the sun
rose higher, and her speech at last was
spent,
And she gave him back to the
women to bear forth to the people’s kings,
That they too may rejoice
in her glory and her day of happy things.
But there sat the Helper of
Men with King Elf and his Earls in the
hall,
And they spake of the deeds
that had been, and told of the times to
befall,
And they hearkened and heard
sweet voices and the sound of harps
draw nigh,
Till their hearts were exceeding
merry and they knew not wherefore
or why:
Then, lo, in the hall white
raiment, as thither the damsels came,
And amid the hands of the
foremost was the woven gold aflame.
“O daughters of earls,”
said the Helper, “what tidings then do ye bear?
Is it grief in the merry morning,
or joy or wonder or fear?”
Quoth the first: “It
is grief for the foemen that the Masters of
God-home would
grieve.”
Said the next: “’Tis
a wonder of wonders, that the hearkening world
shall believe.”
“A fear of all fears,”
said the third, “for the sword is uplifted on
men.”
“A joy of all joys,”
said the fourth, “once come, and it comes not
again!”
“Lo, son,” said
the ancient Helper, “glad sit the earls and the
lords!
Lookst thou not for a token
of tidings to follow such-like words?”
Saith King Elf: “Great
words of women! or great hath our dwelling
become.”
Said the women: “Words
shall be greater, when all folk shall praise
our home.”
“What then hath betid,”
said King Elf, “do the high Gods stand in
our gate?”
“Nay,” said they,
“else were we silent, and they should be telling
of fate.”
“Is the bidding come,” said the Helper, “that we wend the Gods to see?”
“Many summers and winters,”
they said, “ye shall live on the earth,
it may be.”
Said a young man: “Will ye be telling that all we shall die no more?”
“Nay,” they answered,
“nay, who knoweth but the change may be hard
at the door?”
“Come ships from the
sea,” said an elder, “with all gifts of
the
Eastland gold?”
“Was there less than
enough,” said the women, “when last our
treasure was told?”
“Speak then,”
said the ancient Helper, “let the worst and the
best
be said.”
Quoth they: “’Tis
the Queen of the Isle-folk, she is weary-sick on
her bed.”
Said King Elf: “Yet
ye come rejoicing; what more lieth under the
tongue?”
They said: “The
earth is weary: but the tender blade hath sprung,
That shall wax till beneath
its branches fair bloom the meadows green;
For the Gods and they that
were mighty were glad erewhile with the
Queen.”
Said King Elf: “How
say ye, women? Of a King new-born do ye tell,
By a God of the Heavens begotten
in our fathers’ house to dwell?”
“By a God of the Earth,”
they answered; “but greater yet is the son,
Though long were the days
of Sigmund, and great are the deeds he
hath done.”
Then she with the golden burden
to the kingly high-seat stepped
And away from the new-born
baby the purple cloths she swept,
And cried: “O King
of the people, long mayst thou live in bliss,
As our hearts today are happy!
Queen Hiordis sends thee this,
And she saith that the world
shall call it by the name that thou
shalt name;
Now the gift to thee is given,
and to thee is brought the fame.”
Then e’en as a man astonied
King Elf the Volsung took,
While his feast-hall’s
ancient timbers with the cry of the earl-folk
shook;
For the eyes of the child
gleamed on him till he was as one who sees
The very Gods arising mid
their carven images:
To his ears there came a murmur
of far seas beneath the wind
And the tramp of fierce-eyed
warriors through the outland forest blind;
The sound of hosts of battle,
cries round the hoisted shield,
Low talk of the gathered wise-ones
in the Goth-folk’s holy field:
So the thought in a little
moment through King Elf the mighty ran
Of the years and their building
and burden, and toil of the sons of
man,
The joy of folk and their
sorrow, and the hope of deeds to do:
With the love of many peoples
was the wise king smitten through,
As he hung o’er the
new-born Volsung: but at last he raised his head,
And looked forth kind o’er
his people, and spake aloud and said:
“O Sigmund King of Battle;
O man of many days,
Whom I saw mid the shields
of the fallen and the dead men’s silent
praise,
Lo, how hath the dark tide
perished and the dawn of day begun!
And now, O mighty Sigmund,
wherewith shall we name thy son?”
But there rose up a man most
ancient, and he cried: “Hail Dawn of
the Day!
How many things shalt thou
quicken, how many shalt thou slay!
How many things shalt thou
waken, how many lull to sleep!
How many things shalt thou
scatter, how many gather and keep!
O me, how thy love shall cherish,
how thine hate shall wither and burn!
How the hope shall be sped
from thy right hand, nor the fear to thy
left return!
O thy deeds that men shall
sing of! O thy deeds that the Gods shall
see!
O SIGURD, Son of the Volsungs,
O Victory yet to be!”
Men heard the name and they
knew it, and they caught it up in the air,
And it went abroad by the
windows and the doors of the feast-hall fair,
It went through street and
market; o’er meadow and acre it went,
And over the wind-stirred
forest and the dearth of the sea-beat bent,
And over the sea-flood’s
welter, till the folk of the fishers heard,
And the hearts of the isle-abiders
on the sun-scorched rocks were
stirred.
But the Queen in her golden
chamber, the name she hearkened and knew
And she heard the flock of
the women, as back to the chamber they drew,
And the name of Sigurd entered,
and the body of Sigurd was come,
And it was as if Sigmund were
living and she still in her lovely home;
Of all folk of the world was
she well, and a soul fulfilled of rest
As alone in the chamber she
wakened and Sigurd cherished her breast.
But men feast in the merry
noontide, and glad is the April green
That a Volsung looks on the
sunlight and the night and the darkness
have been.
Earls think of marvellous
stories, and along the golden strings
Flit words of banded brethren
and names of war-fain Kings:
All the days of the deeds
So stilleth the wind in the
even and the sun sinks down in the sea,
And men abide the morrow and
the Victory yet to be.
Sigurd getteth to him the horse that is called Greyfell.
Now waxeth the son of Sigmund
in might and goodliness,
And soft the days win over,
and all men his beauty bless.
But amidst the summer season
was the Isle-queen Hiordis wed
To King Elf the son of the
Helper, and fair their life-days sped.
Peace lay on the land for
ever, and the fields gave good increase,
And there was Sigurd waxing
mid the plenty and the peace.
Now hath the child grown greater,
and is keen and eager of wit
And full of understanding,
and oft hath he joy to sit
Amid talk of weighty matters
when the wise men meet for speech;
And joyous he is moreover
and blithe and kind with each.
But Regin the wise craftsmaster
heedeth the youngling well,
And before the Kings he cometh,
and saith such words to tell.
“I have fostered thy
youth, King Elf, and thine O Helper of men,
And ye wot that such a master
no king shall see again;
And now would I foster Sigurd;
for, though he be none of thy blood,
Mine heart of his days that
shall be speaketh abundant good.”
Then spake the Helper of men-folk:
“Yea, do herein thy will:
For thou art the Master of
Masters, and hast learned me all my skill:
But think how bright is this
youngling, and thy guile from him
withhold;
For this craft of thine hath
shown me that thy heart is grim and cold,
Though three men’s lives
thrice over thy wisdom might not learn;
And I love this son of Sigmund,
and mine heart to him doth yearn.”
Then Regin laughed, and answered:
“I doled out cunning to thee;
But nought with him will I
measure: yet no cold-heart shall he be,
Nor grim, nor evil-natured:
for whate’er my will might frame,
Gone forth is the word of
the Norns, that abideth ever the same.
And now, despite my cunning,
how deem ye I shall die?”
And they said he would live
as he listed, and at last in peace
should lie
When he listed to live no
longer; so mighty and wise he was.
But again he laughed and answered:
“One day it shall come to pass,
That a beardless youth shall
slay me: I know the fateful doom;
But nought may I withstand
it, as it heaves up dim through the gloom.”
So is Sigurd now with Regin,
and he learns him many things;
Yea, all save the craft of
battle, that men learned the sons of kings:
The smithying sword and war-coat;
the carving runes aright;
The tongues of many countries,
and soft speech for men’s delight;
The dealing with the harp-strings,
and the winding ways of song.
So wise of heart waxed Sigurd,
and of body wondrous strong:
And he chased the deer of
the forest, and many a wood-wolf slew,
And many a bull of the mountains:
and the desert dales he knew,
And the heaths that the wind
sweeps over; and seaward would he fare,
Far out from the outer skerries,
and alone the sea-wights dare.
On a day he sat with Regin
amidst the unfashioned gold,
And the silver grey from the
furnace; and Regin spake and told
Sweet tales of the days that
have been, and the Kings of the bold
and wise;
Till the lad’s heart
swelled with longing and lit his sunbright eyes.
Then Regin looked upon him:
“Thou too shalt one day ride
As the Volsung Kings went
faring through the noble world and wide.
For this land is nought and
narrow, and Kings of the carles are these.
And their earls are acre-biders,
and their hearts are dull with peace.”
But Sigurd knit his brows,
and in wrathful wise he said:
“Ill words of those
thou speakest that my youth have cherished.
And the friends that have
made me merry, and the land that is fair
and good.”
Then Regin laughed and answered:
“Nay, well I see by thy mood
That wide wilt thou ride in
the world like thy kin of the earlier days:
And wilt thou be wroth with
thy master that he longs for thy winning
the praise?
And now if the sooth thou
sayest, that these King-folk cherish thee
well,
Then let them give thee a
gift whereof the world shall tell:
Yea hearken to this my counsel,
and crave for a battle-steed.”
Yet wroth was the lad and
answered: “I have many a horse to my need,
And all that the heart desireth,
and what wouldst thou wish me more?”
Then Regin answered and said:
“Thy kin of the Kings of yore
Were the noblest men of men-folk;
and their hearts would never rest
Whatso of good they had gotten,
if their hands held not the best.
Now do thou after my counsel,
and crave of thy fosterers here
That thou choose of the horses
of Gripir whichso thine heart holds
dear.”
He spake and his harp was
with him, and he smote the strings full
sweet,
And sang of the host of the
Valkyrs, how they ride the battle to meet,
And the dew from the dear
manes drippeth as they ride in the first
of the sun,
And the tree-boughs open to
meet it when the wind of the dawning is
done:
And the deep dales drink its
sweetness and spring into blossoming
grass,
And the earth groweth fruitful
of men, and bringeth their glory to
pass.
Then the wrath ran off from
Sigurd, and he left the smithying stead
While the song yet rang in
the doorway: and that eve to the Kings he
said:
“Will ye do so much
for mine asking as to give me a horse to my will?
For belike the days shall
come, that shall all my heart fulfill,
And teach me the deeds of
a king.”
Then
answered King Elf and spake:
“The stalls of the Kings are before thee
to set aside or to take,
And nought we begrudge thee the best.”
Yet
answered Sigurd again;
For his heart of the mountains
aloft and the windy drift was fain:
“Fair seats for the
knees of Kings! but now do I ask for a gift
Such as all the world shall
be praising, the best of the strong and
the swift
Ye shall give me a token for
Gripir, and bid him to let me choose
From out of the noble stud-beasts
that run in his meadow loose.
But if overmuch I have asked
you, forget this prayer of mine,
And deem the word unspoken,
and get ye to the wine.”
Then smiled King Elf, and answered: “A long way wilt thou ride,
To where unpeace and troubles and the griefs of the soul abide,
Yea unto the death at the last: yet surely shalt thou win
The praise of many a people: so have thy way herein.
Forsooth no more may we hold thee than the hazel copse may hold
The sun of the early dawning, that turneth it all unto gold.”
Then sweetly Sigurd thanked
them; and through the night he lay
Mid dreams of many a matter
till the dawn was on the way;
Then he shook the sleep from
off him, and that dwelling of Kings he
left
And wended his ways unto Gripir.
On a crag from the mountain reft
Was the house of the old King
builded; and a mighty house it was,
Though few were the sons of
men that over its threshold would pass:
But the wild ernes cried about
it, and the vultures toward it flew,
And the winds from the heart
of the mountains searched every chamber
through,
And about were meads wide-spreading;
and many a beast thereon,
Yea some that are men-folk’s
terror, their sport and pasture won.
So into the hall went Sigurd;
and amidst was Gripir set
In a chair of the sea-beast’s
tooth; and his sweeping beard nigh met
The floor that was green as
the ocean, and his gown was of
mountain-gold,
And the kingly staff in his
hand was knobbed with the crystal cold.
Now the first of the twain
spake Gripir: “Hail King with the eyen
bright!
Nought needest thou show the
token, for I know of thy life and thy
light.
And no need to tell of thy
message; it was wafted here on the wind,
That thou wouldst be coming
to-day a horse in my meadow to find:
And strong must he be for
the bearing of those deeds of thine that
shall be.
Now choose thou of all the
way-wearers that are running loose in my
lea,
And be glad as thine heart
will have thee and the fate that leadeth
thee on,
And I bid thee again come
hither when the sword of worth is won,
And thy loins are girt for
thy going on the road that before thee lies;
For a glimmering over its
darkness is come before mine eyes.”
Then again gat Sigurd outward,
and adown the steep he ran
And unto the horse-fed meadow:
but lo, a grey-clad man,
One-eyed and seeming-ancient,
there met him by the way:
And he spake: “Thou
hastest, Sigurd; yet tarry till I say
A word that shall well bestead
thee: for I know of these mountains well
And all the lea of Gripir,
and the beasts that thereon dwell.”
“Wouldst thou have red
gold for thy tidings? art thou Gripir’s
horse-herd then?
Nay sure, for thy face is
shining like the battle-eager men
My master Regin tells of:
and I love thy cloud-grey gown.
And thy visage gleams above
it like a thing my dreams have known.”
“Nay whiles have I heeded
the horse-kind,” then spake that elder of
days,
“And sooth do the sages
say, when the beasts of my breeding they
praise.
There is one thereof in the
meadow, and, wouldst thou cull him out,
Thou shalt follow an elder’s
counsel, who hath brought strange
things about,
Who hath known thy father
aforetime, and other kings of thy kin.”
So Sigurd said, “I am ready; and what is the deed to win?”
He said: “We shall
drive the horses adown to the water-side,
That cometh forth from the
mountains, and note what next shall betide.”
Then the twain sped on together,
and they drave the horses on
Till they came to a rushing
river, a water wide and wan;
And the white mews hovered
o’er it; but none might hear their cry
For the rush and the rattle
of waters, as the downlong flood swept by.
So the whole herd took the
river and strove the stream to stem,
And many a brave steed was
there; but the flood o’ermastered them:
And some, it swept them down-ward,
and some won back to bank,
Some, caught by the net of
the eddies, in the swirling hubbub sank;
But one of all swam over,
and they saw his mane of grey
Toss over the flowery meadows,
a bright thing far away:
Wide then he wheeled about
them, then took the stream again
And with the waves’
white horses mingled his cloudy mane.
Then spake the elder of days:
“Hearken now, Sigurd, and hear;
Time was when I gave thy father
a gift thou shalt yet deem dear,
And this horse is a gift of
my giving:—heed nought where thou mayst
ride:
For I have seen thy fathers
in a shining house abide,
And on earth they thought
of its threshold, and the gifts I had to
give;
Nor prayed for a little longer,
and a little longer to live.”
Then forth he strode to the
mountains, and fain was Sigurd now
To ask him many a matter:
but dim did his bright shape grow,
As a man from the litten doorway
fades into the dusk of night;
And the sun in the high-noon
shone, and the world was exceeding bright.
So Sigurd turned to the river
and stood by the wave-wet strand,
And the grey horse swims to
his feet and lightly leaps aland,
And the youngling looks upon
him, and deems none beside him good.
And indeed, as tells the story,
he was come of Sleipnir’s blood,
The tireless horse of Odin:
cloud-grey he was of hue,
And it seemed as Sigurd backed
him that Sigmund’s son he knew,
So glad he went beneath him.
Then the youngling’s song arose
As he brushed through the
noon-tide blossoms of Gripir’s mighty close,
Then he singeth the song of
Greyfell, the horse that Odin gave,
Who swam through the sweeping
river, and back through the toppling
wave.
Regin telleth Sigurd of
his kindred, and of the Gold that was
accursed from ancient days.
Now yet the days pass over,
and more than words may tell
Grows Sigurd strong and lovely,
and all children love him well.
But oft he looks on the mountains
and many a time is fain
To know of what lies beyond
them, and learn of the wide world’s gain.
And he saith: “I
dwell in a land that is ruled by none of my blood;
And my mother’s sons
are waxing, and fair kings shall they be and good;
And their servant or their
betrayer—not one of these will I be.
Yet needs must I wait for
a little till Odin calls for me.”
Now again it happed on a day
that he sat in Regin’s hall
And hearkened many tidings
of what had chanced to fall,
And of kings that sought their
kingdoms o’er many a waste and wild,
And at last saith the crafty
master:
“Thou
art King Sigmund’s child:
Wilt thou wait till these
kings of the carles shall die in a little
land,
Or wilt thou serve their sons
and carry the cup to their hand;
Or abide in vain for the day
that never shall come about,
When their banners shall dance
in the wind and shake to the war-gods’
shout?”
Then Sigurd answered and said:
“Nought such do I look to be.
But thou, a deedless man,
too much thou eggest me:
And these folk are good and
trusty, and the land is lovely and sweet,
And in rest and in peace it
lieth as the floor of Odin’s feet:
Yet I know that the world
is wide, and filled with deeds unwrought;
And for e’en such work
was I fashioned, lest the songcraft come to
nought,
When the harps of God-home
tinkle, and the Gods are at stretch to
hearken:
Lest the hosts of the Gods
be scanty when their day hath begun to
darken,
When the bonds of the Wolf
wax thin, and Loki fretteth his chain.
And sure for the house of
my fathers full oft my heart is fain,
And meseemeth I hear them
talking of the day when I shall come,
And of all the burden of deeds,
that my hand shall bear them home.
And so when the deed is ready,
nowise the man shall lack:
But the wary foot is the surest,
and the hasty oft turns back.”
Then answered Regin the guileful:
“The deed is ready to hand,
Yet holding my peace is the
best, for well thou lovest the land;
And thou lovest thy life moreover,
and the peace of thy youthful days,
And why should the full-fed
feaster his hand to the rye-bread raise?
Yet they say that Sigmund
begat thee and he looked to fashion a man.
Fear nought; he lieth quiet
in his mound by the sea-waves wan.”
So shone the eyes of Sigurd,
that the shield against him hung
Cast back their light as the
sunbeams; but his voice to the roof-tree
rung:
“Tell me, thou Master
of Masters, what deed is the deed I shall do?
Nor mock thou the son of Sigmund
lest the day of his birth thou rue.”
Then answered the Master of
Sleight: “The deed is the righting of
wrong,
And the quelling a bale and
a sorrow that the world hath endured
o’erlong,
And the winning a treasure
untold, that shall make thee more than the
kings;
Thereof is the Helm of Aweing,
the wonder of earthly things,
And thereof is its very fellow,
the War-coat all of gold,
That has not its like in the
heavens, nor has earth of its fellow
told.”
Then answered Sigurd the Volsung:
“How long hereof hast thou known?
And what unto thee is this
treasure, that thou seemest to give as
thine own?”
“Alas!” quoth
the smithying master, “it is mine, yet none of
mine,
Since my heart herein avails
not, and my hand is frail and fine—
It is long since I first came
hither to seek a man for my need;
For I saw by a glimmering
light that hence would spring the deed,
And many a deed of the world:
but the generations passed,
And the first of the days
was as near to the end that I sought as the
last;
Till I looked on thine eyes
in the cradle: and now I deem through thee,
That the end of my days of
waiting, and the end of my woes shall be.”
Then Sigurd awhile was silent;
but at last he answered and said:
“Thou shalt have thy
will and the treasure, and shalt take the curse
on thine head
If a curse the gold enwrappeth:
but the deed will I surely do,
For today the dreams of my
childhood hath bloomed in my heart anew:
And I long to look on the
world and the glory of the earth
And to deal in the dealings
of men, and garner the harvest of worth.
But tell me, thou Master of
Masters, where lieth this measureless
wealth;
Is it guarded by swords of
the earl-folk, or kept by cunning and
stealth?
Is it over the main sea’s
darkness, or beyond the mountain wall?
Or e’en in these peaceful
acres anigh to the hands of all?”
Then Regin answered sweetly:
“Hereof must a tale be told:
Bide sitting, thou son of
Sigmund, on the heap of unwrought gold,
And hearken of wondrous matters,
and of things unheard, unsaid,
And deeds of my beholding
ere the first of Kings was made.
“And first ye shall
know of a sooth, that I never was born of the race
Which the masters of God-home
have made to cover the fair earth’s face;
But I come of the Dwarfs departed;
and fair was the earth whileome
Ere the short-lived thralls
of the Gods amidst its dales were come:—
And how were we worse than
the Gods, though maybe we lived not as long?
Yet no weight of memory maimed
us; nor aught we knew of wrong.
What felt our souls of shaming,
what knew our hearts of love?
We did and undid at pleasure,
and repented nought thereof.
—Yea we were exceeding
mighty—bear with me yet, my son;
For whiles can I scarcely
think it that our days are wholly done.
And trust not thy life in
my hands in the day when most I seem
Like the Dwarfs that are long
departed, and most of my kindred I dream.
“So as we dwelt came
tidings that the Gods amongst us were,
And the people came from Asgard:
then rose up hope and fear,
And strange shapes of things
went flitting betwixt the night and the
eve,
And our sons waxed wild and
wrathful, and our daughters learned to
grieve.
Then we fell to the working
of metal, and the deeps of the earth
would know,
And we dealt with venom and
leechcraft, and we fashioned spear and bow,
And we set the ribs to the
oak-keel, and looked on the landless sea;
And the world began to be
such-like as the Gods would have it to be.
In the womb of the woeful
earth had they quickened the grief and the
gold.
“It was Reidmar the
Ancient begat me; and now was he waxen old,
And a covetous man and a king;
and he bade, and I built him a hall,
And a golden glorious house;
and thereto his sons did he call,
And he bade them be evil and
wise, that his will through them might
be wrought.
Then he gave unto Fafnir my
brother the soul that feareth nought,
And the brow of the hardened
iron, and the hand that may never fail,
And the greedy heart of a
king, and the ear that hears no wail.
“But next unto Otter
my brother he gave the snare and the net,
And the longing to wend through
the wild-wood, and wade the highways
wet:
And the foot that never resteth,
while aught be left alive
That hath cunning to match
man’s cunning or might with his might to
strive.
“And to me, the least
and the youngest, what gift for the slaying of
ease?
Save the grief that remembers
the past, and the fear that the future
sees;
And the hammer and fashioning-iron,
and the living coal of fire;
And the craft that createth
a semblance, and fails of the heart’s
desire;
And the toil that each dawning
quickens and the task that is never
done;
And the heart that longeth
ever, nor will look to the deed that is won.
“Thus gave my father
the gifts that might never be taken again;
Far worse were we now than
the Gods, and but little better than men.
But yet of our ancient might
one thing had we left us still:
We had craft to change our
semblance, and could shift us at our will
Into bodies of the beast-kind,
or fowl, or fishes cold;
For belike no fixed semblance
we had in the days of old,
Till the Gods were waxen busy,
and all things their form must take
That knew of good and evil,
and longed to gather and make.
“So dwelt we, brethren
and father; and Fafnir my brother fared
As the scourge and compeller
of all things, and left no wrong undared;
But for me, I toiled and I
toiled; and fair grew my father’s house;
But writhen and foul were
the hands that had made it glorious;
And the love of women left
me, and the fame of sword and shield:
And the sun and the winds
of heaven, and the fowl and the grass of
the field
Were grown as the tools of
my smithy; and all the world I knew,
And the glories that lie beyond
it, and whitherward all things drew;
And myself a little fragment
amidst it all I saw,
Grim, cold-heart, and unmighty
as the tempest-driven straw.
—Let be.—For
Otter my brother saw seldom field or fold,
And he oftenest used that
custom, whereof e’en now I told,
And would shift his shape
with the wood-beasts and the things of land
and sea;
And he knew what joy their
hearts had, and what they longed to be,
And their dim-eyed understanding,
and his wood-craft waxed so great,
That he seemed the king of
the creatures and their very mortal fate.
“Now as the years won
over three folk of the heavenly halls
Grew aweary of sleepless sloth,
and the day that nought befalls;
And they fain would look on
the earth, and their latest handiwork,
And turn the fine gold over,
lest a flaw therein should lurk.
And the three were the heart-wise
Odin, the Father of the Slain,
“Thus about the world
they wended and deemed it fair and good,
And they loved their life-days
dearly: so came they to the wood,
And the lea without a shepherd
and the dwellings of the deer,
And unto a mighty water that
ran from a fathomless mere.
Now that flood my brother
Otter had haunted many a day
For its plenteous fruit of
fishes; and there on the bank he lay
As the Gods came wandering
thither; and he slept, and in his dreams
He saw the downlong river,
and its fishy-peopled streams,
And the swift smooth heads
of its forces, and its swirling wells and
deep,
Where hang the poised fishes,
and their watch in the rock-halls keep.
And so, as he thought of it
all, and its deeds and its wanderings,
Whereby it ran to the sea
down the road of scaly things,
His body was changed with
his thought, as yet was the wont of our kind,
And he grew but an Otter indeed;
and his eyes were sleeping and blind
The while he devoured the
prey, a golden red-flecked trout.
Then passed by Odin and Haenir,
nor cumbered their souls with doubt;
But Loki lingered a little,
and guile in his heart arose,
And he saw through the shape
of the Otter, and beheld a chief of his
foes,
A king of the free and the
careless: so he called up his baleful might,
And gathered his godhead together,
and tore a shard outright
From the rock-wall of the
river, and across its green wells cast;
And roaring over the waters
that bolt of evil passed,
And smote my brother Otter
that his heart’s life fled away,
And bore his man’s shape
with it, and beast-like there he lay,
Stark dead on the sun-lit
blossoms: but the Evil God rejoiced,
And because of the sound of
his singing the wild grew many-voiced.
“Then the three Gods
waded the river, and no word Haenir spake,
For his thoughts were set
on God-home, and the day that is ever awake.
But Odin laughed in his wrath,
and murmured: ’Ah, how long,
Till the iron shall ring on
the anvil for the shackles of thy wrong!’
“Then Loki takes up
the quarry, and is e’en as a man again;
And the three wend on through
the wild-wood till they come to a
grassy plain
Beneath the untrodden mountains;
and lo a noble house,
And a hall with great craft
fashioned, and made full glorious;
But night on the earth was
falling; so scantly might they see
The wealth of its smooth-wrought
stonework and its world of imagery:
“Now the men of God-home
marvelled, and gazed through the golden glow,
And a man like a covetous
king amidst of the hall they saw;
And his chair was the tooth
of the whale, wrought smooth with never a
flaw;
And his gown was the sea-born
purple, and he bore a crown on his head,
But never a sword was before
him: kind-seeming words he said,
And bade rest to the weary
feet that had worn the wild so long.
So they sat, and were men
by seeming; and there rose up music and song,
And they ate and drank and
were merry: but amidst the glee of the cup
They felt themselves tangled
and caught, as when the net cometh up
Before the folk of the firth,
and the main sea lieth far off;
And the laughter of lips they
hearkened, and that hall-abider’s scoff,
As his face and his mocking
eyes anigh to their faces drew,
And their godhead was caught
in the net, and no shift of creation they
knew
To escape from their man-like
bodies; so great that day was the Earth.
“Then spake the hall-abider:
’Where then is thy guileful mirth,
And thy hall-glee gone, O
Loki? Come, Haenir, fashion now
My heart for love and for
hope, that the fear in my body may grow,
That I may grieve and be sorry,
that the ruth may arise in me,
As thou dealtst with the first
of men-folk, when a master-smith thou
wouldst be.
And thou, Allfather Odin,
hast thou come on a bastard brood?
Or hadst thou belike a brother,
thy twin for evil and good,
That waked amidst thy slumber,
and slumbered midst thy work?
Nay, Wise-one, art thou silent
as a child amidst the mirk?
Ah, I know ye are called the
Gods, and are mighty men at home,
But now with a guilt on your
heads to no feeble folk are ye come,
To a folk that need you nothing:
time was when we knew you not:
Yet e’en then fresh
was the winter, and the summer sun was hot,
And the wood-meats stayed
our hunger, and the water quenched our
thirst,
Ere the good and the evil
wedded and begat the best and the worst.
And how if today I undo it,
that work of your fashioning,
If the web of the world run
backward, and the high heavens lack a King?
“And there was I, I
Regin, the smithier of the snare,
And high up Fafnir towered
with the brow that knew no fear,
With the wrathful and pitiless
heart that was born of my father’s will,
And the greed that the Gods
had fashioned the fate of the earth to
fulfill.
“Then spake the Father
of Men: ’We have wrought thee wrong indeed,
And, wouldst thou amend it
with wrong, thine errand must we speed;
For I know of thine heart’s
desire, and the gold thou shalt nowise
lack,
—Nor all the works
of the gold. But best were thy word drawn back,
If indeed the doom of the
Norns be not utterly now gone forth.’
“Then Reidmar laughed
and answered: ’So much is thy word of worth!
And they call thee Odin for
this, and stretch forth hands in vain,
And pray for the gifts of
a God who giveth and taketh again!
It was better in times past
over, when we prayed for nought at all,
When no love taught us beseeching,
and we had no troth to recall.
Ye have changed the world,
and it bindeth with the right and the wrong
ye have made,
Nor may ye be Gods henceforward
save the rightful ransom be paid.
But perchance ye are weary
of kingship, and will deal no more with
the earth?
Then curse the world, and
depart, and sit in your changeless mirth;
And there shall be no more
kings, and battle and murder shall fail,
And the world shall laugh
and long not, nor weep, nor fashion the
tale.’
“So spake Reidmar the
Wise; but the wrath burned through his word,
And wasted his heart of wisdom;
and there was Fafnir the Lord,
And there was Regin the Wright,
and they raged at their father’s back:
And all these cried out together
with the voice of the sea-storm’s
wrack;
’O hearken, Gods of
the Goths! ye shall die, and we shall be Gods,
And rule your men beloved
with bitter-heavy rods,
And make them beasts beneath
us, save today ye do our will,
And pay us the ransom of blood,
and our hearts with the gold fulfill.’
“But Odin spake in answer,
and his voice was awful and cold:
‘Give righteous doom,
O Reidmar! say what ye will of the Gold!’
“Then Reidmar laughed
in his heart, and his wrath and his wisdom fled,
And nought but his greed abided;
and he spake from his throne and said:
“’Now hearken
the doom I shall speak! Ye stranger-folk shall
be free
When ye give me the Flame
of the Waters, the gathered Gold of the Sea,
That Andvari hideth rejoicing
in the wan realm pale as the grave;
And the Master of Sleight
shall fetch it, and the hand that never gave,
And the heart that begrudgeth
for ever shall gather and give and rue.
—Lo this is the
doom of the wise, and no doom shall be spoken anew.’
“Then Odin spake:
’It is well; the Curser shall seek for the curse;
And the Greedy shall cherish
the evil—and the seed of the Great they
shall nurse.’
“No word spake Reidmar
the great, for the eyes of his heart were turned
To the edge of the outer desert,
so sore for the gold he yearned.
But Loki I loosed from the
toils, and he goeth his way abroad;
And the heart of Odin he knoweth,
and where he shall seek the Hoard.
“There is a desert of
dread in the uttermost part of the world,
Where over a wall of mountains
is a mighty water hurled,
Whose hidden head none knoweth,
nor where it meeteth the sea;
And that force is the Force
of Andvari, and an Elf of the Dark is he.
In the cloud and the desert
he dwelleth amid that land alone;
And his work is the storing
of treasure within his house of stone.
Time was when he knew of wisdom,
and had many a tale to tell
Of the days before the Dwarf-age,
and of what in that world befell:
And he knew of the stars and
the sun, and the worlds that come and go
On the nether rim of heaven,
and whence the wind doth blow,
And how the sea hangs balanced
betwixt the curving lands,
And how all drew together
for the first Gods’ fashioning hands.
But now is all gone from him,
save the craft of gathering gold,
And he heedeth nought of the
summer, nor knoweth the winter cold,
Nor looks to the sun nor the
snowfall, nor ever dreams of the sea,
Nor hath heard of the making
of men-folk, nor of where the high Gods be
But ever he gripeth and gathereth,
and he toileth hour by hour,
Nor knoweth the noon from
the midnight as he looks on his stony bower,
And saith: ’It
is short, it is narrow for all I shall gather and get;
For the world is but newly
fashioned, and long shall its years be yet.’
“There Loki fareth,
and seeth in a land of nothing good,
Far off o’er the empty
desert, the reek of the falling flood
Go up to the floor of heaven,
and thither turn his feet
As he weaveth the unseen meshes
and the snare of strong deceit;
So he cometh his ways to the
water, where the glittering foam-bow
glows,
And the huge flood leaps the
rock-wall and a green arch over it throws.
There under the roof of water
he treads the quivering floor,
And the hush of the desert
is felt amid the water’s roar,
And the bleak sun lighteth
the wave-vault, and tells of the fruitless
plain,
And the showers that nourish
nothing, and the summer come in vain.
“There did the great
Guile-master his toils and his tangles set,
And as wide as was the water,
so wide was woven the net;
And as dim as the Elf’s
remembrance did the meshes of it show;
And he had no thought of sorrow,
nor spared to come and go
On his errands of griping
and getting till he felt himself tangled
and caught:
Then back to his blinded soul
was his ancient wisdom brought,
And he saw his fall and his
ruin, as a man by the lightning’s flame
Sees the garth all flooded
by foemen; and again he remembered his name;
And e’en as a book well
written the tale of the Gods he knew,
And the tale of the making
of men, and much of the deeds they should
do.
“But Loki took his man-shape,
and laughed aloud and cried:
’What fish of the ends
of the earth is so strong and so feeble-eyed,
That he draweth the pouch
of my net on his road to the dwelling of
Hell?
What Elf that hath heard the
gold growing, but hath heard not the
light winds tell
That the Gods with the world
have been dealing and have fashioned men
for the earth?
Where is he that hath ridden
the cloud-horse and measured the ocean’s
girth,
But seen nought of the building
of God-home nor the forging of the
sword:
Where then is the maker of
nothing, the earless and eyeless lord?
In the pouch of my net he
lieth, with his head on the threshold of
Hell!’
“Then the Elf lamented,
and said: ’Thou knowst of my name full well:
Andvari begotten of Oinn,
whom the Dwarf-kind called the Wise,
By the worst of the Gods is
taken, the forge and the father of lies.’
“Said Loki: ’How
of the Elf-kind, do they love their latter life,
When their weal is all departed,
and they lie alow in the strife?’
“Then Andvari groaned
and answered: ’I know what thou wouldst
have,
The wealth mine own hands
gathered, the gold that no man gave.’
“‘Come forth,’
said Loki, ’and give it, and dwell in peace henceforth—
Or die in the toils if thou
listest, if thy life be nothing worth.’
“Full sore the Elf lamented,
but he came before the God,
And the twain went into the
rock-house and on fine gold they trod,
And the walls shone bright,
and brighter than the sun of the upper air.
How great was that treasure
of treasures: and the Helm of Dread was
there;
The world but in dreams had
seen it; and there was the hauberk of gold;
None other is in the heavens,
nor has earth of its fellow told.
“Then Loki bade the
Elf-king bring all to the upper day,
And he dight himself with
his Godhead to bear the treasure away:
So there in the dim grey desert
before the God of Guile,
Great heaps of the hid-world’s
treasure the weary Elf must pile,
And Loki looked on laughing:
but, when it all was done,
And the Elf was hurrying homeward,
his finger gleamed in the sun:
Then Loki cried: ’Thou
art guileful: thou hast not learned the tale
Of the wisdom that Gods hath
gotten and their might of all avail.
Hither to me! that I learn
thee of a many things to come;
Or despite of all wilt thou
journey to the dead man’s deedless home.
Come hither again to thy master,
and give the ring to me;
For meseems it is Loki’s
portion, and the Bale of Men shall it be.’
“Then the Elf drew off the
gold-ring and stood with empty hand
E’en where the flood fell over ’twixt
the water and the land,
And he gazed on the great Guile-master, and huge
and grim he grew;
And his anguish swelled within him, and the word
of the Norns he knew;
How that gold was the seed of gold to the wise
and the shapers of
things,
The hoarders of hidden treasure, and the unseen
glory of rings;
But the seed of woe to the world and the foolish
wasters of men,
And grief to the generations that die and spring
again:
Then he cried:
’There farest thou Loki, and
might I load thee worse
Than with what thine ill heart beareth, then shouldst
thou bear my
curse:
But for men a curse thou bearest: entangled
in my gold,
Amid my woe abideth another woe untold.
Two brethren and a father, eight kings my grief
shall slay;
And the hearts of queens shall be broken, and
their eyes shall loathe
the day.
Lo, how the wilderness blossoms! Lo, how
the lonely lands
Are waving with the harvest that fell from my
gathering hands!’
“But Loki laughed in
silence, and swift in Godhead went,
To the golden hall of Reidmar
and the house of our content.
But when that world of treasure
was laid within our hall
’Twas as if the sun
were minded to live ’twixt wall and wall,
And all we stood by and panted.
Then Odin spake and said:
“’O Kings, O folk
of the Dwarf-kind, lo, the ransom duly paid!
Will ye have this sun of the
ocean, and reap the fruitful field,
And garner up the harvest
that earth therefrom shall yield?’
“So he spake; but a
little season nought answered Reidmar the wise,
But turned his face from the
Treasure, and peered with eager eyes
Endlong the hall and athwart
it, as a man may chase about
A ray of the sun of the morning
that a naked sword throws out;
And lo from Loki’s right-hand
came the flash of the fruitful ring,
And at last spake Reidmar
scowling:
’Ye
wait for my yea-saying
That your feet may go free
on the earth, and the fear of my toils may
be done
That then ye may say in your
laughter: The fools of the time agone!
The purblind eyes of the Dwarf-kind!
they have gotten the garnered
sheaf
And have let their Masters
depart with the Seed of Gold and of Grief:
O Loki, friend of Allfather,
cast down Andvari’s ring,
Or the world shall yet turn
backward and the high heavens lack a king.’
“Then Loki drew off
the Elf-ring and cast it down on the heap,
And forth as the gold met
gold did the light of its glory leap:
But he spake: ’It
rejoiceth my heart that no whit of all ye shall lack,
Lest the curse of the Elf-king
cleave not, and ye ’scape the utter
wrack.’
“Then laughed and answered
Reidmar: ’I shall have it while I live,
And that shall be long, meseemeth:
for who is there may strive
With my sword, the war-wise
Fafnir, and my shield that is Regin the
Smith?
But if indeed I should die,
then let men-folk deal therewith,
And ride to the golden glitter
through evil deeds and good.
I will have my heart’s
desire, and do as the high Gods would.’
“Then I loosed the Gods
from their shackles, and great they grew on
the floor
And into the night they gat
them; but Odin turned by the door,
And we looked not, little
we heeded, for we grudged his mastery;
Then he spake, and his voice
was waxen as the voice of the winter sea:
“’O Kings, O folk
of the Dwarfs, why then will ye covet and rue?
I have seen your fathers’
fathers and the dust wherefrom they grew;
But who hath heard of my father
or the land where first I sprung?
Who knoweth my day of repentance,
or the year when I was young?
Who hath learned the names
of the Wise-one or measured out his will?
Who hath gone before to teach
him, and the doom of days fulfill?
Lo, I look on the Curse of
the Gold, and wrong amended by wrong,
And love by love confounded,
and the strong abased by the strong;
And I order it all and amend
it, and the deeds that are done I see,
And none other beholdeth or
knoweth; and who shall be wise unto me?
For myself to myself I offered,
that all wisdom I might know,
And fruitful I waxed of works,
and good and fair did they grow;
And I knew, and I wrought
and fore-ordered; and evil sat by my side,
And myself by myself hath
been doomed, and I look for the fateful tide;
And I deal with the generations,
and the men mine hand hath made,
And myself by myself shall
be grieved, lest the world and its
fashioning fade.’
“They went and the Gold
abided: but the words Allfather spake,
I call them back full often
for that golden even’s sake,
Yet little that hour I heard
them, save as wind across the lea;
For the gold shone up on Reidmar
and on Fafnir’s face and on me.
And sore I loved that treasure:
so I wrapped my heart in guile,
And sleeked my tongue with
sweetness, and set my face in a smile,
And I bade my father keep
it, the more part of the gold,
Yet give good store to Fafnir
for his goodly help and bold,
And deal me a little handful
for my smithying-help that day.
But no little I desired, though
for little I might pray;
And prayed I for much or for
little, he answered me no more
Than the shepherd answers
the wood-wolf who howls at the yule-tide
door:
But good he ever deemed it
to sit on his ivory throne,
And stare on the red rings’
glory, and deem he was ever alone:
And never a word spake Fafnir,
but his eyes waxed red and grim
As he looked upon our father,
and noted the ways of him.
“The night waned into
the morning, and still above the Hoard
Sat Reidmar clad in purple;
but Fafnir took his sword,
And I took my smithying-hammer,
and apart in the world we went;
But I came aback in the even,
and my heart was heavy and spent;
And I longed, but fear was
upon me and I durst not go to the Gold;
So I lay in the house of my
toil mid the things I had fashioned of old;
And methought as I lay in
my bed ’twixt waking and slumber of night
That I heard the tinkling
metal and beheld the hall alight,
But I slept and dreamed of
the Gods, and the things that never have
slept,
Till I woke to a cry and a
clashing and forth from the bed I leapt,
And there by the heaped-up
Elf-gold my brother Fafnir stood,
And there at his feet lay
Reidmar and reddened the Treasure with blood:
And e’en as I looked
on his eyen they glazed and whitened with death,
And forth on the torch-litten
hall he shed his latest breath.
“But I looked on Fafnir
and trembled for he wore the Helm of Dread,
And his sword was bare in
his hand, and the sword and the hand were red
With the blood of our father
Reidmar, and his body was wrapped in gold,
With the ruddy-gleaming mailcoat
of whose fellow hath nought been told,
And it seemed as I looked
upon him that he grew beneath mine eyes:
And then in the mid-hall’s
silence did his dreadful voice arise:
“’I have slain
my father Reidmar, that I alone might keep
The Gold of the darksome places,
the Candle of the Deep.
I am such as the Gods have
made me, lest the Dwarf-kind people the
earth,
Or mingle their ancient wisdom
with its short-lived latest birth.
I shall dwell alone henceforward,
“More awful grew his
visage as he spake the word of dread,
And no more durst I behold
him, but with heart a-cold I fled;
I fled from the glorious house
my hands had made so fair,
As poor as the new-born baby
with nought of raiment or gear:
I fled from the heaps of gold,
and my goods were the eager will,
And the heart that remembereth
all, and the hand that may never be
still.
“Then unto this land
I came, and that was long ago
As men-folk count the years;
and I taught them to reap and to sow,
And a famous man I became:
but that generation died,
And they said that Frey had
taught them, and a God my name did hide.
Then I taught them the craft
of metals, and the sailing of the sea,
And the taming of the horse-kind,
and the yoke-beasts’ husbandry,
And the building up of houses;
and that race of men went by,
And they said that Thor had
taught them; and a smithying-carle was I.
Then I gave their maidens
the needle and I bade them hold the rock,
And the shuttle-race gaped
for them as they sat at the weaving-stock.
But by then these were waxen
crones to sit dim-eyed by the door,
It was Freyia had come among
them to teach the weaving-lore.
Then I taught them the tales
of old, and fair songs fashioned and true,
And their speech grew into
music of measured time and due,
And they smote the harp to
my bidding, and the land grew soft and
sweet:
But ere the grass of their
grave-mounds rose up above my feet,
It was Bragi had made them
sweet-mouthed, and I was the wandering
scald;
Yet green did my cunning flourish
by whatso name I was called,
And I grew the master of masters—Think
thou how strange it is
That the sword in the hands
of a stripling shall one day end all this!
“Yet oft mid all my
wisdom did I long for my brother’s part,
And Fafnir’s mighty
kingship weighed heavy on my heart
When the Kings of the earthly
kingdoms would give me golden gifts
From out of their scanty treasures,
due pay for my cunning shifts.
And once—didst
thou number the years thou wouldst think it long ago—
I wandered away to the country
from whence our stem did grow.
There methought the fells
grown greater, but waste did the meadows lie,
“So I gathered my strength
and fled, and hid my shame again
Mid the foolish sons of men-folk;
and the more my hope was vain,
The more I longed for the
Treasure, and deliv’rance from the yoke:
And yet passed the generations,
and I dwelt with the short-lived folk.
“Long years, and long
years after, the tale of men-folk told
How up on the Glittering Heath
was the house and the dwelling of gold,
And within that house was
the Serpent, and the Lord of the Fearful
Face:
Then I wondered sore of the
desert; for I thought of the golden place
My hands of old had builded;
for I knew by many a sign
That the Fearful Face was
my brother, that the blood of the Worm was
mine.
This was ages long ago, and
yet in that desert he dwells,
Betwixt him and men death
lieth, and no man of his semblance tells;
But the tale of the great
Gold-wallower is never the more outworn.
Then came thy kin, O Sigurd,
and thy father’s father was born,
And I fell to the dreaming
of dreams, and I saw thine eyes therein,
And I looked and beheld thy
glory and all that thy sword should win;
And I thought that thou shouldst
be he, who should bring my heart its
rest,
That of all the gifts of the
Kings thy sword should give me the best.
“Ah, I fell to the dreaming
of dreams; and oft the gold I saw,
And the golden-fashioned Hauberk,
clean-wrought without a flaw,
And the Helm that aweth the
world; and I knew of Fafnir’s heart
That his wisdom was greater
than mine, because he had held him apart,
Nor spilt on the sons of men-folk
our knowledge of ancient days,
Nor bartered one whit for
their love, nor craved for the people’s
praise.
“And some day I shall
have it all, his gold and his craft and his heart
And the gathered and garnered
wisdom he guards in the mountains apart
And then when my hand is upon
it, my hand shall be as the spring
To thaw his winter away and
the fruitful tide to bring.
It shall grow, it shall grow
into summer, and I shall be he that
wrought,
And my deeds shall be remembered,
and my name that once was nought;
Yea I shall be Frey, and Thor,
Then his eyelids fell, and
he slumbered, and it seemed as Sigurd gazed
That the flames leapt up in
the stithy and about the Master blazed,
And his hand in the harp-strings
wandered and the sweetness from them
poured.
Then unto his feet leapt Sigurd
and drew his stripling’s sword,
And he cried: “Awake,
O Master, for, lo, the day goes by,
And this too is an ancient
story, that the sons of men-folk die,
And all save fame departeth.
Awake! for the day grows late,
And deeds by the door are
passing, nor the Norns will have them wait.”
Then Regin groaned and wakened,
sad-eyed and heavy-browed,
And weary and worn was he
waxen, as a man by a burden bowed:
And he spake: “Hast
thou hearkened, Sigurd, wilt thou help a man that
is old
To avenge him for his father?
Wilt thou win that Treasure of Gold
And be more than the Kings
of the earth? Wilt thou rid the earth of
a wrong
And heal the woe and the sorrow
my heart hath endured o’erlong?”
Then Sigurd looked upon him
with steadfast eyes and clear,
And Regin drooped and trembled
as he stood the doom to hear:
But the bright child spake
as aforetime, and answered the Master and
said:
“Thou shalt have thy
will, and the Treasure, and take the curse on
thine head.”
Of the forging of the Sword that is called The Wrath of Sigurd.
Now again came Sigurd to Regin,
and said: “Thou hast taught me a task
Whereof none knoweth the ending:
and a gift at thine hands I ask.”
Then answered Regin the Master:
“The world must be wide indeed
If my hand may not reach across
it for aught thine heart may need.”
“Yea wide is the world,”
said Sigurd, “and soon spoken is thy word;
But this gift thou shalt nought
gainsay me: for I bid thee forge me
a sword.”
Then spake the Master of Masters,
and his voice was sweet and soft:
“Look forth abroad,
O Sigurd, and note in the heavens aloft
How the dim white moon of
the daylight hangs round as the Goth-God’s
shield,
Now for thee first rang mine
anvil when she walked the heavenly field
A slim and lovely lady, and
the old moon lay on her arm:
Lo, here is a sword I have
wrought thee with many a spell and charm
And all the craft of the Dwarf-kind;
be glad thereof and sure;
Mid many a storm of battle
full well shall it endure.”
Then Sigurd looked on the
slayer, and never a word would speak:
Gemmed were the hilts and
golden, and the blade was blue and bleak,
And runes of the Dwarf-kind’s
cunning each side the trench were scored:
But soft and sweet spake Regin:
“How likest thou the sword?”
Then Sigurd laughed and answered:
“The work is proved by the deed;
See now if this be a traitor
to fail me in my need.”
Then Regin trembled and shrank,
so bright his eyes outshone
As he turned about to the
anvil, and smote the sword thereon;
But the shards fell shivering
earthward, and Sigurd’s heart grew wroth
As the steel-flakes tinkled
about him: “Lo, there the right-hand’s
troth!
Lo, there the golden glitter,
and the word that soon is spilt.”
And down amongst the ashes
he cast the glittering hilt,
And turned his back on Regin
and strode out through the door,
And for many a day of spring-tide
came back again no more.
But at last he came to the
stithy and again took up the word:
“What hast thou done,
O Master, in the forging of the sword?”
Then sweetly Regin answered:
“Hard task-master art thou,
But lo, a blade of battle
that shall surely please thee now!
Two moons are clean departed
since thou lookedst toward the sky
And sawest the dim white circle
amid the cloud-flecks lie;
And night and day have I laboured;
and the cunning of old days
Hath surely left my right-hand
if this sword thou shalt not praise.”
And indeed the hilts gleamed
glorious with many a dear-bought stone,
And down the fallow edges
the light of battle shone;
Yet Sigurd’s eyes shone
brighter, nor yet might Regin face
Those eyes of the heart of
the Volsungs; but trembled in his place
As Sigurd cried: “O
Regin, thy kin of the days of old
Were an evil and treacherous
folk, and they lied and murdered for gold;
And now if thou wouldst betray
me, of the ancient curse beware,
And set thy face as the flint
the bale and the shame to bear:
For he that would win to the
heavens, and be as the Gods on high,
Must tremble nought at the
road, and the place where men-folk die.”
White leaps the blade in his
hand and gleams in the gear of the wall,
And he smites, and the oft-smitten
edges on the beaten anvil fall:
But the life of the sword
departed, and dull and broken it lay
On the ashes and flaked-off
iron, and no word did Sigurd say,
But strode off through the
door of the stithy and went to the Hall of
Kings,
And was merry and blithe that
even mid all imaginings.
But when the morrow was come
he went to his mother and spake:
“The shards, the shards
of the sword, that thou gleanedst for my sake
In the night on the field
of slaughter, in the tide when my father
fell,
Hast thou kept them through
sorrow and joyance? hast thou warded them
trusty and well?
Where hast thou laid them,
my mother?”
Then
she looked upon him and said:
“Art thou wroth, O Sigurd
my son, that such eyes are in thine head?
And wilt thou be wroth with
thy mother? do I withstand thee at all?”
“Nay,” said he,
“nought am I wrathful, but the days rise up like
a wall
Betwixt my soul and the deeds,
and I strive to rend them through.
And why wilt thou fear mine
eyen? as the sword lies baleful and blue
E’en ’twixt the
lips of lovers, when they swear their troth thereon,
So keen are the eyes ye have
fashioned, ye folk of the days agone;
For therein is the light of
battle, though whiles it lieth asleep.
Now give me the sword, my
mother, that Sigmund gave thee to keep.”
She said: “I shall
give it thee gladly, for fain shall I be of thy
praise
When thou knowest my careful
keeping of that hope of the earlier days.”
So she took his hand in her
hand, and they went their ways, they twain;
Till they came to the treasure
of queen-folk, the guarded chamber of
gain:
They were all alone with its
riches, and she turned the key in the
gold,
And lifted the sea-born purple,
and the silken web unrolled,
And lo, ’twixt her hands
and her bosom the shards of Sigmund’s sword;
No rust-fleck stained its
edges, and the gems of the ocean’s hoard
Were as bright in the hilts
and glorious, as when in the Volsungs’ hall
It shone in the eyes of the
earl-folk and flashed from the shielded
wall.
But Sigurd smiled upon it,
and he said: “O Mother of Kings,
Well hast thou warded the
war-glaive for a mirror of many things,
And a hope of much fulfilment:
well hast thou given to me
The message of my fathers,
and the word of thing to be:
Trusty hath been thy warding,
but its hour is over now:
These shards shall be knit
together, and shall hear the war-wind blow.
They shall shine through the
rain of Odin, as the sun come back to
the world,
When the heaviest bolt of
the thunder amidst the storm is hurled:
They shall shake the thrones
of Kings, and shear the walls of war,
And undo the knot of treason
when the world is darkening o’er.
They have shone in the dusk
and the night-tide, they shall shine in
the dawn and the
day;
They have gathered the storm
together, they shall chase the clouds
away;
They have sheared red gold
asunder, they shall gleam o’er the garnered
Then she felt his hands about
her as he took the fateful sword,
And he kissed her soft and
sweetly; but she answered never a word:
So great and fair was he waxen,
so glorious was his face,
So young, as the deathless
Gods are, that long in the golden place
She stood when he was departed:
as some for-travailed one
Comes over the dark fell-ridges
on the birth-tide of the sun,
And his gathering sleep falls
from him mid the glory and the blaze;
And he sees the world grow
merry and looks on the lightened ways,
While the ruddy streaks are
melting in the day-flood broad and white;
Then the morn-dusk he forgetteth,
and the moon-lit waste of night,
And the hall whence he departed
with its yellow candles’ flare:
So stood the Isle-king’s
daughter in that treasure-chamber fair.
But swift on his ways went Sigurd,
and to Regin’s house he came,
Where the Master stood in the doorway and behind
him leapt the flame,
And dark he looked and little: no more his
speech was sweet,
No words on his lip were gathered the Volsung
child to greet,
Till he took the sword from Sigurd and the shards
of the days of old;
Then he spake:
“Will nothing serve thee save
this blue steel and cold,
The bane of thy father’s father, the fate
of all his kin,
The baleful blade I fashioned, the Wrath that
the Gods would win?”
Then answered the eye-bright Sigurd: “If thou thy craft wilt do
Nought save these battle-gleanings shall be my helper true:
And what if thou begrudgest, and my battle-blade be dull,
Yet the hand of the Norns is lifted and the cup is over-full.
Repentst thou ne’er so sorely that thy kin must lie alow,
How much soe’er thou longest the world to overthrow,
And, doubting the gold and the wisdom, wouldst even now appease
Blind hate and eyeless murder, and win the world with these;
O’er-late is the time for repenting the word thy lips have said:
Thou shalt have the Gold and the wisdom and take its curse on thine
head.
I say that thy lips have spoken, and no more with thee it lies
To do the deed or leave it: since thou hast shown mine eyes
The world that was aforetime, I see the world to be;
And woe to the tangling thicket, or the wall that hindereth me!
And short is the space I will tarry; for how if the Worm should die
Ere the first of my strokes be stricken? Wilt thou get to thy mastery
And knit these shards together that once in the Branstock stood?
But if not and a smith’s hands fail me, a king’s hand yet shall be
good;
And the Norns have doomed thy brother. And yet I deem this sword
Is the slayer of the Serpent, and the scatterer of the Hoard.”
Great waxed the gloom of Regin,
and he said: “Thou sayest sooth,
For none may turn him backward:
the sword of a very youth
Shall one day end my cunning,
as the Gods my joyance slew,
When nought thereof they were
deeming, and another thing would do.
But this sword shall slay
the Serpent; and do another deed,
And many an one thereafter
till it fail thee in thy need.
But as fair and great as thou
standeth, yet get thee from mine house,
For in me too might ariseth,
and the place is perilous
With the craft that was aforetime,
and shall never be again,
When the hands that have taught
thee cunning have failed from the world
of men.
Thou art wroth; but thy wrath
must slumber till fate its blossom bear;
Not thus were the eyes of
Odin when I held him in the snare.
Depart! lest the end overtake
us ere thy work and mine be done,
But come again in the night-tide
and the slumber of the sun,
When the sharded moon of April
hangs round in the undark May.”
Hither and thither a while
did the heart of Sigurd sway;
For he feared no craft of
the Dwarf-kind, nor heeded the ways of Fate,
But his hand wrought e’en
as his heart would: and now was he weary
with hate
Of the hatred and scorn of
the Gods, and the greed of gold and of gain,
And the weaponless hands of
the stripling of the wrath and the rending
were fain.
But there stood Regin the
Master, and his eyes were on Sigurd’s eyes,
Though nought belike they
beheld him, and his brow was sad and wise;
And the greed died out of
his visage and he stood like an image of old.
So the Norns drew Sigurd away,
and the tide was an even of gold,
And sweet in the April even
were the fowl-kind singing their best;
And the light of life smote
Sigurd, and the joy that knows no rest,
And the fond unnamed desire,
and the hope of hidden things;
And he wended fair and lovely
to the house of the feasting Kings.
But now when the moon was at full
and the undark May begun,
Went Sigurd unto Regin mid the slumber of the
sun,
And amidst the fire-hall’s pavement the
King of the Dwarf-kind stood
Like an image of deeds departed and days that
once were good;
And he seemed but faint and weary, and his eyes
were dim and dazed
As they met the glory of Sigurd where the fitful
candles blazed.
Then he spake:
“Hail, Son of the Volsungs,
the corner-stone is laid,
I have toiled and thou hast desired, and, lo,
the fateful blade!”
Then Sigurd saw it lying on the
ashes slaked and pale,
Like the sun and the lightning mingled mid the
even’s cloudy bale,
For ruddy and great were the hilts, and the edges
fine and wan,
And all adown to the blood-point a very flame
there ran
That swallowed the runes of wisdom wherewith its
But Regin cried to his harp-strings:
“Before the days of men
I smithied the Wrath of Sigurd,
and now is it smithied again:
And my hand alone hath done
it, and my heart alone hath dared
To bid that man to the mountain,
and behold his glory bared.
Ah, if the son of Sigmund
might wot of the thing I would,
Then how were the ages bettered,
and the world all waxen good!
Then how were the past forgotten
and the weary days of yore,
And the hope of man that dieth
and the waste that never bore!
How should this one live through
the winter and know of all increase!
How should that one spring
to the sunlight and bear the blossom of
peace!
No more should the long-lived
wisdom o’er the waste of the wilderness
stray;
Nor the clear-eyed hero hasten
to the deedless ending of day.
And what if the hearts of
the Volsungs for this deed of deeds were
born,
How then were their life-days
evil and the end of their lives forlorn?”
There stood Sigurd the Volsung,
and heard how the harp-strings rang,
But of other things they told
him than the hope that the Master sang;
And his world lay far away
from the Dwarf-king’s eyeless realm
And the road that leadeth
nowhere, and the ship without a helm:
But he spake: “How
oft shall I say it, that I shall work thy will?
If my father hath made me
mighty, thine heart shall I fulfill
With the wisdom and gold thou
wouldest, before I wend on my ways;
For now hast thou failed me
nought, and the sword is the wonder of
days.”
No word for a while spake Regin;
but he hung his head adown
As a man that pondereth sorely, and his voice
once more was grown
As the voice of the smithying-master as he spake:
“This Wrath of thine
Hath cleft the hard and the heavy; it shall shear
the soft and the
fine:
Come forth to the night and prove it.”
So they
twain went forth abroad,
And the moon lay white on the river and lit the
sleepless ford,
And down to its pools they wended, and the stream
was swift and full;
Then Regin cast against it a lock of fine-spun
wool,
And it whirled about on the eddy till it met the
edges bared,
And as clean as the careless water the laboured
fleece was sheared.
Then Regin spake: “It
is good, what the smithying-carle hath wrought:
Now the work of the King beginneth, and the end
that my soul hath
sought.
Thou shalt toil and I shall desire, and the deed
shall be surely done:
For thy Wrath is alive and awake and the story
of bale is begun.”
Therewith was the Wrath of
Sigurd laid soft in a golden sheath
And the peace-strings knit
around it; for that blade was fain of death;
And ’tis ill to show
such edges to the broad blue light of day,
Or to let the hall-glare light
them, if ye list not play the play.
Of Gripir’s Foretelling.
Now Sigurd backeth Greyfell
on the first of the morrow morn,
And he rideth fair and softly
through the acres of the corn;
The Wrath to his side is girded,
but hid are the edges blue,
As he wendeth his ways to
the mountains, and rideth the horse-mead
through.
His wide grey eyes are happy,
and his voice is sweet and soft,
As amid the mead-lark’s
singing he casteth song aloft:
Lo, lo, the horse and the
rider! So once maybe it was,
When over the Earth unpeopled
the youngest God would pass;
But never again meseemeth
shall such a sight betide,
Till over a world unwrongful
new-born shall Baldur ride.
So he comes to that ness of
the mountains, and Gripir’s garden steep,
That bravely Greyfell breasteth,
and adown by the door doth he leap
And his war-gear rattleth
upon him; there is none to ask or forbid
As he wendeth the house clear-lighted,
where no mote of the dust is
hid,
Though the sunlight hath not
entered: the walls are clear and bright,
For they cast back each to
other the golden Sigurd’s light;
Through the echoing ways of
the house bright-eyed he wendeth along,
And the mountain-wind is with
him, and the hovering eagles’ song;
But no sound of the children
of men may the ears of the Volsung hear,
And no sign of their ways
in the world, or their will, or their hope
or their fear.
So he comes to the hall of
Gripir, and gleaming-green is it built
As the house of under-ocean
where the wealth of the greedy is spilt;
Gleaming and green as the
sea, and rich as its rock-strewn floor,
And fresh as the autumn morning
when the burning of summer is o’er.
There he looks and beholdeth
the high-seat, and he sees it strangely
wrought,
Of the tooth of the sea-beast
fashioned ere the Dwarf-kind came to
nought;
And he looks, and thereon
is Gripir, the King exceeding old,
With the sword of his fathers
girded, and his raiment wrought of gold;
With the ivory rod in his
right-hand, with his left on the crystal
laid,
That is round as the world
of men-folk, and after its image made,
And clear is it wrought to
the eyen that may read therein of Fate,
Though little indeed be its
sea, and its earth not wondrous great.
There Sigurd stands in the
hall, on the sheathed Wrath doth he lean.
All his golden light is mirrored
in the gleaming floor and green;
But the smile in his face
upriseth as he looks on the ancient King,
And their glad eyes meet and
their laughter, and sweet is the
welcoming:
And Gripir saith: “Hail
Sigurd! for my bidding hast thou done,
And here in the mountain-dwelling
are two Kings of men alone.”
But Sigurd spake: “Hail
father! I am girt with the fateful sword
And my face is set to the
highway, and I come for thy latest word.”
Said Gripir: “What wouldst thou hearken ere we sit and drink the wine?”
“Thy word and the Norns’,” said Sigurd, “but never a word of mine.”
“What sights wouldst
thou see,” said Gripir, “ere mine hand
shall take
thine hand?”
“As the Gods would I
see,” said Sigurd, “though Death light
up the
land.”
“What hope wouldst thou
hope, O Sigurd, ere we kiss, we twain, and
depart?”
“Thy hope and the Gods’,”
said Sigurd, “though the grief lie hard on
my heart.”
Nought answered the ancient
wise-one, and not a whit had he stirred
Since the clash of Sigurd’s
raiment in his mountain-hall he heard;
But the ball that imaged the
earth was set in his hand grown old;
And belike it was to his vision,
as the wide-world’s ocean rolled,
And the forests waved with
the wind, and the corn was gay with the
lark,
And the gold in its nether
places grew up in the dusk and the dark,
And its children built and
departed, and its King-folk conquered and
went,
As over the crystal image
his all-wise face was bent:
For all his desire was dead,
and he lived as a God shall live,
Whom the prayers of the world
hath forgotten, and to whom no hand may
give.
But there stood the mighty
Volsung, and leaned on the hidden Wrath;
As the earliest sun’s
uprising o’er the sea-plain draws a path
Whereby men sail to the Eastward
and the dawn of another day,
So the image of King Sigurd
on the gleaming pavement lay.
Then great in the hall fair-pillared
the voice of Gripir arose,
And it ran through the glimmering
house-ways, and forth to the sunny
close;
There mid the birds’
rejoicing went the voice of an o’er-wise King
Like a wind of midmost winter
come back to talk with spring.
But the voice cried:
“Sigurd, Sigurd! O great, O early born!
O hope of the Kings first
fashioned! O blossom of the morn!
Short day and long remembrance,
fair summer of the North!
One day shall the worn world
wonder how first thou wentest forth!
“Arise, O Sigurd, Sigurd!
In the night arise and go,
Thou shalt smite when the
day-dawn glimmers through the folds of
God-home’s
foe:
“There the child in
the noon-tide smiteth; the young King rendeth
apart,
The old guile by the guile
encompassed, the heart made wise by the
heart.
“Bind the red rings,
O Sigurd; bind up to cast abroad!
That the earth may laugh before
thee rejoiced by the Waters’ Hoard.
“Ride on, O Sigurd,
Sigurd! for God’s word goes forth on the wind,
And he speaketh not twice
over; nor shall they loose that bind:
But the Day and the Day shall
loosen, and the Day shall awake and
arise,
And the Day shall rejoice
with the Dawning, and the wise heart learn
of the wise.
“O fair, O fearless,
O mighty, how green are the garths of Kings,
How soft are the ways before
thee to the heart of their war-farings!
“How green are the garths
of King-folk, how fair is the lily and rose
In the house of the Cloudy
People, ’neath the towers of kings and foes!
“Smite now, smite now
in the noontide! ride on through the hosts of
men!
Lest the dear remembrance
perish, and today come not again.
“Is it day?—But
the house is darkling—But the hand would
gather and
hold,
And the lips have kissed the
cloud-wreath, and a cloud the arms enfold.
“In the dusk hath the
Sower arisen; in the dark hath he cast the seed,
And the ear is the sorrow
of Odin and the wrong, and the nameless need!
“Ah the hand hath gathered
and garnered, and empty is the hand,
Though the day be full and
fruitful mid the drift of the Cloudy Land!
“Look, look on the drift
of the clouds, how the day and the even doth
grow
As the long-forgotten dawning
that was a while ago!
“Dawn, dawn, O mighty
of men! and why wilt thou never awake,
When the holy field of the
Goth-folk cries out for thy love and thy
sake?
“Dawn, now; but the
house is silent, and dark is the purple blood
On the breast of the Queen
fair-fashioned; and it riseth up as a flood
Round the posts of the door
beloved; and a deed there lieth therein:
The last of the deeds of Sigurd;
the worst of the Cloudy Kin—
The slayer slain by the slain
within the door and without.
—O dawn as the
eve of the birth-day! O dark world cumbered with
doubt!
“Shall it never be day
any more, nor the sun’s uprising and growth?
Shall the kings of earth lie
sleeping and the war-dukes wander in sloth
Through the last of the winter
twilight? is the word of the wise-ones
said
Till the five-fold winter
be ended and the trumpet waken the dead?
“Short day and long
remembrance! great glory for the earth!
O deeds of the Day triumphant!
O word of Sigurd’s worth!
It is done, and who shall
undo it of all who were ever alive?
May the Gods or the high Gods’
masters ’gainst the tale of the
righteous strive,
And the deeds to follow after,
and all their deeds increase,
Till the uttermost field is
foughten, and Baldur riseth in peace!
“Cry out, O waste, before
him! O rocks of the wilderness, cry!
For tomorn shalt thou see
the glory, and the man not made to die!
Cry out, O upper heavens!
O clouds beneath the lift!
For the golden King shall
be riding high-headed midst the drift:
The mountain waits and the
fire; there waiteth the heart of the wise
Till the earthly toil is accomplished,
and again shall the fire arise;
And none shall be nigh in
the ending and none by his heart shall be
laid,
Save the world that he cherished
and quickened, and the Day that he
wakened and made.”
So died the voice of Gripir from
amidst the sunny close,
And the sound of hastening eagles from the mountain’s
feet arose,
But the hall was silent a little, for still stood
Sigmund’s son,
And he heard the words and remembered, and knew
them one by one.
Then he turned on the ancient Gripir with eyes
that knew no guile
And smiled on the wise of King-folk as the first
of men might smile
On the God that hath fashioned him happy; and
he spake:
“Hast
thou spoken and known
How there standeth a child before thee and a stripling
scarcely grown?
Or hast thou told of the Volsungs, and the gathered
heart of these,
And their still unquenched desire for garnering
fame’s increase?
E’en so do I hearken thy words: for
I wot how they deem it long
Till a man from their seed be arisen to deal with
the cumber and wrong.
Bid me therefore to sit by thy side, for behold
I wend on my way,
And the gates swing-to behind me, and each day
of mine is a day
With deeds in the eve and the morning, nor deeds
shall the noontide
lack;
To the right and the left none calleth, and no
voice crieth aback.”
“Come, kin of the Gods,”
said Gripir, “come up and sit by my side,
That we twain may be glad
as the fearless, and they that have nothing
to hide:
I have wrought out my will
and abide it, and I sit ungrieved and alone,
I look upon men and I help
not; to me are the deeds long done
As those of today and tomorrow:
for these and for those am I glad;
But the Gods and men are the
framers, and the days of my life I have
had.”
Then Sigurd came unto Gripir,
and he kissed the wise-one’s face,
And they sat in the high-seat
together, the child and the elder of
days;
And they drank of the wine
of King-folk, and were joyful each of each,
And spake for a while of matters
that are meet for King-folk’s speech;
The deeds of men that have
been and Kin of the Kings of the earth;
And Gripir told of the outlands,
and the mid-world’s billowy girth,
And tales of the upper heaven
were mingled with his talk,
And the halls where the Sea-Queen’s
kindred o’er the gem-strewn
pavement walk,
And the innermost parts of
the earth, where they lie, the green and
the blue,
And the red and the glittering
gem-stones that of old the Dwarf-kind
knew.
Long Sigurd sat and marvelled at
the mouth that might not lie,
And the eyes no God had blinded, and the lone
heart raised on high,
Then he rose from the gleaming high-seat, and
the rings of battle rang
And the sheathed Wrath was hearkening and a song
of war it sang,
But Sigurd spake unto Gripir:
“Long and
lovely are thy days,
And thy years fulfilled of wisdom, and thy feet
on the unhid ways,
And the guileless heart of the great that knoweth
not anger nor pain:
So they kissed, the wise and
the wise, and the child from the elder
turned;
And again in the glimmering
house-ways the golden Sigurd burned;
He stood outside in the sunlight,
and tarried never a deal,
But leapt on the cloudy Greyfell
with the clank of gold and steel,
And he rode through the sinking
day to the walls of the kingly stead,
And came to Regin’s
dwelling when the wind was fallen dead,
And the great sun just departing:
then blood-red grew the west,
And the fowl flew home from
the sea-mead, and all things sank to rest.
Sigurd rideth to the Glittering Heath.
Again on the morrow morning
doth Sigurd the Volsung ride,
And Regin, the Master of Masters,
is faring by his side,
And they leave the dwelling
of kings and ride the summer land,
Until at the eve of the day
the hills are on either hand:
Then they wend up higher and
higher, and over the heaths they fare
Till the moon shines broad
on the midnight, and they sleep ’neath the
heavens bare;
And they waken and look behind
them, and lo, the dawning of day
And the little land of the
Helper and its valleys far away;
But the mountains rise before
them, a wall exceeding great.
Then spake the Master of Masters:
“We have come to the garth and the
gate:
There is youth and rest behind
thee and many a thing to do,
There is many a fond desire,
and each day born anew;
And the land of the Volsungs
to conquer, and many a people’s praise:
And for me there is rest it
maybe, and the peaceful end of days.
We have come to the garth
and the gate; to the hall-door now shall
we win,
Shall we go to look on the
high-seat and see what sitteth therein?”
“Yea, and what else?”
said Sigurd, “was thy tale but mockeries,
And have I been drifted hither
on a wind of empty lies?”
“It was sooth, it was
sooth,” said Regin, “and more might I have
told
Had I heart and space to remember
the deeds of the days of old.”
And he hung down his head
as he spake it, and was silent a little
space;
And when it was lifted again
there was fear in the Dwarf-king’s face.
And he said: “Thou
knowest my thought, and wise-hearted art thou grown:
It were well if thine eyes
were blinder, and we each were faring alone,
And I with my eld and my wisdom,
and thou with thy youth and thy might;
Yet whiles I dream I have
Nought answered the Son of
Sigmund; nay he heard him nought at all,
Save as though the wind were
speaking in the bights of the
mountain-hall:
But he leapt aback of Greyfell,
and the glorious sun rose up,
And the heavens glowed above
him like the bowl of Baldur’s cup,
And a golden man was he waxen;
as the heart of the sun he seemed,
While over the feet of the
mountains like blood the new light streamed;
Then Sigurd cried to Greyfell
and swift for the pass he rode,
And Regin followed after as
a man bowed down by a load.
Day-long they fared through
the mountains, and that highway’s fashioner
Forsooth was a fearful craftsman,
and his hands the waters were,
And the heaped-up ice was
his mattock, and the fire-blast was his man,
And never a whit he heeded
though his walls were waste and wan,
And the guest-halls of that
wayside great heaps of the ashes spent
But, each as a man alone,
through the sun-bright day they went,
And they rode till the moon
rose upward, and the stars were small and
fair,
Then they slept on the long-slaked
ashes beneath the heavens bare;
And the cold dawn came and
they wakened, and the King of the
Dwarf-kind seemed
As a thing of that wan land
fashioned; but Sigurd glowed and gleamed
Amid the shadowless twilight
by Greyfell’s cloudy flank,
As a little space they abided
while the latest star-world shrank;
On the backward road looked
Regin and heard how Sigurd drew
The girths of Greyfell’s
saddle, and the voice of his sword he knew,
And he feared to look on the
Volsung, as thus he fell to speak:
“I have seen the Dwarf-folk
mighty, I have seen the God-folk weak;
And now, though our might
be minished, yet have we gifts to give.
When men desire and conquer,
most sweet is their life to live;
When men are young and lovely
there is many a thing to do.
And sweet is their fond desire
and the dawn that springs anew.”
“This gift,” said
the Son of Sigmund, “the Norns shall give me
yet,
And no blossom slain by the
sunshine while the leaves with dew are
wet.”
Then Regin turned and beheld
him: “Thou shalt deem it hard and strange,
When the hand hath encompassed
it all, and yet thy life must change.
Ah, long were the lives of
men-folk, if betwixt the Gods and them
Were mighty warders watching
mid the earth’s and the heaven’s hem!
Is there any man so mighty
he would cast this gift away,—
The heart’s desire accomplished,
and life so long a day,
That the dawn should be forgotten
ere the even was begun?”
Then Sigurd laughed and answered:
“Fare forth, O glorious sun;
Bright end from bright beginning,
and the mid-way good to tell,
And death, and deeds accomplished,
and all remembered well!
Shall the day go past and
leave us, and we be left with night,
To tread the endless circle,
and strive in vain to smite?
But thou—wilt thou
still look backward? thou sayst I know thy thought:
Thou hast whetted the sword
for the slaying, it shall turn aside for
nought.
Fear not! with the Gold and
the wisdom thou shalt deem thee God alone,
And mayst do and undo at pleasure,
nor be bound by right nor wrong:
And then, if no God I be waxen,
I shall be the weak with the strong.”
And his war-gear clanged and
tinkled as he leapt to the saddle-stead:
And the sun rose up at their
backs and the grey world changed to red,
And away to the west went
Sigurd by the glory wreathed about,
But little and black was Regin
as a fire that dieth out.
Day-long they rode the mountains
by the crags exceeding old,
And the ash that the first
of the Dwarf-kind found dull and quenched
and cold.
Then the moon in the mid-sky
swam, and the stars were fair and pale,
And beneath the naked heaven
they slept in an ash-grey dale;
And again at the dawn-dusk’s
ending they stood upon their feet,
And Sigurd donned his war-gear
nor his eyes would Regin meet.
A clear streak widened in
heaven low down above the earth;
And above it lay the cloud-flecks,
and the sun, anigh its birth,
Unseen, their hosts was staining
with the very hue of blood,
And ruddy by Greyfell’s
shoulder the Son of Sigmund stood.
Then spake the Master of Masters:
“What is thine hope this morn
That thou dightest thee, O
Sigurd, to ride this world forlorn?”
“What needeth hope,”
said Sigurd, “when the heart of the Volsungs
turns
To the light of the Glittering
Heath, and the house where the Waster
burns?
I shall slay the Foe of the
Gods, as thou badst me a while agone,
And then with the Gold and
its wisdom shalt thou be left alone.”
“O Child,” said
the King of the Dwarf-kind, “when the day at
last
comes round
For the dread and the Dusk
of the Gods, and the kin of the Wolf is
unbound,
When thy sword shall hew the
fire, and the wildfire beateth thy shield,
Shalt thou praise the wages
of hope and the Gods that pitched the
field?”
“O Foe of the Gods,”
said Sigurd, “wouldst thou hide the evil thing,
And the curse that is greater
than thou, lest death end thy labouring,
Lest the night should come
upon thee amidst thy toil for nought?
It is me, it is me that thou
fearest, if indeed I know thy thought;
Yea me, who would utterly
light the face of all good and ill,
If not with the fruitful beams
that the summer shall fulfill,
Then at least with the world
a-blazing, and the glare of the grinded
sword.”
And he sprang aloft to the saddle
as he spake the latest word,
And the Wrath sang loud in the sheath as it ne’er
had sung before,
And the cloudy flecks were scattered like flames
on the heaven’s floor,
And all was kindled at once, and that trench of
the mountains grey
Was filled with the living light as the low sun
lit the way:
But Regin turned from the glory with blinded eyes
and dazed,
And lo, on the cloudy war-steed how another light
there blazed,
And a great voice came from amidst it:
“O
Regin, in good sooth,
I have hearkened not nor heeded the words of thy
fear and thy ruth:
Thou hast told thy tale and thy longing, and thereto
I hearkened
well:—
Let it lead thee up to heaven, let it lead thee
down to hell,
The deed shall be done tomorrow: thou shalt
have that measureless Gold,
And devour the garnered wisdom that blessed thy
realm of old,
That hath lain unspent and begrudged in the very
heart of hate:
With the blood and the might of thy brother thine
hunger shalt thou
sate;
And this deed shall be mine and thine; but take
heed for what
followeth then!
Let each do after his kind! I shall do the
deeds of men;
I shall harvest the field of their sowing, in
the bed of their
strewing shall sleep;
To them shall I give my life-days, to the Gods
my glory to keep.
But thou with the wealth and the wisdom that the
best of the Gods
might praise,
If thou shalt indeed excel them and become the
hope of the days,
Then me in turn hast thou conquered, and I shall
be in turn
Thy fashioned brand of the battle through good
and evil to burn,
Or the flame that sleeps in thy stithy for the
gathered winds to blow,
When thou listest to do and undo and thine uttermost
cunning to show.
But indeed I wot full surely that thou shalt follow
thy kind;
And for all that cometh after, the Norns shall
loose and bind.”
Then his bridle-reins rang
sweetly, and the warding-walls of death,
And Regin drew up to him,
and the Wrath sang loud in the sheath,
And forth from that trench
in the mountains by the westward way they
ride;
And little and black goes
Regin by the golden Volsung’s side;
But no more his head is drooping,
for he seeth the Elf-king’s Gold;
The garnered might and the
wisdom e’en now his eyes behold.
So up and up they journeyed,
and ever as they went
About the cold-slaked forges,
o’er many a cloud-swept bent,
Betwixt the walls of blackness,
by shores of the fishless meres,
And the fathomless desert
waters, did Regin cast his fears,
And wrap him in desire; and
all alone he seemed
As a God to his heirship wending,
and forgotten and undreamed
Was all the tale of Sigurd,
and the folk he had toiled among,
And the Volsungs, Odin’s
children, and the men-folk fair and young.
So on they ride to the westward;
and huge were the mountains grown
And the floor of heaven was
mingled with that tossing world of stone:
And they rode till the noon
was forgotten and the sun was waxen low,
And they tarried not, though
he perished, and the world grew dark
below.
Then they rode a mighty desert,
a glimmering place and wide,
And into a narrow pass high-walled
on either side
By the blackness of the mountains,
and barred aback and in face
By the empty night of the
shadow; a windless silent place:
But the white moon shone o’erhead
mid the small sharp stars and pale,
And each as a man alone they
rode on the highway of bale.
So ever they wended upward,
and the midnight hour was o’er,
And the stars grew pale and
paler, and failed from the heaven’s floor,
And the moon was a long while
dead, but where was the promise of day?
No change came over the darkness,
no streak of the dawning grey;
No sound of the wind’s
uprising adown the night there ran:
It was blind as the Gaping
Gulf ere the first of the worlds began.
Then athwart and athwart rode
Sigurd and sought the walls of the pass,
But found no wall before him;
and the road rang hard as brass
Beneath the hoofs of Greyfell,
as up and up he trod:
—Was it the daylight
of Hell, or the night of the doorway of God?
But lo, at the last a glimmer,
and a light from the west there came,
And another and another, like
points of far-off flame;
And they grew and brightened
and gathered; and whiles together they ran
Like the moon wake over the
waters; and whiles they were scant and wan,
Some greater and some lesser,
like the boats of fishers laid
About the sea of midnight;
and a dusky dawn they made,
A faint and glimmering twilight:
So Sigurd strains his eyes,
And he sees how a land deserted
all round about him lies
More changeless than mid-ocean,
as fruitless as its floor:
Then the heart leaps up within
him, for he knows that his journey
is o’er.
And there he draweth bridle
on the first of the Glittering Heath:
And the Wrath is waxen merry
and sings in the golden sheath
As he leaps adown from Greyfell,
and stands upon his feet,
And wends his ways through
the twilight the Foe of the Gods to meet.
Sigurd slayeth Fafnir the Serpent.
Nought Sigurd seeth of Regin,
and nought he heeds of him,
As in watchful might and glory
he strides the desert dim,
And behind him paceth Greyfell;
but he deems the time o’erlong
Till he meet the great gold-warden,
the over-lord of wrong.
So he wendeth midst the silence
through the measureless desert place,
And beholds the countless
glitter with wise and steadfast face,
Till him-seems in a little
season that the flames grown somewhat wan,
And a grey thing glimmers
before him, and becomes a mighty man.
One-eyed and ancient-seeming,
in cloud-grey raiment clad;
A friendly man and glorious,
and of visage smiling-glad:
Then content in Sigurd groweth
because of his majesty,
And he heareth him speak in
the desert as the wind of the winter sea:
“Hail Sigurd! Give me thy greeting ere thy ways alone thou wend!”
Said Sigurd: “Hail! I greet thee, my friend and my fathers’ friend.”
“Now whither away,”
said the elder, “with the Steed and the ancient
Sword?”
“To the greedy house,” said Sigurd, “and the King of the Heavy Hoard.”
“Wilt thou smite, O Sigurd, Sigurd?” said the ancient mighty-one.
“Yea, yea, I shall smite,”
said the Volsung, “save the Gods have slain
the sun.”
“What wise wilt thou
smite,” said the elder? “lest the dark
devour thy
day?”
“Thou hast praised the
sword,” said the child, “and the sword
shall
find a way.”
“Be learned of me,”
said the Wise-one, “for I was the first of thy
folk.”
Said the child: “I
shall do thy bidding, and for thee shall I strike
the stroke.”
Spake the Wise-one: “Thus
shalt thou do when thou wendest hence alone:
Thou shalt find a path in
the desert, and a road in the world of stone;
It is smooth and deep and
hollow, but the rain hath riven it not,
And the wild wind hath not
worn it, for it is but Fafnir’s slot,
Whereby he wends to the water
and the fathomless pool of old,
When his heart in the dawn
is weary, and he loathes the ancient Gold:
There think of the great and
the fathers, and bare the whetted Wrath,
And dig a pit in the highway,
and a grave in the Serpent’s path:
Lie thou therein, O Sigurd,
and thine hope from the glooming hide,
And be as the dead for a season,
and the living light abide!
And so shall thine heart avail
thee, and thy mighty fateful hand,
And the Light that lay in
the Branstock, the well-beloved brand.”
Said the child: “I
shall do thy bidding, and for thee shall I strike
the stroke;
For I love thee, friend of
my fathers, Wise Heart of the holy folk.”
So spake the Son of Sigmund,
and beheld no man anear,
And again was the night the
midnight, and the twinkling flames shone
clear
In the hush of the Glittering
Heath; and alone went Sigmund’s son
Till he came to the road of
Fafnir, and the highway worn by one,
By the drift of the rain unfurrowed,
by the windy years unrent,
And forth from the dark it
came, and into the dark it went.
Great then was the heart of
Sigurd, for there in the midmost he stayed,
And thought of the ancient
fathers, and bared the bright blue blade,
That shone as a fleck of the
day-light, and the night was all around.
Fair then was the Son of Sigmund
as he tolled and laboured the ground;
Great, mighty he was in his
working, and the Glittering Heath he clave,
And the sword shone blue before
him as he dug the pit and the grave:
There he hid his hope from
the night-tide and lay like one of the dead,
And wise and wary he bided;
and the heavens hung over his head.
Now the night wanes over Sigurd,
and the ruddy rings he sees,
And his war-gear’s fair
adornment, and the God-folk’s images;
But a voice in the desert
ariseth, a sound in the waste has birth,
A changing tinkle and clatter,
as of gold dragged over the earth:
O’er Sigurd widens the
day-light, and the sound is drawing close,
And speedier than the trample
of speedy feet it goes;
But ever deemeth Sigurd that
the sun brings back the day,
For the grave grows lighter
and lighter and heaven o’erhead is grey.
But now, how the rattling
waxeth till he may not heed nor hark!
And the day and the heavens
are hidden, and o’er Sigurd rolls the dark,
As the flood of a pitchy river,
and heavy-thick is the air
With the venom of hate long
hoarded, and lies once fashioned fair:
Then a wan face comes from
the darkness, and is wrought in manlike
wise,
And the lips are writhed with
laughter and bleared are the blinded
eyes;
And it wandereth hither and
thither, and searcheth through the grave
And departeth, leaving nothing,
save the dark, rolled wave on wave
O’er the golden head
of Sigurd and the edges of the sword,
And the world weighs heavy
on Sigurd, and the weary curse of the Hoard:
Him-seemed the grave grew
straiter, and his hope of life grew chill,
And his heart by the Worm
was enfolded, and the bonds of the
Ancient Ill.
Then was Sigurd stirred by
his glory, and he strove with the swaddling
of Death;
He turned in the pit on the
highway, and the grave of the Glittering
Heath;
He laughed and smote with
the laughter and thrust up over his head.
And smote the venom asunder,
and clave the heart of Dread;
Then he leapt from the pit
and the grave, and the rushing river of
But there was the ancient
Fafnir, and the Face of Terror lay
On the huddled folds of the
Serpent, that were black and ashen-grey
In the desert lit by the sun;
and those twain looked each on each,
And forth from the Face of
Terror went a sound of dreadful speech:
“Child, child, who art
thou that hast smitten? bright child, of whence
is thy birth?”
“I am called the Wild-thing Glorious, and alone I wend on the earth.”
“Fierce child, and who
was thy father?—Thou hast cleft the heart
of
the Foe!”
“Am I like to the sons of men-folk, that my father I should know?”
“Wert thou born of a
nameless wonder? shall the lies to my death-day
cling?”
“How lieth Sigurd the Volsung, and the Son of Sigmund the King?”
“O bitter father of Sigurd!—thou hast cleft mine heart atwain!”
“I arose, and I wondered
and wended, and I smote, and I smote not in
vain.”
“What master hath taught
thee of murder?—Thou hast wasted Fafnir’s
day.”
“I, Sigurd, knew and desired, and the bright sword learned the way.”
“Thee, thee shall the
rattling Gold and the red rings bring to the
bane.”
“Yet mine hand shall
cast them abroad, and the earth shall gather
again.”
“I see thee great in thine anger, and the Norns thou heedest not.”
“O Fafnir, speak of the Norns and the wisdom unforgot!”
“Let the death-doomed
flee from the ocean, him the wind and the
weather shall
drown.”
“O Fafnir, tell of the Norns ere thy life thou layest adown!”
“O manifold is their
kindred, and who shall tell them all?
There are they that rule o’er
men-folk and the stars that rise and
fall:
—I knew of the
folk of the Dwarfs, and I knew their Norns of old;
And I fought, and I fell in
the morning, and I die afar from the gold:
—I have seen the
Gods of heaven, and their Norns withal I know:
They love and withhold their
helping, they hate and refrain the blow;
They curse and they may not
sunder, they bless and they shall not
blend;
They have fashioned the good
and the evil; they abide the change and
the end.”
“O Fafnir, what of the
Isle, and what hast thou known of its name,
Where the Gods shall mingle
edges with Surt and the Sons of the Flame?”
“O child, O Strong Compeller!
Unshapen is it hight;
There the fallow blades shall
be shaken and the Dark and the Day shall
smite,
When the Bridge of the Gods
is broken, and their white steeds swim the
sea,
And the uttermost field is
stricken, last strife of thee and me.”
“What then shall endure, O Fafnir, the tale of the battle to tell?”
“I am blind, O Strong
Compeller, in the bonds of Death and Hell.
But thee shall the rattling
Gold and the red rings bring unto bane.”
“Yet the rings mine
hand shall scatter, and the earth shall gather
again.”
“Woe, woe! in the days
passed over I bore the Helm of Dread,
I reared the Face of Terror,
and the hoarded hate of the Dead:
I overcame and was mighty;
I was wise and cherished my heart
In the waste where no man
wandered, and the high house builded apart:
Till I met thine hand, O Sigurd,
and thy might ordained from of old;
And I fought and fell in the
morning, and I die far off from the Gold.”
Then Sigurd leaned on his
sword, and a dreadful voice went by
Like the wail of a God departing
and the War-God’s misery;
And strong words of ancient
wisdom went by on the desert wind,
The words that mar and fashion,
the words that loose and bind;
And sounds of a strange lamenting,
and such strange things bewailed,
That words to tell their meaning
the tongue of man hath failed.
Then all sank into silence,
and the Son of Sigmund stood
On the torn and furrowed desert
by the pool of Fafnir’s blood,
And the Serpent lay before
him, dead, chilly, dull, and grey;
And over the Glittering Heath
fair shone the sun and the day,
And a light wind followed
the sun and breathed o’er the fateful place,
As fresh as it furrows the
sea-plain or bows the acres’ face.
Sigurd slayeth Regin the Master of Masters on the Glittering Heath.
There standeth Sigurd the
Volsung, and leaneth on his sword,
And beside him now is Greyfell
and looks on his golden lord,
And the world is awake and
living; and whither now shall they wend,
Who have come to the Glittering
Heath, and wrought that deed to its
end?
For hither comes Regin the
Master from the skirts of the field of
death,
And he shadeth his eyes from
the sunlight as afoot he goeth and saith:
“Ah, let me live for
a while! for a while and all shall be well,
When passed is the house of
murder and I creep from the prison of
hell.”
Afoot he went o’er the
desert, and he came unto Sigurd and stared
At the golden gear of the
man, and the Wrath yet bloody and bared,
And the light locks raised
by the wind, and the eyes beginning to
smile,
And the lovely lips of the
Volsung, and the brow that knew no guile;
And he murmured under his
breath while his eyes grew white with wrath:
“O who art thou, and wherefore, and why art thou in the path?”
Then he turned to the ash-grey
Serpent, and grovelled low on the
ground,
And he drank of that pool
of the blood where the stones of the wild
were drowned,
And long he lapped as a dog;
but when he arose again,
Lo, a flock of the mountain-eagles
that drew to the feastful plain;
And he turned and looked on
Sigurd, as bright in the sun he stood,
A stripling fair and slender,
and wiped the Wrath of the blood.
But Regin cried: “O
Dwarf-kind, O many-shifting folk,
O shapes of might and wonder,
am I too freed from the yoke,
That binds my soul to my body
a withered thing forlorn,
While the short-lived fools
of man-folk so fair and oft are born?
Now swift in the air shall
I be, and young in the concourse of kings,
If my heart shall come to
desire the gain of earthly things.”
And he looked and saw how
Sigurd was sheathing the Flame of War,
And the eagles screamed in
the wind, but their voice came faint from
afar:
Then he scowled, and crouched
and darkened, and came to Sigurd and
spake:
“O child, thou hast
slain my brother, and the Wrath is alive and
awake.”
“Thou sayest sooth,”
said Sigurd, “thy deed and mine is done:
But now our ways shall sunder,
for here, meseemeth, the sun
Hath but little of deeds to
do, and no love to win aback.”
Then Regin crouched before
him, and he spake: “Fare on to the wrack!
Fare on to the murder of men,
and the deeds of thy kindred of old!
And surely of thee as of them
shall the tale be speedily told.
Thou hast slain thy Master’s
brother, and what wouldst thou say
thereto,
Were the judges met for the
judging and the doom-ring hallowed due?”
Then Sigurd spake as aforetime:
“Thy deed and mine it was,
And now our ways shall sunder,
and into the world will I pass.”
But Regin darkened before
him, and exceeding grim was he grown,
And he spake: “Thou
hast slain my brother, and wherewith wilt thou
atone?”
“Stand up, O Master,”
said Sigurd, “O Singer of ancient days,
And take the wealth I have
won thee, ere we wend on the sundering ways.
I have toiled and thou hast
desired, and the Treasure is surely anear,
And thou hast wisdom to find
it, and I have slain thy fear.”
But Regin crouched and darkened: “Thou hast slain my brother,” he said.
“Take thou the Gold,” quoth Sigurd, “for the ransom of my head!”
Then Regin crouched and darkened,
and over the earth he hung;
And he said: “Thou
hast slain my brother, and the Gods are yet but
young.”
Bright Sigurd towered above
him, and the Wrath cried out in the sheath,
And Regin writhed against
it as the adder turns on death;
And he spake: “Thou
hast slain my brother, and today shalt thou be my
thrall:
Yea a King shall be my cook-boy
and this heath my cooking-hall.”
Then he crept to the ash-grey
coils where the life of his brother had
lain.
And he drew a glaive from
his side and smote the smitten and slain,
And tore the heart from Fafnir,
while the eagles cried o’erhead.
And sharp and shrill was their
voice o’er the entrails of the dead.
Then Regin spake to Sigurd:
“Of this slaying wilt thou be free?
Then gather thou fire together
and roast the heart for me,
That I may eat it and live,
and be thy master and more;
For therein was might and
wisdom, and the grudged and hoarded lore:—
—Or else, depart
on thy ways afraid from the Glittering Heath.”
Then he fell abackward and
slept, nor set his sword in the sheath,
But his hand was red on the
hilts and blue were the edges bared,
Ash-grey was his visage waxen,
and with open eyes he stared
On the height of heaven above
him, and a fearful thing he seemed,
As his soul went wide in the
world, and of rule and kingship he
dreamed.
But Sigurd took the Heart,
and wood on the waste he found,
The wood that grew and died,
as it crept on the niggard ground,
And grew and died again, and
lay like whitened bones;
And the ernes cried over his
head, as he builded his hearth of stones,
And kindled the fire for cooking,
and sat and sang o’er the roast
The song of his fathers of
old, and the Wolflings’ gathering host:
So there on the Glittering
Heath rose up the little flame,
And the dry sticks crackled
amidst it, and alow the eagles came,
And seven they were by tale,
and they pitched all round about
The cooking-fire of Sigurd,
and sent their song-speech out:
But nought he knoweth its
wisdom, or the word that they would speak:
And hot grew the Heart of
Fafnir and sang amid the reek.
Then Sigurd looketh on Regin,
and he deemeth it overlong
That he dighteth the dear-bought
morsel, and the might for the Master
of wrong,
So he reacheth his hand to
the roast to see if the cooking be o’er;
But the blood and the fat
seethed from it and scalded his finger sore,
And he set his hand to his
mouth to quench the fleshly smart,
And he tasted the flesh of
the Serpent and the blood of Fafnir’s Heart:
Then there came a change upon
him, for the speech of fowl he knew,
And wise in the ways of the
beast-kind as the Dwarfs of old he grew;
And he knitted his brows and
hearkened, and wrath in his heart arose;
For he felt beset of evil
in a world of many foes.
But the hilts of the Wrath
he handled, and Regin’s heart he saw,
And how that the Foe of the
Gods the net of death would draw;
And his bright eyes flashed
and sparkled, and his mouth grew set and
stern
As he hearkened the voice
of the eagles, and their song began to learn.
For the first cried out in
the desert: “O mighty Sigmund’s son,
How long wilt thou sit and
tarry now the dear-bought roast is done?”
And the second: “Volsung,
arise! for the horns blow up to the hall,
And dight are the purple hangings,
and the King to the feasting
should fall.”
And the third: “How
great is the feast if the eater eat aright
The Heart of the wisdom of
old and the after-world’s delight!”
And the fourth: “Yea,
what of Regin? shall he scatter wrack o’er the
world?
Shall the father be slain
by the son, and the brother ’gainst brother
be hurled?”
And the fifth: “He
hath taught a stripling the gifts of a God to give:
He hath reared up a King for
the slaying, that he alone might live.”
And the sixth: “He
shall waken mighty as a God that scorneth at truth;
He hath drunk of the blood
of the Serpent, and drowned all hope and
ruth.”
And the seventh: “Arise,
O Sigurd, lest the hour be overlate!
For the sun in the mid-noon
shineth, and swift is the hand of Fate:
Arise! lest the world run
backward and the blind heart have its will,
And once again be tangled
the sundered good and ill;
Lest love and hatred perish,
lest the world forget its tale,
And the Gods sit deedless,
dreaming, in the high-walled heavenly vale.”
Then swift ariseth Sigurd,
and the Wrath in his hand is bare,
And he looketh, and Regin
sleepeth, and his eyes wide-open glare;
But his lips smile false in
his dreaming, and his hand is on the sword;
For he dreams himself the
Master and the new world’s fashioning-lord.
And his dream hath forgotten
Sigurd, and the King’s life lies in the
pit;
He is nought; Death gnaweth
upon him, while the Dwarfs in mastery sit.
But lo, how the eyes of Sigurd
the heart of the guileful behold,
And great is Allfather Odin,
and upriseth the Curse of the Gold,
And the Branstock bloometh
to heaven from the ancient wondrous root;
The summer hath shone on its
blossoms, and Sigurd’s Wrath is the fruit:
Dread then he cried in the
desert: “Guile-master, lo thy deed!
Hast thou nurst my life for
destruction, and my death to serve thy
need?
Hast thou kept me here for
the net and the death that tame things die?
Hast thou feared me overmuch,
thou Foe of the Gods on high?
Lest the sword thine hand
was wielding should turn about and cleave
The tangled web of nothing
thou hadst wearied thyself to weave.
Lo here the sword and the
stroke! judge the Norns betwixt us twain!
But for me, I will live and
die not, nor shall all my hope be vain.”
Then his second stroke struck
Sigurd, for the Wrath flashed thin and
white,
And ’twixt head and
trunk of Regin fierce ran the fateful light;
And there lay brother by brother
a faded thing and wan.
But Sigurd cried in the desert:
“So far have I wended on!
Dead are the foes of God-home
that would blend the good and the ill;
And the World shall yet be
famous, and the Gods shall have their will.
Nor shall I be dead and forgotten,
while the earth grows worse and
worse?
With the blind heart king
o’er the people, and binding curse with
curse.”
How Sigurd took to him the Treasure of the Elf Andvari.
Now Sigurd eats of the heart
that once in the Dwarf-king lay,
The hoard of the wisdom begrudged,
the might of the earlier day.
Then wise of heart was he
waxen, but longing in him grew
To sow the seed he had gotten,
and till the field he knew.
So he leapeth aback of Greyfell,
and rideth the desert bare.
And the hollow slot of Fafnir,
that led to the Serpent’s lair.
Then long he rode adown it,
and the ernes flew overhead,
And tidings great and glorious,
of that Treasure of old they said.
So far o’er the waste
he wended, and when the night was come
He saw the earth-old dwelling,
the dread Gold-wallower’s home:
On the skirts of the Heath
it was builded by a tumbled stony bent;
High went that house to the
heavens, down ’neath the earth it went.
Of unwrought iron fashioned
for the heart of a greedy king:
’Twas a mountain, blind
without, and within was its plenishing
But the Hoard of Andvari the
ancient, and the sleeping Curse unseen,
The Gold of the Gods that
spared not and the greedy that have been.
Through the door strode Sigurd
the Volsung, and the grey moon and the
sword
Fell in on the tawny gold-heaps
of the ancient hapless Hoard:
Gold gear of hosts unburied,
and the coin of cities dead,
Great spoil of the ages of
battle, lay there on the Serpent’s bed:
Huge blocks from mid-earth
quarried, where none but the Dwarfs have
mined,
Wide sands of the golden rivers
no foot of man may find
Lay ’neath the spoils
of the mighty and the ruddy rings of yore:
But amidst was the Helm of
Aweing that the Fear of earth-folk bore,
And there gleamed a wonder
beside it, the Hauberk all of gold,
Whose like is not in the heavens
nor has earth of its fellow told:
There Sigurd seeth moreover
Andvari’s Ring of Gain,
The hope of Loki’s finger,
the Ransom’s utmost grain;
For it shone on the midmost
gold-heap like the first star set in the
sky
In the yellow space of even
when moon-rise draweth anigh.
Then laughed the Son of Sigmund,
and stooped to the golden land,
“Bind the red rings,
O Sigurd! let the gold shine free and clear!
For what hath the Son of the
Volsungs the ancient Curse to fear?”
“Bind the red rings,
O Sigurd! for thy tale is well begun,
And the world shall be good
and gladdened by the Gold lit up by the
sun.”
“Bind the red rings,
O Sigurd! and gladden all thine heart!
For the world shall make thee
merry ere thou and she depart.”
“Bind the red rings,
O Sigurd! for the ways go green below,
Go green to the dwelling of
Kings, and the halls that the Queen-folk
know.”
“Bind the red rings,
O Sigurd! for what is there bides by the way,
Save the joy of folk to awaken,
and the dawn of the merry day?”
“Bind the red rings,
O Sigurd! for the strife awaits thine hand,
And a plenteous war-field’s
reaping, and the praise of many a land.”
“Bind the red rings,
O Sigurd! But how shall storehouse hold
That glory of thy winning
and the tidings to be told?”
Now the moon was dead, and
the star-worlds were great on the heavenly
plain,
When the steed was fully laden;
then Sigurd taketh the rein
And turns to the ruined rock-wall
that the lair was built beneath,
For there he deemed was the
gate and the door of the Glittering Heath,
But not a whit moved Greyfell
for aught that the King might do;
Then Sigurd pondered a while,
till the heart of the beast he knew,
And clad in all his war-gear
he leaped to the saddle-stead,
And with pride and mirth neighed
Greyfell and tossed aloft his head,
And sprang unspurred o’er
the waste, and light and swift he went,
And breasted the broken rampart,
the stony tumbled bent;
And over the brow he clomb,
and there beyond was the world,
A place of many mountains
and great crags together hurled.
So down to the west he wendeth,
and goeth swift and light,
And the stars are beginning
to wane, and the day is mingled with night;
For full fain was the sun
to arise and look on the Gold set free,
And the Dwarf-wrought rings
of the Treasure and the gifts from the
floor of the sea.
How Sigurd awoke Brynhild upon Hindfell.
By long roads rideth Sigurd
amidst that world of stone,
And somewhat south he turneth;
for he would not be alone,
But longs for the dwellings
of man-folk, and the kingly people’s
speech,
And the days of the glee and
the joyance, where men laugh each to each.
But still the desert endureth,
and afar must Greyfell fare
From the wrack of the Glittering
Heath, and Fafnir’s golden lair.
Long Sigurd rideth the waste,
when, lo, on a morning of day
From out of the tangled crag-walls,
amidst the cloud-land grey
Comes up a mighty mountain,
and it is as though there burns
A torch amidst of its cloud-wreath;
so thither Sigurd turns,
For he deems indeed from its
topmost to look on the best of the earth;
And Greyfell neigheth beneath
him, and his heart is full of mirth.
So he rideth higher and higher,
and the light grows great and strange,
And forth from the clouds
it flickers, till at noon they gather and
change,
And settle thick on the mountain,
and hide its head from sight;
But the winds in a while are
awakened, and day bettereth ere the night,
And, lifted a measureless
mass o’er the desert crag-walls high,
Cloudless the mountain riseth
against the sunset sky,
The sea of the sun grown golden,
as it ebbs from the day’s desire;
And the light that afar was
a torch is grown a river of fire,
And the mountain is black
above it, and below is it dark and dun;
And there is the head of Hindfell
as an island in the sun.
Night falls, but yet rides
Sigurd, and hath no thought of rest,
For he longs to climb that
rock-world and behold the earth at its best;
But now mid the maze of the
foot-hills he seeth the light no more,
And the stars are lovely and
gleaming on the lightless heavenly floor.
So up and up he wendeth till
the night is wearing thin;
And he rideth a rift of the
mountain, and all is dark therein,
Till the stars are dimmed
by dawning and the wakening world is cold;
Then afar in the upper rock-wall
a breach doth he behold,
And a flood of light poured
inward the doubtful dawning blinds:
So swift he rideth thither
and the mouth of the breach he finds,
And sitteth awhile on Greyfell
on the marvellous thing to gaze:
For lo, the side of Hindfell
enwrapped by the fervent blaze,
And nought ’twixt earth
and heaven save a world of flickering flame,
And a hurrying shifting tangle,
where the dark rents went and came.
Great groweth the heart of
Sigurd with uttermost desire,
And he crieth kind to Greyfell,
and they hasten up, and nigher,
Till he draweth rein in the
dawning on the face of Hindfell’s steep:
But who shall heed the dawning
where the tongues of that wildfire leap?
Now Sigurd turns in his saddle,
and the hilt of the Wrath he shifts,
And draws a girth the tighter;
then the gathered reins he lifts,
And crieth aloud to Greyfell,
and rides at the wildfire’s heart;
But the white wall wavers
before him and the flame-flood rusheth apart,
And high o’er his head
it riseth, and wide and wild is its roar
As it beareth the mighty tidings
to the very heavenly floor:
But he rideth through its
roaring as the warrior rides the rye,
When it bows with the wind
of the summer and the hid spears draw anigh
The white flame licks his
raiment and sweeps through Greyfell’s mane,
And bathes both hands of Sigurd
and the hilts of Fafnir’s bane,
And winds about his war-helm
and mingles with his hair,
But nought his raiment dusketh
or dims his glittering gear;
Then it fails and fades and
darkens till all seems left behind,
And dawn and the blaze is
swallowed in mid-mirk stark and blind.
But forth a little further
and a little further on
And all is calm about him,
and he sees the scorched earth wan
Beneath a glimmering twilight,
and he turns his conquering eyes,
And a ring of pale slaked
ashes on the side of Hindfell lies;
And the world of the waste
is beyond it; and all is hushed and grey.
And the new-risen moon is
a-paleing, and the stars grow faint with day.
Then Sigurd looked before
him and a Shield-burg there he saw,
A wall of the tiles of Odin
wrought clear without a flaw,
The gold by the silver gleaming,
and the ruddy by the white;
And the blazonings of their
glory were done upon them bright,
As of dear things wrought
for the war-lords new come to Odin’s hall.
Piled high aloft to the heavens
uprose that battle-wall,
And far o’er the topmost
shield-rim for a banner of fame there hung
A glorious golden buckler;
and against the staff it rang
As the earliest wind of dawning
uprose on Hindfell’s face
And the light from the yellowing
east beamed soft on the shielded
place.
But the Wrath cried out in
answer as Sigurd leapt adown
To the wasted soil of the
desert by that rampart of renown;
He looked but little beneath
it, and the dwelling of God it seemed,
As against its gleaming silence
the eager Sigurd gleamed:
He draweth not sword from
scabbard, as the wall he wendeth around,
And it is but the wind and
Sigurd that wakeneth any sound:
But, lo, to the gate he cometh,
and the doors are open wide,
And no warder the way withstandeth,
and no earls by the threshold abide
So he stands awhile and marvels;
then the baleful light of the Wrath
Gleams bare in his ready hand
as he wendeth the inward path:
For he doubteth some guile
of the Gods, or perchance some
Dwarf-king’s
snare,
Or a mock of the Giant people
that shall fade in the morning air:
But he getteth him in and
gazeth; and a wall doth he behold,
And the ruddy set by the white,
and the silver by the gold;
But within the garth that
it girdeth no work of man is set,
But the utmost head of Hindfell
ariseth higher yet;
And below in the very midmost
is a Giant-fashioned mound,
Piled high as the rims of
the Shield-burg above the level ground;
And there, on that mound of
the Giants, o’er the wilderness forlorn,
A pale grey image lieth, and
gleameth in the morn.
So there was Sigurd alone;
and he went from the shielded door.
And aloft in the desert of
wonder the Light of the Branstock he bore;
And he set his face to the
earth-mound, and beheld the image wan,
And the dawn was growing about
it; and, lo, the shape of a man
Set forth to the eyeless desert
on the tower-top of the world,
High over the cloud-wrought
castle whence the windy bolts are hurled.
Now he comes to the mound
and climbs it, and will see if the man be
dead
Some King of the days forgotten
laid there with crowned head,
Or the frame of a God, it
may be, that in heaven hath changed his life,
Or some glorious heart beloved,
God-rapt from the earthly strife:
Now over the body he standeth,
and seeth it shapen fair,
And clad from head to foot-sole
in pale grey-glittering gear,
In a hauberk wrought as straitly
as though to the flesh it were grown:
But a great helm hideth the
head and is girt with a glittering crown.
So thereby he stoopeth and
kneeleth, for he deems it were good indeed
If the breath of life abide
there and the speech to help at need;
And as sweet as the summer
wind from a garden under the sun
Cometh forth on the topmost
Hindfell the breath of that sleeping-one.
Then he saith he will look
on the face, if it bear him love or hate,
Or the bonds for his life’s
constraining, or the sundering doom of
fate.
So he draweth the helm from
Then he looked on his bare
bright blade, and he said: “Thou—what
wilt thou do?
For indeed as I came by the
war-garth thy voice of desire I knew.”
Bright burnt the pale blue
edges for the sunrise drew anear,
And the rims of the Shield-burg
glittered, and the east was exceeding
clear:
So the eager edges he setteth
to the Dwarf-wrought battle-coat
Where the hammered ring-knit
collar constraineth the woman’s throat;
But the sharp Wrath biteth
and rendeth, and before it fail the rings.
And, lo, the gleam of the
linen, and the light of golden things:
Then he driveth the blue steel
onward, and through the skirt, and out.
Till nought but the rippling
linen is wrapping her about;
Then he deems her breath comes
quicker and her breast begins to heave,
So he turns about the War-Flame
and rends down either sleeve,
Till her arms lie white in
her raiment, and a river of sun-bright hair
Flows free o’er bosom
and shoulder and floods the desert bare.
Then a flush cometh over her
visage and a sigh up-heaveth her breast,
And her eyelids quiver and
open, and she wakeneth into rest;
Wide-eyed on the dawning she
gazeth, too glad to change or smile,
And but little moveth her
body, nor speaketh she yet for a while;
And yet kneels Sigurd moveless
her wakening speech to heed,
While soft the waves of the
daylight o’er the starless heavens speed,
And the gleaming rims of the
Shield-burg yet bright and brighter grow,
And the thin moon hangeth
her horns dead-white in the golden glow.
Then she turned and gazed
on Sigurd, and her eyes met the Volsung’s
eyes.
And mighty and measureless
now did the tide of his love arise,
For their longing had met
and mingled, and he knew of her heart that
she loved,
As she spake unto nothing
but him and her lips with the speech-flood
moved:
“O, what is the thing
so mighty that my weary sleep hath torn,
And rent the fallow bondage,
and the wan woe over-worn?”
He said: “The hand
of Sigurd and the Sword of Sigmund’s son,
And the heart that the Volsungs
fashioned this deed for thee have
done.”
But she said: “Where
then is Odin that laid me here alow?
Long lasteth the grief of
the world, and manfolk’s tangled woe!”
“He dwelleth above,”
said Sigurd, “but I on the earth abide,
And I came from the Glittering
Heath the waves of thy fire to ride.”
But therewith the sun rose
upward and lightened all the earth,
And the light flashed up to
the heavens from the rims of the glorious
girth;
But they twain arose together,
and with both her palms outspread,
And bathed in the light returning,
she cried aloud and said:
“All hail, O Day and
thy Sons, and thy kin of the coloured things!
Hail, following Night, and
thy Daughter that leadeth thy wavering
wings!
Look down with unangry eyes
on us today alive,
And give us the hearts victorious,
and the gain for which we strive!
All hail, ye Lords of God-home,
and ye Queens of the House of Gold!
Hail, thou dear Earth that
bearest, and thou Wealth of field and fold!
Give us, your noble children,
the glory of wisdom and speech,
And the hearts and the hands
of healing, and the mouths and hands that
teach!”
Then they turned and were
knit together; and oft and o’er again
They craved, and kissed rejoicing,
and their hearts were full and fain.
Then Sigurd looketh upon her,
and the words from his heart arise:
“Thou art the fairest
of earth, and the wisest of the wise;
O who art thou that lovest?
I am Sigurd, e’en as I told;
I have slain the Foe of the
Gods, and gotten the Ancient Gold;
And great were the gain of
thy love, and the gift of mine earthly days,
If we twain should never sunder
as we wend on the changing ways.
O who art thou that lovest,
thou fairest of all things born?
And what meaneth thy sleep
and thy slumber in the wilderness forlorn?”
She said: “I am
she that loveth: I was born of the earthly folk,
But of old Allfather took
me from the Kings and their wedding yoke:
And he called me the Victory-Wafter,
and I went and came as he would,
And I chose the slain for
his war-host, and the days were glorious and
good,
Till the thoughts of my heart
overcame me, and the pride of my wisdom
and speech,
And I scorned the earth-folk’s
Framer and the Lord of the world I must
teach:
For the death-doomed I caught
from the sword, and the fated life I
slew,
And I deemed that my deeds
were goodly, and that long I should do and
undo.
But Allfather came against
me and the God in his wrath arose;
And he cried: ’Thou
hast thought in thy folly that the Gods have
friends and foes,
That they wake, and the world
wends onward, that they sleep, and the
world slips back,
That they laugh, and the world’s
weal waxeth, that they frown and
fashion the wrack:
Thou hast cast up the curse
against me; it shall fall aback on thine
head;
Go back to the sons of repentance,
with the children of sorrow wed!
For the Gods are great unholpen,
and their grief is seldom seen,
And the wrong that they will
and must be is soon as it had not been.’
“Yet I thought:
’Shall I wed in the world, shall I gather grief
on
the earth?
Then the fearless heart shall
I wed, and bring the best to birth,
And fashion such tales for
the telling, that Earth shall be holpen
at least,
If the Gods think scorn of
its fairness, as they sit at the
changeless feast.’
“Then somewhat smiled
Allfather; and he spake: ’So let it be!
The doom thereof abideth;
the doom of me and thee.
Yet long shall the time pass
over ere thy waking-day be born:
Fare forth, and forget and
be weary ’neath the Sting of the Sleepful
Thorn!’
“So I came to the head
of Hindfell and the ruddy shields and white,
And the wall of the wildfire
wavering around the isle of night;
And there the Sleep-thorn
pierced me, and the slumber on me fell,
And the night of nameless
sorrows that hath no tale to tell.
Now I am she that loveth;
and the day is nigh at hand
When I, who have ridden the
sea-realm and the regions of the land,
And dwelt in the measureless
mountains and the forge of stormy days,
Shall dwell in the house of
my fathers and the land of the people’s
praise;
And there shall hand meet
hand, and heart by heart shall beat,
And the lying-down shall be
joyous, and the morn’s uprising sweet.
Lo now, I look on thine heart
and behold of thine inmost will,
That thou of the days wouldst
hearken that our portion shall fulfill;
But O, be wise of man-folk,
and the hope of thine heart refrain!
As oft in the battle’s
beginning ye vex the steed with the rein,
Lest at last in its latter
ending, when the sword hath hushed the horn,
His limbs should be weary
and fail, and his might be over-worn.
O be wise, lest thy love constrain
me, and my vision wax o’er-clear,
And thou ask of the thing
that thou shouldst not, and the thing that
thou wouldst not
hear.
“Know thou, most mighty
of men, that the Norns shall order all,
And yet without thine helping
shall no whit of their will befall;
Be wise! ’tis a marvel
of words, and a mock for the fool and the blind,
But I saw it writ in the heavens,
and its fashioning there did I find:
And the night of the Norns
and their slumber, and the tide when the
world runs back,
And the way of the sun is
tangled, it is wrought of the dastard’s lack.
But the day when the fair
earth blossoms, and the sun is bright above.
Of the daring deeds is it
fashioned and the eager hearts of love.
“Be wise, and cherish
thine hope in the freshness of the days,
And scatter its seed from
thine hand in the field of the people’s
praise;
Then fair shall it fall in
the furrow, and some the earth shall speed,
And the sons of men shall
marvel at the blossom of the deed:
“Strive not with the
fools of man-folk: for belike thou shalt overcome;
And what then is the gain
of thine hunting when thou bearest the
quarry home?
Or else shall the fool overcome
thee, and what deed thereof shall grow?
Nay, strive with the wise
man rather, and increase thy woe and his woe;
Yet thereof a gain hast thou
gotten; and the half of thine heart hast
thou won
If thou may’st prevail
against him, and his deeds are the deeds thou
hast done:
Yea, and if thou fall before
him, in him shalt thou live again,
And thy deeds in his hand
shall blossom, and his heart of thine heart
shall be fain.
“When thou hearest the
fool rejoicing, and he saith, ’It is over and
past,
And the wrong was better than
right, and hate turns into love at the
last,
And we strove for nothing
at all, and the Gods are fallen asleep;
For so good is the world a
growing that the evil good shall reap:’
Then loosen thy sword in the
scabbard and settle the helm on thine
head,
For men betrayed are mighty,
and great are the wrongfully dead
“Wilt thou do the deed
and repent it? thou hadst better never been
born:
Wilt thou do the deed and
exalt it? then thy fame shall be outworn:
Thou shalt do the deed and
abide it, and sit on thy throne on high,
And look on today and tomorrow
as those that never die.
“Love thou the Gods—and
withstand them, lest thy fame should fail in
the end,
And thou be but their thrall
and their bondsmen, who wert born for
their very friend:
For few things from the Gods
are hidden, and the hearts of men they
know,
And how that none rejoiceth
to quail and crouch alow.
“I have spoken the words,
beloved, to thy matchless glory and worth;
But thy heart to my heart
hath been speaking, though my tongue hath
set it forth:
For I am she that loveth,
and I know what thou wouldst teach
From the heart of thine unlearned
wisdom, and I needs must speak thy
speech.”
Then words were weary and
silent, but oft and o’er again
They craved and kissed rejoicing,
and their hearts were full and fain.
Then spake the Son of Sigmund:
“Fairest, and most of worth,
Hast thou seen the ways of
man-folk and the regions of the earth?
Then speak yet more of wisdom;
for most meet meseems it is
That my soul to thy soul be
shapen, and that I should know thy bliss.”
So she took his right hand
meekly, nor any word would say,
Not e’en of love or
praising, his longing to delay;
And they sat on the side of
Hindfell, and their fain eyes looked and
loved,
As she told of the hidden
matters whereby the world is moved:
And she told of the framing
of all things, and the houses of the
heaven;
And she told of the star-worlds’
courses, and how the winds be driven;
And she told of the Norns
and their names, and the fate that abideth
the earth;
And she told of the ways of
King-folk in their anger and their mirth;
And she spake of the love
of women, and told of the flame that burns,
And the fall of mighty houses,
and the friend that falters and turns,
And the lurking blinded vengeance,
and the wrong that amendeth wrong,
And the hand that repenteth
its stroke, and the grief that endureth
for long:
And how man shall bear and
forbear, and be master of all that is;
And how man shall measure
it all, the wrath, and the grief, and the
bliss.
“I saw the body of Wisdom,
and of shifting guise was she wrought,
And I stretched out my hands
to hold her, and a mote of the dust they
caught;
And I prayed her to come for
my teaching, and she came in the
midnight dream—
And I woke and might not remember,
nor betwixt her tangle deem:
She spake, and how might I
hearken; I heard, and how might I know;
I knew, and how might I fashion,
or her hidden glory show?
All things I have told thee
of Wisdom are but fleeting images
Of her hosts that abide in
the heavens, and her light that Allfather
sees:
Yet wise is the sower that
sows, and wise is the reaper that reaps,
And wise is the smith in his
smiting, and wise is the warder that
keeps:
And wise shalt thou be to
deliver, and I shall be wise to desire;
—And lo, the tale
that is told, and the sword and the wakening fire!
Lo now, I am she that loveth,
and hark how Greyfell neighs,
And Fafnir’s Bed is
gleaming, and green go the downward ways,
The road to the children of
men and the deeds that thou shalt do
In the joy of thy life-days’
morning, when thine hope is fashioned
anew.
Come now, O Bane of the Serpent,
for now is the high-noon come,
And the sun hangeth over Hindfell
and looks on the earth-folk’s home;
But the soul is so great within
thee, and so glorious are thine eyes,
And me so love constraineth,
and mine heart that was called the wise,
That we twain may see men’s
dwellings and the house where we shall
dwell,
And the place of our life’s
beginning, where the tale shall be to
tell.”
So they climb the burg of
Hindfell, and hand in hand they fare,
Till all about and above them
is nought but the sunlit air,
And there close they cling
together rejoicing in their mirth;
For far away beneath them
lie the kingdoms of the earth,
And the garths of men-folk’s
dwellings and the streams that water them,
And the rich and plenteous
acres, and the silver ocean’s hem,
And the woodland wastes and
the mountains, and all that holdeth all;
The house and the ship and
the island, the loom and the mine and the
stall,
The beds of bane and healing,
the crafts that slay and save,
The temple of God and the
Doom-ring, the cradle and the grave.
Then spake the Victory-Wafter:
“O King of the Earthly Age,
As a God thou beholdest the
treasure and the joy of thine heritage,
And where on the wings of
his hope is the spirit of Sigurd borne?
Yet I bid thee hover awhile
as a lark alow on the corn;
Yet I bid thee look on the
land ’twixt the wood and the silver sea
In the bight of the swirling
river, and the house that cherished me!
There dwelleth mine earthly
sister and the king that she hath wed;
There morn by morn aforetime
I woke on the golden bed;
There eve by eve I tarried
mid the speech and the lays of kings;
There noon by noon I wandered
and plucked the blossoming things;
The little land of Lymdale
by the swirling river’s side,
Where Brynhild once was I
called in the days ere my father died;
The little land of Lymdale
’twixt the woodland and the sea,
Where on thee mine eyes shall
brighten and thine eyes shall beam on
me.”
“I shall seek thee there,”
said Sigurd, “when the day-spring is begun,
Ere we wend the world together
in the season of the sun.”
“I shall bide thee there,”
said Brynhild, “till the fulness of the
days,
And the time for the glory
appointed, and the springing-tide of
praise.”
From his hand then draweth
Sigurd Andvari’s ancient Gold;
There is nought but the sky
above them as the ring together they hold,
The shapen ancient token,
that hath no change nor end,
No change, and no beginning,
no flaw for God to mend:
Then Sigurd cries: “O
Brynhild, now hearken while I swear,
That the sun shall die in
the heavens and the day no more be fair,
If I seek not love in Lymdale
and the house that fostered thee,
And the land where thou awakedst
’twixt the woodland and the sea!”
And she cried: “O
Sigurd, Sigurd, now hearken while I swear
That the day shall die for
ever and the sun to blackness wear,
Ere I forget thee, Sigurd,
as I lie ’twixt wood and sea
In the little land of Lymdale
and the house that fostered me!”
Then he set the ring on her
finger and once, if ne’er again,
They kissed and clung together,
and their hearts were full and fain.
So the day grew old about
them and the joy of their desire,
And eve and the sunset came,
and faint grew the sunset fire,
And the shadowless death of
the day was sweet in the golden tide;
But the stars shone forth
on the world, and the twilight changed and
died;
And sure if the first of man-folk
had been born to that starry night,
And had heard no tale of the
sunrise, he had never longed for the
light:
But Earth longed amidst her
slumber, as ’neath the night she lay,
And fresh and all abundant
abode the deeds of Day.
BRYNHILD.
IN THIS BOOK IS TOLD
OF THE DEEDS OF SIGURD, AND OF HIS SOJOURN
WITH THE NIBLUNGS, AND
IN THE END OF HOW HE DIED.
Of the Dream of Gudrun the Daughter of Giuki.
And now of the Niblung people
the tale beginneth to tell,
How they deal with the wind
and the weather; in the cloudy drift they
dwell
When the war is awake in the
mountains, and they drive the desert
spoil,
And their weaponed hosts unwearied
through the misty hollows toil;
But again in the eager sunshine
they scour across the plain,
And spear by spear is quivering,
and rein is laid by rein,
And the dust is about and
behind them, and the fear speeds on before,
As they shake the flowery
meadows with the fleeting flood of war.
Yea, when they come from the
battle, and the land lies down in peace,
No less in gear of warriors
they gather earth’s increase,
And helmed as the Gods of
battle they drive the team afield:
These come to the council
of elders with sword and spear and shield,
And shout to their war-dukes’
dooming of their uttermost desire:
These never bow the helm-crest
before the High-Gods’ fire
But show their swords to Odin,
and cry on Vingi-Thor
With the dancing of the ring-mail
and the smitten shields of war:
Yet though amid their high-tides
of the deaths of men they sing,
And of swords in the battle
broken, and the fall of many a king,
Yet they sing it wreathed
with the flowers and they praise the gift
and the gain
Of the war-lord sped to Odin
as he rends the battle atwain.
And their days are young and
glorious, and in hope exceeding great
With sword and harp and beaker
on the skirts of the Norns they wait.
Now the King of this folk
is Giuki, and he sits in the Niblung hall
When the song of men goes
roofward and the shields shine out from the
wall;
And his queen in the high-seat
sitteth, the woman overwise,
Grimhild the kin of the God-folk,
the wife of the glittering eyes:
And his sons on each hand
are sitting; there is Gunnar the great and
fair,
With the lovely face of a
So blossom the days of the
Niblungs, and great is their hope’s increase
’Twixt the merry days
of battle and the tide of their guarded peace:
There is many a noon of joyance,
and many an eve’s delight,
And many a deed for the doing
’twixt the morning and the night.
Now betimes on a morning of summer
that Giuki’s daughter arose,
Alone went the fair-armed Gudrun to her flowery
garden-close;
And she went by the bower of women, and her damsels
saw her thence,
And her nurse went down to meet her as she came
by the rose-hung fence,
And she saw that her eyes were heavy as she trod
with doubtful feet
Betwixt the rose and the lily, nor blessed the
blossoms sweet:
And she spake:
“What ails thee, daughter,
as one asleep to tread
O’er the grass of the merry summer and the
daisies white and red?
And to have no heart for the harp-play, or the
needle’s mastery,
Where the gold and the silk are framing the Swans
of the Goths on the
sea,
And helms and shields of warriors, and Kings on
the hazelled isle?
Why hast thou no more joyance on the damsels’
glee to smile?
Why biddest thou not to the wild-wood with horse
and hawk and hound?
Why biddest thou not to the heathland and the
eagle-haunted ground
To meet thy noble brethren as they ride from the
mountain-road?
Hast thou deemed the hall of the Niblungs a churlish
poor abode?
Wouldst thou wend away from thy kindred, and scorn
thy fosterer’s
praise?
—Or is this the beginning of love and
the first of the troublous
days?”
Then spake the fair-armed
Gudrun: “Nay, nought I know of scorn
For the noble kin of the Niblungs,
or the house where I was born;
No pain of love hath smit
me, and no evil days begin,
And I shall be fain tomorrow
of the deeds that the maidens win:
But if I wend the summer in
dull unlovely seeming,
It comes of the night, O mother,
and the tide of last night’s
dreaming.”
Then spake the ancient woman:
“Thy dream to me shalt thou show;
Such oft foretell but the
weather, and the airts whence the wind
shall blow.”
Blood-red was waxen Gudrun,
and she said: “But little it is:
Meseems I sat by the door
of the hall of the Niblungs’ bliss,
And from out of the north
came a falcon, and a marvellous bird it was;
For his feathers were all
of gold, and his eyes as the sunlit glass,
And hither and thither he
flew about the kingdoms of Kings,
And the fear of men went with
him, and the war-blast under his wings:
But I feared him never a deal,
nay, hope came into my heart,
And meseemed in his war-bold
ways I also had a part;
And my eyes still followed
his wings as hither and thither he swept
O’er the doors and the
dwellings of King-folk; till the heart within
me leapt,
For over the hall of the Niblungs
he hung a little space,
Then stooped to my very knees,
and cried out kind in my face:
And fain and full was my heart,
and I took him to my breast,
And fair methought was the
world and a home of infinite rest.”
Her speech dropped dead as
she spake, and her eyes from the nurse she
turned,
But now and again thereafter
the flush in her fair cheek burned,
And her eyes were dreamy and
great, as of one who looketh afar.
But the nurse laughed out
and answered: “Such the dreams of maidens
are;
And if thou hast told me all
’tis a goodly dream, forsooth:
For what should I call this
falcon save a glorious kingly youth,
Who shall fly full wide o’er
the world in fame and victory,
Till he hangs o’er the
Niblung dwelling and stoops to thy very knee?
And fain and full shall thine
heart be, when his cheek shall cherish
thy breast,
And fair things shalt thou
deem of the world as a place of infinite
rest.”
But cold grew the maiden’s
visage: “God wot thou hast plenteous lore
In the reading of dreams,
my mother; but thou lovest thy fosterling
sore,
And the good and the evil
alike shall turn in thine heart to good;
Wise too is my mother Grimhild,
but I fear her guileful mood,
Lest she love me overmuch,
and fashion all dreams to ill.
Now who is the wise of woman,
who herein hath measureless skill?
For her forthright would I
find, how far soever I fare,
Lest I wend like a fool in
the world, and rejoice with my feet in the
snare.”
Quoth the nurse: “Though
the dream be goodly and its reading easy and
light,
It is nought but a little
matter if thy golden wain be dight,
And thou ride to the land
of Lymdale, the little land and green,
And come to the hall of Brynhild,
the maid and the shielded Queen,
The Queen and the wise of
women, who sees all haps to come:
And ’twill be but light
to bid her to seek thy dream-tale home;
Though surely shall she arede
it in e’en such wise as I;
And so shall the day be merry
and the summer cloud go by.”
“Thou hast spoken well,”
said Gudrun, “let us tarry now no whit;
For wise in the world is the
woman, and knoweth the ways of it.”
So they make the yoke-beasts
ready, and dight the wains for the way,
And the maidens gather together,
and their bodies they array,
And gird the laps of the linen,
and do on the dark-blue gear,
And bind with the leaves of
summer the wandering of their hair:
Then they drive by dale and
acre, o’er heath and holt they wend,
Till they come to the land
of the waters, and the lea by the
woodland’s
end;
And there is the burg of Brynhild,
the white-walled house and long,
And the garth her fathers
fashioned before the days of wrong.
So fare their feet on the
earth by the threshold of the Queen,
And Brynhild’s damsels
abide them, for their goings had been seen;
And the mint and the blossomed
woodruff they strew before their feet,
And their arms of welcome
take them, and they kiss them soft and sweet,
And they go forth into the
feast-hall, the many-pillared house;
Most goodly were its hangings
and its webs were glorious
With tales of ancient fathers,
and the Swans of the Goths on the sea,
And weaponed Kings on the
island, and great deeds yet to be;
And the host of Odin’s
Choosers, and the boughs of the fateful Oak,
And the gush of Mimir’s
Fountain, and the Midworld-Serpent’s yoke.
So therein the maidens enter,
but Gudrun all out-goes,
As over the leaves of the
garden shines the many-folded rose:
Amidst and alone she standeth;
in the hall her arms shine white,
And her hair falls down behind
her like a cloak of the sweet-breathed
night,
As she casts her cloak to
the earth, and the wind of the flowery tide
Runs over her rippling raiment
and stirs the gold at her side.
But she stands and may scarce
move forward, and a red flush lighteth
her face
As her eyes seek out Queen
Brynhild in the height of the golden place.
But lo, as a swan on the sea
spreads out her wings to arise
From the face of the darksome
ocean when the isle before her lies,
So Brynhild arose from her
throne and the fashioned cloths of blue
When she saw the Maid of the
Niblungs, and the face of Gudrun knew;
And she gathers the laps of
the linen, and they meet in the hall,
they twain,
And she taketh her hands in
her hands and kisseth her sweet and fain:
And she saith: “Hail,
sister and queen! for we deem thy coming kind:
Though forsooth the hall of
Brynhild is no weary way to find:
How fare the kin of the Niblungs?
is thy mother happy and hale,
And the ancient of days, thy
father, the King of all avail?”
“It is well with my
house,” said Gudrun, “and my brethren’s
days are
fair,
And my mother’s morns
are joyous, and her eves have done with care;
And my father’s heart
is happy, and the Niblung glory grows,
And the land in peace is lying
’neath the lily and the rose:
But love and the mirth of
summer have moved my heart to come
To look on thy measureless
beauty, and seek thy glory home.”
“O be thou welcome!”
said Brynhild; “it is good when queen-folk meet.
Come now, O goodly sister,
and sit in my golden seat:
There are lovely hours before
us, and the half of the summer day;
And what is the night of summer
that eve should drive thee away?”
So they sat, they twain, in
the high-seat; and the maidens bore them
wine,
And they handled Dwarf-wrought
treasures with their fingers fair and
fine,
And lovely they were together,
and they marvelled each at each:
Yet oft was Gudrun silent,
and she faltered in her speech,
As they matched great Kings
and their war-deeds, and told of times
that were,
And their fathers’ fathers’
doings, and the deaths of war-lords dear.
And at last the twain sat
silent, and spake no word at all,
And the western sky waxed
ruddy, for the sun drew near its fall;
And the speech of the murmuring
maidens, and the voice of the toil of
folk,
Died out in the hall of Brynhild
as the garden-song awoke.
Then Brynhild took up the
word, and her voice was soft as she said:
“We have told of the
best of King-folk, the living and the dead;
But hast thou heard, my sister,
how the world grows fair with the word
Of a King from the mountains
coming, a great and marvellous lord,
Who hath slain the Foe of
the Gods, and the King that was wise from
of old;
Who hath slain the great Gold-wallower,
and gotten the ancient Gold;
And the hand of victory hath
he, and the overcoming speech,
And the heart and the eyes
triumphant, and the lips that win and
teach?”
Then met the eyes of the women,
and Brynhild’s word died out,
And bright flushed Gudrun’s visage, and
her lips were moved with doubt.
But again spake Brynhild the wise:
“He is
come of a marvellous kin,
And of men that never faltered, and goodly days
shall he win:
Yea now to this land is he coming, and great shall
be his fame;
He is born of the Volsung King-folk, and Sigurd
is his name.”
Then all the heart laughed in her,
but the speech of her lips died out,
And red and pale waxed Gudrun, and her lips were
moved with doubt,
Till she spake as a Queen of the Earth:
“Sister,
the day grows late,
And meseemeth the watch of the earl-folk looks
oft from the Niblung
gate
For the gleam of our golden wains and the dust-cloud
thin and soft;
And she rose and kissed her sweetly
as one that wendeth away:
But Brynhild looked upon her and said: “Wilt
thou depart,
And leave the word unspoken that lieth on thine
heart?”
Then Gudrun faltered and spake:
“Yea, hither I came in sooth,
With a dream for thine eyes
of wisdom, and a prayer for thine heart
of ruth:
But young in the world am
I waxen, and the scorn of folk I fear
When I speak to the ears of
the wise, and a maiden’s dream they hear.”
“I shall mock thee nought,”
said Brynhild; “yet who shall say indeed
But my heart shall fear thee
rather, nor help thee in thy need?”
Then spake the daughter of
Giuki: “Lo, this was the dream I dreamed:
For without by the door of
the Niblungs I sat in the morn, as meseemed;
Then I saw a falcon aloft,
and a glorious bird he was,
And his feathers glowed as
the gold, and his eyes as the sunlit glass:
Hither and thither he flew
about the kingdoms of Kings,
And fear was borne before
him, and death went under his wings:
Yet I feared him not, but
loved him, and mine eyes must follow his
ways,
And the joy came into my heart,
and hope of the happy days:
Then over the hall of the
Niblungs he hung a little space
And stooped to my very knees,
and cried out kind in my face;
And fain and full was my heart,
and I took him to my breast,
And I cherished him soft and
warm, for I deemed I had gotten the best.”
So speaketh the Maid of the
Niblungs, and speech her lips doth fail,
And she gazeth on Brynhild’s
visage, and seeth her waxen pale,
As she saith: “’Tis
a dream full goodly, and nought hast thou to fear;
Some glory of Kings shall
love thee and thine heart shall hold him
dear.”
Again spake the daughter of
Giuki: “Not yet hast thou hearkened all:
For meseemed my breast was
reddened, as oft by the purple and pall,
But my heart was heavy within
it, and I laid my hand thereon,
And the purple of blood enwrapped
me, and the falcon I loved was gone.”
Yet pale was the visage of
Brynhild, and she said: “Is it then so
strange
That the wedding-lords of
the Niblungs their lives in the battle
should change?
Thou shalt wed a King and
be merry, and then shall come the sword,
And the edges of hate shall
be whetted and shall slay thy love and
thy lord,
And dead on thy breast shall
he fall: and where then is the
measureless moan?
From the first to the last
shalt thou have him, and scarce shall he
die alone.
Rejoice, O daughter of Giuki!
there is worse in the world than this:
He shall die, and thou shalt
remember the days of his glory and bliss.”
“I woke, and I wept,”
said Gudrun, “for the dear thing I had loved:
Then I slept, and again as
aforetime were the gates of the dream-hall
moved,
And I went in the land of
shadows; and lo I was crowned as a queen,
And I sat in the summer-season
amidst my garden green;
And there came a hart from
the forest, and in noble wise he went,
And bold he was to look on,
and of fashion excellent
Before all beasts of the wild-wood;
and fair gleamed that glorious-one,
And upreared his shining antlers
against the very sun.
So he came unto me and I loved
him, and his head lay kind on my knees,
And fair methought the summer,
and a time of utter peace.
Then darkened all the heavens
and dreary grew the tide,
And medreamed that a queen
I knew not was sitting by my side,
And from out of the din and
the darkness, a hand and an arm there came,
And a golden sleeve was upon
it, and red rings of the Queen-folk’s
fame:
And the hand was the hand
of a woman: and there came a sword and a
thrust
And the blood of the lovely
wood-deer went wide about the dust.
Then I cried aloud in my sorrow,
and lo, in the wood I was,
And all around and about me
did the kin of the wild-wolves pass.
And I called them friends
and kindred, and upreared a battle-brand,
And cried out in a tongue
that I knew not, and red and wet was my hand.
Lo now, the dream I have told
thee, and nought have I held aback.
O Brynhild, what wilt thou
tell me of treason and murder and wrack?”
Long Brynhild stood and pondered
and weary-wise was her face,
And she gazed as one who sleepeth,
till thus she spake in a space:
“One dream in twain
hast thou told, and I see what I saw e’en now,
But beyond is nought but the
darkness and the measureless midnight’s
flow:
Thy dream is all areded; I
may tell thee nothing more:
Thou shalt live and love and
lose, and mingle in murder and war.
Is it strange, O child of
the Niblungs, that thy glory and thy pain
Must be blent with the battle’s
darkness and the unseen hurrying bane?
Do ye, of all folk on the
earth, pray God for the changeless peace,
And not for the battle triumphant
and the fruit of fame’s increase?
For the rest, thou mayst not
be lonely in thy welfare or thy woe,
But hearts with thine heart
shall be tangled: but the queen and the
hand thou shalt
know.
When we twain are wise together;
thou shalt know of the sword and the
wood,
Thou shalt know of the wild-wolves’
howling and thy right-hand wet
with blood,
When the day of the smith
is ended, and the stithy’s fire dies out,
And the work of the master
of masters through the feast-hall goeth
about.”
They stand apart by the high-seat,
and each on each they gaze
As though they forgat the
summer, and the tide of the passing days,
And abode the deeds unborn
and the Kings’ deaths yet to be,
As the merchant bideth deedless
the gold in his ships on the sea.
At last spake the wise-heart
Brynhild: “O glorious Niblung child!
The dreams and the word we
have hearkened, and the dreams and the
word have been
wild.
Thou hast thy life and thy
summer, and the love is drawing anear;
Take these to thine heart
to cherish, and deem them good and dear,
Lest the Norns should mock
our knowledge and cast our fame aside,
And our doom be empty of glory
as the hopeless that have died.
Farewell, O Niblung Maiden!
for day on day shall come
Whilst thou shalt live rejoicing
mid the blossom of thine home.
Now have thou thanks for thy
greeting and thy glory that I have seen;
And come thou again to Lymdale
while the summer-ways are green.”
So the hall-dusk deepens upon
them till the candles come arow,
And they drink the wine of
departing and gird themselves to go;
And they dight the dark-blue
raiment and climb to the wains aloft
While the horned moon hangs
in the heaven and the summer wind blows
soft.
Then the yoke-beasts strained
at the collar, and the dust in the moon
arose,
And they brushed the side
of the acre and the blooming dewy close;
Till at last, when the moon
was sinking and the night was waxen late,
The warders of the earl-folk
looked forth from the Niblung gate,
And saw the gold pale-gleaming,
and heard the wain-wheels crush
The weary dust of the summer
amidst the midnight hush.
So came the daughter of Giuki
from the hall of Brynhild the queen
When the days of the Niblungs
blossomed and their hope was springing
green.
How the folk of Lymdale met Sigurd the Volsung in the woodland.
Full fair was the land of
Lymdale, and great were the men thereof,
And Heimir the King of the
people was held in marvellous love;
And his wife was the sister
of Brynhild, and the Queen of Queens was
she;
And his sons were noble striplings,
and his daughters sweet to see;
And all these lived on in
joyance through the good days and the ill,
Nor would shun the war’s
awaking; but now that the war was still
They looked to the wethers’
fleeces and what the ewes would yield,
And led their bulls from the
straw-stall, and drave their kine afield;
And they dealt with mere and
river and all waters of their land,
And cast the glittering angle,
and drew the net to the strand,
And searched the rattling
shallows, and many a rock-walled well,
Where the silver-scaled sea-farers,
and the crook-lipped bull-trout
dwell.
But most when their hearts
were merry ’twas the joy of carle and quean
To ride in the deeps of the
oak-wood, and the thorny thicket green:
Forth go their hearts before
them to the blast of the strenuous horn,
Where the level sun comes
So now in the sweet spring
season, on a morn of the sunny tide
Abroad are the Lymdale people
to the wood-deers’ house to ride:
And they wend towards the
sun’s uprising, and over the boughs he comes,
And the merry wind is with
him, and stirs the woodland homes;
But their horns to his face
cast clamour, and their hooves shake down
the glades,
And the hearts of their hounds
are eager, and oft they redden blades;
Till at last in the noon they
tarry in a daisied wood-lawn green,
And good and gay is their
raiment, and their spears are sharp and
sheen,
And they crown themselves
with the oak-leaves, and sit, both most
and least,
And there on the forest venison
and the ancient wine they feast;
Then they wattle the twigs
of the thicket to bear their spoil away,
And the toughness of the beech-boughs
with the woodbine overlay:
With the voice of their merry
labour the hall of the oakwood rings,
For fair they are and joyous
as the first God-fashioned Kings.
Now they gather their steeds
together, that ere the moon is born
The candles of King Heimir
may shine on harp and horn:
But as they stand by the stirrup
and hand on rein is laid,
All eyes are turned to beholding
the eastward-lying glade,
For thereby comes something
glorious, as though an earthly sun
Were lit by the orb departing,
lest the day should be wholly done;
Lo now, as they stand astonied,
a wonder they behold,
For a warrior cometh riding,
and his gear is all of gold;
And grey is the steed and
mighty beneath that lord of war,
And a treasure of gold he
beareth, and the gems of the ocean’s floor:
Now they deem the war-steed
wondrous and the treasure strange they
deem,
But so exceeding glorious
doth the harnessed rider seem,
That men’s hearts are
all exalted as he draweth nigh and nigher,
And there are they abiding
in fear and great desire:
For they look on the might
of his limbs, and his waving locks they see,
And his glad eyes clear as
the heavens, and the wreath of the summer
tree
That girdeth the dread of
But forth stood Heimir the
ancient, and of Gods and men was he chief
Of all who have handled the
harp; and he stood betwixt blossom and
leaf,
And thrust his spear in the
earth and cast abroad his hands:
“Hail, thou that ridest
hither from the North and the desert lands!
Now thy face is turned to
our hall-door and thereby must be thy way;
And, unless the time so presseth
that thou ridest night and day,
It were good that thou lie
in my house, and hearken the clink of the
horn,
Whether peace in thy hand
thou bear us, or war on thy saddle be borne;
Whether wealth thou seek,
or friends, or kin, or a maiden lost,
Or hast heart for the building
of cities nor wilt hold thee aback for
the cost;
If fame thou wilt have among
King-folk, to the land of the Kings art
thou come,
Or wouldst thou adown to the
sea-flood, thou must pass by the garth
of our home.
Yea art thou a God from the
heavens, who wilt deem me little of worth,
And art come for the wrack
of my realm and wilt cast King Heimir forth,
Thou knowest I fear thee nothing,
and no worse shall thy welcome be:
Or art thou a wolf of the
hearth, none here shall meddle with thee:—
Yet lo, as I look on thine
eyen, and behold thy hope and thy mirth,
Meseems thou art better than
these, some son of the Kings of the
Earth.”
Then spake the treasure-bestrider,—for
his horse e’en now had he
reined
By the King and the earls
of the people where the boughs of the
thicket waned:—
“Yea I am a son of the
Kings; but my kin have passed away,
And once were they called
the Volsungs, and the sons of God were they:
I am young, but have learned
me wisdom; I am lone, but deeds have I
done;
I have slain the Foe of the
Gods, and the Bed of the Worm have I won.
But meseems that the earth
is lovely, and that each day springeth anew
And beareth the blossom of
hope, and the fruit of deeds to do.
And herein thou sayest the
sooth, that I seek the fame of Kings,
And with them would I do and
undo and be heart of their warfarings:
And for this o’er the
Glittering Heath to the kingdoms of earth am I
come,
And over the head of Hindfell,
and I seek the earl-folk’s home
That is called the lea of
Lymdale ’twixt the wood and the water-side;
For men call it the gate of
the world where the Kings of Men abide:
Nor the least of God-folk
am I, nor the wolf of the Kings accursed,
But Sigurd the son of Sigmund
in the land of the Helper nursed:
And I thank thee, lord, for
thy bidding, and tonight will I bide in
thine hall,
And fare on the morrow to
Lymdale and the deeds thenceforward to fall.”
Then Sigurd leapt from Greyfell,
and men were marvelling there
At the sound of his sweet-mouthed
wisdom, and his body shapen fair.
But Heimir laughed and answered:
“Now soon shall the deeds befall,
And tonight shalt thou ride
to Lymdale and tonight shalt thou bide in
my hall:
For I am the ancient Heimir,
and my cunning is of the harp,
Though erst have I dealt in
the sword-play while the edge of war was
sharp.”
Then Sigurd joyed to behold
him, for a god-like King he was,
And amid the men of Lymdale
did the Son of Sigmund pass;
And their hearts are high
uplifted, for across the air there came
A breath of his tale half-spoken
and the tidings of his fame;
And their eyes are all unsatiate
of gazing on his face,
For his like have they never
looked on for goodliness and grace.
So they bear him the wine
of welcome, and then to the saddle they leap
And get them forth from the
wood-ways to the lea-land of the sheep,
And the bull-fed Lymdale meadows;
and thereover Sigurd sees
The long white walls of Heimir
amidst the blossomed trees:
Then the slim moon rises in
heaven, and the stars in the tree-tops
shine,
But the golden roof of Heimir
looks down on the torch-lit wine,
And the song of men goes roofward
in praise of Sigmund’s Son,
And a joy to the Lymdale people
is his glory new-begun.
How Sigurd met Brynhild in Lymdale.
So there abideth Sigurd with
the Lymdale forest-lords
In mighty honour holden, and
in love beyond all words,
And thence abroad through
the people there goeth a rumour and breath
Of the great Gold-wallower’s
slaying, and the tale of the Glittering
Heath,
And a word of the ancient
Treasure and Greyfell’s gleaming Load;
And the hearts of men grew
eager, and the coming deeds abode.
But warily dealeth Sigurd,
and he wends in the woodland fray
As one whose heart is ready
and abides a better day:
In the woodland fray he fareth,
and oft on a day doth ride
Where the mighty forest wild-bulls
and the lonely wolves abide;
For as then no other warfare
do the lords of Lymdale know,
And the axe-age and the sword-age
seem dead a while ago,
And the age of the cleaving
of shields, and of brother by brother
slain,
And the bitter days of the
whoredom, and the hardened lust of gain;
But man to man may hearken,
and he that soweth reaps,
And hushed is the heart of
Fenrir in the wolf-den of the deeps.
Now is it the summer-season,
and Sigurd rideth the land,
And his hound runs light before
him, and his hawk sits light on his
hand,
And all alone on a morning
he rides the flowery sward
Betwixt the woodland dwellings
and the house of Lymdale’s lord;
Much marvelled the Son of
Sigmund, and rode to the fruitful close:
For he said: Here a great
one dwelleth, though none have told me
thereof,
And he shall give me my falcon,
and his fellowship and love.
So he came to the gate of
the garth, and forth to the hall-door rode,
And leapt adown from Greyfell,
and entered that fair abode;
For full lovely was it fashioned,
and great was the pillared hall,
And fair in its hangings were
woven the deeds that Kings befall,
And the merry sun went through
it and gleamed in gold and horn;
But afield or a-fell are its
carles, and none labour there that morn,
And void it is of the maidens,
and they weave in the bower aloft,
Or they go in the outer gardens
’twixt the rose and the lily soft:
So saith Sigurd the Volsung,
and a door in the corner he spies
With knots of gold fair-carven,
and the graver’s masteries:
So he lifts the latch and
it opens, and he comes to a marble stair,
And aloft by the same he goeth
through a tower wrought full fair.
And he comes to a door at
its topmost, and lo, a chamber of Kings,
And his falcon there by the
window with all unruffled wings.
But a woman sits on the high-seat
with gold about her head,
And ruddy rings on her arms,
and the grace of her girdle-stead;
And sunlit is her rippled
linen, and the green leaves lie at her feet,
And e’en as a swan on
the billow where the firth and the out-sea meet.
On the dark-blue cloths she
There Sigurd stood and marvelled,
for he saw his deeds that had been,
And his deeds of the days
that should be, fair wrought in the golden
sheen:
And he looked in the face
of the woman, and Brynhild’s eyes he knew,
But still in the door he tarried,
and so glad and fair he grew,
That the Gods laughed out
in the heavens to see the Volsung’s seed;
And the breeze blew in from
the summer and over Brynhild’s weed,
Till his heart so swelled
with the sweetness that the fair word stayed
in his mouth,
And a marvel beloved he seemeth,
as a ship new-come from the south:
And still she longed and beheld
him, nor foot nor hand she moved
As she marvelled at her gladness,
and her love so well beloved.
But at last through the sounds
of summer the voice of Sigurd came,
And it seemed as a silver
trumpet from the house of the fateful fame;
And he spake: “Hail,
lady and queen! hail, fairest of all the earth!
Is it well with the hap of
thy life-days, and thy kin and the house of
thy birth?”
She said: “My kin
is joyous, and my house is blooming fair,
And dead, both root and branches,
is the tree of their travail and
care.”
He spake: “I have
longed, I have wondered if thy heart were well at
ease,
If the hope of thy days had
blossomed and born thee fair increase.”
“O have thou thanks,”
said Brynhild, “for thine heart that speaketh
kind!
Yea, the hope of my days is
accomplished, and no more there is to
find.”
And again she spake in a space:
“The road hath been weary and long,
But well hast thou ridden
it, Sigurd, and the sons of God are strong.”
He said: “I have
sought, O Brynhild, and found the heart of thine home;
And no man hath asked or holpen,
and all unbidden I come.”
She said: “O welcome
hither! for the heart of the King I knew,
And thine hope that overcometh,
and thy will that nought shall undo.”
“Unbidden I came,”
he answered, “yet it is but a little space
Since I heard thy voice on
the mountain, and thy kind lips cherished
my face.”
She rose from the dark-blue
raiment, and trembling there she stood,
And no word her lips had gotten
that her heart might deem it good:
And his heart went forth to
meet her, yet nought he moved for a while,
Until the God-kin’s
laughter brake blooming from a smile
And he cried: “It
is good, O Brynhild, that we draw exceeding near,
Lest Odin mock Kings’
children that the doom of fate they fear.”
Then forth she stepped from
the high-seat, and forth from the
threshold he came,
Till both their bodies mingling
seemed one glory and the same,
And far o’er all fulfilment
did the souls within them long,
As at breast and at lips of
the faithful the earthly love strained
strong;
And fresh from the deeps of
the summer the breeze across them blew,
But nought of the earth’s
desire, or the lapse of time they knew.
Then apart, but exceeding
nigh, for a little while they stand,
Till Brynhild toucheth her
lord, and taketh his hand in her hand,
And she leadeth him through
the chamber, and sitteth down in her seat;
And him she setteth beside
her, and she saith:
“It
is right and meet
That thou sit in this throne
of my fathers, since thy gift today I
have:
Thou hast given it altogether,
nor aught from me wouldst save;
And thou knowest the tale
of women, how oft it haps on a day
That of such gifts men repent
them, and their lives are cast away.”
He said: “I have
cast it away as the tiller casteth the seed,
That the summer may better
the spring-tide, and the autumn winter’s
need:
For what were the fruit of
our lives if apart they needs must pass,
And men shall say hereafter:
Woe worth the hope that was!”
She said: “That
day shall dawn the best of all earthly days
When we sit, we twain, in
the high-seat in the hall of the people’s
praise:
Or else, what fruit of our
life-days, what fruit of our death shall be?
What fruit, save men’s
remembrance of the grief of thee and me?”
He said: “It is
sharper to bear than the bitter sword in the breast,
O woe, to think of it now
in the days of our gleaning of rest!”
Said Brynhild: “I
bid thee remember the word that I have sworn,
How the sun shall turn to
blackness, and the last day be outworn,
Ere I forget thee, Sigurd,
and the kindness of thy face.”
And they kissed and the day
grew later and noon failed the golden
place.
But Sigurd said: “O
Brynhild, remember how I swore
That the sun should die in
the heavens and day come back no more,
Ere I forget thy wisdom and
thine heart of inmost love.
Lo now, shall I unsay it,
though the Gods be great above,
Though my life should last
for ever, though I die tomorrow morn,
Though I win the realm of
the world, though I sink to the
thrall-folk’s
scorn?”
She said: “Thou
shalt never unsay it, and thy heart is mine indeed:
Thou shalt bear my love in
thy bosom as thou helpest the earth-folk’s
need:
Thou shalt wake to it dawning
by dawning; thou shalt sleep and it
shall not be strange:
There is none shall thrust
between us till our earthly lives shall
change.
Ah, my love shall fare as
a banner in the hand of thy renown,
In the arms of thy fame accomplished
shall it lie when we lay us adown.
O deathless fame of Sigurd!
O glory of my lord!
O birth of the happy Brynhild
to the measureless reward!”
So they sat as the day grew
dimmer, and they looked on days to come,
And the fair tale speeding
onward, and the glories of their home;
And they saw their crowned
children and the kindred of the kings,
And deeds in the world arising
and the day of better things;
All the earthly exaltation,
till their pomp of life should be passed,
And soft on the bosom of God
their love should be laid at the last.
But when words have a long
while failed them, and the night is nigh
at hand,
They arise in the golden glimmer,
and apart and anigh they stand:
Then Brynhild stooped to the
Wrath, and touched the hilts of the sword,
Ere she wound her arms round
Sigurd and cherished the lips of her lord:
Then sweet were the tears
of Brynhild, and fast and fast they fell,
And the love that Sigurd uttered,
what speech of song may tell?
But he turned and departed
from her, and her feet on the threshold
abode
As he went through the pillared
feast-hall, and forth to the night
he rode:
So he turned toward the dwelling
of Heimir and his love and his fame
seemed one,
And all full-well accomplished,
what deeds soe’er were done:
And the love that endureth
for ever, and the endless hope he bore.
As he faced the change of
Heaven and the chance of worldly war.
Of Sigurd’s riding to the Niblungs.
What aileth the men of Lymdale,
that their house is all astir?
Shall the hunt be up in the
forest, or hath the shield-hung fir
Brought war from the outer
ocean to their fish-beloved stream?
Or have the piping shepherds
beheld the war-gear gleam
Adown the flowery sheep-dales?
or betwixt the poplars grey
Have the neat-herds seen the
banners of the drivers of the prey?
No, the forest shall be empty
of the Lymdale men this morn,
And the wells of the Lymdale
river have heard no battle-horn,
Nor the sheep in the flowery
hollows seen any painted shield,
And nought from the fear of
warriors bide the neat-herds from the
field;
Yet full is the hall of Heimir
with eager earls of war,
And the long-locked happy
shepherds are gathered round the door,
And the smith has left his
stithy, and the wife has left her rock,
And the bright thrums hang
unwinded by the maiden’s weaving-stock:
And there is the wife and
the maiden, the elder and the boy;
And scarce shall you tell
what moves them, much sorrow or great joy.
But lo, as they gather and
hearken by the door of Heimir’s hall,
The wave of a mighty music
on the souls of men doth fall,
And they bow their heads and
hush them, because for a dear guest’s sake
Is Heimir’s hand in
the harp-strings and the ancient song is awake,
And the words of the Gods’
own fellow, and the hope of days gone by;
Then deep is that song-speech
laden with the deeds that draw anigh,
And many a hope accomplished,
and many an unhoped change,
And things of all once spoken,
now grown exceeding strange;
Then keen as the battle-piercer
the stringed speech arose,
And the hearts of men went
with it, as of them that meet the foes;
Then soared the song triumphant
as o’er the world well won,
Till sweet and soft it ended
as a rose falls ’neath the sun;
But thereafter was there silence
till the earls cast up the shout,
And the whole house clashed
and glittered as the tramp of men bore out,
And folk fell back before
them; then forth the earl-folk pour,
And forth comes Heimir the
Ancient and stands by his fathers’ door:
And then is the feast-hall
empty and none therein abides:
For forth on the cloudy Greyfell
the Son of Sigmund rides,
And the Helm of Awe he beareth,
and the Mail-coat all of gold,
That hath not its like in
the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told,
And the Wrath to his side
is girded, though the peace-strings wind it
round,
Yet oft and again it singeth,
and strange is its sheathed sound:
But beneath the King in his
war-gear and beneath the wondrous Sword
Are the red rings of the Treasure,
and the gems of Andvari’s Hoard,
And light goes Greyfell beneath
it, and oft and o’er again
He neighs out hope of battle,
for the heart of the beast is fain.
So there sitteth Sigurd the
Volsung, and is dight to ride his ways,
For the world lies fair before
him and the field of the people’s
praise;
And he kisseth the ancient
Heimir, and haileth the folk of the land,
And he crieth kind and joyous
as the reins lie loose in his hand:
“Farewell, O folk of
Lymdale, and your joy of the summer-tide!
For the acres whiten, meseemeth,
and the harvest-field is wide:
Who knows of the toil that
shall be, when the reaping-hook gleams grey,
And the knees of the strong
are loosened in the afternoon of day?
Who knows of the joy that
shall be, when the reaper cometh again,
And his sheaves are crowned
with the blossoms, and the song goes up
from the wain?
But now let the Gods look
to it, to hinder or to speed!
But the love and the longing
I know, and I know the hand and the deed.”
And he gathered the reins
together, and set his face to the road,
And the glad steed neighed
beneath him as they fared from the King’s
abode,
And out past the dewy closes;
but the shouts went up to the sky,
Though some for very sorrow
forbore the farewell cry,
Nor was any man but heavy
that the godlike guest should go;
And they craved for that glad
heart guileless, and that face without
a foe.
But Greyfell fareth onward,
and back to the dusky hall
Now goeth the ancient Heimir,
and back to bower and stall,
And back to hammer and shuttle
go earl and carle and quean;
And piping in the noontide
adown the hollows green
Go the yellow-headed shepherds
amidst the scattered sheep;
And all hearts a dear remembrance
and a hope of Sigurd keep.
But forth by dale and lealand
doth the Son of Sigmund wend,
Till far away lies Lymdale
and the folk of the forest’s end;
And he rides a heath unpeopled
and holds the westward way,
Till a long way off before
him come up the mountains grey;
Grey, huge beyond all telling,
and the host of the heaped clouds,
The black and the white together,
on that rock-wall’s coping crowds;
But whiles are rents athwart
them, and the hot sun pierceth through,
And there glow the angry cloud-caves
’gainst the everlasting blue,
And the changeless snow amidst
it; but down from that cloudy head
The scars of fires that have
been show grim and dusky-red;
And lower yet are the hollows
striped down by the scanty green,
And lingering flecks of the
cloud-host are tangled there-between,
White, pillowy, lit by the
sun, unchanged by the drift of the wind.
Long Sigurd looked and marvelled,
and up-raised his heart and his mind;
For he deemed that beyond
that rock-wall bode his changed love and life
On the further side of the
battle, and the hope, and the shifting
strife:
So up and down he rideth,
till at even of the day
A hill’s brow he o’ertoppeth
that had hid the mountains grey;
Huge, blacker they showed
than aforetime, white hung the cloud-flecks
there,
But red was the cloudy crown,
for the sun was sinking fair:
A wide plain lay beneath him,
and a river through it wound
Betwixt the lea and the acres,
and the misty orchard ground;
But forth from the feet of
the mountains a ridged hill there ran
That upreared at its hithermost
ending a builded burg of man;
And Sigurd deemed in his heart
as he looked on the burg from afar,
That the high Gods scarce
might win it, if thereon they fell with war;
So many and great were the
walls, so bore the towers on high
The threat of guarded battle,
and the tale of victory.
Then swift he hasteneth downward,
lest day be wholly spent
Ere he come to the gate well
warded, and the walls’ beleaguerment;
For his heart is eager to
hearken what men-folk therein dwell
And the name of that noble
dwelling, and the tale that it hath to tell.
So he rides by the tilth of
the acres, ’twixt the overhanging trees,
And but seldom now and again
a glimpse of the burg he sees,
Till he comes to the flood
of the river, and looks up from the balks
of the bridge;
Then how was the plain grown
little ’neath that mighty burg of the
ridge
O’erhung by the cloudy
mountains and the ash of another day,
Whereto the slopes clomb upward
till the green died out in the grey,
And the grey in the awful
cloud-land, where the red rents went and came
Round the snows no summers
minish and the far-off sunset flame:
But lo, the burg at the ridge-end!
have the Gods been building again
Since they watched the aimless
Giants pile up the wall of the plain,
The house for none to dwell
in? Or in what days lived the lord
Who ’neath those thunder-forges
upreared that battle’s ward?
Or was not the Smith at his
work, and the blast of his forges awake,
And the world’s heart
poured from the mountain for that ancient
people’s
sake?
For as waves on the iron river
of the days whereof nothing is told
Stood up the many towers,
so stark and sharp and cold;
But dark-red and worn and
ancient as the midmost mountain-sides
Is the wall that goeth about
them; and its mighty compass hides
Full many a dwelling of man
whence the reek now goeth aloft,
And the voice of the house-abiders,
the sharp sounds blent with the
soft:
But one house in the midst
is unhidden and high up o’er the wall it
Upriseth the heart of Sigurd,
but ever he rideth forth
Till he comes to the garth
and the gateway built up in the face of
the north:
Then e’en as a wind
from the mountains he heareth the warders’ speech,
As aloft in the mighty towers
they clamour each to each:
Then horn to horn blew token,
and far and shrill they cried,
And he heard, as the fishers
hearken the cliff-fowl over the tide:
But he rode in under the gate,
that was long and dark as a cave
Bored out in the isles of
the northland by the beat of the restless
wave;
And the noise of the winds
was within it, and the sound of swords
unseen,
As the night when the host
is stirring and the hearts of Kings are
keen.
But no man stayed or hindered,
and the dusk place knew his smile,
And into the court of the
warriors he came forth after a while,
And looked aloft to the hall-roof,
high up and grey as the cloud,
For the sun was wholly perished;
and there he crieth aloud:
“Ho, men of this mighty
burg, to what folk of the world am I come?
And who is the King of battles
who dwells in this lordly home?
Or perchance are ye of the
Elf-kin? are ye guest-fain, kind at the
boards
Or murder-churls and destroyers
to gain and die by the sword?”
Then the spears in the forecourt
glittered and the swords shone over
the wall,
But the song of smitten harp-strings
came faint from the cloudy hall.
And he hearkened a voice and
a crying: “The house of Giuki the King,
And the Burg of the Niblung
people and the heart of their warfaring.”
There were many men about
him, and the wind in the wall-nook sang,
And the spears of the Niblungs
glittered, and the swords in the
forecourt rang.
But they looked on his face
in the even, and they hushed their voices
and gazed,
For fear and great desire
the hearts of men amazed.
Now cometh an earl to King
Giuki as he sits in godlike wise
With his sons, the Kings of
battle, and his wife of the glittering
eyes,
And the King cries out at
his coming to tell why the watch-horns blew;
But the earl saith: “Lord
of the people, choose now what thou wilt do;
For here is a strange new-comer,
and he saith, to thee alone
Will he tell of his name and
his kindred, and the deeds that his hand
hath done.
But he beareth a Helm of Aweing
and a Hauberk all of gold,
That hath not its like in
the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told;
And strange is all his raiment,
and he beareth a Dwarf-wrought sword,
And his war-steed beareth
beneath him red rings of a mighty Hoard,
And the ancient gems of the
sea-floor: there he sits on his
cloud-grey steed,
And his eyes are bright in
the even, and we deem him mighty indeed,
And our hearts are upraised
at his coming; but how shall I tell thee
or say
If he be a King of the Kings
and a lord of the earthly day,
Or if rather the Gods be abroad
and he be one of these?
But forsooth no battle he
biddeth, nor craveth he our peace.
So choose herein, King Giuki,
wilt thou bid the man begone
To his house of the earth
or the heavens, lest a worser deed be won,
Or wilt thou bid him abide
in the Niblung peace and love?
And meseems if thus thou doest,
thou shalt never repent thee thereof.”
Then uprose the King of the
Niblungs, and was clad in purple and pall,
And his sheathed sword lay
in his hand, as he gat him adown the hall,
And abroad through the Niblung
doorway; and a mighty man he was,
And wise and ancient of days:
so there by the earls doth he pass,
And beholdeth the King on
the war-steed and looketh up in his face:
But Sigurd smileth upon him
in the Niblungs’ fenced place,
As the King saith: “Gold-bestrider,
who into our garth wouldst ride,
Wilt thou tell thy name to
a King, who biddeth thee here abide
And have all good at our hands?
for unto the Niblungs’ home
And the heart of a war-fain
people from the weary road are ye come;
And I am Giuki the King:
so now if thou nam’st thee a God,
Look not to see me tremble;
for I know of such that have trod
Unfeared in the Burg of the
Niblungs; nor worser, nor better at all
May fare the folk of the Gods
than the Kings in Giuki’s hall;
So I bid thee abide in my
house, and when many days are o’er,
Thou shalt tell us at last
of thine errand, if thou bear us peace or
war.”
Then all rejoiced at his word
till the swords on the bucklers rang,
And adown from the red-gold
Treasure the Son of Sigmund sprang,
And he took the hand of Giuki,
and kissed him soft and sweet,
And spake: “Hail,
ancient of days! for thou biddest me things most
Glad then was the murmur of
folk, for the tidings had gone forth,
And its breath had been borne
to the Niblungs, and the tale of
Sigurd’s
worth.
But the King said: “Welcome,
Sigurd, full fair of deed and of word!
And here mayst thou win thee
fellows for the days of the peace and
the sword;
For not lone in the world
have I lived, but sons from my loins have
sprung,
Whose deeds with the rhyme
are mingled, and their names with the
people’s
tongue.”
Then he took his hand in his
hand, and into the hall they passed,
And great shouts of salutation
to the cloudy roof were cast;
And they rang from the glassy
pillars, and the Gods on the hangings
stirred,
And afar the clustering eagles
on the golden roof-ridge heard,
And cried out on the Sword
of the Branstock as they cried in the
other days:
Then the harps rang out in
the hall, and men sang in Sigurd’s praise;
And a flood of great remembrance,
and the tales of the years gone by
Swept over the soul of Sigurd,
and his fathers seemed anigh;
And he looked to the cloudy
hall-roof, and anigh seemed Odin the Goth,
And the Valkyrs holding the
garland, and the crown of love and of
troth;
And his soul swells up exalted,
and he deems that high above,
In the glorious house of the
heavens, are the outstretched hands of
his love;
And she stoops to the cloudy
feast-hall, and the wavering wind is
her voice,
And her odorous breath floats
round him, as she bids her King rejoice.
But now on the dais he meeteth
the kin of Giuki the wise:
Lo, here is the crowned Grimhild,
the queen of the glittering eyes;
Lo, here is the goodly Gunnar
with the face of a king’s desire;
Lo, here is Hogni that holdeth
the wisdom tried in the fire;
Lo, here is Guttorm the youngest,
who longs for the meeting swords;
Lo, here, as a rose in the
oak-boughs, amid the Niblung lords
Is the Maid of the Niblungs
standing, the white-armed Giuki’s child;
And all these looked long
on Sigurd and their hearts upon him smiled.
So Grimhild greeted the guest,
and she deemed him fair and sweet,
And she deemed him mighty
of men, and a king for the queen-folk meet.
Then Gunnar the goodly war-king
spake forth his greeting and speed,
And deemed him noble and great,
and a fellow for kings in their need:
And Hogni gave him his greeting,
and none his eyes might dim,
And he smiled as the winter
sun on the shipless ocean’s rim.
Then greeted him Guttorm the
young, and cried out that his heart was
glad
That the Volsung lived in
their house, that a King of the Kings they
had.
Then silent awhile the Maiden,
the fair-armed Gudrun, stood,
Yet might all men see by her
visage that she deemed his coming good;
But at last the gold she taketh,
and before him doth she stand,
And she poureth the wine of
King-folk, and stretcheth forth her hand,
And she saith: “Hail,
Sigurd the Volsung! may I see thy joy increase,
And thy shielded sons beside
thee, and thy days grown old in peace!”
And he took the cup from her
hand, and drank, while his heart rejoiced
At the Niblung Maiden’s
beauty, and her blessing lovely-voiced;
And he thanked her well for
the greeting, and no guile in his heart
was grown,
But he thought of his love
enfolded in the arms of his renown.
So the Niblungs feast glad-hearted
through the undark night and kind,
And the burden of all sorrow
seems fallen far behind
On the road their lives have
wended ere that happiest night of nights,
And the careless days and
quiet seem but thieves of their delights;
For their hearts go forth
before them toward the better days to come,
When all the world of glory
shall be called the Niblungs’ home:
Yea, as oft in the merry season
and the morning of the May
The birds break out a-singing
for the world’s face waxen gay,
And they flutter there in
the blossoms, and run through the dewy grass,
As they sing the joy of the
spring-tide, that bringeth the summer to
pass;
And they deem that for them
alone was the earth wrought long ago.
And no hate and no repentance,
and no fear to come they know;
So fared the feast of the
Niblungs on the eve that Sigurd came
In the day of their deeds
triumphant, and the blossom of their fame.
Of Sigurd’s warfaring
in the company of the Niblungs, and of his
great fame and glory.
Now gone is the summer season
and the harvest of the year,
And amid the winter weather
the deeds of the Niblungs wear;
But nought is their joyance
worsened, or their mirth-tide waxen less,
Though the swooping mountain
tempest howl round their ridgy ness,
Though a house of the windy
battle their streeted burg be grown,
Though the heaped-up, huddled
cloud-drift be their very hall-roofs
crown,
Though the rivers bear the
burden, and the Rime-Gods grip and strive,
And the snow in the mirky
midnoon across the lealand drive.
But lo, in the stark midwinter
how the war is smitten awake,
And the blue-clad Niblung
warriors the spears from the wall-nook take,
And gird the dusky hauberk,
and the ruddy fur-coat don,
And draw the yellowing ermine
o’er the steel from Welshland won.
Then they show their tokened
war-shields to the moon-dog and the stars,
For the hurrying wind of the
mountains has borne them tale of wars.
Lo now, in the court of the
warriors they gather for the fray,
Before the sun’s uprising,
in the moonless morn of day;
And the spears by the dusk
gate glimmer, and the torches shine on
the wall,
And the murmuring voice of
women comes faint from the cloudy hall:
Then the grey dawn beats on
the mountains mid a drift of frosty snow,
And all men the face of Sigurd
mid the swart-haired Niblungs know;
And they see his gold gear
glittering mid the red fur and the white,
And high are the hearts uplifted
by the hope of happy fight;
And they see the sheathed
Wrath shimmer mid the restless Welsh-wrought
swords,
And their hearts rejoice beforehand
o’er the fall of conquered lords;
And they see the Helm of Aweing
and the awful eyes beneath,
And they deem the victory
glorious, and fair the warrior’s death.
So forth through that cave
of the gate from the Niblung Burg they fare,
And they turn their backs
on the plain, and the mountain-slopes they
dare,
And the place of the slaked
earth-forges, as the eastering wind shall
lead,
And but few swords bide behind
them the Niblung Burg to heed.
But lo, in the jaws of the
mountains how few and small they seem,
As dusky-strange in the snow-drifts
their knitted hauberks gleam:
Lo, now at the mountains’
outmost ’neath Sigurd’s gleaming eyes
How wide in the winter season
the citied lealand lies:
Lo, how the beacons are flaring,
and the bell-swayed steeples rock,
And the gates of cities are
shaken with the back-swung door-leaves’
shock:
And, lo, the terror of towns,
and the land that the winter wards,
And over the streets snow-muffled
the clash of the Niblung swords.
But the slaves of the Kings
are gathered, and their host the battle
abides,
And forth in the front of
the Niblungs the golden Sigurd rides;
And Gunnar smites on his right
hand, and Hogni smites on the left,
And glad is the heart of Guttorm,
and the Southland host is cleft
As the grey bill reapeth the
willows in the autumn of the year,
When the fish lie still in
the eddies, and the rain-flood draweth
anear.
Now sheathed is the Wrath
of Sigurd; for as wax withstands the flame,
So the Kings of the land withstood
him and the glory of his fame.
And before the grass is growing,
or the kine have fared from the stall,
The song of the fair-speech-masters
goes up in the Niblung hall,
And they sing of the golden
Sigurd and the face without a foe,
And the lowly man exalted
and the mighty brought alow:
And they say, when the sun
of summer shall come aback to the land,
It shall shine on the fields
of the tiller that fears no heavy hand;
That the sheaf shall be for
the plougher, and the loaf for him that
sowed,
Through every furrowed acre
where the Son of Sigmund rode.
Full dear was Sigurd the Volsung
to all men most and least,
And now, as the spring drew
onward, ’twas deemed a goodly feast
For the acre-biders’
children by the Niblung Burg to wait,
If perchance the Son of Sigmund
should ride abroad by the gate:
For whosoever feared him,
no little-one, forsooth,
Would shrink from the shining
eyes and the hand that clave out truth
From the heart of the wrack
and the battle: it was then, as his gold
gear burned
O’er the balks of the
bridge and the river, that oft the mother turned,
And spake to the laughing
baby: “O little son, and dear,
When I from the world am departed,
and whiles a-nights ye hear
The best of man-folk longing
for the least of Sigurd’s days,
Thou shalt hearken to their
story, till they tell forth all his praise,
And become beloved and a wonder,
as thou sayest when all is sung,
‘And I too once beheld
him in the days when I was young.’”
Men say that the white-armed
Gudrun, the lovely Giuki’s child,
Looked long on Sigurd’s
visage in the winter weather wild
On the eve of the Kings’
departure; and she bore him wine and spake:
“Thou goest to the war,
O Sigurd, for the Niblung brethren’s sake;
And so women send their kindred
on many a doubtful tide,
And dead full oft on the death-field
shall the hope of their lives
abide;
Nor must they fear beforehand,
nor weep when all is o’er;
But thou, our guest and our
stranger, thou goest to the war,
And who knows but thine hand
may carry the hope of all the earth;
Now therefore if thou deemest
that my prayer be aught of worth,
Nor wilt scorn the child of
a Niblung that prays for things to come,
Pledge me for thy glad returning,
and the sheaves of fame borne home!”
He laughed, for his heart
was merry for the seed of battle sown,
For the fruit of love’s
fulfilment, and the blossom of renown;
And he said: “I
look in the wine-cup and I see goodwill therein;
Be merry, Maid of the Niblungs;
for these are the prayers that win!”
He drank, and the soul within
him to the love and the glory turned,
And all unmoved was her visage,
howso her heart-strings yearned.
But again when the bolt of battle
on the sleeping kings had been
hurled,
And the gold-tipped cloud of the Niblungs had
been sped on the winter
world,
And once more in that hall of the stories was
dight triumphant feast,
And in joy of soul past telling sat all men most
and least,
There stood the daughter of Giuki by the king-folk’s
happy board,
And grave and stern was Gudrun as the wine of
kings she poured:
But Sigurd smiled upon her, and he said:
“O
maid, rejoice
For thy pledge’s fair redeeming, and the
hope of thy kindly voice!
Thou hast prayed for the guest and the stranger,
and, lo, from the
battle and wrack
Is the hope of the Niblungs blossomed, and thy
brethren’s lives come
back.”
She turned and looked upon him,
and the flush ran over her face,
And died out as the summer lightning, that scarce
endureth a space;
But still was her visage troubled, as she said:
“Hast thou called me
kind
Because I feared for earth’s glory when
point and edge are blind?
But now is the night as the day, when thou bringest
my brethren home,
And back in the arms of thy glory the Niblung
hope has come.”
But his eyes look kind upon
her, and the trouble passeth away,
And there in the hall of the
Niblungs is dark night as glorious day.
Now spring o’er the
winter prevaileth, and the blossoms brighten the
field;
But lo, in the flowery lealands
the gleam of spear and shield,
For swift to the tidings of
warfare speeds on the Niblung folk,
And the Kings to the sea are
riding, and the battle-laden oak.
Now the isle-abiders tremble,
and the dwellers by the sea
And the nesses flare with
the beacons, and the shepherds leave the lea,
As the tale of the golden
warrior speeds on from isle to isle.
Now spread is the snare of
treason, and cast is the net of guile,
And the mirk-wood gleams with
the ambush, and venom lurks at the board;
And whiles and again for a
little the fair fields gleam with the sword,
And the host of the isle-folk
gather, nigh numberless of tale:
But how shall its bulk and
its writhing the willow-log avail
When the red flame lives amidst
it? Lo now, the golden man
In the towns from of old time
famous, by the temples tall and wan;
How he wends with the swart-haired
Niblungs through the mazes of the
streets,
And the hosts of the conquered
So they raise and abase and
alter, then turn about and ride,
Mid the peace of the sword
triumphant, to the shell-strown ocean’s
side;
And they bear their glory
away to the mouth of the fishy stream,
And again in the Niblung lealand
doth the Welsh-wrought war-gear gleam,
And they come to the Burg
of the Niblungs and the mighty gate of war,
And betwixt the gathered maidens
through its dusky depths they pour,
And with war-helms done with
blossoms round the Niblung hall they sing
In the windless cloudless
even and the ending of the spring;
Yea, they sing the song of
Sigurd and the face without a foe,
And they sing of the prison’s
rending and the tyrant laid alow,
And the golden thieves’
abasement, and the stilling of the churl,
And the mocking of the dastard
where the chasing edges whirl;
And they sing of the outland
maidens that thronged round Sigurd’s hand,
And sung in the streets of
the foemen of the war-delivered land;
And they tell how the ships
of the merchants come free and go at their
will,
And how wives in peace and
safety may crop the vine-clad hill;
How the maiden sits in her
bower, and the weaver sings at his loom,
And forget the kings of grasping
and the greedy days of gloom;
For by sea and hill and township
hath the Son of Sigmund been.
And looked on the folk unheeded,
and the lowly people seen.
Then into the hall of the
Niblungs go the battle-staying earls,
And they cast the spoil in
the midmost; the webs of the out-sea pearls,
And the gold-enwoven purple
that on hated kings was bright;
Fair jewelled swords accursed
that never flashed in fight;
Crowns of old kings of battle
that dastards dared to wear;
Great golden shields dishonoured,
and the traitors’ battle-gear;
Chains of the evil judges,
and the false accusers’ rings,
And the cloud-wrought silken
raiment of the cruel whores of kings.
And they cried: “O
King of the people, O Giuki old of years,
Lo, the wealth that Sigurd
brings thee from the fashioners of tears!
Take thou the gift, O Niblung,
that the Volsung seed hath brought!
For we fought on the guarded
fore-shore, in the guileful wood we
fought;
And we fought in the traitorous
city, and the murder-halls of kings;
Then Sigurd passed through
the hall, and fair was the light of his
eyes,
And he came to King Giuki
the ancient, and Grimhild the overwise,
And stooped to the elder of
days and kissed the war-wise head;
And they loved him passing
sore as a very son of their bed.
But he stood in the sight
of the people, and sweet he was to see,
And no foe and no betrayer,
and no envier now hath he:
But Gunnar the bright in the
battle deems him his earthly friend,
And Hogni is fain of his fellow,
howso the day’s work end,
And Guttorm the young is joyous
of the help and gifts he hath;
And all these would shine
beside him in the glory of his path;
There is none to hate or hinder,
or mar the golden day,
And the light of love flows
plenteous, as the sun-beams hide the way.
Now there was the white-armed
Gudrun, the lovely Giuki’s child,
And her eyes beheld his glory,
but her heart was unbeguiled,
And the dear hope fainted
in her: I am frail and weak, she saith,
And he so great and glorious
with the eyes that look on death!
Yet she comes, and speaks
before him as she bears the golden horn:
“The world is glad,
O Sigurd, that ever thou wert born,
And I with the world am rejoicing:
drink now to the Niblung bliss,
That I, a deedless maiden,
may thank thee well for this!”
So he drank of the cup at
her bidding and laughed, and said, “Forsooth,
Good-will with the cup is
blended, and the very heart of ruth:
Yet meseems thy words are
merrier than thine inmost soul this eve;
Nay, cast away thy sorrow,
lest the Kings of battle grieve!”
She smiled and departed from
him, and there in the cloudy hall
To the feast of their glad
returning the Niblung children fall;
And far o’er the flowery
lealand the shepherds of the plain
Behold the litten windows,
and know that Kings are fain.
So fares the tale of Sigurd
through all kingdoms of the earth,
And the tale is told of his
doings by the utmost ocean’s girth;
And fair feast the merchants
deem it to warp their sea-beat ships
High up the Niblung River,
that their sons may hear his lips
Shed fair words o’er
their ladings and the opened southland bales;
Then they get them aback to
their countries, and tell how all men’s
tales
Are nought, and vain and empty
in setting forth his grace,
And the unmatched words of
But men say that howsoever
all other folk of earth
Loved Sigmund’s son
rejoicing, and were bettered of their mirth,
Yet ever the white-armed Gudrun,
the dark-haired Niblung Maid,
From the barren heart of sorrow
her love upon him laid:
He rejoiceth, and she droopeth;
he speaks and hushed is she;
He beholds the world’s
days coming, nought but Sigurd may she see;
He is wise and her wisdom
falters; he is kind, and harsh and strange
Comes the voice from her bosom
laden, and her woman’s mercies change.
He longs, and she sees his
longing, and her heart grows cold as a
sword,
And her heart is the ravening
fire, and the fretting sorrows’ hoard.
Ah, shall she not wander away
to the wilds and the wastes of the deer,
Or down to the measureless
sea-flood, and the mountain marish drear?
Nay, still shall she bide
and behold him in the ancient happy place,
And speak soft as the other
women with wise and queenly face.
Woe worth the while for her
sorrow, and her hope of life forlorn!
—Woe worth the
while for her loving, and the day when she was born!
Of the Cup of evil drink that Grimhild the Wise-wife gave to Sigurd.
Now again in the latter summer
do those Kings of the Niblungs ride
To chase the sons of the plunder
that curse the ocean-side:
So over the oaken rollers
they run the cutters down
Till fair in the first of
the deep are the glittering bows up-thrown;
But, shining wet and steel-clad,
men leap from the surfy shore,
And hang their shields on
the gunwale, and cast abroad the oar;
Then full to the outer ocean
swing round the golden beaks,
And Sigurd sits by the tiller
and the host of the spoilers seeks.
But lo, by the rim of the
out-sea where the masts of the Vikings sway,
And their bows plunge down
to the sea-floor as they ride the ridgy way,
And show the slant decks covered
with swords from stem to stern:
Hark now, how the horns of
battle for the clash of warriors yearn,
And the mighty song of mocking
goes up from the thousands of throats,
As down the wind and landward
the raven-banner floats:
For they see thin streaks
and shining o’er the waters’ face draw
nigh,
And about each streak a foam-wake
as the wet oars toss on high;
And they shout; for the silent
Niblungs round those great sea-castles
throng,
And the eager men unshielded
swarm up the heights of wrong.
Then from bulwark unto bulwark
But now with the spoil of
the spoilers mid the Niblungs doth he fare,
When the Kings have dight
the beacons and the warders of the coast,
That fire may call to fire
for the swift redeeming host.
Then they fare to the Burg
of the people, and leave that lealand free
That a maid may wend untroubled
by the edges of the sea;
And glad in the autumn season
they sit them down again
By the shrines of the Gods
of the Niblungs, and the hallowed hearths
of men.
So there on an eve is Sigurd
in the ancient Niblung hall,
Where the cloudy hangings
waver and the flickering shadows fall,
And he sits by the Kings on
the high-seat, and wise of men he seems,
And of many a hidden marvel
past thought of man he dreams:
On the Head of Hindfell he
thinketh, and how fair the woman was,
And how that his love hath
blossomed, and the fruit shall come to pass;
And he thinks of the burg
in Lymdale, and how hand met hand in love,
Nor deems him aught too feeble
the heart of the world to move;
And more than a God he seemeth,
and so steadfast and so great,
That the sea of chance wide-weltering
’neath his will must needs abate.
High riseth the glee of the
people, and the song and the clank of the
cup
Beat back from pillar to pillar,
to the cloud-blue roof go up;
And men’s hearts rejoice
in the battle, and the hope of coming days,
Till scarce may they think
of their fathers, and the kings of bygone
praise.
But Giuki looketh on Sigurd
and saith from heart grown fain:
“To sit by the silent
wise-one, how mighty is the gain!
Yet we know this long while,
Sigurd, that lovely is thy speech;
Wilt thou tell us the tales
of the ancient, and the words of masters
teach?
For the joy of our hearts
is stormy with mighty battles won,
And sweet shall be their lulling
with thy tale of deeds agone.”
Then they brought the harp
to Sigurd, and he looked on the ancient man,
As his hand sank into the
strings, and a ripple over them ran,
And he looked forth kind o’er
the people, and all men on his glory
gazed,
And hearkened, hushed and
Now up rose Grimhild the wise-wife,
and she stood by Sigurd and said:
“There is none of the
kings of kingdoms that may match thy goodlihead:
Lo now, thou hast sung of
thy fathers; but men shall sing of thee,
And therewith shall our house
be remembered, and great shall our
glory be.
I beseech thee hearken a little
to a faithful word of mine,
When thou of this cup hast
drunken; for my love is blent with the
wine.”
He laughed and took the cup:
But therein with the blood of the earth
Earth’s hidden might
was mingled, and deeds of the cold sea’s birth,
And things that the high Gods
turn from, and a tangle of strange love,
Deep guile, and strong compelling,
that whoso drank thereof
Should remember not his longing,
should cast his love away,
Remembering dead desire but
as night remembereth day.
So Sigurd looked on the horn,
and he saw how fair it was scored
With the cunning of the Dwarf-kind
and the masters of the sword;
And he drank and smiled on
Grimhild above the beaker’s rim,
And she looked and laughed
at his laughter; and the soul was changed
in him.
Men gazed and their hearts
sank in them, and they knew not why it was,
Why the fair-lit hall was
darkling, nor what had come to pass:
For they saw the sorrow of
Sigurd, who had seen but his deeds erewhile,
And the face of the mighty
darkened, who had known but the light of
its smile.
But Grimhild looked and was
merry: and she deemed her life was great,
And her hand a wonder of wonders
to withstand the deeds of Fate:
For she saw by the face of
Sigurd and the token of his eyes
That her will had abased the
valiant, and filled the faithful with
lies,
And blinded the God-born seer,
and turned the steadfast athwart,
And smitten the pride of the
joyous, and the hope of the eager heart;
The hush of the hall she hearkened,
Then she spake aloud to the
Volsung: “Hear this faithful word of mine!
For the draught thou hast
drunken, O Sigurd, and my love was blent
with the wine:
O Sigurd, son of the mighty,
thy kin are passed away,
But uplift thine heart and
be merry, for new kin hast thou gotten
today;
Thy father is Giuki the King,
and Grimhild thy mother is made,
And thy brethren are Gunnar
and Hogni and Guttorm the unafraid.
Rejoice for a kingly kindred,
and a hope undreamed before!
For the folk shall be wax
in the fire that withstandeth the Niblung
war;
The waste shall bloom as a
garden in the Niblung glory and trust,
And the wrack of the Niblung
people shall burn the world to dust:
Our peace shall still the
world, our joy shall replenish the earth;
And of thee it cometh, O Sigurd,
the gold and the garland of worth!”
But the heart was changed
in Sigurd; as though it ne’er had been
His love of Brynhild perished
as he gazed on the Niblung Queen:
Brynhild’s beloved body
was e’en as a wasted hearth,
No more for bale or blessing,
for plenty or for dearth.
—O ye that shall
look hereafter, when the day of Sigurd is done,
And the last of his deeds
is accomplished, and his eyes are shut in
the sun,
When ye look and long for
Sigurd, and the image of Sigurd behold,
And his white sword still
as the moon, and his strong hand heavy and
cold,
Then perchance shall ye think
of this even, then perchance shall ye
wonder and cry,
“Twice over, King, are
we smitten, and twice have we seen thee die.”
As folk of the summer feasters,
who have fallen to feast in the morn,
And have wreathed their brows
with roses ere the first of the clouds
was born;
Beneath the boughs were they
sitting, and the long leaves twinkled
about,
And the wind with their laughter
was mingled, nor held aback from
their shout,
Amidst of their harp it lingered,
from the mouth of their horn went up,
Round the reek of their roast
was it breathing, o’er the flickering
face of their
cup—
—Lo now, why sit
they so heavy, and why is their joy-speech dead,
Why are the long leaves drooping,
Men say that a little after
the evil of that night
All waste is the burg of Brynhild,
and there springeth a marvellous
light
On the desert hard by Lymdale,
and few men know for why;
But there are, who say that
a wildfire thence roareth up to the sky
Round a glorious golden dwelling,
wherein there sitteth a Queen
In remembrance of the wakening,
and the slumber that hath been;
Wherein a Maid there sitteth,
who knows not hope nor rest
For remembrance of the Mighty,
and the Best come forth from the Best.
But the hushed Kings sat in
the feast-hall, till Grimhild cried on
the harp,
And the minstrels’ fingers
hastened, and the sound rang clear and sharp
Beneath the cloudy roof-tree,
but no joyance with it went,
And no voice but the eagles’
crying with the stringed song was blent;
And as it began, it ended,
and no soul had been moved by its voice,
To lament o’er the days
passed over, or in coming days to rejoice.
Late groweth the night o’er
the people, but no word hath Sigurd said,
Since he laughed o’er
the glittering Dwarf-gold and raised the cup to
his head:
No wrath in his eyes is arisen,
no hope, nor wonder, nor fear;
Yet is Sigurd’s face
as boding to folk that behold him anear,
As the mountain that broodeth
the fire o’er the town of man’s delights,
As the sky that is cursed
nor thunders, as the God that is smitten
nor smites.
So silent sitteth the Volsung
o’er the blindness of the wrong,
But night on the Niblungs
waxeth, and their Kings for the morrow long,
And the morrow of tomorrow
that the light may be fair to their eyes,
And their days as the days
of the joyous: so now from the throne they
arise,
And their men depart from
the feast-hall, their care in sleep to lay,
But none durst speak with
Sigurd, nor ask him, whither away,
As he strideth dumb from amidst
them; and all who see him deem
That he heedeth the folk of
the Niblungs but as people of a dream.
So they fall away from about
him, till he stands in the forecourt
alone;
Then he fares to the kingly
stables, nor knoweth he his own,
Nor backeth the cloudy Greyfell,
but a steed of the Kings he bestrides
And forth through the gate
of the Niblungs and into the night he rides:
—Yea he with no
deed before him, and he in the raiment of peace;
And the moon in the mid-sky
wadeth, and is come to her most increase.
In the deedless dark he rideth,
and all things he remembers save one,
And nought else hath he care
to remember of all the deeds he hath done:
He hasteneth not nor stayeth;
he lets the dark die out
Ere he comes to the burg of
Brynhild and rides it round about;
And he lets the sun rise upward
ere he rideth thence away,
And wendeth he knoweth not
whither, and he weareth down the day;
Till lo, a plain and a river,
and a ridge at the mountains’ feet
With a burg of people builded
for the lords of God-home meet.
O’er the bridge of the
river he rideth, and unto the burg-gate comes
In no lesser wise up-builded
than the gate of the heavenly homes:
Himseems that the gate-wards
know him, for they cry out each to each,
And as whispering winds in
the mountains he hears their far-off speech.
So he comes to the gate’s
huge hollow, and amidst its twilight goes,
And his horse is glad and
remembers, and that road of King-folk knows;
And the winds are astir in
its arches with the sound of swords unseen,
And the cries of kings departed,
and the battles that have been.
So into a garth of warriors
from that dusk he rideth out
And no man stayeth nor hindereth;
there he gazeth round about,
And seeth a glorious dwelling,
a mighty far-famed place,
As the last of the evening
sunlight shines fair on his weary face;
And there is a hall before
him, and huge in the even it lies,
A mountain grey and awful
with the Dwarf-folk’s masteries:
And the houses of men cling
round it, and low they seem and frail,
Though the wise and the deft
have built them for a long-enduring tale:
There the wind sings loud
in the wall-nook, and the spears are sparks
on the wall,
And the swords are flaming
torches as the sun is hard on his fall:
He falls, and the even dusketh
o’er that sword-renowned close,
But Sigurd bideth and broodeth
for the Niblung house he knows,
And he hath a thought within
him that he rideth forth from shame,
And that men have forgotten
the greeting and are slow to remember his
fame.
But forth from the hall came
a shouting, and the voice of many men,
And he deemed they cried “Hail,
Sigurd! thou art welcome home again!”
Then he looked to the door
of the feast-hall and behold it seemed to
him
That its wealth of graven
stories with more than the dusk was dim;
With the waving of white raiment
and the doubtful gleam of gold.
Then there groweth a longing
within him, nor his heart will he
withhold;
But he rideth straight to
the doorway, and the stories of the door:
And there sitteth Giuki the
ancient, the King, the wise of war,
And Grimhild the kin of the
God-folk, the wife of the glittering eyes;
And there is the goodly Gunnar,
Then unto the earth leapt the Volsung,
and gazed with doubtful brow
On the King and the Queen and the Brethren, and
the white-armed
Giuki’s Child,
Yet amidst all these in a measure of his heavy
heart was beguiled:
He spread out his hands before them, and he spake:
“O,
what be ye,
Who ask of the deeds of Sigurd, and seek of the
days to be?
Are ye aught but the Niblung children? for meseems
I would ask for a
gift,
But the thought of my heart is unstable, and my
hope as the
winter-drift;
And the words may not be shapen.—But
speak ye, men of the earth,
Have ye any new-found tidings, or are deeds come
nigh to the birth?
Are there knots for my sword to sunder? are there
thrones for my hand
to shake?
And to which of the Gods shall I give, and from
which of the Kings
shall I take?
Or in which of the houses of man-folk henceforward
shall I dwell?
O speak, ye Niblung children, and the tale to
Sigurd tell!”
None answered a word for a
space; but Gudrun wept in the door,
And the noise of men came
outward and of feet that went on the floor.
Then Grimhild stood before
him, and took him by the hand,
And she said: “In
the hall are gathered the earls of the Niblung land.
Come thou with the Mother
of Kings and sit in thy place tonight,
That the cheer of the earls
may be bettered, nor the war-dukes lose
delight.”
“Come, brother and king,”
said Gunnar, “for here of all the earth
Is the place that may not
lack thee, and the folk that loves thy
worth.”
“Come, Sigurd the wise,”
said Hogni, “and so shall thy visage cheer
The folk that is bold for
tomorrow, and the hearts that know no fear.”
“Come, Sigurd the keen,”
said Guttorm, “for thy sword lies light in
the sheath,
And oft shall we ride together
to face the fateful death.”
No word at all spake Gudrun,
as she stood in the doorway dim,
But turned her face from beholding
as she reached her hand to him.
Then Sigurd nought gainsaid
them, but into the hall he passed,
And great shouts of salutation
to the cloudy roof were cast,
And rang back from the glassy
pillars, and the woven God-folk stirred,
And afar the clustering eagles
on the golden roof-ridge heard,
And cried out on the Sword
of the Branstock as they cried in other
days;
And the harps rang out in
the hall, and men sang in Sigurd’s praise.
But he looked to the right
and the left, and he knew there was ruin
and lack,
And the death of yestereven,
and the days that should never come back;
And he strove, but nought
he remembered of the matters that he would,
Save that great was the flood
of sorrow that had drowned his days of
good:
Then he deemed that the sons
of the earl-folk, e’en mid their praising
word,
Were looking on his trouble
as a people sore afeard;
And the gifts that the Gods
had given the pride in his soul awoke,
And kindled was Sigurd’s
kindness by the trouble of the folk;
And he thought: I shall
do and undo, as while agone I did,
And abide the time of the
dawning, when the night shall be no more hid!
Then he lifted his head like
a king, and his brow as a God’s was clear,
And the trouble fell from
the people, and they cast aside their fear;
And scarce was his glory abated
as he sat in the seat of the Kings
With the Niblung brethren
about him, and they spake of famous things,
And the dealings of lords
of the earth; but he spake and answered again
And thrust by the grief of
forgetting, and his tangled thought and
vain,
And cast his care on the morrow,
that the people might be glad.
Yet no smile there came to
Sigurd, and his lips no laughter had;
But he seemeth a king o’er-mighty,
who hath won the earthly crown,
In whose hand the world is
lying, who no more heedeth renown.
But now speaketh Grimhild
the Queen: “Rise, daughter of my folk,
For thou seest my son is weary
with the weight of the careful yoke;
Go, bear him the wine of the
Kings, and hail him over the gold,
And bless the King for his
coming to the heart of the Niblung fold.”
Upriseth the white-armed Gudrun,
and taketh the cup in her hand;
Dead-pale in the night of
her tresses by Sigurd doth she stand,
And strives with the thought
within her, and finds no word to speak:
For such is the strength of
her anguish, as well might slay the weak;
But her heart is a heart of
the Queen-folk and of them that bear
earth’s
kings,
And her love of her lord seems
lovely, though sore the torment wrings,
—How fares it with
words unspoken, when men are great enow,
And forth from the good to
the good the strong desires shall flow?
Are they wasted e’en
as the winds, the barren maids of the sky,
Of whose birth there is no
man wotteth, nor whitherward they fly?
Lo, Sigurd lifteth his eyes,
and he sees her silent and pale,
But fair as Odin’s Choosers
in the slain kings’ wakening dale,
But sweet as the mid-fell’s
dawning ere the grass beginneth to move;
And he knows in an instant
of time that she stands ’twixt death and
love,
And that no man, none of the
He seeth the love in her eyen, and the life that is tangled in his,
And the heart cries out within him, and man’s hope of earthly bliss;
And again would he spare her the speech, as she strives with her
longing sore.
“Here are glad men about
us, and a joyous folk of war.
And they that have loved thee
for long, and they that have cherished
mine heart;
But we twain alone are woeful,
as sad folk sitting apart.
Ah, if I thy soul might gladden!
if thy lips might give me peace!
Then belike were we gladdest
of all; for I love thee more than these.
The cup of goodwill that thou
bearest, and the greeting thou wouldst
say,
Turn these to the cup of thy
love, and the words of the
troth-plighting
day;
The love that endureth for
ever, and the never-dying troth,
To face the Norns’ undoing,
and the Gods amid their wrath.”
Then he taketh the cup and
her hands, and she boweth meekly adown,
Till she feels the arms of
Sigurd round her trembling body thrown:
A little while she doubteth
in the mighty slayer’s arms
As Sigurd’s love unhoped-for
her barren bosom warms;
A little while she struggleth
with the fear of his mighty fame,
That grows with her hope’s
fulfilment; ruth rises with wonder and
shame;
For the kindness grows in
her soul, as forgotten anguish dies,
And her heart feels Sigurd’s
sorrow in the breast whereon she lies;
Then the fierce love overwhelms
her, and as wax in the fervent fire
All dies and is forgotten
in the sweetness of desire;
And close she clingeth to
Sigurd, as one that hath gotten the best
And fair things of the world
she deemeth, as a place of infinite rest.
Of the Wedding of Sigurd the Volsung.
That night sleeps Sigurd the
Volsung, and awakes on the morrow-morn,
And wots at the first but
dimly what thing in his life hath been born:
But the sun cometh up in the
autumn, and the eve he remembered,
And the word he hath given
to Gudrun to love her to the death;
And he longs for the Niblung
maiden, that her love may cherish his
heart,
Lest e’en as a Godhead
banished he dwell in the world apart:
The new sun smiteth his body
as he leaps from the golden bed,
And doeth on his raiment and
is fair apparelled;
Then he goes his ways through
the chambers, and greeteth none at all
Till he comes to the garth
and the garden in the nook of the Niblung
wall.
Now therein, mid the yellowing
leafage, and the golden blossoms spent,
Alone and lovely and eager
the white-armed Gudrun went;
Swift then he hasteneth toward
her, and she bideth his drawing near,
And now in the morn she trembleth;
for her love is blent with fear;
And wonder is all around her,
for she deemed till yestereve,
When she saw the earls astonied,
and the golden Sigurd grieve,
That on some most mighty woman
his joyful love was set;
And love hath made her humble,
and her race doth she forget,
And her noble and mighty heart
from the best of the Niblungs sprung,
The sons of the earthly War-Gods
of the days when the world was young.
Yea she feareth her love and
his fame, but she feareth his sorrow most,
Lest he spake from a heart
o’erladen and counted not the cost.
But lo, the love of his eyen,
and the kindness of his face!
And joy her body burdens,
and she trembleth in her place,
And sinks in the arms that
cherish with a faint and eager cry,
And again on the bosom of
Sigurd doth the head of Gudrun lie.
Fairer than yestereven doth
Sigurd deem his love,
And more her tender wooing
and her shame his soul doth move;
And his words of peace and
comfort come easier forth from him,
And woman’s love seems
wondrous amidst his trouble dim;
Strange, sweet, to cling together!
as oft and o’er again
They crave and kiss rejoicing,
and their hearts are full and fain.
Then a little while they sunder,
and apart and anigh they stand,
And Sigurd’s eyes grow
awful as he stretcheth forth his hand,
And his clear voice saith:
“O
Gudrun, now hearken while I swear
That the sun shall die for
ever and the day no more be fair.
Ere I forget thy pity and
thine inmost heart of love!
Yea, though the Kings be mighty,
and the Gods be great above,
I will wade the flood and
the fire, and the waste of war forlorn,
To look on the Niblung dwelling,
and the house where thou wert born.”
Strange seemed the words to
Sigurd that his gathering love compelled,
And sweet and strange desire
o’er his tangled trouble welled.
But bright flashed the eyes
of Gudrun, and she said: “King, as for me,
If thou sawest the heart in
my bosom, what oath might better thee?
Yet my words thy words shall
cherish, as thy lips my lips have done.
—Herewith I swear,
O Sigurd, that the earth shall hate the sun,
And the year desire but darkness,
and the blossoms shrink from day,
Ere my love shall fail, beloved,
or my longing pass away!”
Now they go from the garth
and the garden, and hand in hand they come
To the hall of the kings of
aforetime, and the heart of the Niblung
home.
There they go ’neath
the cloudy roof-tree, and on to the high-seat
fair,
And there sitteth Giuki the
ancient, and the guileful Grimhild is
there,
With the swart-haired Niblung
brethren; and all these are exceeding
fain,
When they look on Sigurd and
Gudrun, and the peace that enwrappeth
the twain,
For in her is all woe forgotten,
sick longing little seen,
And the shame that slayeth
pity, and the self-scorn of a Queen;
And all doubt in love is swallowed,
and lovelier now is she
Than a picture deftly painted
by the craftsmen over sea;
And her face is a rose of
the morning by the night-tide framed about,
And the long-stored love of
her bosom from her eyes is leaping out.
But how fair is Sigurd the
King that beside her beauty goes!
How lovely is he shapen, how
great his stature shows!
How kind is the clasping right-hand,
that hath smitten the battle
acold!
How kind are the awful eyen
that no foeman durst behold!
How sweet are the lips unsmiling,
and the brow as the open day!
What man can behold and believe
it, that his life shall pass away?
So he standeth proud by the
high-seat, and the sun through the vast
hall pours
And the Gods on the hangings
waver as the wind goes by the doors,
And abroad are the sounds
of man-folk, and the eagles cry from the
roof,
And the ancient deeds of Sigmund
seem fallen far aloof;
And dead are the fierce days
fallen, and the world is soft and sweet,
As the Son of the Volsungs
speaketh in noble words and meet:
“O hearken, King of
the Niblungs, O ancient of the days!
Time was, when alone I wandered,
and went on the wasteland ways,
And sore my soul desired the
harvest of the sword:
Then I slew the great Gold-wallower,
and won the ancient Hoard,
And I turned to the dwellings
of men; for I longed for measureless
fame,
And to do and undo with the
Kings, and the pride of the Kings to tame;
And I longed for the love
of the King-folk; but who desired my soul,
Who stayed my feet in his
dwelling, who showed the weary the goal,
Who drew me forth from the
wastes, and the bitter kinless dearth,
Then spoke the ancient Giuki:
“Hail, Sigurd, son of mine eld!
And I bless the Gods for the
day that mine ancient eyes have beheld:
Now let me depart in peace,
since I know for very sooth
That waxen e’en as the
God-folk shall the Niblungs blossom in youth.
Come, take thy mother’s
greeting, and let thy brethren say
How well they love thee, Sigurd,
and how fair they deem the day.”
Then lowly bendeth Sigurd
’neath the guileful Grimhild’s hand,
And he kisseth the Kings of
the Niblungs, and about him there they
stand,
The war-fain, darkling kindred;
and all their words are praise,
And the love of the tide triumphant,
and the hope of the latter days.
Hark now, on the morrow morning
how the blast of the mighty horn
From the builded Burg of the
Niblungs goes over the acres shorn,
And the roads are gay with
the riders, and the bull in the stall is
left,
And the plough is alone in
the furrow, and the wedge in the hole
half-cleft;
And late shall the ewes be
folded, and the kine come home to the pail,
And late shall the fires be
litten in the outmost treeless dale:
For men fare to the gate of
Giuki and the ancient cloudy hall,
And therein are the earls
assembled and the kings wear purple and pall,
And the flowers are spread
beneath them, and the bench-cloths beaten
with gold;
So, fair in the hall is the
feasting and men’s hearts are uplifted
on high,
And they deem that the best
of their life-days are surely drawing
anigh,
As now, one after other, uprise
the scalds renowned,
And their well-beloved voices
awake the hoped-for sound,
In the midmost of the high-tide,
and the joy of feasting lords.
Then cometh a hush and a waiting,
and the light of many swords
Flows into the hall of Giuki
by the doorway of the King,
And amid those flames of battle
the war-clad warriors bring
The Cup of daring Promise
and the hallowed Boar of Son,
And men’s hearts grow
big with longing and great is the hope-tide
grown;
For bright the Son of Sigmund
ariseth by the board,
And unwinds the knitted peace-strings
that hamper Regin’s Sword:
Then fierce is the light on
the high-seat as men set down the Cup
Anigh the hand of Sigurd,
and the edges blue rise up,
And fall on the hallowed Wood-beast:
as a trump of the woeful war
Rings the voice of the mighty
Volsung as he speaks the words of yore:
“By the Earth that groweth
and giveth, and by all the Earth’s increase
That is spent for Gods and
man-folk; by the sun that shines on these;
By the Salt-Sea-Flood that
beareth the life and death of men;
By the Heavens and Stars that
change not, though earth die out again;
By the wild things of the
mountain, and the houseless waste and lone;
By the prey of the Goths in
the thicket and the holy Beast of Son,
I hallow me to Odin for a
leader of his host,
To do the deeds of the highest,
and never count the cost:
And I swear, that whatso great-one
shall show the day and the deed,
I shall ask not why nor wherefore,
but the sword’s desire shall speed:
And I swear to seek no quarrel,
nor to swerve aside for aught,
Though the right and the left
be blooming, and the straight way wend
to nought:
And I swear to abide and hearken
the prayer of any thrall,
Though the war-torch be on
the threshold and the foemen’s feet in the
hall:
And I swear to sit on my throne
in the guise of the kings of the earth,
Though the anguish past amending,
and the unheard woe have birth:
And I swear to wend in my
sorrow that none shall curse mine eyes
For the scowl that quelleth
beseeching, and the hate that scorneth
the wise.
So help me Earth and Heavens,
and the Under-sky and Seas,
And the Stars in their ordered
houses, and the Norns that order these!”
And he drank of the Cup of
the Promise, and fair as a star he shone,
And all men rejoiced and wondered,
and deemed Earth’s glory won.
Then came the girded maidens,
and the slim earls’ daughters poured,
And uprose the dark-haired
Gunnar and bare was the Niblung sword;
Blue it gleamed in the hand
of the folk-king as he laid it low on
the Beast,
And took oath as the Goths
of aforetime in the hush of the people’s
feast:
“I will work for the
craving of Kings, and accomplish the will of the
great,
Nor ask what God withstandeth,
nor hearken the tales of fate;
When a King my life hath exalted,
and wrought for my hope and my gain,
For every deed he hath done
me, thereto shall I fashion twain.
I shall bear forth the fame
of the Niblungs through all that hindereth;
In my life shall I win great
glory, and be merry in my death.”
So sweareth the lovely war-king
and drinketh of the Cup,
And the joy of the people
waxeth and their glad cry goeth up.
But again came the girded
maidens: earls’ daughters pour the wine,
And bare is the blade of Hogni
in the feast-hall over the Swine;
Then he cries o’er the
hallowed Wood-beast: “Earth, hearken, how
I
swear
To beseech no man for his
helping, and to vex no God with prayer;
And to seek out the will of
the Norns, and look in the eyes of the
curse;
And to laugh while the love
aboundeth, lest the glad world grow into
worse;
Then if in the murder I laugh
not, O Earth, remember my name,
And oft tell it aloud to the
people for the Niblungs’ fated shame!”
Then he drank of the Cup of
the Promise, and all men hearkened and
deemed
That his speech was great
and valiant, and as one of the wise he
seemed.
Then the linen-folded maidens
of the earl-folk lift the gold
But the earls look each on
the other, and Guttorm’s place behold,
And empty it lieth before
them; for the child hath wearied of peace,
And he sits by the oars in
the East-seas, and winneth fame’s increase.
Nor then, nor ever after,
o’er the Holy Beast he spake,
When mighty hearts were exalted
for the golden Sigurd’s sake.
But now crieth Giuki the Ancient:
“O fair sons, well have ye sworn,
And gladdened my latter-ending,
and my kingly hours outworn;
Full fain from the halls of
Odin on the world’s folk shall I gaze
And behold all hearts rejoicing
in the Niblungs’ glorious days.”
Glad cries of earls rose upward
and beat on the cloudy roof,
And went forth on the drift
of the autumn to the mountains far aloof:
Speech stirred in the hearts
of the singers, and the harps might not
refrain,
And they called on the folk
of aforetime of the Niblung joy to be fain.
But Sigurd sitteth by Gudrun,
and his heart is soft and kind,
And the pity swelleth within
it for the days when he was blind;
And with yet another pity,
lest his sorrow seen o’erweigh
Her fond desire’s fulfilment,
and her fair soul’s blooming-day:
And many a word he frameth
his kingly fear to hide,
And the tangle of his trouble,
that her joy may well abide.
But the joy so filleth Gudrun
and the triumph of her bliss,
That oft she sayeth within
her: How durst I dream of this?
How durst I hope for the days
wherein I now shall dwell,
And that assured joyance whereof
no tongue may tell?
So fares the feast in glory
till thin the night doth grow,
And joy hath wearied the people,
and to rest and sleep they go:
Then dight is the fateful
bride-bed, and the Norns will hinder nought
That the feet of the Niblung
Maiden to the chamber of Kings be brought,
And the troth is pledged and
wedded, and the Norns cast nought before
The feet of Sigurd the Volsung
and the bridal chamber-door.
All hushed was the house of
the Niblungs, and they two were left alone,
And kind as a man made happy
was the golden Sigurd grown,
As there in the arms of the
mighty he clasped the Niblung Maid;
But her spirit fainted within
her, and her very soul was afraid,
And her mouth was empty of
words when their lips were sundered a space,
And in awe and utter wonder
she gazed upon his face;
As one who hath prayed for
a God in the dwelling of man to abide,
And he comes, and the face
unfashioned his ruth and his mercy must
hide.
She trembled and wept before
him, till at last amidst her tears
The joy and the hope of women
fell on her unawares,
And she sought the hands that
had held her, and the face that her face
had blessed,
And the bosom of Sigurd the
Mighty, the hope of her earthly rest.
Then he spake as she hearkened
and wondered: “With the Kings of men I
rode,
And none but the men of the
war-fain our coming swords abode:
O, dear was the day of the
riding, and the hope of the clashing swords!
O, dear were the deeds of
battle, and the fall of Odin’s lords,
When I met the overcomers,
and beheld them overcome,
When we rent the spoil from
the spoilers, and led the chasers home!
O, sweet was the day of the
summer when we won the ancient towns,
And we stood in the golden
bowers and took and gave the crowns!
And sweet were the suppliant
faces, and the gifts and the grace we
gave,
And the life and the wealth
unhoped for, and the hope to heal and save:
And sweet was the praise of
the Niblungs, and dear was the song that
arose
O’er the deed assured,
accomplished, and the death of the people’s
foes!
O joyful deeds of the mighty!
O wondrous life of a King!
Unto thee alone will I tell
it, and his fond imagining,
That but few of the people
wot of, as he sits with face unmoved
In the place where kings have
perished, in the seat of kings beloved!”
His kind arms clung about
her, and her face to his face he drew;
“The life of the kings
have I conquered, but this is strange and new;
And from out the heart of
the striving a lovelier thing is born,
And the love of my love is
sweeter and these hours before the morn.”
Again she trembled before
him and knew not what she feared,
And her heart alone, unhidden,
deemed her love too greatly dared;
But the very body of Sigurd,
the wonder of all men,
Cast cherishing arms about
her, and kissed her mouth again,
And in love her whole heart
melted, and all thought passed away,
Save the thought of joy’s
fulfilment and the hours before the day;
She murmured words of loving
as his kind lips cherished her breast,
And the world waxed nought
but lovely and a place of infinite rest.
But it was long thereafter
ere the sun rose o’er their love,
And lit the world of autumn
and the pale sky hung above;
And it stirred the Gods in
the heavens, and the Kings of the Goths it
stirred,
Till the sound of the world
awakening in their latter dreams they
heard;
And over the Burg of the Niblungs
the day spread fair and fresh
O’er the hopes of the
ancient people and those twain become one flesh.
Sigurd rideth with the
Niblungs, and wooeth Brynhild for King
Gunnar.
Now it fell on a day of the
spring-tide that followed on these things,
That Sigurd fares to the meadows
with Gunnar and Hogni the Kings;
For afar is Guttorm the youngest,
and he sails the Eastern Seas,
And fares with war-shield
hoisted to win him fame’s increase.
So come the Kings to the Doom-ring,
and the people’s Hallowed Field,
And no dwelling of man is
anigh it, and no acre forced to yield;
There stay those Kings of
the people alone in weed of war,
And they cut a strip of the
greensward on the meadow’s daisied floor,
And loosen it clean in the
midst, while its ends in the earth abide;
Then they heave its midmost
aloft, and set on either side
An ancient spear of battle
writ round with words of worth;
And these are the posts of
the door, whose threshold is of the earth
And the skin of the earth
is its lintel: but with war-glaives gleaming
bare
The Niblung Kings and Sigurd
beneath the earth-yoke fare;
Then each an arm-vein openeth,
and their blended blood falls down
On Earth the fruitful Mother
where they rent her turfy gown:
And then, when the blood of
the Volsungs hath run with the Niblung
blood,
They kneel with their hands
upon it and swear the brotherhood:
Each man at his brother’s
bidding to come with the blade in his hand,
Though the fire and the flood
should sunder, and the very Gods
withstand:
Each man to love and cherish
So is Sigurd yet with the
Niblungs, and he loveth Gudrun his wife,
And wendeth afield with the
brethren to the days of the dooming of
life;
And nought his glory waneth,
nor falleth the flood of praise:
To every man he hearkeneth,
nor gainsayeth any grace,
And glad is the poor in the
Doom-ring when he seeth his face mid the
Kings,
For the tangle straighteneth
before him, and the maze of crooked
things.
But the smile is departed
from him, and the laugh of Sigurd the young,
And of few words now is he
waxen, and his songs are seldom sung.
Howbeit of all the sad-faced
was Sigurd loved the best;
And men say: Is the king’s
heart mighty beyond all hope of rest?
Lo, how he beareth the people!
how heavy their woes are grown!
So oft were a God mid the
Goth-folk, if he dwelt in the world alone.
Now Giuki the King of the
Niblungs must change his life at the last,
And they lay him down in the
mountains and a great mound over him cast:
For thus had he said in his
life-days: “When my hand from the people
shall fade,
Up there on the side of the
mountains shall the King of the Niblungs
be laid,
Whence one seeth the plain
of the tillage and the fields where
man-folk go;
Then whiles in the dawn’s
awakening, when the day-wind riseth to blow,
Shall I see the war-gates
opening, and the joy of my shielded men
As they look to the field
of the dooming: and whiles in the even again
Shall I see the spoil come
homeward, and the host of the Niblungs pour
Through the gates that the
Dwarf-folk builded and the well-beloved
door.”
So there lieth Giuki the King,
mid steel and the glimmer of gold,
As the sound of the feastful
Niblungs round his misty house is rolled:
But Gunnar is King of the
people, and the chief of the Niblung land;
A man beloved for his mercy,
and his might and his open hand;
A glorious king in the battle,
a hearkener at the doom,
A singer to sing the sun up
from the heart of the midnight gloom.
On a day sit the Kings in
the high-seat when Grimhild saith to her son:
“O Gunnar, King beloved,
a fair life hast thou won;
On the flood, in the field
hast thou wrought, and hung the chambers
with gold;
Far abroad mid many a people
are the tidings of thee told:
Now do a deed for thy mother
and the hallowed Niblung hearth,
Lest the house of the mighty
perish, and our tale grow wan with dearth.
If thou do the deed that I
bid thee, and wed a wife of the Kings,
No less shalt thou cleave
the war-helms and scatter the ruddy rings.”
He said: “Meseemeth,
mother, thou speaketh not in haste,
But hast sought and found
beforehand, lest thy fair words fall to
waste.”
She said: “Thou
sayest the sooth; I have found the thing I sought:
A Maid for thee is shapen,
and a Queen for thee is wrought:
In the waste land hard by
Lymdale a marvellous hall is built,
With its roof of the red gold
beaten, and its wall-stones over-gilt:
Afar o’er the heath
men see it, but no man draweth nigher,
For the garth that goeth about
it is nought but the roaring fire,
A white wall waving aloft;
and no window nor wicket is there,
Whereby the shielded earl-folk
or the sons of the merchants may fare:
But few things from me are
hidden, and I know in that hall of gold
Sits Brynhild, white as a
wild-swan where the foamless seas are rolled;
And the daughter of Kings
of the world, and the sister of Queens is
she,
And wise, and Odin’s
Chooser, and the Breath of Victory:
But for this cause sitteth
she thus in the ring of the Wavering Flame,
That no son of the Kings will
she wed save the mightiest master of
fame,
And the man who knoweth not
fear, and the man foredoomed of fate
To ride through her Wavering
Fire to the door of her golden gate:
And for him she sitteth and
waiteth, and him shall she cherish and
love,
Though the Kings of the world
should withstand it, and the Gods that
sit above.
Speak thou, O mighty Gunnar!—nay
rather, Sigurd my son,
Say who but the lord of the
Niblungs should wed with this glorious
one?”
Long Sigurd gazeth upon her,
and slow he sayeth again:
“I know thy will, my
mother; of all the sons of men,
Of all the Kings unwedded,
and the kindred of the great,
It is meet that my brother
Gunnar should ride to her golden gate.”
Then laughed Gunnar and answered:
“May a king of the people fear?
May a king of the harp and
the hall-glee hold such a maid but dear?
Yet nought have I and my kindred
to do with fateful deeds;
Lo, how the fair earth bloometh,
and the field fulfilleth our needs,
And our swords rust not in
our scabbards, and our steeds bide not in
the stall,
And oft are the shields of
the Niblungs drawn clanking down from the
wall;
And I sit by my brother Sigurd,
and no ill there is in our life,
And the harp and the sword
is beside me, and I joy in the peace and
the strife.
So I live, till at last in
the sword-play midst the uttermost longing
of fame
I shall change my life and
be merry, and leave no hated name.
Yet nevertheless, my mother,
since the word has thus gone forth,
And I wot of thy great desire,
I will reach at this garland of worth;
And I bid you, Kings and Brethren,
with the wooer of Queens to ride,
That ye tell of the thing
hereafter, and the deeds that shall betide.”
“It were well, O Son,”
said Grimhild, “in such fellowship to fare;
But not today nor tomorrow;
the hearts of the Gods would I wear,
And know of the will of the
Norns; for a mighty matter is this,
And a deed all lands shall
tell of, and the hope of the Niblung bliss.”
So apart for long dwelt Grimhild,
and mingled the might of the earth
With the deeds of the chilly
sea, and the heart of the cloudland’s
dearth;
And all these with the wine
she mingled, and sore guile was set
therein,
Blindness, and strong compelling
for such as dared to win:
And she gave the drink to
her sons; and withal unto Gunnar she spake,
And told him tales of the
King-folk, and smote desire awake;
Till many a time he bethinks
him of the Maiden sitting alone,
And the Queen that was shapen
for him; till a dream of the night is
she grown,
And a tale of the day’s
desire, and the crown of all his praise:
And the net of the Norns was
about him, and the snare was spread in
his ways,
And his mother’s will
was spurring adown the way they would;
For she was the wise of women
and the framer of evil and good.
In the May-morn riseth Gunnar
with fair face and gleaming eyes,
And he calleth on Sigurd his
brother, and he calleth on Hogni the wise:
“Today shall we fare
to the wooing, for so doth our mother bid;
We shall go to gaze on marvels,
and things from the King-folk hid.”
So they do on the best of
their war-gear, and their steeds are dight
for the road,
And forth to the sun neigheth
Greyfell as he neighed ’neath the
Golden Load:
But or ever they leap to the
saddle, while yet in the door they stand,
Thereto cometh Grimhild the
wise-wife, and on each head layeth her
hand,
As she saith: “Be
mighty and wise, as the kings that came before!
For they knew of the ways
of the Gods, and the craft of the Gods they
bore:
And they knew how the shapes
of man-folk are the very images
Of the hearts that abide within
them, and they knew of the shaping of
these.
Be wise and mighty, O Kings,
and look in mine heart and behold
The craft that prevaileth
o’er semblance, and the treasured wisdom of
old!
I hallow you thus for the
day, and I hallow you thus for the night,
And I hallow you thus for
the dawning with my fathers’ hidden might.
Go now, for ye bear my will
while I sit in the hall and spin;
And tonight shall be the weaving,
and tomorn the web shall ye win.”
So they leap to the saddles
aloft, and they ride and speak no word,
But the hills and the dales
are awakened by the clink of the sheathed
sword:
None looks in the face of
the other, but the earth and the heavens
gaze,
And behold those kings of
battle ride down the dusty ways.
So they come to the Waste
of Lymdale when the afternoon is begun,
And afar they see the flame-blink
on the grey sky under the sun:
And they spur and speak no
word, and no man to his fellow will turn;
But they see the hills draw
upward and the earth beginning to burn:
And they ride, and the eve
is coming, and the sun hangs low o’er the
earth,
And the red flame roars up
to it from the midst of the desert’s dearth.
None turns or speaks to his
brother, but the Wrath gleams bare and red,
And blood-red is the Helm
of Aweing on the golden Sigurd’s head,
And bare is the blade of Gunnar,
and the first of the three he rides,
And the wavering wall is before
him and the golden sun it hides.
Then the heart of a king’s
son failed not, but he tossed his sword on
high
And laughed as he spurred
for the fire, and cried the Niblung cry;
But the mare’s son saw
and imagined, and the battle-eager steed,
That so oft had pierced the
spear-hedge and never failed at need,
Shrank back, and shrieked
in his terror, and spite of spur and rein
Fled fast as the foals unbitted
on Odin’s pasturing plain;
Wide then he wheeled with
Gunnar, but with hand and knee he dealt,
And the voice of a lord beloved,
till the steed his master felt,
And bore him back to the brethren;
by Greyfell Sigurd stood,
And stared at the heart of
the fire, and his helm was red as blood;
But Hogni sat in his saddle,
and watched the flames up-roll;
And he said: “Thy
steed has failed thee that was once the noblest foal
In the pastures of King Giuki;
but since thine heart fails not,
And thou wouldst not get thee
backward and say, The fire was hot,
And the voices pent within
it were singing nought but death,
Let Sigurd lend thee his steed
that wore the Glittering Heath,
And carried the Bed of the
Serpent, and the ancient ruddy rings.
So perchance may the mocks
be lesser when men tell of the Niblung
Kings.”
Then Sigurd looked on the
twain, and he saw their swart hair wave
In the wind of the waste and
the flame-blast, and no answer awhile he
gave.
But at last he spake:
“O brother, on Greyfell shalt thou ride,
And do on the Helm of Aweing
and gird the Wrath to thy side,
And cover thy breast with
the war-coat that is throughly woven of gold,
That hath not its like in
the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told:
For this is the raiment of
Kings when they ride the Flickering Fire,
And so sink the flames before
them and the might of their desire.”
Then Hogni laughed in his
heart, and he said: “This changing were
well
If so might the deed be accomplished;
but perchance there is more to
tell:
Thou shalt take the war-steed,
Gunnar, and enough or nought it shall
be:
But the coal-blue gear of
the Niblungs the golden hall shall see.”
Then Sigurd looked on the
speaker, as one who would answer again,
But his words died out on
the waste and the fire-blast made them vain.
Then he casteth the reins
to his brother, and Gunnar praiseth his gift,
And springeth aloft to the
saddle as the fair sun fails from the lift;
And Sigurd looks on the burden
that Greyfell doth uprear,
The huge king towering upward
in the dusky Niblung gear:
There sits the eager Gunnar,
and his heart desires the deed,
And of nought he recketh and
thinketh, but a fame-stirred warrior’s
need;
But Greyfell trembleth nothing
and nought of the fire doth reck:
Then the spurs in his flank
are smitten, and the reins lie loose on
his neck,
And the sharp cry springeth
from Gunnar—no handbreadth stirred the
beast;
The dusk drew on and over
and the light of the fire increased,
And still as a shard on the
mountain in the sandy dale alone
Was the shape of the cloudy
Greyfell, nor moved he more than the stone;
But right through the heart
of the fire for ever Sigurd stared,
As he stood in the gold red-litten
with the Wrath’s thin edges bared.
No word for a while spake
any, till Gunnar leaped to the earth,
And the anger wrought within
him, and the fierce words came to birth:
“Who mocketh the King
of the Niblungs in the desert land forlorn?
Is it thou, O Sigurd the Stranger?
is it thou, O younger-born?
Dost thou laugh in the hall,
O Mother? dost thou spin, and laugh at
the tale
That has drawn thy son and
thine eldest to the sword and the blaze of
the bale?
Or thou, O God of the Goths,
wilt thou hide and laugh thy fill,
While the hands of the fosterbrethren
the blood of brothers spill?”
But the awful voice of Sigurd
across the wild went forth:
“How changed are the
words of Gunnar! where wend his ways of worth?
I mock thee not in the desert,
as I mocked thee not in the mead,
When I swore beneath the turf-yoke
to help thy fondest need:
Nay, strengthen thine heart
for the work, for the gift that thy
manhood awaits;
For I give thee a gift, O
Niblung, that shall overload the Fates,
And how may a King sustain
it? but forbear with the dark to strive;
For thy mother spinneth and
worketh, and her craft is awake and alive.”
Then Hogni spake from the
saddle: “The time, and the time is come
To gather the might of our
mother, and of her that spinneth at home.
Forbear all words, O Gunnar,
and anigh to Sigurd stand,
And face to face behold him,
and take his hand in thine hand:
Then be thy will as his will,
that his heart may mingle with thine,
And the love that he sware
’neath the earth-yoke with thine hope may
intertwine.”
Then the wrath from the Niblung
slippeth and the shame that anger
hath bred,
And the heavy wings of the
dreamtide flit over Gunnar’s head:
But he doth by his brother’s
bidding, and Sigurd’s hand he takes,
And he looks in the eyes of
the Volsung, though scarce in the desert
he wakes.
There Hogni sits in the saddle
aloof from the King’s desire,
And little his lips are moving,
as he stares on the rolling fire,
And mutters the spells of
his mother, and the words she bade him say:
But the craft of the kings
of aforetime on those Kings of the battle
lay;
Dark night was spread behind
them, and the fire flared up before,
And unheard was the wind of
the wasteland mid the white flame’s
wavering roar.
Long Sigurd gazeth on Gunnar,
till he sees, as through a cloud,
The long black locks of the
Niblung, and the King’s face set and proud:
Then the face is alone on
the dark, and the dusky Niblung mail
Is nought but the night before
him: then whiles will the visage fail,
And grow again as he gazeth,
black hair and gleaming eyes,
And fade again into nothing,
as for more of vision he tries:
Then all is nought but the
night, yea the waste of an emptier thing,
And the fire-wall Sigurd forgetteth,
nor feeleth the hand of the King:
Nay, what is it now he remembereth?
it is nought that aforetime he
knew,
And no world is there left
him to live in, and no deed to rejoice in
or rue;
But frail and alone he fareth,
and as one in the sphere-stream’s drift,
By the starless empty places
that lie beyond the lift:
Then at last is he stayed
in his drifting, and he saith, It is blind
and dark;
Yet he feeleth the earth at
his feet, and there cometh a change and a
spark,
And away in an instant of
time is the mirk of the dreamland rolled,
And there is the fire-lit
midnight, and before him an image of gold,
A man in the raiment of Gods,
nor fashioned worser than they:
Full sad he gazeth on Sigurd
from the great wide eyes and grey;
And the Helm that Aweth the
people is set on the golden hair,
And the Mail of Gold enwraps
him, and the Wrath in his hand is bare.
Then Sigurd looks on his arm
and his hand in his brother’s hand,
And thereon is the dark grey
mail-gear well forged in the southern
land;
Then he looks on the sword
that he beareth, and, lo, the eager blade
That leaps in the hand of
Gunnar when the kings are waxen afraid;
And he turns his face o’er
his shoulder, and the raven-locks hang down
From the dark-blue helm of
the Dwarf-folk, and the rings of the
Niblung crown.
Then a red flush riseth against
him in the face ne’er seen before,
Save dimly in the mirror or
the burnished targe of war,
And the foster-brethren sunder,
and the clasped hands fall apart;
But a change cometh over Sigurd,
and the fierce pride leaps in his
heart;
He knoweth the soul of Gunnar,
and the shaping of his mind;
He seeketh the words of Sigurd,
and Gunnar’s voice doth he find,
As he cries: “I
know thy bidding; let the world be lief or loth,
The child is unborn that shall
hearken how Sigurd rued his oath!
Well fare thou brother Gunnar!
what deed shall I do this eve
That I shall never repent
of, that thine heart shall never grieve?
What deed shall I do this
even that none else may bring to the birth,
Nay, not the King of the Niblungs,
and the lord of the best of the
earth?”
The flames rolled up to the
heavens, and the stars behind were bright,
Dark Hogni sat on his war-steed,
and stared out into the night,
And there stood Gunnar the
King in Sigurd’s semblance wrapped,
—As Sigurd walking
in slumber, for in Grimhild’s guile was he lapped,
That his heart forgat his
glory, and the ways of Odin’s lords,
And the thought was frozen
within him, and the might of spoken words.
But Sigurd leapeth on Greyfell,
and the sword in his hand is bare,
And the gold spurs flame on
his heels, and the fire-blast lifteth his
hair;
Forth Greyfell bounds rejoicing,
and they see the grey wax red,
As unheard the war-gear clasheth,
and the flames meet over his head,
Yet a while they see him riding,
as through the rye men ride,
When the word goes forth in
the summer of the kings by the ocean-side;
But the fires were slaked
before him and the wild-fire burned no more
Than the ford of the summer
waters when the rainy time is o’er.
Not once turned Sigurd aback,
nor looked o’er the ashy ring,
To the midnight wilderness
drear and the spell-drenched Niblung King:
But he stayed and looked before
him, and lo, a house high-built
With its roof of the red gold
beaten, and its wall-stones over-gilt:
So he leapt adown from Greyfell,
and came to that fair abode,
And dark in the gear of the
Niblungs through the gleaming door he
strode:
All light within was that
dwelling, and a marvellous hall it was,
But of gold were its hangings
woven, and its pillars gleaming as glass,
And Sigurd said in his heart,
it was wrought erewhile for a God:
But he looked athwart and
endlong as alone its floor he trod,
And lo, on the height of the
dais is upreared a graven throne,
And thereon a woman sitting
in the golden place alone;
Her face is fair and awful,
and a gold crown girdeth her head;
And a sword of the kings she
Now he sees this is even the
woman of whom the tale hath been told,
E’en she that was wrought
for the Niblungs, the bride ordained from
of old,
And hushed in the hall he
standeth, and a long while looks in her eyes,
And the word he hath shapen
for Gunnar to his lips may never arise.
The man in Gunnar’s
semblance looked long and knew no deed;
And she looked, and her eyes
were dreadful, and none would help her
need.
Then the image of Gunnar trembled,
and the flesh of the War-King
shrank;
For he heard her voice on
the silence, and his heart of her anguish
drank:
“King, King, who art
thou that comest, thou lord of the cloudy gear?
What deed for the weary-hearted
shall thy strange hands fashion here?”
The speech of her lips pierced
through him like the point of the bitter
sword,
And he deemed that death were
better than another spoken word:
But he clencheth his hand
on the war-blade, and setteth his face as
the brass,
And the voice of his brother
Gunnar from out his lips doth pass:
“When thou lookest on
me, O Goddess, thou seest Gunnar the King,
The King and the lord of the
Niblungs, and the chief of their
warfaring.
But art thou indeed that Brynhild
of whom is the rumour and fame,
That she bideth the coming
of kings to ride her Wavering Flame,
Lest she wed the little-hearted,
and the world grow evil and vile?
For if thou be none other
I will speak again in a while.”
She said: “Art
thou Gunnar the Stranger? O art thou the man that
I see?
Yea, verily I am Brynhild:
what other is like unto me?
O men of the Earth behold
me! hast thou seen, O labouring Earth,
Such sorrow as my sorrow,
or such evil as my birth?”
Then spake the Wildfire’s
Trampler that Gunnar’s image bore:
“O Brynhild, mighty
of women, be thou glorious evermore!
Thou seest Gunnar the Niblung,
as he sits mid the Niblung lords,
And rides with the gods of
battle in the fore-front of the swords.
Now therefore awaken to life!
for this eve have I ridden thy Fire,
When but few of the kings
would outface it, to fulfil thine heart’s
desire.
And such love is the love
of the kings, and such token have women to
know
That they wed with God’s
beloved, and that fair from their bed shall
outgrow
The stem of the world’s
desire, and the tree that shall not be abased,
Hard rang his voice in the
hall, and a while she spake no word,
And there stood the Image
of Gunnar, and leaned on his bright blue
sword:
But at last she cried from
the high-seat: “If I yet am alive and awake,
I know no words for the speaking,
nor what answer I may make.”
She ceased and he answered
nothing; and a hush on the hall there lay,
And the moon slipped over
the windows as he clomb the heavenly way;
And no whit stirred the raiment
of Brynhild: till she hearkened the
Wooer’s
voice,
As he said: “Thou
art none of the women that swear and forswear and
rejoice,
Forgetting the sorrow of kings
and the Gods and the labouring earth.
Thou shalt wed with King Gunnar
the Niblung and increase his worth
with thy worth.”
And again was there silence
a while, and the War-King leaned on his
sword
In the shape of his foster-brother;
then Brynhild took up the word:
“Hail Gunnar, King of
the Niblungs! tonight shalt thou lie by my side,
For thou art the Gods’
beloved, and for thee was I shapen a bride:
For thee, for the King, have
I waited, and the waiting now is done;
I shall bear Earth’s
kings on my bosom and nourish the Niblung’s son.
Though women swear and forswear,
and are glad no less in their life,
Tonight shall I wed with the
King-folk and be called King Gunnar’s
wife.
Come Gunnar, Lord of the Niblungs,
and sit in my fathers’ seat!
For for thee alone was it
shapen, and the deed is due and meet.”
Up she rose exceeding glorious,
and it was as when in May
The blossomed hawthorn stirreth
with the dawning-wind of day;
But the Wooer moved to meet
her, and amid the golden place
They met, and their garments
mingled and face was close to face;
And they turned again to the
high-seat, and their very right hands met,
And King Gunnar’s bodily
semblance beside her Brynhild set.
But over his knees and the
mail-rings the high King laid his sword,
And looked in the face of
Brynhild and swore King Gunnar’s word:
He swore on the hand of Brynhild
to be true to his wedded wife,
And before all things to love
her till all folk should praise her life.
Unmoved did Brynhild hearken,
and in steady voice she swore
To be true to Gunnar the Niblung
while her life-days should endure;
So she swore on the hand of
the Wooer: and they two were all alone,
And they sat a while in the
high-seat when the wedding-troth was done,
But no while looked each on
the other, and hand fell down from hand,
And no speech there was betwixt
them that their hearts might
understand.
At last spake the all-wise
Brynhild: “Now night is beginning to fade,
Fair-hung is the chamber of
Kings, and the bridal bed is arrayed.”
He rose and looked upon her:
as the moon at her utmost height,
So pale was the visage of
Brynhild, and her eyes as cold and bright:
Yet he stayed, nor stirred
from the high-seat, but strove with the
words for a space,
Till she took the hand of
the King and led him down from his place,
And forth from the hall she
led him to the chamber wrought for her
love;
The fairest chamber of earth,
gold-wrought below and above,
And hung were the walls fair-builded
with the Gods and the kings of
the earth
And the deeds that were done
aforetime, and the coming deeds of worth.
There they went in one bed
together; but the foster-brother laid
’Twixt him and the body
of Brynhild his bright blue battle-blade,
And she looked and heeded
it nothing; but e’en as the dead folk lie,
With folded hands she lay
there, and let the night go by:
And as still lay that Image
of Gunnar as the dead of life forlorn,
And hand on hand he folded
as he waited for the morn.
So oft in the moonlit minster
your fathers may ye see
By the side of the ancient
mothers await the day to be.
Thus they lay as brother by
sister—and e’en such had they been
to
behold,
Had he borne the Volsung’s
semblance and the shape she knew of old.
Night hushed as the moon fell
downward, and there came the leaden sleep
And weighed down the head
of the War-King, that he lay in slumber deep,
And forgat today and tomorrow,
and forgotten yesterday;
Till he woke in the dawn and
the daylight, and the sun on the gold
floor lay,
And Brynhild wakened beside
him, and she lay with folded hands
By the edges forged of Regin
and the wonder of the lands,
The Light that had lain in
the Branstock, the hope of the Volsung Tree,
The Sunderer, the Deliverer,
the torch of days to be:
Then he strove to remember
the night and what deeds had come to pass,
And what deeds he should do
hereafter, and what manner of man he was;
For there in the golden chamber
lay the dark unwonted gear,
And beside his cheek on the
pillow were long locks of the raven hair:
But at last he remembered
the even and the deed he came to do,
And he turned and spake to
Brynhild as he rose from the bolster blue:
“I give thee thanks,
fair woman, for the wedding-troth fulfilled;
I have come where the Norns
have led me, and done as the high Gods
willed:
But now give we the gifts
of the morning, for I needs must depart to
my men
And look on the Niblung children,
and rule o’er the people again.
But I thank thee well for
thy greeting, and thy glory that I have seen,
So spake he in semblance of
Gunnar, and from off his hand he drew
A ring of the spoils of the
Southland, a marvel seen but of few,
And he set the ring on her
finger, and she turned to her lord and
spake:
“I thank thee, King,
for thy goodwill, and thy pledge of love I take.
Depart with my troth to thy
people: but ere full ten days are o’er
I shall come to the Sons of
the Niblungs, and then shall we part no
more
Till the day of the change
of our life-days, when Odin and Freyia
shall call.
Lo, here, my gift of the morning!
’twas my dearest treasure of all;
But thou art become its master,
and for thee was it fore-ordained,
Since thou art the man of
mine oath and the best that the earth hath
gained.”
And lo, ’twas the Grief
of Andvari, and the lack that made him loth,
The last of the God-folk’s
ransom, the Ring of Hindfell’s oath;
Now on Sigurd’s hand
it shineth, and long he looketh thereon,
But it gave him back no memories
of the days that were bygone.
Then in most exceeding sorrow
rose Sigurd from the bed,
And again lay Brynhild silent
as an image of the dead.
Then the King did on his war-gear
and girt his sword to his side,
And was e’en as an image
of Gunnar when the Niblungs dight them to
ride.
And she on the bed of the
bridal, remembering hope that was,
Lay still, and hearkened his
footsteps from the echoing chamber pass.
So forth from the hall goes
the Wooer, and slow and slow he goes,
As a conquered king from his
city fares forth to meet his foes;
And he taketh the reins of
Greyfell, nor yet will back him there,
But afoot through the cold
slaked ashes of yester-eve doth fare,
With his eyes cast down to
the earth; till he heareth the wind, and
a cry,
And raiseth a face brow-knitted
and beholdeth men anigh,
And beholdeth Hogni the King
set grey on his coal-black steed,
And beholdeth the image of
Sigurd, the King in the golden weed:
Then he stayeth and stareth
astonished and setteth his hand to his
sword;
Till Hogni cries from his
saddle, and his word is a kindly word:
“Hail, brother, and
King of the people! hail, helper of my kin!
Again from the death and the
trouble great gifts hast thou set thee
to win
For thy friends and the Niblung
children, and hast crowned thine
earthly fame,
And increased thine exceeding
glory and the sound of thy loved name.”
Nought Sigurd spake in answer
but looked straight forth with a frown,
And stretched out his hand
to Gunnar, as one that claimeth his own.
Then no word speaketh Gunnar,
but taketh his hand in his hand,
And they look in the eyes
of each other, and a while in the desert
they stand
Till the might of Grimhild
prevaileth, and the twain are as
yester-morn;
But sad was the golden Sigurd,
though his eyes knew nought of scorn:
And he spake:
“It
is finished, O Gunnar! and I will that our brotherhood
May endure through the good
and the evil as it sprang in the days of
the good;
But I bid thee look to the
ending, that the deed I did yest’reve
Bear nought for me to repent
of, for thine heart of hearts to grieve.
Thou art troth-plight, O King
of the Niblungs, to Brynhild Queen of
the earth,
She hath sworn thine heart
to cherish and increase thy worth with her
worth:
She shall come to the house
of Gunnar ere ten days are past and o’er;
And thenceforth the life of
Brynhild shall part from thy life no more,
Till the doom of our kind
shall speed you, and Odin and Freyia shall
call,
And ye bide the Day of the
Battle, and the uttermost changing of all.”
The praise and thanks they
gave him! the words of love they spake!
The tale that the world should
hear of, deeds done for Sigurd’s sake!
They were lovely might you
hear them: but they lack; for in very deed
Their sound was clean forgotten
in the day of Sigurd’s need.
But as yet are those King-folk
lovely, and no guile of heart they know,
And, in troth and love rejoicing,
by Sigurd’s side they go:
O’er heath and holt
they hie them, o’er hill and dale they ride,
Till they come to the Burg
of the Niblungs and the war-gate of their
pride;
And there is Grimhild the
wise-wife, and she sits and spins in the
hall.
“Rejoice, O mother,”
saith Gunnar, “for thy guest hath holpen all
And this eve shall thy sons
be merry: but ere ten days are o’er
Here cometh the Maid, and
the Queen, the Wise, and the Chooser of war;
So wrought is the will of
the Niblungs and their blossoming boughs
increase,
And joyous strife shall we
dwell in, and merry days of peace.”
So that night in the hall
of the ancient they hold high-tide again,
And the Gods on the Southland
hangings smile out full fair and fain,
And the song goes up of Sigurd,
and the praise of his fame fulfilled,
But his speech in the dead
sleep lieth, and the words of his wisdom
are chilled:
And men say, the King is careful,
for he thinks of the people’s weal,
And his heart is afraid for
our trouble, lest the Gods our joyance
steal.
But that night, when the feast
was over, to Gudrun Sigurd came,
And she noted the ring on
his finger, and she knew it was nowise the
same
As the ring he was wont to
carry; so she bade him tell thereof:
Then he turned unto her kindly,
and his words were words of love;
Nor his life nor his death
he heeded, but told her last night’s tale:
Yea he drew forth the sword
for his slaying, and whetted the edges of
bale;
For he took that Gold of Andvari,
that Curse of the uttermost land,
And he spake as a king that
loveth, and set it on her hand;
But her heart was exceeding
joyous, as he kissed her sweet and soft,
And bade her bear it for ever,
that she might remember him oft
When his hand from the world
was departed and he sat in Odin’s home.
But no one of his words she
forgat when the latter days were come,
When the earth was hard for
her footsteps, and the heavens were
darkling above
And but e’en as a tale
that is told were waxen the years of her love,
Yea thereof, from the Gold
of Andvari, the sparks of the waters wan,
Sprang a flame of bitter trouble,
and the death of many a man,
And the quenching of the kindreds,
and the blood of the broken troth,
And the Grievous Need of the
Niblungs and the Sorrow of Odin the Goth.
How Brynhild was wedded to Gunnar the Niblung.
So wear the ten days over,
and the morrow-morn is come,
And the light-foot expectation
flits through the Niblung home,
And the girded hope is ready,
and all people are astir,
When the voice of the keen-eyed
watchman from the topmost tower they
hear:
“Look forth from the
Burg, O Niblungs, and the war-gate of renown!
For the wind is up in the
morning, and the may-blooms fall adown,
And the sun on the earth is
shining, and the clouds are small and high,
And here is a goodly people
and an army drawing anigh.”
Then horsed are the sons of
the earl-folk, and their robes are
glittering-gay,
And they ride o’er the
bridge of the river adown the dusty way,
Till they come on a lovely
people, and the maids of war they meet,
Whose cloaks are blue and
broidered, and their girded linen sweet;
And they ride on the roan
and the grey, and the dapple-grey and the
red,
And many a bloom of the may-tide
on their crispy locks is shed:
Fair, young are the sons of
the earl-folk, and they laugh for love
and glee,
As the lovely-wristed maidens
on the summer ways they see.
But lo, mid the sweet-faced
fellows there cometh a golden wain,
Like the wain of the sea be-shielded
with the signs of the war-god’s
gain:
Snow-white are its harnessed
yoke-beasts, and its bench-cloths are of
blue,
But they hear the voice of
the woman, and her speech is soft and kind:
“Are ye the sons of
the Niblungs, and the folk I came to find,
O young men fair and lovely?
So may your days be long,
And grow in gain and glory,
and fail of grief and wrong!”
Then they hailed her sweet
and goodly, and back again they rode
By the bridge o’er the
rushing river to the gate of their abode;
And high aloft, half-hearkened,
rang the joyance of the horn,
And the cry of the Ancient
People from their walls of war was borne
O’er the tilth of the
plain, and the meadows, and the sheep-fed slopes
that lead
From the God-built wall of
the mountains to the blossoms of the mead.
Then up in the wain stood
Brynhild, and her voice was sweet as she
said:
“Is this the house of
Gunnar, and the man I swore to wed?”
But she hearkened the cry
from the gateway and the hollow of the door:
“Yea this is the dwelling
of Gunnar, and the house of the God of War:
There is none of the world
so mighty, be he outland King or Goth,
Save Sigurd the mighty Volsung
and the brother of his troth.”
Then spake Brynhild and said:
“Lo, a house of ancient Kings,
Wrought for great deeds’
fulfilment, and the birth of noble things!
Be the bloom of the earth
upon it, and the hope of the heavens above!
May peace and joy abide there,
and the full content of love!
And when our days are done
with, and we lie alow in rest,
May its lords returning homeward
still deem they see the best!”
She spake with voice unfaltering,
and the golden wain moved on,
And all men deemed who heard
her that great gifts their home had won.
So she passed through the
dusk of the doorway, and the cave of the
war-fair folk,
Wherein the echoing horse-hoofs
as the sound of swords awoke,
And the whispering wind of
the may-tide from the cloudy wall smote
back,
And cried in the crown of
the roof-arch of battle and the wrack;
And the voice of maidens sounded
as kings’ cries in the day of the
wrath,
When the flame is on the threshold
and the war-shields strew the path.
So fair in the sun of the
forecourt doth Brynhild’s wain shine bright,
And the huge hall riseth before
her, and the ernes cry out from its
height,
And there by the door of the
Niblungs she sees huge warriors stand,
Dark-clad, by the shoulders
greater than the best of any land,
With unmoved face, unfaltering,
the blessing-words she said,
But the joy sprang up in Gunnar
and increased his goodlihead,
And he cast his arms about
her and kissed her on the mouth,
And he said:
“The
gift is greater than all treasure of the south:
As glad as my heart this moment,
so glad may be thy life,
And the world be never weary
of the joy of Gunnar’s wife!”
She spake no word, and smiled
not, but she held his hand henceforth.
And he said: “Now
take the greetings of my men, the most of worth.”
Then she turned her face to
the war-dukes, and hearkened to their
praise,
And she spake in few words
sweetly, and blessed their coming days.
Then again spake Gunnar and
said: “Lo, Hogni my brother is this;
But Guttorm is far on the
East-seas, and seeketh the warrior’s bliss;
A third there is of my brethren,
and my house holds none so great;
In the hall by the side of
my sister thy face doth he await.”
Then Brynhild turned unto Hogni,
and he greeted her fair and well,
And she prayed all blessings upon him, and a tale
that the world
should tell:
Then again she spake unto Gunnar: “I
had deemed ye had been but three
Who sprang from the loins of Giuki; is this fourth
akin unto thee,
This hall-abider the mighty?”
He said: “He
is nought of our blood.
But the Gods have sent him to usward to work us
measureless good:
It is even Sigurd the Volsung, the best man ever
born,
The man that the Gods withstand not, my friend,
and my brother sworn.”
She heard the name, and she changed
not, but her feet went forth as
he led,
And under the cloudy roof-tree Queen Brynhild
bowed her head.
Then, were there a man so ancient as had lived
beyond his peers
On the earth, that beareth all things, a twice-told
tale of years,
He had heard no sound so mighty as the shout that
shook the wall
When Brynhild’s feet unhearkened first trod
the Niblung hall.
No whit the clamour stirred her; but her godlike
eyes she raised
And betwixt the hedge of the earl-folk on the
golden high-seat gazed,
And the man that sat by Gudrun: but e’en
as the rainless cloud
Ere the first of the tempest ariseth the latter
sun doth shroud,
And men look round and shudder, so Grimhild came
between
The silent golden Sigurd and the eyes of the mighty
Queen,
And again heard Brynhild greeting, and again she
spake and said:
“O Mother of the Niblungs,
such hap be on thine head,
As thy love for me, the stranger,
was past the pain of words!
Mayst thou see thy son’s
sons glorious in the meeting of the swords!
Mayst thou sleep and doubt
thee nothing of the fortunes of thy race!
Mayst thou hear folk call
yon high-seat the earth’s most happy place!”
Then the Wise-wife hushed
before her, and a little fell aside,
And nought from the eyes of
Brynhild the high-seat now did hide;
And the face so long desired,
unchanged from time agone,
In the house of the Cloudy
People from the Niblung high-seat shone:
She stood with her hand in
Gunnar’s, and all about and around
Were the unfamiliar faces,
and the folk that day had found;
But her heart ran back through
the years, and yet her lips did move
With the words she spake on
Hindfell, when they plighted troth of love.
Lo, Sigurd fair on the high-seat
by the white-armed Gudrun’s side,
In the midst of the Cloudy
People, in the dwelling of their pride!
His face is exceeding glorious
and awful to behold;
For of all his sorrow he knoweth
and his hope smit dead and cold:
The will of the Norns is accomplished,
and, lo, they wend on their
ways,
And leave the mighty Sigurd
to deal with the latter days:
The Gods look down from heaven,
and the lonely King they see,
And sorrow over his sorrow,
All grief, sharp scorn, sore longing,
stark death in her voice he knew,
But gone forth is the doom of the Norns, and what
shall he answer
thereto,
While the death that amendeth lingers? and they
twain shall dwell for
awhile
In the Niblung house together by the hearth that
forged the guile;
Yet amid the good and the guileless, and the love
that thought no
wrong,
Shall they fashion the deeds to remember, and
the fame that endureth
for long:
And oft shall he look on Brynhild, and oft her
words shall he hear,
And no hope and no beseeching in his inmost heart
shall stir.
So he spake as a King of the people in whom all
fear is dead,
And his anguish no man noted, as the greeting-words
he said:
“Hail, fairest of all
things fashioned! hail, thou desire of eyes!
Hail, chooser of the mightiest,
and teacher of the wise!
Hail, wife of my brother Gunnar!
in might may thy days endure,
And in peace without a trouble
that the world’s weal may be sure!”
She heard and turned unto
Gunnar as a queen that seeketh her place,
But to Gudrun she gave no
greeting, nor beheld the Niblung’s face.
Then up stood the wife of
Sigurd and strove with the greeting-word,
But the cold fear rose in
her heart, and the hate within her stirred,
And the greeting died on her
lips, and she gazed for a moment or twain
On the lovely face of Brynhild,
and so sat in the high-seat again,
And turned to her lord beside
her with many a word of love.
But the song sprang up in
the hall, and the eagles cried from above,
And forth to the freshness
of May went the joyance of the feast:
And Sigurd sat with the Niblungs,
and gave ear to most and to least,
And showed no sign to the
people of the grief that on him lay;
Nor seemeth he worser to any
than he was on the yesterday.
Of the Contention betwixt the Queens.
So there are all these abiding
in the Burg of the ancient folk
Mid the troth-plight sworn
and broken, and the oaths of the earthly
yoke.
Then Guttorm comes from his
sea-fare, and is waxen fierce and strong,
A man in the wars delighting,
blind-eyed through right and wrong:
Still Sigurd rides with the
Brethren, as oft in the other days,
And never a whit abateth the
sound of the people’s praise;
They drink in the hall together,
they doom in the people’s strife,
And do every deed of the King-folk,
that the world may rejoice in
their life.
There now is Brynhild abiding
as a Queen in the house of the Kings,
And hither and thither she
wendeth through the day of queenly things;
And no man knoweth her sorrow;
though whiles is the Niblung bed
Too hot and weary a dwelling
for the temples of her head,
And she wends, as her wont
was aforetime, when the moon is riding high,
And the night on the earth
is deepest; and she deemeth it good to lie
In the trench of the windy
mountains, and the track of the wandering
sheep,
While soft in the arms of
Sigurd Queen Gudrun lieth asleep:
There she cries on the lovely
Sigurd, and she cries on the love and
the oath,
And she cries on the change
and the vengeance, and the death to deliver
them both.
But her crying none shall
hearken, and her sorrow nought shall know,
Save the heart of the golden
Sigurd, and the man fast bound in woe:
So she wendeth her back in
the dawning, toward the deeds and the
dwellings of men,
And she sits in the Niblung
high-seat, and is fair and queenly again.
Close now is her converse
with Gudrun, and sore therein she strives
Lest the barren stark contention
should mingle in their lives;
And she humbles her oft before
her, as before the Queen of the earth,
The mistress, the overcomer,
Men tell how the heart-wise
Hogni grew wiser day by day;
He knows of the craft of Grimhild,
and how she looketh to sway
The very council of God-home
and the Norns’ unchanging mind;
And he saith that well-learned
is his mother, but that e’en her feet
are blind
Down the path that she cannot
escape from: nay oft is she nothing,
he saith,
Save a staff for the foredoomed
staying, and a sword for the ordered
death;
And that he will be wiser
than this, nor thrust his desire aside,
Nor smother the flame of his
hatred; but the steed of the Norns will
he ride,
Till he see great marvels
and wonders, and leave great tales to be
told:
And measureless pride is in
him, a stern heart, stubborn and cold.
But of Gunnar the Niblung
they say it, that the bloom of his youth
is o’er,
And many are manhood’s
troubles, and they burden him oft and sore.
He dwells with Brynhild his
wife, with Grimhild his mother he dwells,
And noble things of his greatness,
of his joy, the rumour tells;
Yet oft and oft of an even
he thinks of that tale of the night,
And the shame springs fresh
in his heart at his brother Sigurd’s might;
And the wonder riseth within
him, what deed did Sigurd there,
What gift to the King hath
he given: and he looks on Brynhild the fair,
The fair face never smiling,
and the eyes that know no change,
And he deems in the bed of
the Niblungs she is but cold and strange;
And the Lie is laid between
them, as the sword lay while agone.
He hearkens to Grimhild moreover,
and he deems she is driving him on,
He knoweth not whither nor
wherefore: but she tells of the measureless
Gold,
And the Flame of the uttermost
Waters, and the Hoard of the kings of
old:
And she tells of kings’
supplanters, and the leaders of the war,
Who take the crown of song-craft,
and the tale when all is o’er:
She tells of kings’
supplanters, and saith: Perchance ’twere
well,
Might some tongue of the wise
of the earth of those deeds of the
night-tide tell:
She tells of kings’
supplanters: I am wise, and the wise I know,
And for nought is the sword-edge
whetted, save the smiting of the blow:
Old friends are last to sever,
and twain are strong indeed,
When one the King’s
shame knoweth, and the other knoweth his need.
So Gunnar hearkens and hearkens,
and he saith, It is idle and worse:
If the oath of my brother
be broken, let the earth then see to the
curse!
But again he hearkens and
hearkens, and when none may hear his thought
He saith in the silent night-tide:
Shall my brother bring me to nought?
Must my stroke be a stroke
of the guilty, though on sackless folk it
fall?
Shall a king sit joy-forsaken
mid the riches of his hall?
And measureless pride is in
Gunnar, and it blends with doubt and shame,
And the unseen blossom is
envy and desire without a name.
But fair-faced, calm as a
God who hath none to call his foes,
Betwixt the Kings and the
people the golden Sigurd goes;
No knowledge of man he lacketh,
and the lore he gained of old
From the ancient heart of
the Serpent and the Wallower on the Gold
Springs fresh in the soul
of Sigurd; the heart of Hogni he sees,
And the heart of his brother
Gunnar, and he grieveth sore for these.
But he seeth the heart of
Brynhild, and knoweth her lonely cry
When the waste is all about
her, and none but the Gods are anigh:
And he knoweth her tale of
the night-tide, when desire, that day doth
dull,
Is stirred by hope undying,
and fills her bosom full
Of the sighs she may not utter,
and the prayers that none may heed;
Though the Gods were once
so mighty the smiling world to speed.
And he knows of the day of
her burden, and the measure of her toil,
And the peerless pride of
her heart, and her scorn of the fall and the
foil.
And the shadowy wings of the
Lie, that with hand unwitting he led
To the Burg of the ancient
people, brood over board and bed;
And the hand of the hero faileth,
and seared is the sight of the wise,
And good is at one with evil
till the new-born death shall arise.
In the hall sitteth Sigurd
by Brynhild, in the council of the Kings,
And he hearkeneth her spoken
wisdom, and her word of lovely things:
In the field they meet, and
the wild-wood; on the acre and the heath;
And scarce may he tell if
the meeting be worse than the coward’s death,
Or better than life of the
righteous: but his love is a flaming fire,
That hath burnt up all before
it of the things that feed desire.
The heart of Gudrun he seeth,
her heart of burning love,
That knoweth of nought but
Sigurd on the earth, in the heavens above,
Save the foes that encompass
his life, and the woman that wasteth away
’Neath the toil of a
love like her love, and the unrewarded day:
For hate her eyes hath quickened,
and no more is Gudrun blind,
And sure, though dim it may
be, she seeth the days behind:
And the shadowy wings of the
Lie, that the hand unwitting led
To the love and the heart
of Gudrun, brood over board and bed;
And for all the hand of the
hero and the foresight of the wise,
From the heart of a loving
woman shall the death of men arise.
It was most in these latter
days that his fame went far abroad,
The helper, the overcomer,
the righteous sundering sword;
The loveliest King of the
King-folk, the man of sweetest speech,
Whose ear is dull to no man
that his helping shall beseech;
The eye-bright seer of all
things, that wasteth every wrong,
The straightener of the crooked,
the hammer of the strong:
Lo, such was the Son of Sigmund
in the days whereof I tell,
The dread of the doom and
the battle; and all children loved him well.
Now it happed on a summer
season mid the blossom of the year,
When the clouds were high
and little, and the sun exceeding clear,
That Queen Brynhild arose
in the morning, and longed for the eddying
pool,
And the Water of the Niblungs
her summer sleep to cool:
So she set her face to the
river, where the hawthorn and the rose
Hide the face of the sunlit
water from the yellow-blossomed close
And the house-built Burg of
the Niblungs; for there by a grassy strand
The shallow water floweth
o’er white and stoneless sand
And deepeneth up and outward;
and the bank on the further side
Goes high and shear and rocky
the water’s face to hide
From the plain and the horse-fed
meadow: there the wives of the
Niblungs oft
Would play in the wide-spread
water when the summer days were soft;
And thither now goes Brynhild,
and the flowery screen doth pass,
When lo, fair linen raiment
falls before her on the grass,
And she looks, and there is
Gudrun, the white-armed Niblung child,
All bare for the sunny river
and the water undefiled.
Round she turned with her
face yet dreamy with the love of yesternight,
Till the flush of anger changed
it: but Brynhild’s face grew white,
Though soft she spake and
queenly:
“Hail,
sister of my lord!
Thou art fair in the summer
morning ’twixt the river and the sward!”
Then she disarrayed her shoulders
and cast her golden girth,
And she said: “Thou art sister of Gunnar,
and the kin of the best of
the earth;
So shalt thou go before me to meet the water cold.”
Then, smiling nowise kindly, doth
Gudrun her behold,
And she saith: “Thou art wrong, Queen
Brynhild, to give the place to
me,
For she that is wife of the greatest more than
sister-kin shall be.
—Nay, if here were the sister of Sigurd
ne’er before me should she go,
Though sister were she surely of the best that
the earth-folk know:
Yet I linger not, since thou biddest, for the
courteous of women thou
art;
And the love of the night and the morning is heavy
at my heart;
For the best of the world was beside me, while
thou layest with Gunnar
the King.”
She laughs and leaps, and
about her the glittering waters spring:
But Brynhild laugheth in answer,
and her face is white and wan
As swift she taketh the water;
and the bed-gear of the swan
Wreathes long folds round
about her as she wadeth straight and swift
Where the white-scaled slender
fishes make head against the drift:
Then she turned to the white-armed
Gudrun, who stood far down the
stream
In the lapping of the west-wind
and the rippling shallows’ gleam,
And her laugh went down the
waters, as the war-horn on the wind,
When the kings of war are
seeking, and their foes are fain to find.
But Gudrun cried upon her,
and said: “Why wadest thou so
In the deeps and the upper
waters, and wilt leave me here below?”
Then e’en as one transfigured
loud Brynhild cried, and said:
“So oft shall it be
between us at hall and board and bed;
E’en so in Freyia’s
garden shall the lilies cover me,
While thou on the barren footways
thy gown-hem folk shall see:
E’en so shall the gold
cloths lap me, when we sit in Odin’s hall,
While thou shiverest, little
hidden, by thy lord, the Helper’s thrall,
By the serving-man of Gunnar,
who all his bidding doth,
And waits by the door of the
bower while his master plighteth the
troth:
But my mate is the King of
the King-folk who rode the Wavering Fire,
And mocked at the ruddy death
to win his heart’s desire.
Lo now, it is meet and righteous
that ye of the happy days
Should bow the heads and wonder
at the wedding all men praise.
O, is it not goodly and sweet
with the best of the earth to dwell,
And the man that all shall
worship when the tale grows old to tell!
For the woe and the anguish
endure not, but the tale and the fame
endure,
And as wavering wind is the
joyance, but the Gods’ renown shall
be sure:
It is well, O ye troth-breakers!
there was found a man to ride
Through the waves of my Flickering
Fire to lie by Brynhild’s side.”
Then no word answered Gudrun
till she waded up the stream
And stretched forth her hand
to Brynhild, and thereon was a golden
gleam,
And she spake, and her voice
was but little:
“Thou
mayst know by this token and sign
If the best of the kings of
man-folk and the master of masters is
thine.”
White waxed the face of Brynhild
as she looked on the glittering thing:
And she spake: “By
all thou lovest, whence haddest thou the ring?”
Then Gudrun laughed in her
glory the face of the Queen to see:
“Thinkst thou that my
brother Gunnar gave the Dwarf-wrought ring to
me?”
Nought spake the glorious
woman, but as one who clutcheth a knife
She turned on the mocking
Gudrun, and again spake Sigurd’s wife:
“I had the ring, O Brynhild,
on the night that followed the morn,
When the semblance of Gunnar
left thee in thy golden hall forlorn:
And he, the giver that gave
it, was the Helper’s war-got thrall,
And the babe King Elf uplifted
to the war-dukes in the hall;
And he rode with the heart-wise
Regin, and rode the Glittering Heath,
And gathered the Golden Harvest
and smote the Worm to the death:
And he rode with the sons
of the Niblungs till the words of men must
fail
To tell of the deeds of Sigurd
and the glory of his tale:
Yet e’en as thou sayst,
O Brynhild, the bidding of Gunnar he did,
For he cloaked him in Gunnar’s
semblance and his shape in Gunnar’s
hid:—
Thou all-wise Queen of the
Niblungs, was this so hard a part
For the learned in the lore
of Regin, who ate of the Serpent’s heart?
—Thus he wooed
the bride for Gunnar, and for Gunnar rode the fire;
And he held thine hand for
Gunnar, and lay by thy dead desire.
We have known thee for long,
O Brynhild, and great is thy renown;
In this shalt thou joy henceforward
and nought in thy wedding crown.”
Now is Brynhild wan as the
dead, and she openeth her mouth to speak,
But no word cometh outward:
then the green bank doth she seek,
And casteth her raiment upon
her, and flees o’er the meadow fair,
As though flames were burning
beneath it, and red gleeds the daisies
were:
But fair with face triumphant
from the water Gudrun goes,
And with many a thought of
Sigurd the heart within her glows.
And yet as she walked the
meadow a fear upon her came,
What deeds are the deeds of
women in their anguish and their shame;
And many a heavy warning and
many a word of fate
By the lips of Sigurd spoken
she remembereth overlate;
Yet e’en to the heart
within her she dissembleth all her dread.
Daylong she sat in her bower
in glee and goodlihead,
But when the day was departing
and the earl-folk drank in the hall
She went alone in the garden
by the nook of the Niblung wall;
There she thought of that
word in the river, and of how it were
better unsaid,
And she looked with kind words
to hide it, as men bury their
battle-dead
With the spice and the sweet-smelling
raiment: in the cool of the eve
she went
And murmured her speech of
forgiveness and the words of her intent,
While her heart was happy
with love: then she lifted up her face,
And lo, there was Brynhild
the Queen hard by in the leafy place;
Then the smile from her bright
eyes faded and a flush came over her
cheek
And she said: “What
dost thou, Brynhild? what matter dost thou seek?”
But the word of Sigurd smote
her, and she spake ere the answer came:
“Hard speech was between
us, Brynhild, and words of evil and shame;
I repent, and crave thy pardon:
wilt thou say so much unto me,
That the Niblung wives may
be merry, as great queens are wont to be?”
But no word answered Brynhild,
and the wife of Sigurd spake:
“Lo, I humble myself
before thee for many a warrior’s sake,
And yet is thine anger heavy—well
then, tell all thy tale,
And the grief that sickens
thine heart, that a kindly word may avail.”
Then spake Brynhild and said:
“Thou art great and livest in bliss,
And the noble queens and the
happy should ask better tidings than this:
For ugly words must tell it;
thou shouldst scarce know what they mean;
Thou, the child of the mighty
Niblungs, thou, Sigurd’s wedded queen.
It is good to be kindly and
soft while the heart hath all its will.”
Said the Queen: “There
is that in thy word that the joy of my heart
would kill.
I have humbled myself before
thee, and what further shall I say?”
Then spake Brynhild the Queen:
“I spake heavy words today;
And thereof do I repent me;
but one thing I beseech thee and crave:
That thou speak but a word
in thy turn my life and my soul to save:
—Yea the lives
of many warriors, and the joy of the Niblung home,
And the days of the unborn
children, and the health of the days to
come—
Say thou it was Gunnar thy
brother that gave thee the Dwarf-lord’s
ring,
And not the glorious Sigurd,
the peerless lovely King;
E’en so will I serve
thee for ever, and peace on this house shall be,
And rest ere my departing,
and a joyous life for thee;
And long life for the lovely
Sigurd, and a glorious tale to tell.
O speak, thou sister of Gunnar,
that all may be better than well!”
But hard grew the heart of
Gudrun, and she said: “Hast thou heard the
tale
That the wives of the Niblungs
lie, lest the joy of their life-days
fail?
Wilt thou threaten the house
of the Niblungs, wilt thou threaten my
love and my lord?
—It was Sigurd
that lay in thy bed with thee and the edge of the
sword;
And he told me the tale of
the night-tide, and the bitterest tidings
thereof,
And the shame of my brother
Gunnar, how his glory was turned to a
scoff;
And he set the ring on my
finger with sweet words of the sweetest
of men,
And no more from me shall
it sunder—lo, wilt thou behold it again?”
And her hand gleamed white
in the even with the ring of Andvari
thereon,
The thrice-cursed burden of
greed and the grain from the needy won;
Then uprose the voice of Brynhild,
and she cried to the towers aloft:
“O house of the ancient
people, I blessed thee sweet and soft;
In the day of my grief I blessed
thee, when my life seemed evil and
long;
Look down, O house of the
Niblungs, on the hapless Brynhild’s wrong!
Lest the day and the hour
be coming when no man in thy courts shall be
“O God-folk hearken,”
cried Gudrun, “what a tale there is to tell!
How a Queen hath cursed her
people, and the folk that hath cherished
her well!”
“O Niblung child,”
said Brynhild, “what bitterer curse may be
Than the curse of Grimhild
thy mother, and the womb that carried thee?”
“Ah fool!” said
the wife of Sigurd, “wilt thou curse thy very
friend?
But the bitter love bewrays
thee, and thy pride that nought shall end.”
“Do I curse the accursed?”
said Brynhild, “but yet the day shall come,
When thy word shall scarce
be better on the threshold of thine home;
When thine heart shall be
dulled and chilly with e’en such a mingling
of might,
As in Sigurd’s cup she
mingled, and thou shalt not remember aright.”
Out-brake the child of the
Niblungs: “A witless lie is this;
But thou sickenest sore for
Sigurd, and the giver of all bliss:
A ruthless liar thou art:
thou wouldst cut off my glory and gain,
Though it further thine own
hope nothing, and thy longing be empty
and vain.
Ah, thou hungerest after mine
husband!—yet greatly art thou wed,
And high o’er the kings
of the Goth-folk doth Gunnar rear the head.”
“Which one of the sons
of Giuki,” said Brynhild, “durst to ride
Through the waves of my Flickering
Fire to lie by Brynhild’s side?
Thou shouldst know him, O
Sister of Kings; let the glorious name be
said,
Lest mine oath in the water
be written, and I wake up, vile and
betrayed,
In the arms of the faint-heart
dastard, and of him that loveth life,
And casteth his deeds to another,
and the wooing of his wife.”
“Yea, hearken,”
said she of the Niblungs, “what words the stranger
saith!
Hear the words of the fool
of love, how she feareth not the death,
Nor to cry the shame on Gunnar,
whom the King-folk tremble before:
The wise and the overcomer,
the crown of happy war!”
Said Brynhild: “Long
were the days ere the Son of Sigmund came;
Long were the days and lone,
but nought I dreamed of the shame.
So may the day come, Grimhild,
when thine eyes know not thy son!
Think then on the man I knew
not, and the deed thy guile hath done!”
Then coldly laughed Queen
Gudrun, and she said: “Wilt thou lay all
things
On the woman that hath loved
thee and the Mother of the Kings?
O all-wise Queen of the Niblungs,
was this change too hard a part
For the learned in the lore
of Regin, who ate of the Serpent’s heart?”
Then was Brynhild silent a
little, and forth from the Niblung hall
Came the sound of the laughter
of men to the garth by the nook of the
wall;
And a wind arose in the twilight,
and sounds came up from the plain
Of kine in the dew-fall wandering,
and of oxen loosed from the wain,
And the songs of folk free-hearted,
and the river rushing by;
And the heart of Brynhild
hearkened and she cried with a grievous cry:
“O Sigurd, O my Sigurd,
we twain were one, time was,
And the wide world lay before
us and the deeds to bring to pass!
And now I am nought for helping,
and no helping mayst thou give;
And all is marred and evil,
and why hast thou heart to live?”
She held her peace for anguish,
and forth from the hall there came
The shouts of the joyous Niblungs,
and the sound of Sigurd’s name:
And Brynhild turned from Gudrun,
and lifted her voice and said:
“O evil house of the
Niblungs, may the day of your woe and your dread
Be meted with the measure
of the guile ye dealt to me,
When ye sealed your hearts
from pity and forgat my misery!”
And she turned to flee from
the garden; but her gown-lap Gudrun caught,
And cried: “Thou
evil woman, for thee were the Niblungs wrought,
And their day of the fame
past telling, that they should heed thy life?
Dear house of the Niblung
glory, fair bloom of the warriors’ strife,
How well shalt thou stand
triumphant, when all we lie in the earth
For a little while remembered
in the story of thy worth!”
But the lap of her linen raiment
did Brynhild tear from her hold
And spake from her mouth brought
nigher, and her voice was low and
cold:
“Such pride and comfort
in Sigurd henceforward mayst thou find,
Such joy of his life’s
endurance, as thou leav’st me joy behind!”
But turmoil of wrath wrapt
Gudrun, that she knew not the day from the
night,
And she hardened her heart
for evil as the warriors when they smite:
And she cried: “Thou
filled with murder, my love shall blossom and
bloom
When thou liest in the hell
forgotten! smite thence from the deedless
gloom,
Smite thence at the lovely
Sigurd, from the dark without a day!
Let the hand that death hath
loosened the King of Glory slay!”
So died her words of anger,
and her latter speech none heard,
Save the wind of the early
night-tide and the leaves by its wandering
stirred;
For amidst her wrath and her
blindness was the hapless Brynhild gone:
And she fled from the Burg
of the Niblungs and cried to the night
alone:
“O Sigurd, O my Sigurd,
what now shall give me back
One word of thy loving-kindness
from the tangle and the wrack?
O Norns, fast bound from helping,
O Gods that never weep,
Ye have left stark death to
help us, and the semblance of our sleep!
Yet I sleep and remember Sigurd;
and I wake and nought is there,
Save the golden bed of the
Niblungs, and the hangings fashioned fair:
If I stretch out mine hand
to take it, that sleep that the sword-edge
gives,
How then shall I come on Sigurd,
when again my sorrow lives
In the dreams of the slumber
of death? O nameless, measureless woe,
To abide on the earth without
him, and alone from earth to go!”
So wailed the wife of Gunnar,
as she fled through the summer night,
And unwitting around she wandered,
till again in the dawning light
She stood by the Burg of the
Niblungs, and the dwelling of her lord.
Awhile bode the white-armed
Gudrun on the edge of the daisied sward,
Till she shrank from the lonely
flowers and the chill, speech-burdened
wind.
Then she turned to the house
of her fathers and her golden chamber
kind;
And for long by the side of
Sigurd hath she lain in light-breathed
sleep,
While yet the winds of night-tide
round the wandering Brynhild sweep.
Gunnar talketh with Brynhild.
On the morrow awakeneth Gudrun;
and she speaketh with Sigurd and saith:
“For what cause is Brynhild
heavy, and as one who abideth but death?”
“Yea,” Sigurd
said, “is it so? as a great queen she goes upon
earth,
And thoughtful of weighty
matters, and things that are most of worth.”
“It was other than this,”
said Gudrun, “that I deemed her yesterday;
All men would have said great
trouble on the wife of Gunnar lay.”
“Is it so?” said
Sigurd the Volsung, “Ah, I sore misdoubt me then,
That thereof shall we hear
great tidings that shall be for the ruin
of men.”
“Why grieveth she so,”
said Gudrun, “a queen so mighty and wise,
The Chooser of the war-host,
the desire of many eyes,
The Queen of the glorious
Gunnar, the wife of the man she chose?
And she sits by his side on
the high-seat, as the lily blooms by the
rose.”
“Where then in the world
was Brynhild,” said he, “when she spake
that
word,
And said that her beloved
was her very earthly lord?”
Then was Sigurd silent a little,
and Gudrun spake no more;
For despite the heart of the
Niblungs, and her love exceeding sore,
With fear her soul was smitten
for the word that Sigurd spake,
And yet more for his following
silence; and the stark death seemed to
awake
And stride through the Niblung
dwelling, and the sunny morn grew dim:
Till, lo, the voice of the
Volsung, and the speech came forth from him:
“Hearken, Gudrun my
wife; the season is nigh at hand,
Yea, the day is now on the
threshold, when thou alone in the land
Shalt answer for Sigurd departed,
and shalt say that I loved thee well;
And yet if thou hear’st
men say it, then true is the tale to tell,
That Brynhild was my beloved
in the tide and the season of youth;
And as great as is thy true-love,
e’en so was her love and her truth.
But for this cause thus have
I spoken, that the tale of the night hast
thou told,
And cast the word unto Brynhild,
and shown her the token of gold.
—A deed for the
slaying of many, and the ending of my life,
Since I betrayed her unwitting.—Yet
grieve not, Gudrun my wife!
For cloudy of late were the
heavens with many a woven lie,
And now is the clear of the
twilight, when the slumber draweth anigh.
But call up the soul of the
Niblungs, and harden thine heart to bear,
For wert thou not sprung from
the mighty, today were thy portion of
fear:
Yea, thou wottest it even
as I; but I see thine heart arise,
And the soul of the mighty
Niblungs, and fair is the love in thine
eyes.”
Then forth went the King from
the chamber to the council of the Kings,
And he sat with the wise in
the Doom-ring for the sifting of troublous
things,
And rejoiced the heart of
the people: and the Wrath kept watch by his
side.
And his eyen were nothing
dimmer than on many a joyous tide.
But abed lay Brynhild the
Queen, as a woman dead she lay,
And no word for better or
worse to the best of her folk would she say:
So they bore the tidings to
Gunnar, and said: “Queen Brynhild ails
With a sickness whereof none
knoweth, and death o’er her life
prevails.”
Then uprose Gunnar the Niblung,
and he went to Brynhild his wife,
And prayed her to strengthen her heart for the
glory of his life:
But she gave not a word in answer, nor turned
to where he stood,
And there rose up a fear in his heart, and he
looked for little of
good:
There he bode for a long while silent, and the
thought within him
stirred
Of wise speech of his mother Grimhild, and many
a warning word:
But he spake:
“Art thou smitten of God, unto
whom shall we cast the prayer?
Art thou wronged by one of the King-folk, for
whom shall the blades be
bare?”
Belike she never heard him; she
lay in her misery,
And the slow tears gushed from her eyen and nought
of the world would
she see.
But ill thoughts arose in Gunnar, and remembrance
of the speech
Erst spoken low by Grimhild; yet he turned his
heart to beseech,
And he spake again:
“O Brynhild, if I ever
made thee glad,
If the glory of the great-ones of my gift thine
heart hath had.
As mine heart hath been faithful to thee, as I
longed for thy
life-days’ gain,
Tell now of thy toil and thy trouble that we each
of each may be fain!”
Nought spake she, nothing
she moved, and the tears were dried on her
cheek;
But the very words of Grimhild
did Gunnar’s memory seek;
He sought and he found and
considered; and mighty he was and young,
And he thought of the deeds
of his fathers and the tales of the
Niblungs sung;
How they bore no God’s
constraining, and rode through the wrong and
the right
That the storm of their wrath
might quicken, and their tempest carry
the light.
The words of his mother he
gathered and the wrath-flood over him
rolled,
And with it came many a longing,
that his heart had never told,
Nay, scarce to himself in
the night-tide, for the gain of the ruddy
rings,
And the fame of the earth
unquestioned and the mastery over kings,
And he sole King in the world-throne,
unequalled, unconstrained;
And with wordless wrath he
fretted at the bonds that his glory had
chained,
And the bitter anger stirred
him, and at last he spake and cried:
“How long, O all-wise
Brynhild, like the dead wilt thou abide,
Nor speak to thy lord and
thy husband and the man that rode thy Fire,
And mocked at the bane of
King-folk to accomplish thy desire?
I deem thou sickenest, Brynhild,
with the love of a mighty-one,
The foe, the King’s
supplanter, he that so long hath shone
Mid the honour of our fathers,
and the lovely Niblung house,
Like a serpent amidst of the
treasure that the day makes glorious.”
Yet never a word she answered,
nor unto the great King turned,
Till through all the patience
of King-folk the flame of his anger
burned,
And his voice was the rattling
thunder, as he cried across the bed:
“O who art thou, fearful
woman? art thou one of the first of the dead?
Hast thou long ago seen and
hated the tide of the Niblung praise,
And clad thee in flesh twice
over for the bane of our happy days?
Art thou come from the far-off
country that none may live and behold
For the bane of the King of
the Niblungs, and of Sigurd lord of the
Gold?”
Then she raised herself on
her elbow and turned her eyes on the King:
“O tell me, Gunnar,”
she said, “that thou gavest Andvari’s Ring
To thy sister the white-armed
Gudrun!—thou, not thy captain of war,
The son of the God-born Volsungs,
the Lord of the Treasure of yore!
O swear it that I may live!
that I may be glad in thine hall,
And weave with the wisdom
of women, and broider the purple and pall,
And look in thy face at the
chess-play, and drink of thy carven cup,
And whisper a word in season
when the voice of the wise goes up,
And speak thee the speech
of kindness by the hallowed Niblung hearth.
O swear it, King of the Niblungs,
lest thine honour die of the dearth!
O swear it, lord I have wedded,
lest mine honour come to nought,
And I be but a wretch and
a bondmaid for a year’s embracing bought!”
Till his heart hath heard
her meaning at the golden bed he stares,
And the last of the words
she speaketh flit empty past his ears;
For he knows that the tale
of the night-tide hath been told and
understood,
And now of her shame was he
deeming e’en worse than Brynhild would.
So he turns from her face
and the chamber with his glory so undone,
That he saith the Gods did
evil when the mighty work they won,
And wrought the Burg of the
Niblungs, and fashioned his fathers’ days,
And led them on to the harvest
of the deeds and the people’s praise.
And nought he sees to amend
it, save the hungry eyeless sword,
And the war without hope or
honour, and the strife without reward.
So alone he goeth his ways,
and the morn to the noontide falls,
And the sun goeth down in
the heavens, and fades from the Niblung
walls,
And the dusk and the dark
draw over, and no man the King may see.
But Sigurd sits in the hall
mid the war-dukes’ company:
Alone of the Kings in the
Doom-ring, and the council of the wise,
By the street and the wharf
and the burg-gate he shines in the
people’s
eyes;
Stately and lovely to look
on he heareth of good and of ill,
And he knitteth up and divideth,
with life and death at his will.
Of the exceeding great grief and mourning of Brynhild.
Now the sun cometh up in the
morning and shines o’er holt and heath,
And the wall of the mighty
mountains, and the sheep-fed slopes beneath,
And the horse-fed plain and
the river, and the acres of the wheat,
And the herbs of bane and
of healing, and the garden hedges sweet;
It shines on the sea and the
shepherd, and the husbandman’s desire;
On the Niblung Burg it shineth
and smiteth the vanes afire;
And in Gudrun’s bower
it shineth, and seeth small joy therein,
For hushed the fair-clad maidens
the work of women win;
Then Gudrun looketh about
her, and she saith:
“Why
sit ye so,
That I hearken but creak of
the loom-stock and the battens’ homeward
blow?
Why is your joy departed and
your sweet speech fallen dumb?
Are the Niblungs fled from
the battle, is their war-host overcome?
Have the Norns given forth
their shaming? have they fallen in the
fight?
Yet the sun shines notwithstanding,
and the world around is bright.”
Then answered a noble woman,
and the wise of maids was she:
“Thou knowest, O lovely
lady, that nought of this may be;
Yet with woe that the world
shall hearken the glorious house is filled,
On the hearth of all men hallowed
the cup of joy is spilled.
—A dread, an untimely
hour, an exceeding evil day!”
Then the wife of Sigurd answered:
“Arise and go thy way
To the chamber of Queen Brynhild,
and bid her wake at last,
For that long have we slept
and slumbered, and the deedless night is
passed:
Bid her wake to the deeds
of queen-folk, and be glad as the
world-queens are
When they look on the people
that loves them, and thrust all trouble
afar.
Let her foster her greatness
and glory, and the fame no ages forget,
That tomorn may as yesterday
blossom, yea more abundantly yet.”
Then arose the light-foot
maiden: but she stayed and spake by the door:
“O Gudrun, I durst not
behold her, for the days of her joyance are
o’er,
And the days of her life are
numbered, and her might is waxen weak,
And she lieth as one forsaken,
and no word her lips will speak,
Nay, not to her lord that
loveth: but all we deem, O Queen,
That the wrath of the Gods
is upon her for ancient deeds unseen.”
Nought answered the white-armed
Gudrun, but the fear in her soul arose,
For she thought of the golden
Sigurd, and the compassing of foes,
And great grew the dread of
her maidens as they gazed upon her face:
But she rose and looked not
backward as she hastened from her place,
And sought the King of the
Niblungs by hall and chamber and stair,
And bright was the pure mid-morning
and the wind was fresh and fair.
So she came on her brother
Gunnar, as he sat apart and alone,
Arrayed in the Niblung war-gear,
nor moved he more than the stone
In the jaws of the barren
valley and the man-deserted dale;
On his knees was the breadth
of the sunshine, and thereon lay the
edges pale,
The war-flame of the Niblungs,
the sword that his right hand knew:
White was the fear on her
lips, and hard at her heart it drew.
As she spake:
“I
have found thee, O brother! O Gunnar, go to her
and say
That my heart is grieved with
her grief and I mourn for her evil day.”
Then Gunnar answered her word,
but his words were heavy and slow:
“Thou know’st
not the words thou speakest—and wherefore
should I go,
Since I am forbidden to share
it, the woe or the weal of her heart?
Look thou on the King of the
Niblungs, how he sitteth alone and apart,
Fast bound in the wiles of
women, and the web that a traitor hath spun,
And no deed for his hand he
knoweth, or to do or to leave undone.”
Wan-faced from before him
she fled, and she went with hurrying feet,
And no child of man in her
going would she look upon or greet,
Till she came unto Hogni the
Wise; and he sat in his war-array,
The coal-blue gear of the
Niblungs, and the sword o’er his knees there
lay:
She sickened, and said:
“What dost thou? what then is the day and the
deed,
That the sword on thy knees
is naked, and thou clad in the warrior’s
weed?
Go in, go in to Brynhild,
and tell her how I mourn
For the grief whereof none
wotteth that hath made her days forlorn.”
“It is good, my sister,”
said Hogni, “to abide in the harness of war
When the days and the days
are changing, and the Norns’ feet stand by
the door.
I will nowise go in unto Brynhild,
lest the evil tide grow worse.
For what woman will bear the
sorrow and burden her soul with a curse
If she may escape it unbidden?
and there are words that wound
Far worse than the bitter
edges, though wise in the air they sound.
Bide thou and behold things
fated! Hast thou learned how men may teach
The stars in their ordered
courses, or lead the Norns with speech?”
She stood and trembled before
him, nor durst she long behold
The silent face of Hogni and
the far-seeing eyes and cold.
So she gat her forth from
before him, and Sigurd her husband she
sought,
And the speech on her lips
was ready, till the chill fear made it
nought;
For apart and alone was he
sitting in all his war-gear clad,
And Fafnir’s Helm of
Aweing, and Regin’s Wrath he had,
And over the breast of Sigurd
was the Hauberk all of gold
That hath not the like in
the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told.
But he set her down beside
him and said: “What fearest thou then?
What terror strideth in daylight
mid the peace of the Niblung men?”
She cried: “The
Helm and the Sword, and the golden guard of thy
breast!”
“So oft, O wife,”
said Sigurd, “is a war-king clad the best
When the peril quickens before
him, and on either hand is doubt;
Thus men wreathe round the
beaker whence the wine shall be soon
poured out.
But hope thou not overmuch,
for the end is not today;
And fear thou little indeed,
for not long shall the sword delay:
But speak, O daughter of Giuki,
for thy lips scarce held the word
Ere thou sawest the gleam
of my hauberk and the edge of the ancient
Sword,
The Light that hath lain in
the Branstock, the hope of the Volsung
tree,
The Sunderer, the Deliverer,
the torch of days to be.”
She sighed; for her heart
was heavy for the days but a while agone,
When the death was little
dreamed of, and the joy was lightly won;
And her soul was bitter with
anger for the day that Brynhild had led
To the heart of the Niblung
glory: but fear thrust on, and she said:
“O my lord, O Sigurd
the mighty, an evil day is this,
A chill, an untimely hour
for the blooming of our bliss!
Go in to my sister Brynhild,
and tell her of very sooth
That my heart for her sorrow
sorrows, and is sick for woe and ruth.”
“The hour draws nigh,”
said Sigurd, “for I know of the speech and the
word
That is kind in the air to
hearken, and is worse than the whetted
sword.
Now is Brynhild sore encompassed
by a tide of measureless woe,
And amidst and anear, as I
see it, she seeth the death-star grow.
Yet belike it is, O Gudrun,
that thy will herein shall be done;
But now depart, I pray thee,
and leave thy lord alone:
Heavy and hard shall it be,
for a season shall it endure,
But the grief and the sorrow
shall perish, and the fame of the Gods
is sure.”
Yet she sat by his side and
spake not, and a while at his glory she
gazed,
For his face o’erpassed
the brightness that so long the folk had
praised,
And she durst not question
or touch him, and at last she rose from
his side,
And gat her away soft-footed,
and wandered far and wide
Through the house and the
Burg of the Niblungs; yet durst she never
more
Go look on the Niblung Brethren
as they sat in their harness of war.
But the morn to the noon hath
fallen, and the afternoon to the eve,
And the beams of the westering
sun the Niblung wall-stones leave,
And yet sitteth Sigurd alone;
then the sun sinketh down into night,
And the moon ariseth in heaven,
and the earth is pale with her light:
And there sitteth Sigurd the
Volsung in the gold and the harness of war
That was won from the heart-wise
Fafnir and the guarded Treasure of
yore,
But pale is the Helm of Aweing,
and wan are the ruddy rings:
So whiles in a city forsaken
ye see the shapes of kings,
And the lips that the carvers
wrought, while their words were
remembered and
known,
And the brows men trembled
to look on in the long-enduring stone,
And their hands once unforgotten,
and their breasts, the walls of war;
But now are they hidden marvels
to the wise and the master of lore,
And he nameth them not, nor
knoweth, and their fear is faded away.
E’en so sat Sigurd the
Volsung till the night waxed moonless and grey,
Till the chill dawn spread
o’er the lowland, and the purple fells grew
clear
In the cloudless summer dawn-dusk,
and the sun was drawing anear:
Then reddened the Burg of
the Niblungs, and the walls of the ancient
folk,
And a wind came down from
the mountains and the living things awoke
And cried out for need and
rejoicing; till, lo, the rim of the sun
Showed over the eastern ridges,
and the new day was begun;
And the beams rose higher
and higher, and white grew the Niblung wall,
And the spears on the ramparts
glistered and the windows blazed withal,
And the sunlight flooded the
courts, and throughout the chambers
streamed:
Then bright as the flames
“Awake, arise, O Brynhild!
for the house is smitten through
With the light of the sun
awakened, and the hope of deeds to do.”
She spake: “Art
thou come to behold me? thou, the mightiest and the
worst
Of the pitiless betrayers,
that the hope of my life hath nursed.”
He said: “It is
I that awake thee, and I give thee the life and the
days
For fulfilling the deedful
measure, and the cup of the people’s
praise.”
She cried: “O the
gifts of Sigurd!—Ah why didst thou cast
me aside,
That we twain should be dwelling,
the strangers, in the house of the
Niblung pride?
What life is the death in
life? what deeds—where the shame cometh
up
Betwixt the speech of the
wise-ones and the draught of the welcoming
cup;
And the shame and repentance
awaketh when the song in the harp is
awake?
Where we rise in the morning
for nothing, and lie down for no love’s
sake?
Where thou ridest forth to
the battle and the dead hope dulleth thy
light,
And with shame thy hand is
cumbered when the sword is uplifted to
smite?
O Sigurd, what hast thou done,
that the gifts are cast aback?
—O nay, no life
of repentance!—but the bitter sword and
the wrack!”
“O Brynhild, live!”
said the Volsung, “for what shall the world be
then
When thou from the earth art
departed, and the hallowed hearths of
men?”
She said: “Woe
worth the while for the word that hath come from thy
mouth!
As the bitter weltering ocean
to the shipman dying of drouth,
E’en so is the life
thou biddest, since thou pitiedst not thine own,
Nor thy love, nor the hope
of thy life-days, but must dwell as a glory
alone!”
“It is truer to tell,”
said Sigurd, “that mine heart in thy love was
enwrapped
Till the evil hour of the
darkening, and the eyeless tangle had happed:
And thereof shalt thou know,
O Brynhild, on one day better than I,
When the stroke of the sword
hath been smitten, and the night hath
seen me die:
Then belike in thy fresh-springing
wisdom thou shalt know of the dark
and the deed,
And the snare for our feet
fore-ordered from whence they shall never
be freed.
But for me, in the net I awakened
and the toils that unwitting I wove,
And no tongue may tell of
the sorrow that I had for thy wedded love:
But I dwelt in the dwelling
of kings; so I thrust its seeming apart
And I laboured the field of
Odin: and e’en this was a joy to my heart,
That we dwelt in one house
together, though a stranger’s house it
were.”
“O late, and o’erlate!”
cried Brynhild—“may the dead folk
hearken
and hear?
All was and today it is not—And
the Oath unto Gunnar is sworn,
Shall I live the days twice
over, and the life thou hast made forlorn?”
And she heard the words of
Hindfell and the oath of the earlier day,
Till the daylight darkened
before her, and all memory passed away,
And she cried: “I
may live no longer, for the Gods have forgotten the
earth,
And my heart is the forge
of sorrow, and my life is a wasting dearth.”
Then once again spake Sigurd,
once only and no more:
A pillar of light all golden
he stood on the sunlit floor;
And his eyes were the eyes
of Odin, and his face was the hope of the
world,
And his voice was the thunder
of even when the bolt o’er the mountains
is hurled:
The fairest of all things
fashioned he stood ’twixt life and death,
And the Wrath of Regin rattled,
and the rings of the Glittering Heath,
As he cried:
“I
am Sigurd the Volsung, and belike the tale shall be
true
That no hand on the earth
may hinder what my hand would fashion and do:
And what God or what man shall
gainsay it if our love be greater than
these,
The pride and the glory of
Sigurd, and the latter days’ increase?
O live, live, Brynhild beloved!
and thee on the earth will I wed,
And put away Gudrun the Niblung—and
all those shall be as the dead.”
But so swelled the heart within
him as he cast the speech abroad,
That the golden wall of the
battle, the fence unrent by the sword.
The red rings of the uttermost
ocean on the breast of Sigurd brake:
And he saw the eyes of Brynhild,
and turned from the word she spake:
“I will not wed thee, Sigurd, nor any man alive.”
Then Sigurd goes out from
before her; and the winds in the wall-nook
strive,
And the craving of fowl and
the beast-kind with the speech of men is
blent,
And the voice of the sons
of the Niblungs; and their day’s first hour
is spent
As he goes through the hall
of the War-dukes, and many an earl is
astir,
But none durst question Sigurd
lest of evil days he hear:
So he comes to his kingly
chamber, and there sitteth Gudrun alone,
And the fear in her soul is
minished, but the love and the hatred are
grown:
She is wan as the moonlit
midnight; but her heart is cold and proud,
And she asketh him nought
of Brynhild, and nought he speaketh aloud.
Of the slaying of Sigurd the Volsung.
Ere the noon ariseth Brynhild,
and forth abroad she goes,
And sits by the wall of her
bower ’twixt the lily and the rose;
Great dread and sickness is
on her, as it shall be once on the morn
When the uttermost sun is
arisen ’neath the blast of the world-shaking
horn:
Her maidens come and go, but
none dares cast her a word;
From the wall the warders
behold her, and turn round to the spear and
the sword;
Yea, few dare speak of Brynhild
as morning fadeth in noon
In the Burg of the ancient
people mid the stir and the glory of June.
Then cometh forth speech from
Brynhild, and she calls to her maidens
and saith:
“Go tell ye the King
of the Niblungs that I am arisen from death,
And come forth from the uttermost
sickness, and with him I needs must
speak:
That we look into weighty
matters and due deeds for king-folk seek.”
So they went and returned
not again, and it was but a little space
Ere she looked, and behold,
it was Gunnar that stood before her face,
And his war-gear darkened
the noon-tide and the grey helm gleamed from
his head,
But his eyes were fearful
beneath it: then she gazed on the heavens
and said:
“Thou art come, O King
of the Niblungs; what mighty deed is to frame
That thou wearest the cloudy
harness, and the arms of the Niblung
name?”
He spake: “O woman,
thou mockest! what King of the people is here?
Are not all kings confounded,
and all peoples’ shame laid bare?
Shall the Gods grow little
to help, or men grow great to amend?
Nay, the hunt is up in the
world and the Gods to the forest will wend,
And their hearts are exceeding
merry as they ride and drive the prey:
But what if the bear grin
on them, and the wood-beast turn to bay?
What now if the whelp of their
breeding a wolf of the world be grown,
To cry out in the face of
their brightness and mar their glad renown?”
She heeded him not, nor hearkened:
but he said: “Thou wert wise of old;
And hither I come at thy bidding:
let the thought of thine heart be
told.”
She said: “What
aileth thee, Gunnar? time was thou wert great and glad.
And that was yester-morning:
how then is the good turned bad?”
He said: “I was glad in my dreams, and I woke and my glory was dead.”
“Hath a God then wrought thee evil, or one of the King-folk?” she said.
He said: “In the
snare am I taken, in the web that a traitor hath spun;
And no deed knoweth my right-hand
to do or to leave undone.”
“I look upon thee,”
said Brynhild, “I know thy race and thy name.
Yet meseems the deed thou
sparest, to amend thine evil and shame.”
“Nought, nought,”
he said, “may amend it, save the hungry eyeless
sword.
And the war without hope or
honour, and the strife without reward.”
“Thou hast spoken the
word,” said Brynhild, “if the word is enough,
it is well.
Let us eat and drink and be
merry, that all men of our words may tell!”
“O all-wise woman,”
said Gunnar, “what deed lieth under the tongue?
What day for the dearth of
the people, when the seed of thy sowing hath
sprung?”
She said: “Our
garment is Shame, and nought the web shall rend,
Save the day without repentance,
and the deed that nought may amend.”
“Speak, mighty of women,”
said Gunnar, “and cry out the name and the
deed
That the ends of the Earth
may hearken, and the Niblungs’ grievous
Need.”
“To slay,” she
said, “is the deed, to slay a King ere the morn,
And the name is Sigurd the
Volsung, my love and thy brother sworn.”
She turned and departed from
him, and he knew not whither she went;
But he took his sword from
the girdle and the peace-strings round it
rent,
And into the house he gat
him, and the sunlit fair abode,
But his heart in the mid-mirk
waded, as through the halls he strode,
Till he came to a chamber
apart; and Grimhild his mother was there,
And there was his brother
Hogni in the cloudy Niblung gear:
Him-seemed there was silence
between them as of them that have spoken,
and wait
Till the words of their mouths
be accomplished by slow unholpen Fate:
But they turned to the door,
and beheld him, and he took his sheathed
sword
And cast it adown betwixt
them, and it clashed half bare on the board,
And Grimhild spake as it clattered:
“For whom are the peace-strings
rent?
For whom is the blood-point
whetted and the edge of thine intent?”
He said: “For the
heart of Sigurd; and thus all is rent away
Betwixt this word and his
slaying, save a little hour of day.”
Then spake Hogni and answered:
“All lands beneath the sun
Shall know and hearken and
wonder that such a deed must be done.”
“Speak, brother of Kings,”
said Gunnar, “dost thou know deeds better
or worse
That shall wash us clean from
shaming, and redeem our lives from the
curse?”
“I am none of the Norns,”
said Hogni, “nor the heart of Odin the Goth,
To avenge the foster-brethren,
or broken love and troth:
Thy will is the story fated,
nor shall I look on the deed
With uncursed hands unreddened,
and edges dulled at need.”
Again spake Grimhild the wise-wife:
“Where then is Guttorm the brave?
For he blent not his blood
with the Volsung’s, nor his oath to Sigurd
gave,
Nor called on Earth to witness,
nor went beneath the yoke;
And now is he Sigurd’s
foeman; and who may curse his stroke?”
Then Hogni laughed and answered:
“His feet on the threshold stand:
Forged is thy sword, O Mother,
and its hilts are come to hand,
And look that thou whet it
duly; for the Norns are departed now;
From the blood of our foster-brother
no branch of bale shall grow;
Hoodwinked are the Gods of
heaven, their sleep-dazed eyes are blind;
They shall peer and grope
through the darkness, and nought therein
shall find,
Save the red right hand of
Guttorm, and his lips that never swore;
At the young man’s deed
shall they wonder, and all shall be covered
o’er:
Ho, Guttorm, enter, and hearken
to the counsel of the wise!”
Then in through the door strode
Guttorm fair-clad in hunter’s guise,
With no steel save his wood-knife
girded; but his war-fain eyes stared
wild,
As he spake: “What
words are ye hiding from the youngest Niblung child?
What work is to win, my brethren,
that ye sit in warrior’s weed,
And tell me nought of the
glory, and cover up the deed?”
Then uprose Grimhild the wise-wife,
and took the cup again;
Night-long had she brewed
that witch-drink and laboured not in vain,
For therein was the creeping
venom, and hearts of things that prey
On the hidden lives of ocean,
and never look on day;
And the heart of the ravening
wood-wolf and the hunger-blinded beast
And the spent slaked heart
of the wild-fire the guileful cup increased:
But huge words of ancient
evil about its rim were scored,
The curse and the eyeless
craving of the first that fashioned sword.
So the cup in her hand was
gleaming, as she turned unto Guttorm and
spake;
“Be merry, King of the
War-fain! we hold counsel for thy sake:
The work is a God’s
son’s slaying, and thine is the hand that shall
smite,
That thy name may be set in
glory and thy deeds live on in light.”
Forth flashed the flame from
his eyen, and he cried: “Where then is
the foe,
This dread of mine house and
my brethren, that my hand may lay him
alow?”
“Drink, son,”
she said, “and be merry! and I shall tell his
name,
Whose death shall crown thy
life-days, and increase thy fame with his
fame.”
He drinketh and craveth for
battle, and his hand for a sword doth seek,
And he looketh about on his
brethren, but his lips no word may speak;
They speak the name, and he
hears not, and again he drinks of the cup
And knows not friend nor kindred,
and the wrath in his heart wells up,
That no God may bear unmingled,
and he cries a wordless cry,
As the last of the day is
departing and the dusk time drawing anigh.
Then Grimhild goes from the
chamber, and bringeth his harness of war,
And therewith they array his
body, and he drinketh the cup once more,
And his heart is set on the
murder, and now may he understand
What soul is dight for the
slaying, and what quarry is for his hand.
For again, they tell him of
Sigurd, and the man he remembereth,
And praiseth his mighty name
and his deeds that laughed on death.
Now dusk and dark draw over,
and through the glimmering house
They go to the place of the
Niblungs, the high hall and glorious;
For hard by is the chamber
of Sigurd: there dight in their harness of
war
In their thrones sit Gunnar
and Hogni, but Guttorm stands on the floor
With his blue blade naked
before them: the torches flare from the wall
And the woven God-folk waver,
but the hush is deep in the hall,
And those Niblung faces change
not, though the slow moon slips from her
height
And earth is acold ere dawning,
and new winds shake the night.
Now it was in the earliest
dawn-dusk that Guttorm stirred in his place,
And the mail-rings tinkled
upon him, as he turned his helm-hid face,
And went forth from the hall
and the high-seat; but the Kings sat still
in their pride
And hearkened the clash of
his going and heeded how it died.
Slow, all alone goeth Guttorm
to Sigurd’s chamber door,
And all is open before him,
and the white moon lies on the floor
And the bed where Sigurd lieth
with Gudrun on his breast,
And light comes her breath
from her bosom in the joy of infinite rest.
Then Guttorm stands on the
threshold, and his heart of the murder is
fain,
And he thinks of the deeds
of Sigurd, and praiseth his greatness and
gain;
Bright blue is his blade in
the moonlight—but lo, how Sigurd lies,
As the carven dead that die
not, with fair wide-open eyes;
And their glory gleameth on
Guttorm, and the hate in his heart is
chilled,
And he shrinketh aback from
the threshold and knoweth not what he
willed.
But his brethren heed and
hearken, and they hear the clash draw nigh,
But they stir no whit in their
pride, though the lord of all creatures
should die.
Then they see where cometh
Guttorm, but they cast him never a word,
For white ’neath the
flickering torches they see his unstained sword;
But Guttorm gazed from the
threshold, and the moon was fading away
From the golden bed of Sigurd,
and the Niblung woman lay
On the bosom of the Volsung,
and her hand lay light on her lord;
But dread were his eyes wide-open,
and they gleamed against the sword,
And Guttorm shrank from before
them, and back to the hall he came:
There the biding brethren
behold him flash wild in the torches’ flame,
Nor stir their lips to question;
but their swords on their knees are
laid;
The torches faint in the dawning,
and they see his unstained blade.
Now dieth moon and candle,
and though the day be nigh
The roof of the hall fair-builded
seems far aloof as the sky,
But a glimmer grows on the
pavement and the ernes on the roof-ridge
stir:
Then the brethren hist and
hearken, for a sound of feet they hear,
And into the hall of the Niblungs
a white thing cometh apace:
But the sword of Guttorm upriseth,
and he wendeth from his place,
And the clash of steel goes
with him; yet loud as it may sound
Still more they hear those
footsteps light-falling on the ground,
And the hearts of the Niblungs
waver, and their pride is smitten acold,
For they look on that latest
comer, and Brynhild they behold:
But she sits by their side
in silence, and heeds them nothing more
Than the grey soft-footed
morning heeds yester-even’s war.
But Guttorm clashed in the
cloisters and through the silence strode
And scarce on the threshold
of Sigurd a little while abode:
There the moon from the floor
hath departed and heaven without is grey,
And afar in the eastern quarter
faint glimmer streaks of day.
Close over the head of Sigurd
the Wrath gleams wan and bare,
And the Niblung woman stirreth,
and her brow is knit with fear;
But the King’s closed
eyes are hidden, loose lie his empty hands,
There is nought ’twixt
the sword of the slayer and the Wonder of all
Lands.
Then Guttorm laughed in his
war-rage, and his sword leapt up on high,
As he sprang to the bed from
the threshold and cried a wordless cry,
And with all the might of
the Niblungs through Sigurd’s body thrust,
And turned and fled from the
chamber, and fell amid the dust,
Within the door and without
it, the slayer slain by the slain;
For the cast of the sword
of Sigurd had smitten his body atwain
While yet his cry of onset
through the echoing chambers went.
Woe’s me! how the house
of the Niblungs by another cry was rent,
The wakening wail of Gudrun,
as she shrank in the river of blood
From the breast of the mighty
Sigurd: he heard it and understood,
And rose up on the sword of
Guttorm, and turned from the country of
death,
And spake words of loving-kindness
as he strove for life and breath:
“Wail not, O child of
the Niblungs! I am smitten, but thou shalt live,
In remembrance of our glory,
mid the gifts the Gods shall give!”
She stayed her cry to hearken,
and her heart well nigh stood still:
But he spake: “Mourn
not, O Gudrun, this stroke is the last of ill;
Fear leaveth the House of
the Niblungs on this breaking of the morn;
Mayst thou live, O woman beloved,
unforsaken, unforlorn!”
Then he sank aback on the
sword, and down to his lips she bent
If some sound therefrom she
might hearken; for his breath was
well-nigh spent:
“It is Brynhild’s
deed,” he murmured, “and the woman that
loves me
well;
Nought now is left to repent
of, and the tale abides to tell.
I have done many deeds in
my life-days, and all these, and my love,
they lie
In the hollow hand of Odin
till the day of the world go by.
I have done and I may not
undo, I have given and I take not again:
Art thou other than I, Allfather,
wilt thou gather my glory in vain?”
There was silence then in
the chamber, as the dawn spread wide and
grey,
And hushed was the hall of
the Niblungs at the entering-in of day.
Long Gudrun hung o’er
the Volsung and waited the coming word;
Then she stretched out her
hand to Sigurd and touched her love and her
lord,
And the broad day fell on
his visage, and she knew she was there alone,
And her heart was wrung with
anguish and she uttered a weary moan:
Then Brynhild laughed in the
hall, and the first of men’s voices was
that
Since when on yester-even
the kings in the high-seat had sat.
But the wrath of Gunnar was
kindled and the words of the king
out-brake,
“Woe’s me, thou
wonder of women! thou art glad for no man’s sake,
Nay not for thine own, meseemeth,
for thou bidest here as the dead,
As the pale ones stricken
deedless, whose tale of life is sped.”
She hearkened him not nor
answered; and day came on apace,
And they heard the anguish
of Gudrun and her voice in the ancient
place.
“Awake, O House of the
Niblungs! for my kin hath slain my lord.
Awake, awake, to the murder,
and the edges of the sword!
Awake, go forth and be merry!
and yet shall the day betide,
When ye stand in the garth
of the foemen, and death is on every side,
And ye look about and around
you, and right and left ye look
For the least of the hours
of Sigurd, and his hand that the battle
shook:
Then be your hope as mine
is, then face ye death and shame
As I face the desolation,
and the days without a name!”
And she shrieked as the woe
gathered on her, and the sun rose over her
head:
“Wake, wake, O men of
this house, for Sigurd the Volsung is dead!”
In the house rose rumour and
stir, and men stood up in the morn,
And their hearts with doubt
were shaken, as if with the Uttermost Horn:
The cry and the calling spread,
and shields clashed down from the wall,
And swords in the chamber
glittered, and men ran apace to the hall.
Nor knew what man to question,
nor who had tidings to give,
Nor what were the days thenceforward
wherein the folk should live.
But ever the word is amongst
them that Sigurd the Volsung is slain,
And the spears in the hall
were tossing as the rye in the windy plain.
But they look aloft to the
high-seat and they see the gleam of the
gold:
And Gunnar the King of battle,
and Hogni wise and cold,
And Brynhild the wonder of
women; and her face is deadly pale,
And the Kings are clad in
their war-gear, and bared are the edges of
bale.
Then cold fear falleth upon
them, but the noise and the clamour abate,
And they look on the war-wise
Gunnar and awhile for his word they wait;
But e’en as he riseth
above them, doth a shriek through the tumult
ring:
“Awake, O House of the Niblungs, for slain is Sigurd the King!”
Then nothing faltered Gunnar,
but he stood o’er the Niblung folk,
And over the hall woe-stricken
the words of pride he spoke:
“Mourn now, O Niblung
people, for gone is Sigurd our guest,
And Guttorm the King is departed,
and this is our day of unrest;
But all this of the Norns
was fore-ordered, and herein is Odin’s hand;
Cast down are the mighty of
men-folk, but the Niblung house shall
stand:
Mourn then today and tomorrow,
but the third day waken and live,
For the Gods died not this
morning, and great gifts they have to give.”
He spake and awhile was silence,
and then did the cry outbreak,
And many there were of the
Earl-folk that wept for Sigurd’s sake;
And they wept for their little
children, and they wept for those
unborn,
Who should know the earth
without him and the world of his worth
forlorn.
But wild is the wailing of
women as they fare to the place of the dead,
Where cold is Gudrun sitting
mid the waste of Sigurd’s bed.
Then they take the man beloved,
and bear him forth to the hall,
And spread the linen above
him, and cloth of purple and pall;
And meekly Gudrun followeth,
and she sitteth down thereby,
But mute is her mouth henceforward,
and she giveth forth no cry,
And no word of lamentation,
though far abroad they weep
For the gift of the Gods departed,
and the golden Sigurd’s sleep.
Meanwhile elsewhere the women
and the wives of the Niblungs wail
O’er the body of King
Guttorm and array him for the bale,
And Grimhild opens her treasure
and bears forth plenteous gold
And goodly things for his
journey, and the land of Death acold.
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.
Then spake a Queen of Welshland,
and Herborg hight was she:
“O frozen heart of sorrow,
the Norns dealt worse with me:
Of old, in the days departed,
were my brave ones under shield,
Seven sons, and the eighth,
my husband, and they fell in the Southland
field:
Yet lived my father and mother,
yet lived my brethren four,
And I bided their returning
by the sea-washed bitter shore:
But the winds and death played
with them, o’er the wide sea swept the
wave,
The billows beat on the bulwarks
and took what the battle gave:
Alone I sang above them, alone
I dight their gear
For the uttermost journey
of all men, in the harvest of the year:
Nor wakened spring from winter
ere I left those early dead;
With bound hands and shameful
body I went as the sea-thieves led:
Now I sit by the hearth of
a stranger; nor have I weal nor woe,
Save the hope of the Niblung
masters and the sorrow of a foe.”
No wailing word gat Gudrun,
no thought she had to weep
O’er the sundering tide
of Sigurd, and the loved lord’s lonely sleep:
Her heart was cold and dreadful;
nor good from ill she knew,
Since her love was taken from
her and the day of deeds to do.
Then arose a maid of the Niblungs,
and Gullrond was her name,
And betwixt that Queen of
Welshland and Gudrun’s grief she came:
And she said: “O
foster-mother, O wise in the wisdom of old,
Hast thou spoken a word to
the dead, and known them hear and behold?
E’en so is this word
thou speakest, and the counsel of thy face.”
All heed gave the maids and
the warriors, and hushed was the
spear-thronged
place,
As she stretched out her hand
to Sigurd, and swept the linen away
From the lips that had holpen
the people, and the eyes that had
gladdened the
day;
She set her hand unto Sigurd,
and turned the face of the dead
To the moveless knees of Gudrun,
and again she spake and said:
“O Gudrun, look on thy
loved-one; yea, as if he were living yet
Let his face by thy face be
cherished, and thy lips on his lips be
set!”
Then Gudrun’s eyes fell
on it, and she saw the bright-one’s hair
All wet with the deadly dew-fall,
and she saw the great eyes stare
At that cloudy roof of the
Niblungs without a smile or frown;
And she saw the breast of
the mighty and the heart’s wall rent adown:
She gazed and the woe gathered
on her, so exceeding far away
Seemed all she once had cherished
from that which near her lay;
She gazed, and it craved no
pity, and therein was nothing sad,
Therein was clean forgotten
the hope that Sigurd had:
Then she looked around and
about her, as though her friend to find,
And met those woeful faces
but as grey reeds in the wind,
Long Gudrun lay on Sigurd,
and her tears fell fast on the floor
As the rain in midmost April
when the winter-tide is o’er,
Till she heard a wail anigh
her and how Gullrond wept beside,
Then she knew the voice of
her pity, and rose upright and cried:
“O ye, e’en such
was my Sigurd among these Giuki’s sons,
As the hart with the horns
day-brightened mid the forest-creeping ones;
As the spear-leek fraught
with wisdom mid the lowly garden grass;
As the gem on the gold band’s
midmost when the council cometh to pass,
And the King is lit with its
glory, and the people wonder and praise.
—O people, Ah thy
craving for the least of my Sigurd’s days!
O wisdom of my Sigurd! how
oft I sat with thee
Thou striver, thou deliverer,
thou hope of things to be!
O might of my love, my Sigurd!
how oft I sat by thy side,
And was praised for the loftiest
woman and the best of Odin’s pride!
But now am I as little as
the leaf on the lone tree left,
When the winter wood is shaken
and the sky by the North is cleft.”
Then her speech grew wordless
wailing, and no man her meaning knew;
Till she hushed her swift
and turned her; for a laugh her wail pierced
through,
As a whistling shaft the night-wind
in some foe-encompassed wood;
And lo, by the nearest pillar
the wife of Gunnar stood;
There stood the allwise Brynhild
’gainst the golden carving pressed,
As she stared at the wound
of Sigurd and that rending of his breast:
But she felt the place fallen
silent, and the speechless anger set
On her own chill, bitter sorrow;
and the eyes of the women met,
And they stood in the hall
together, as they stood that while ago,
When they twain in Brynhild’s
dwelling of days to come would know:
But every soul kept silence,
and all hearts were chill as stone
As Brynhild spake:
“Thou
woman, shall thine eyes be wet alone?
Shalt thou weep and speak
in thy glory, when I may weep no more,
When I speak, and my speech
is as silence to the man that loved me
sore?”
Then folk heard the woe of Gudrun, and the bitterness of hate:
“Day cursed o’er every other! when they opened wide the gate,
And Kings in gold arrayed them, and all men the joy might hear,
As Greyfell neighed in the forecourt the world’s delight to bear,
And my brethren shook the world-ways as they rode to Brynhild’s bower,
—An ill day—an evil woman—a most untimely hour!”
But she wailed: “The
seat is empty, and empty is the bed,
And earth is hushed henceforward
of the words my speech-friend said!
Lo, the deeds of the sons
of Giuki, and my brethren of one womb!
Lo, the deeds of the sons
of Giuki for the latter days of doom!
O hearken, hearken Gunnar!
May the dear Gold drag thee adown,
And Greyfell’s ruddy
Burden, and the Treasure of renown,
And the rings that ye swore
the oath on! yea, if all avengers die,
May Earth, that ye bade remember,
on the blood of Sigurd cry!
Be this land as waste as the
trothplight that the lips of fools have
sworn!
May it rain through this broken
hall-roof, and snow on the hearth
forlorn!
And may no man draw anigh
it to tell of the ruin and the wrack!
Yea, may I be a mock for the
idle if my feet come ever aback,
If my heart think kind of
the chambers, if mine eyes shall yearn to
behold
The fair-built house of my
fathers, the house beloved of old!”
Then she waileth out before
them, and hideth her face from the day,
And she casteth her down from
the high-seat and fleeth fast away;
And forth from the Hall of
the Niblungs, and forth from the Burg is
she gone,
And forth from the holy dwellings,
and a long way forth alone,
Till she comes to the lonely
wood-waste, the desert of the deer
By the feet of the lonely
mountains, that no man draweth anear;
But the wolves are about and
around her, and death seems better than
life,
And folding the hands and
forgetting a merrier thing than strife;
And for long and long thereafter
no man of Gudrun knows,
Nor who are the friends of
her life-days, nor whom she calleth her
foes.
But how great in the hall
of the Niblungs is the voice of weeping and
wail!
Men bide on the noon’s
departing, men bide till the eve shall fail,
Then they wend one after other
to the sleep that all men win,
Till few are the hall-abiders,
and the moon is white therein,
And no sound in the house
may ye hearken save the ernes that stir
o’erhead,
And the far-off wail o’er
Guttorm and the wakeners o’er the dead:
But still by the carven pillar
doth the all-wise Brynhild stand
A-gaze on the wound of Sigurd,
nor moveth foot nor hand,
Nor speaketh word to any,
of them that come or go
Round the evil deed of the
Niblungs and the corner-stone of woe.
Of the passing away of Brynhild.
Once more on the morrow-morning
fair shineth the glorious suns
And the Niblung children labour
on a deed that shall be done.
For out in the people’s
meadows they raise a bale on high,
The oak and the ash together,
and thereon shall the Mighty lie;
Nor gold nor steel shall be
lacking, nor savour of sweet spice,
Nor cloths in the Southlands
woven, nor webs of untold price:
The work grows, toil is as
nothing; long blasts of the mighty horn
From the topmost tower out-wailing
o’er the woeful world are borne.
But Brynhild lay in her chamber,
and her women went and came,
And they feared and trembled
before her, and none spake Sigurd’s name;
But whiles they deemed her
weeping, and whiles they deemed indeed
That she spake, if they might
but hearken, but no words their ears
might heed;
Till at last she spake out
clearly:
“I
know not what ye would;
For ye come and go in my chamber,
and ye seem of wavering mood
To thrust me on, or to stay
me; to help my heart in woe,
Or to bid my days of sorrow
midst nameless folly go.”
None answered the word of Brynhild,
none knew of her intent;
But she spake: “Bid hither Gunnar,
lest the sun sink o’er the bent,
And leave the words unspoken I yet have will to
speak.”
Then her maidens go from before
her, and that lord of war they seek,
And he stands by the bed of Brynhild and strives
to entreat and
beseech,
But her eyes gaze awfully on him, and his lips
may learn no speech.
And she saith:
“I slept in the morning, or
I dreamed in the waking-hour,
And my dream was of thee, O Gunnar, and the bed
in thy kingly bower,
And the house that I blessed in my sorrow, and
cursed in my sorrow and
shame,
The gates of an ancient people, the towers of
a mighty name:
King, cold was the hall I have dwelt in, and no
brand burned on the
hearth;
Dead-cold was thy bed, O Gunnar, and thy land
was parched with dearth:
But I saw a great King riding, and a master of
the harp,
And he rode amidst of the foemen, and the swords
were bitter-sharp,
But his hand in the hand-gyves smote not, and
his feet in the fetters
were fast,
While many a word of mocking at his speechless
face was cast.
Then I heard a voice in the world: ’O
woe for the broken troth,
And the heavy Need of the Niblungs, and the Sorrow
of Odin the Goth!
Then I saw the halls of the strangers, and the
hills, and the
dark-blue sea,
Nor knew of their names and their nations, for
earth was afar from me,
But brother rose up against brother, and blood
swam over the board,
And women smote and spared not, and the fire was
master and lord.
Then, then was the moonless mid-mirk, and I woke
to the day and the
deed,
The deed that earth shall name not, the day of
its bitterest need.
Many words have I said in my life-days, and little
more shall I say:
Ye have heard the dream of a woman, deal with
it as ye may:
For meseems the world-ways sunder, and the dusk
and the dark is mine,
Till I come to the hall of Freyia, where the deeds
of the mighty shall
shine.’”
So hearkened Gunnar the Niblung,
that her words he understood,
And he knew she was set on
the death-stroke, and he deemed it nothing
good:
But he said: “I
have hearkened, and heeded thy death and mine in thy
words:
Then he casteth his arms about
her, and hot is the heart of the King
For the glory of Queen Brynhild
and the hope of her days of gain,
And he clean forgetteth Sigurd
and the foster-brother slain:
But she shrank aback from
before him, and cried: “Woe worth the while
For the thoughts ye drive
back on me, and the memory of your guile!
The Kings of earth were gathered,
the wise of men were met;
On the death of a woman’s
pleasure their glorious hearts were set,
And I was alone amidst them—Ah,
hold thy peace hereof!
Lest the thought of the bitterest
hours this little hour should move.”
He rose abashed from before
her, and yet he lingered there;
Then she said: “O
King of the Niblungs, what noise do I hearken and
hear?
Why ring the axes and hammers,
while feet of men go past,
And shields from the wall
are shaken, and swords on the pavement cast,
And the door of the treasure
is opened; and the horn cries loud and
long,
And the feet of the Niblung
children to the people’s meadows throng?”
His face was troubled before
her, and again she spake and said:
“Meseemeth this is the
hour when men array the dead;
Wilt thou tell me tidings,
Gunnar, that the children of thy folk
Pile up the bale for Guttorm,
and the hand that smote the stroke?”
He said: “It is
not so, Brynhild; for that Giuki’s son was burned
When the moon of the middle
heaven last night toward dawning turned.”
They looked on each other
and spake not; but Gunnar gat him gone,
And came to his brother Hogni,
the wise-heart Giuki’s son,
And spake: “Thou
art wise, O Hogni; go in to Brynhild the queen,
And stay her swift departing;
or the last of her days hath she seen.”
“It is nought, thy word,”
said Hogni; “wilt thou bring dead men aback,
Or the souls of kings departed
midst the battle and the wrack?
Yet this shall be easier to
thee than the turning Brynhild’s heart;
She came to dwell among us,
but in us she had no part;
Let her go her ways from the
Niblungs with her hand in Sigurd’s hand.
Will the grass grow up henceforward
where her feet have trodden the
land?”
“O evil day,” said Gunnar, “when my queen must perish and die!”
“Such oft betide,”
saith Hogni, “as the lives of men flit by;
But the evil day is a day,
and on each day groweth a deed,
And a thing that never dieth;
and the fateful tale shall speed.
Lo now, let us harden our
hearts and set our brows as the brass,
Lest men say it, ’They
loathed the evil and they brought the evil to
pass.’”
So they spake, and their hearts
were heavy, and they longed for the
morrow morn,
And the morrow of tomorrow,
and the new day yet to be born.
But Brynhild cried to her
maidens: “Now open ark and chest,
And draw forth queenly raiment
of the loveliest and the best,
Red rings that the Dwarf-lords
fashioned, fair cloths that queens have
sewed,
To array the bride for the
mighty, and the traveller for the road.”
They wept as they wrought
her bidding and did on her goodliest gear;
But she laughed mid the dainty
linen, and the gold-rings fashioned
fair:
She arose from the bed of
the Niblungs, and her face no more was wan;
As a star in the dawn-tide
heavens, mid the dusky house she shone:
And they that stood about
her, their hearts were raised aloft
Amid their fear and wonder:
then she spake them kind and soft:
“Now give me the sword,
O maidens, wherewith I sheared the wind
When the Kings of Earth were
gathered to know the Chooser’s mind.”
All sheathed the maidens brought
it, and feared the hidden blade,
But the naked blue-white edges
across her knees she laid,
And spake: “The
heaped-up riches, the gear my fathers left,
All dear-bought woven wonders,
all rings from battle reft,
All goods of men desired,
now strew them on the floor,
And so share among you, maidens,
the gifts of Brynhild’s store.”
They brought them mid their
weeping, but none put forth a hand
To take that wealth desired,
the spoils of many a land:
There they stand and weep
before her, and some are moved to speech,
And they cast their arms about
her and strive with her, and beseech
That she look on her loved-ones’
sorrow and the glory of the day.
It was nought; she scarce
might see them, and she put their hands away
And she said: “Peace,
ye that love me! and take the gifts and the gold
In remembrance of my fathers
and the faithful deeds of old.”
Then she spake: “Where
now is Gunnar, that I may speak with him?
For new things are mine eyes
beholding and the Niblung house grows dim,
And new sounds gather about
me, that may hinder me to speak
When the breath is near to
flitting, and the voice is waxen weak.”
Then upright by the bed of
the Niblungs for a moment doth she stand,
And the blade flasheth bright
in the chamber, but no more they hinder
her hand
Than if a God were smiting
to rend the world in two:
Then dulled are the glittering
edges, and the bitter point cleaves
through
The breast of the all-wise
Brynhild, and her feet from the pavement
fail,
And the sigh of her heart
is hearkened mid the hush of the maidens’
wail.
Chill, deep is the fear upon
them, but they bring her aback to the bed,
And her hand is yet on the
hilts, and sidelong droopeth her head.
Then there cometh a cry from
withoutward, and Gunnar’s hurrying feet
Are swift on the kingly threshold,
and Brynhild’s blood they meet.
Low down o’er the bed
he hangeth and hearkeneth for her word,
And her heavy lids are opened
to look on the Niblung lord,
And she saith:
“I
pray thee a prayer, the last word in the world I speak,
That ye bear me forth to Sigurd,
and the hand my hand would seek;
The bale for the dead is builded,
it is wrought full wide on the plain,
It is raised for Earth’s
best Helper, and thereon is room for twain:
Ye have hung the shields about
it, and the Southland hangings spread,
There lay me adown by Sigurd
and my head beside his head:
But ere ye leave us sleeping,
draw his Wrath from out the sheath,
And lay that Light of the
Branstock, and the blade that frighted deaths
Betwixt my side and Sigurd’s,
as it lay that while agone,
When once in one bed together
we twain were laid alone:
How then when the flames flare
upward may I be left behind?
How then may the road he wendeth
be hard for my feet to find?
How then in the gates of Valhall
may the door of the gleaming ring
Clash to on the heel of Sigurd,
as I follow on my king?”
Then she raised herself on
her elbow, but again her eyelids sank,
And the wound by the sword-edge
whispered, as her heart from the iron
shrank,
And she moaned: “O
lives of man-folk, for unrest all overlong
By the Father were ye fashioned;
and what hope amendeth a wrong?
Now at last, O my beloved,
all is gone; none else is near,
Through the ages of all ages,
never sundered, shall we wear.”
Scarce more than a sigh was
the word, as back on the bed she fell,
Nor was there need in the
chamber of the passing of Brynhild to tell;
And no more their lamentation
might the maidens hold aback,
But the sound of their bitter
mourning was as if red-handed wrack
Ran wild in the Burg of the
Niblungs, and the fire were master of all.
Then the voice of Gunnar the
war-king cried out o’er the weeping hall:
“Wail on, O women forsaken,
for the mightiest woman born!
Now the hearth is cold and
joyless, and the waste bed lieth forlorn.
Wail on, but amid your weeping
lay hand to the glorious dead,
That not alone for an hour
may lie Queen Brynhild’s head:
For here have been heavy tidings,
and the Mightiest under shield
Is laid on the bale high-builded
in the Niblungs’ hallowed field.
Fare forth! for he abideth,
and we do Allfather wrong,
If the shining Valhall’s
pavement await their feet o’erlong.”
Then they took the body of
Brynhild in the raiment that she wore,
And out through the gate of
the Niblungs the holy corpse they bore,
And thence forth to the mead
of the people, and the high-built
shielded bale;
Then afresh in the open meadows
breaks forth the women’s wail
When they see the bed of Sigurd
and the glittering of his gear;
And fresh is the wail of the
people as Brynhild draweth anear,
And the tidings go before
her that for twain the bale is built,
That for twain is the oak-wood
shielded and the pleasant odours spilt.
There is peace on the bale
of Sigurd, and the Gods look down from on
high,
And they see the lids of the
Volsung close shut against the sky,
As he lies with his shield
beside him in the Hauberk all of gold,
That has not its like in the
heavens, nor has earth of its fellow told;
And forth from the Helm of
Aweing are the sunbeams flashing wide,
And the sheathed Wrath of
Sigurd lies still by his mighty side.
Then cometh an elder of days,
a man of the ancient times,
Who is long past sorrow and
joy, and the steep of the bale he climbs;
And he kneeleth down by Sigurd,
and bareth the Wrath to the sun
That the beams are gathered
about it, and from hilt to blood-point run,
And wide o’er the plain
of the Niblungs doth the Light of the
Branstock glare,
Till the wondering mountain-shepherds
on that star of noontide stare,
And fear for many an evil;
but the ancient man stands still
With the war-flame on his
shoulder, nor thinks of good or of ill,
Till the feet of Brynhild’s
bearers on the topmost bale are laid,
And her bed is dight by Sigurd’s;
then he sinks the pale white blade
And lays it ’twixt the
sleepers, and leaves them there alone—
He, the last that shall ever
behold them,—and his days are well nigh
done.
Then is silence over the plain;
in the noon shine the torches pale
As the best of the Niblung
Earl-folk bear fire to the builded bale:
Then a wind in the west ariseth,
and the white flames leap on highs
And with one voice crieth
the people a great and mighty cry,
And men cast up hands to the
Heavens, and pray without a word,
As they that have seen God’s
visage, and the face of the Father have
heard.
They are gone—the
lovely, the mighty, the hope of the ancient Earth:
It shall labour and bear the
burden as before that day of their birth:
It shall groan in its blind
abiding for the day that Sigurd hath sped,
And the hour that Brynhild
hath hastened, and the dawn that waketh the
dead:
It shall yearn, and be oft-times
holpen, and forget their deeds no
more,
Till the new sun beams on
Baldur, and the happy sealess shore.
GUDRUN.
HEREIN IS TOLD OF THE
DAYS OF THE NIBLUNGS AFTER THEY SLEW SIGURD,
AND OF THEIR WOEFUL
NEED AND FALL IN THE HOUSE OF KING ATLI.
King Atli wooeth and weddeth Gudrun.
Hear now of those Niblung
war-kings, how in glorious state they dwell;
They do and undo at their
pleasure and wear their life-days well;
They deal out doom to the
people, and their hosts of war array,
Nor storm nor wind nor winter
their eager swords shall stay:
They ride the lealand highways,
they ride the desert plain,
They cry out kind to the Sea-god
and loose the wave-steed’s rein:
They climb the unmeasured
mountains, and gleam on the world beneath,
And their swords are the blinding
lightning, and their shields are the
shadow of death:
When men tell of the lords
of the Goth-folk, of the Niblungs is their
word,
All folk in the round world’s
compass of their mighty fame have heard:
They are lords of the Ransom
of Odin, the uncounted sea-born Gold,
The Grief of the wise Andvari,
the Death of the Dwarfs of old,
The gleaming Load of Greyfell,
the ancient Serpent’s Bed,
The store of the days forgotten,
by the dead heaped up for the dead.
Lo, such are the Kings of
the Niblungs, but yet they crave and desire
Lest the world hold greater
than they, lest the Gods and their kindred
be higher.
Fair, bright is their hall
in the even; still up to the cloudy roof
There goeth the glee and the
singing while the eagles chatter aloof,
And the Gods on the hangings
waver in the doubtful wind of night;
Still fair are the linen-clad
damsels, still are the war-dukes bright;
Men come and go in the even;
men come and go in the morn;
Good tidings with the daybreak,
fair fame with the glooming is born:
—But no tidings
of Sigurd and Brynhild, and whoso remembereth their
days
Turns back to the toil or
the laughter from his words of lamenting or
praise,
Turns back to the glorious
Gunnar, casts hope on the Niblung name,
Doeth deeds from the morn
to the even, and beareth no burden of shame.
Well wedded is Gunnar the
King, and Hogni hath wedded a wife;
Fair queens are those wives
of the Niblungs, good helpmates in peace
and in strife
Sweet they sit on the golden
high-seat, and Grimhild sitteth beside,
And the years have made her
glorious, and the days have swollen her
pride;
She looketh down on the people,
from on high she looketh down,
And her days have become a
wonder, and her redes are wisdom’s crown.
She saith: Where then
are the Gods? what things have they shapen and
made
More of might than the days
I have shapen? of whom shall our hearts be
afraid?
Now there was a King of the
outlands, and Atli was his name,
The lord of a mighty people,
a man of marvellous fame,
Who craved the utmost increase
of all that kings desire;
Who would reach his hand to
the gold as it ran in the ruddy fire,
Or go down to the ocean-pavement
to harry the people beneath,
Or cast up his sword at the
Gods, or bid the friendship of death.
By hap was the man unwedded,
and wide in the world he sought
For a queen to increase his
glory lest his name should come to nought;
And no kin like the kin of
the Niblungs he found in all the earth.
No treasure like their treasure,
no glory like their worth;
So he sendeth an ancient war-duke
with a goodly company,
And three days they ride the
mirk-wood and ten days they sail the sea,
And three days they ride the
highways till they come to Gunnar’s land;
And there on an even of summer
in Gunnar’s hall they stand,
And the spears of Welshland
glitter, and the Southland garments gleam,
For those folk are fair apparelled
as the people of a dream.
But the glorious Son of Giuki
from amidst the high-seat spoke:
“Why stand ye mid men
sitting, or fast mid feasting folk?
No meat nor drink there lacketh,
and the hall is long and wide.
Three days in the peace of
the Niblungs unquestioned shall ye bide,
Then timely do your message,
and bid us peace or war.”
But spake the Earl of Atli
yet standing on the floor:
“All hail, O glorious
Gunnar, O mighty King of men!
O’er-short is the life
of man-folk, the three-score years and ten,
Long, long is the craft for
the learning, and sore doth the right hand
waste:
Lo, lord, our spurs are bloody,
and our brows besweat with haste;
Our gear is stained by the
sea-spray and rent by bitter gales,
For we struck no mast to the
tempest, and the East was in our sails;
By the thorns is our raiment
rended, for we rode the mirk-wood through,
And our steeds were the God-bred
coursers, nor day from night-tide
knew:
Lo, we are the men of Atli,
and his will and his spoken word
Lies not beneath our pillow,
nor hangs above the board;
Nay, how shall it fail but
slay us if three days we hold it hid?
—I will speak to-night,
O Niblung, save thy very mouth forbid:
But lo now, look on the tokens,
and the rune-staff of the King.”
Then spake the Son of Giuki:
“Give forth the word and the thing.
Since thy faithfulness constraineth:
but I know thy tokens true,
And thy rune-staff hath the
letters that in days agone I knew.”
“Then this is the word,”
said the elder, “that Atli set in my mouth:
’I have known thee of
old, King Gunnar, when we twain drew sword in
the south
In the days of thy father
Giuki, and great was the fame of thee then:
But now it rejoiceth my heart
that thou growest the greatest of men,
And anew I crave thy friendship,
and I crave a gift at thy hands,
That thou give me the white-armed
Gudrun, the queen and the darling of
lands,
To be my wife and my helpmate,
my glory in hall and afield;
That mine ancient house may
blossom and fresh fruit of the King-tree
yield.
I send thee gifts moreover,
though little things be these.
But such is the fashion of
great-ones when they speak across the
seas.’”
Then cried out that earl of
the strangers, and men brought the gifts
and the gold;
White steeds from the Eastland
horse-plain, fine webs of price untold,
Huge pearls of the nether
ocean, strange masteries subtly wrought
By the hands of craftsmen
perished and people come to nought.
But Gunnar laughed and answered:
“King Atli speaketh well;
Across the sea, peradventure,
I too a tale may tell:
Now born is thy burden of
speech; so rejoice at the Niblung board,
For here art thou sweetly
welcome for thyself and thy mighty lord:
And maybe by this time tomorrow,
or maybe in a longer space,
Shall ye have an answer for
Atli, and a word to gladden his face.”
So the strangers sit and are
merry, and the Wonder of the East
And the glory of the Westland
kissed lips in the Niblung feast.
But again on the morrow-morning
speaks Gunnar with Grimhild and saith:
“Where then in the world
is Gudrun, and is she delivered from death?
For nought hereof hast thou
told me: but the wisest of women art thou,
And I deem that all things
thou knowest, and thy cunning is timely now;
For King Atli wooeth my sister;
and as wise as thou mayst be,
What thing mayst thou think
of greater ’twixt the ice and the
uttermost sea
Than the might of the Niblung
people, if this wedding come to pass?”
Then answered the mighty Grimhild,
and glad of heart she was:
“It is sooth that Gudrun
liveth; for that daughter of thy folk
Fled forth from the Burg of
the Niblungs when the Volsung’s might ye
broke:
She fled from all holy dwellings
to the houses of the deer,
And the feet of the mountains
deserted that few folk come anear:
There the wolves were about
and around her, and no mind she had to
live;
“Thy word is good,”
quoth Gunnar, “a happy word indeed:
Lo, how shall I fear a woman,
who have played with kings in my need?
Yea, how may I speak of my
sister, save well remembering
How goodly she was aforetime,
how fair in everything,
How kind in the days passed
over, how all fulfilled of love
For the glory of the Niblungs,
and the might that the world shall move?
She shall see my face and
Hogni’s, she shall yearn to do our will,
And the latter days of her
brethren with glory shall fulfil.”
Then Grimhild laughed and
answered: “Today then shalt thou ride
To the dwelling of Thora the
Queen, for there doth thy sister abide.”
As she spake came the wise-heart
Hogni, and that speech of his mother
he heard,
And he said: “How
then are ye saying a new and wonderful word,
That ye meddle with Gudrun’s
sorrow, and her grief of heart awake?
Will ye draw out a dove from
her nest, and a worm to your hall-hearth
take?”
“What then,” said
his brother Gunnar, “shall we thrust by Atli’s
word?
Shall we strive, while the
world is mocking, with the might of the
Eastland sword,
While the wise are mocking
to see it, how the great devour the great?”
“O wise-heart Hogni,”
said Grimhild, “wilt thou strive with the hand
of fate,
And thrust back the hand of
Odin that the Niblung glory will crown?
Wert thou born in a cot-carle’s
chamber, or the bed of a King’s
renown?”
“I know not, I know
not,” said Hogni, “but an unsure bridge
is the sea,
And such would I oft were
builded betwixt my foeman and me.
I know a sorrow that sleepeth,
and a wakened grief I know,
And the torment of the mighty
is a strong and fearful foe.”
They spake no word before
him; but he said: “I see the road;
I see the ways we must journey—I
have long cast off the load,
The burden of men’s
bearing wherein they needs must bind
All-eager hope unseeing with
eyeless fear and blind:
So today shall my riding be
light; nor now, nor ever henceforth
Shall men curse the sword
of Hogni in the tale of the Niblung worth.”
Therewith he went out from
before them, and through chamber and hall
he cried
On the best of the Niblung
earl-folk, for that now the Kings would
ride:
Soon are all men assembled,
and their shields are fresh and bright,
Nor gold their raiment lacketh;
then the strong-necked steeds they
dight,
They dight the wain for Grimhild,
and she goeth up therein,
And the well-clad girded maidens
have left the work they win,
To sit by the Mother of Kings
and make her glory great:
Then to horse get the Kings
of the Niblungs, and ride out by the
ancient gate;
And amidst its dusky hollows
stir up the sound of swords:
Forth then from the hallowed
houses ride on those war-fain lords,
Till they come to the dales
deserted, and the woodland waste and drear;
There the wood-wolves shrink
before them, fast flee the forest-deer,
And the stony wood-ways clatter
as the Niblung host goes by.
Adown by the feet of the mountains
that eve in sleep they lie,
And arise on the morrow-morning
and climb the mountain-pass,
And the sunless hollow places,
and the slopes that hate the grass.
So they cross the hither ridges
and ride a stony bent
Adown to the dale of Thora,
and the country of content;
By the homes of a simple people,
by cot and close they go,
Till they come to Thora’s
dwelling; but fair it stands and low
Amidst of orchard-closes,
and round about men win
Fair work in field and garden,
and sweet are the sounds therein.
Then down by the door leaps
Gunnar, but awhile in the porch he stands
To hearken the women’s
voices and the sound of their labouring hands;
And amidst of their many murmurings
a mightier voice he hears,
The speech of his sister Gudrun:
his inmost heart it stirs,
And he entereth glad and smiling;
bright, huge in the lowly hall
He stands in the beam of sunlight
where the dust-motes dance and fall.
On the high-seat sitteth Gudrun
when she sees the man of war
Come gleaming into the chamber;
then she standeth up on the floor,
And is great and goodly to
look on mid the women of that place:
But she knoweth the guise
of the Niblungs, and she knoweth Gunnar’s
face,
And at first she turneth to
flee, as erewhile she fled away
When she rose from the wound
of Sigurd and loathed the light of day:
But her father’s heart
rose in her, and the sleeping wrong awoke,
And she made one step from
the high-seat before Queen Thora’s folk;
And Gunnar moved from the
threshold, and smiled as he drew anear,
And Hogni went behind him
and the Mother of Kings was there;
And her maids and the Earls
of the Niblungs stood gleaming there
behind:
Lo, the kin and the friends
of Gudrun, a smiling folk and kind!
In the midst stood Gudrun
before them, and cried aloud and said:
“What! bear ye tidings
of Sigurd? is he new come back from the dead?
O then will I hasten to greet
him, and cherish my love and my lord,
Though the murderous sons
of Giuki have borne the tale abroad.”
Dead-pale she stood before
them, and no mouth answered again,
And the summer morn grew heavy,
and chill were the hearts of men
And Thora’s people trembled:
there the simple people first
Saw the horror of the King-folk,
and mighty lives accurst.
All hushed stood the glorious
Gunnar, but Hogni came before,
And he said: “It
is sooth, my sister, that thy sorrow hath been sore,
That hath rent thee away from
thy kindred and the folk that love thee
most:
But to double sorrow with
hatred is to cast all after the lost,
And to die and to rest not
in death, and to loathe and linger the end:
Now today do we come to this
dwelling thy grief and thy woe to amend,
And to give thee the gift
that we may; for without thy love and thy
peace
Doth our life and our glory
sicken, though its outward show increase.
Lo, we bear thee rule and
dominion, and hope and the glory of life,
For King Atli wooeth thee,
Gudrun, for his queen and his wedded wife.”
Still she stood as a carven
image, as a stone of ancient days
When the sun is bright about
it and the wind sweeps low o’er the ways.
All hushed was Gunnar the
Niblung and knew not how to beseech,
But still Hogni faced his
sister, nor faltered aught in his speech:
“Thou art young,”
he said, “O sister; thou wert called a mighty
queen
When the nurses first upraised
thee and first thy body was seen:
If thou bide with these toiling
women when a great king bids thee to
wife,
Then first is it seen of the
Niblungs that they cringe and cower from
strife:
By the deeds of the Golden
Sigurd I charge thee hinder us not,
When the Norns have dight
the way-beasts, and our hearts for the
journey are hot!”
She answered not with speaking,
she questioned not with eyes,
Nought did her deadly anger
to her brow unknitted rise,
Then forth came Grimhild the
Mighty, and the cup was in her hand,
Wherein with the sea’s
dread mingled was the might and the blood of
the land;
And the guile of the summer
serpent and the herb of the sunless dale
Were blent for the deadening
slumber that forgetteth joy and bale;
And cold words of ancient
wisdom that the very Gods would dim
Were the foreshores of that
wine-sea and the cliffs that girt its rim:
Therewith in the hall stood
Grimhild, and cried aloud and spake:
“It was I that bore
thee, daughter; I laboured once for thy sake,
I groaned to bear thee a queen,
I sickened sore for thy fame:
By me and my womb I command
thee that thou worship the Niblung name,
And take the gift we would
give thee, and be wed to a king of the
earth,
And rejoice in kings hereafter
when thy sons are come to the birth:
Lo, then as thou lookest upon
them, and thinkest of glory to come,
It shall be as if Sigmund
were living, and Sigurd sat in thine home.”
Nought answered the white-armed
Gudrun, no master of masters might see
The hate in her soul swift-growing
or the rage of her misery.
But great waxed the wrath
of Grimhild; there huge in the hall she
stood,
And her fathers’ might
stirred in her, and the well-spring of her
blood;
And she cried out blind with
anger: “Though all we die on one day,
Though we live for ever in
sorrow, yet shalt thou be given away
To Atli the King of the mighty,
high lord of the Eastland gold:
Drink now, that my love and
my wisdom may thaw thine heart grown cold;
And take those great gifts
of our giving, the cities long builded for
thee,
The wine-burgs digged for
thy pleasure, the fateful wealthy lea,
The darkling woods of the
deer, the courts of mighty lords,
The hosts of men war-shielded,
the groves of fallow swords!”
Nought changed the eyes of
Gudrun, but she reached her hand to the cup
And drank before her kindred,
and the blood from her heart went up,
And was blent with the guile
of the serpent, and many a thing she
forgat,
But never the day of her sorrow,
and of how o’er Sigurd she sat:
But the land’s-folk
looked on the Niblungs as the daughter of Giuki
drank,
And before their wrath they
trembled, and before their joy they shrank.
Then yet again spake Gudrun,
and they that stood thereby,
—O how their hearts
were heavy as though the sun should die!
She said: “O Kings
of my kindred, I shall nought gainsay your will;
With the fruit of your fond
desires your hearts shall ye fulfil;
Bear me back to the Burg of
the Niblungs, and the house of my fathers
of old,
That the men of King Atli
may take me with the tokens and treasure of
gold.”
Then the cry goeth up from
the Niblungs, and no while in that house
they abide;
Forth fare the Cloudy People
and the stony slopes they ride,
And the sun is bright behind
them o’er queen Thora’s lowly dale,
Where the sound of their speech
abideth as an ancient woeful tale.
But the Niblungs ride the
forest and the dwellings of the deer,
And the wife of the Golden
Sigurd to the ancient Burg they bear;
She speaks not of good nor
of evil, and no change in her face men see,
Nay, not when the Niblung
towers rise up above the lea;
Nay, not when they come to
the gateway, and that builded gloom again
Swallows up the steed and
its rider, and sword, and gilded wain;
Nay, not when to earth she
steppeth, and her feet again pass o’er
The threshold of the Niblungs
and the holy house of yore;
Nay, not when alone she lieth
in the chamber, on the bed
Where she lay, a little maiden,
ere her hope was born and dead:
Yea, how fair is her face
on the morrow, how it winneth all people’s
praise,
As the moon that forebodeth
nothing on the night of the last of days.
Nought tarry the lords of
King Atli, and the Niblungs stay them nought;
The doors of the treasure
are opened and the gold and the tokens are
brought;
And all men in the hall are
assembled, where Gunnar speaketh and saith:
“Go hence, O men of
King Atli, and tell of our love and our faith
To thy master, the mighty
of men: go take him this treasure of gold,
And show him how we have hearkened,
and nought from his heart may
withhold,
Nay, not our best and our
dearest, nay, not the crown of our worth,
Our sister, the white-armed
Gudrun, the wise and the Queen of the
earth.”
Then arose the cry of the
people, and that Duke of Atli spake:
“We bless thee, O mighty
Gunnar, for the Eastland Atli’s sake,
And his kingdom as thy kingdom,
and his men as thy men shall be,
And the gold in Atli’s
treasure is stored and gathered for thee.”
So spake he amid their shouting,
and the Queen from the high-seat
stept,
And Gudrun stood with the
strangers, and there were women who wept,
But she wept no more than
she smiled, nor spake, nor turned again
To that place in the ancient
dwelling where once lay Sigurd slain.
But she mounteth the wain
all golden, and the Earls to the saddle leap,
And forth they ride in the
morning, and adown the builded steep
That hath no name for Gudrun,
save the place where Sigurd fell,
The strong abode of treason,
the house where murderers dwell.
Three days they ride the lealand
till they come to the side of the sea:
Ten days they sail the sea-flood
to the land where they would be:
Three days they ride the mirk-wood
to the peopled country-side,
Three days through a land
of cities and plenteous tilth they ride;
On the fourth the Burg of
Atli o’er the meadows riseth up,
And the houses of his dwelling
fine-wrought as a silver cup.
Far off in a bight of the
mountains by the inner sea it stands,
Turned away from the house
of Gudrun, and her kindred and their lands.
Then to right and to left
looked Gudrun and beheld the outland folk,
With no love nor hate nor
wonder, as out from the teeth she spoke
To that unfamiliar people
that had seen not Sigurd’s face.
There she saw the walls most
mighty as they came to the fenced place:
But lo, by the gate of the
city and the entering in of the street
Is an host exceeding glorious,
for the King his bride will greet:
So Gudrun stayeth her fellows,
and lighteth down from the wain,
And afoot cometh Atli to meet
hers and they meet in the midst, they
twain,
And he casteth his arms about
her as a great man glad at heart;
Nought she smiles, nor her
brow is knitted as she draweth aback and
apart,
No man could say who beheld
her if sorry or glad she were;
But her steady eyes are beholding
the King and the Eastland’s Fear,
And she thinks: Have
I lived too long? how swift doth the world grow
worse,
Though it was but a little
season that I slept, forgetting the curse!
But the King speaks kingly
unto her and they pass forth under the gate,
And she sees he is rich and
mighty, though the Niblung folk be great;
So strong is his house upbuilded,
so many are his lords,
So great the hosts for the
murder and the meeting of the swords;
And she saith: It is
surely enough and no further now shall I wend;
In this house, in the house
of a stranger shall be the tale and the
end.
Atli biddeth the Niblungs to him.
There now is Gudrun abiding,
and gone by is the bloom of her youth,
And she dwells with a folk
untrusty, and a King that knows not ruth:
Great are his gains in the
world, and few men may his might withstand,
But he weigheth sore on his
people and cumbers the hope of his land;
He craves as the sea-flood
craveth, he gripes as the dying hour,
All folk lie faint before
him as he seeketh a soul to devour:
Like breedeth like in his
house, and venom, and guile, and the knife
Oft lie ’twixt brother
and brother, and the son and the father’s life:
As dogs doth Gudrun heed them,
and looks with steadfast eyes
On the guile and base contention,
and the strife of murder and lies.
So pass the days and the moons,
and the seasons wend on their ways,
And there as a woman alone
she sits mid the glory and praise:
There oft in the hall she
sitteth, and as empty images
Are grown the shapes of the
strangers, till her fathers’ hall she sees:
Void then seems the throne
of the King, and no man sits by her side
In the house of the Cloudy
People and the place of her brethren’s
pride;
Cold then is her voice in
the high-seat, and she hears not what it
saith;
But Atli heedeth and hearkeneth,
for she tells of the Glittering Heath,
And the Load of the mighty
Greyfell, and the Ransom of Odin the Goth:
Cold yet is her voice as she
telleth of murder and breaking of troth,
Of the stubborn hearts of
the Niblungs, and their hands that never
yield,
Of their craving that nought
fulfilleth, of their hosts arrayed for the
field.
—What then are
the words of King Atli that the cold voice answereth
thus?
“King, so shalt thou
do, and be sackless of the vengeance that lieth
with us:
What words are these of my
brethren, what words are these of my kin?
For kin upon kin hath pity,
and good deeds do brethren win
For the babes of their mothers’
bosoms, and the children of one womb:
But no man on me had pity,
no kings were gathered for doom,
When I lifted my hands for
the pleading in the house of my father’s
folk;
When men turned and wrapped
them in treason, and did on wrong as a
cloak:
I have neither brethren nor
kindred, and I am become thy wife
To help thine heart to its
craving, and strengthen thine hand in the
strife.”
Thus she stirred up the lust
of Atli, she, unmoved as a mighty queen,
While the fire that burned
within her by no child of man was seen.
There oft in the bed she lieth,
and beside her Atli sleeps,
And she seeth him not nor
heedeth, for the horror over her creeps,
And her own cry rings through
the chamber that along ago she cried,
And a man for his life-breath
gasping is struggling by her side,
Yea, who but Sigurd the Volsung;
and no man of men in death
Ere spake such words of pity
as the words that now he saith,
As the words he speaketh ever
while he riseth up on the sword,
The sword of the foster-brethren
and the Kings that swore the word.
Lo, there she lieth and hearkeneth
if yet he speak again,
And long she lieth hearkening
and lieth by the slain.
So dreams the waking Gudrun
till the morn comes on apace
And the daylight shines on
Atli, and no change comes over her face,
And deep hush lies on the
chamber; but loud cries out her heart:
How long, how long, O God-folk,
will ye sit alone and apart,
And let the blood of Sigurd
cry on you from the earth,
While crowned are the sons
of murder with worship and with worth?
If ye tarry shall I tarry?
From the darkness of the womb
Came I not in the days passed
over for accomplishing your doom?
So she saith till the daylight
brightens, and the kingly house is
astir,
And she sits by the side of
Atli, and a woman’s voice doth hear,
One who speaks with the voice
of Gudrun, a queenly voice and cold:
“How oft shall I tell
thee, Atli, of the wise Andvari’s Gold,
The Treasure Regin craved
for, the uncounted ruddy rings?
Full surely he that holds
it shall rule all earthly kings:
Stretch forth thine hand,
O Atli, for the gift is marvellous great,
And I am she that giveth!
how long wilt thou linger and wait
Till the traitors come against
thee with the war-torch and the steel,
And here in thy land thou
perish, befooled of thy kingly weal?
Have I wedded the King of
the Eastlands, the master of numberless
swords,
Or a serving-man of the Niblungs,
a thrall of the Westland lords?”
So spake the voice of Gudrun;
suchwise she cast the seed
O’er the gold-lust of
King Atli for the day of the Niblungs’ Need.
Who is this in the hall of
King Gunnar, this golden-gleaming man?
Who is this, the bright and
the silent as the frosty eve and wan,
Round whom the speech of wise-ones
lies hid in bonds of fear?
Who this in the Niblung feast-hall
as the moon-rise draweth anear?
Hark! his voice mid the glittering
benches and the wine-cups of the
Earls,
As cold as the wind that bloweth
where the winter river whirls,
And the winter sun forgetteth
all the promise of the spring:
“Hear ye, O men of the
Westlands, hear thou, O Westland King,
I have ridden the scorching
highways, I have ridden the mirk-wood
blind,
I have sailed the weltering
ocean your Westland house to find;
For I am the man called Knefrud
with Atli’s word in my mouth.
That saith: O noble Gunnar,
come thou and be glad in the south,
And rejoice with Eastland
warriors; for the feast for thee is dight,
And the cloths for thy coming
fashioned my glorious hall make bright.
Knowst thou not how the sun
of the heavens hangs there ’twixt floor
and roof.
How the light of the lamp
all golden holds dusky night aloof?
How the red wine runs like
a river, and the white wine springs as a
well,
And the harps are never ceasing
of ancient deeds to tell?
Thou shalt come when thy heart
desireth, when thou weariest thou shalt
go,
And shalt say that no such
high-tide the world shall ever know.
Come bare and bald as the
desert, and leave mine house again
As rich as the summer wine-burg,
and the ancient wheat-sown plain!
Come, bid thy men be building
thy store-house greater yet,
And make wide thy stall and
thy stable for the gifts thine hand shall
get!
Yet when thou art gone from
Atli he shall stand by his treasure of
So spake the guileful Knefrud mid
the silence of the wise,
Nor once his cold voice faltered, nor once he
sank his eyes:
Then spake the glorious Gunnar:
“We hear
King Atli’s voice.
And the heart is glad within us that he biddeth
us rejoice:
Yet the thing shall be seen but seldom that a
Niblung fares from his
land
With eyes by the gold-lust blinded, with the greedy
griping hand.
When thou farest aback unto Atli, thou shalt tell
him how thou hast
been
In the house of the Westland Gunnar, and what
things thine eyes have
seen:
Thou shalt tell of the seven store-houses with
swords filled through
and through,
Gold-hilted, deftly smithied, in the Southland
wave made blue:
Thou shalt tell of the house of the treasures
and the Gold that lay
erewhile
On the Glittering Heath of murder ’neath
the heart of the Serpent’s
guile:
Thou shalt note our glittering hauberk, thou shalt
strive to bend our
bow,
Thou shalt look on the shield of Gunnar that its
white face thou mayst
know:
Thou shalt back the Niblung war-steed when the
west wind blows its
most,
And see if it over-run thee; thou shalt gaze on
the Niblung host
And be glad of the friends of Atli; thou shalt
fare through stable and
stall,
And tell over the tale of the beast-kind, if the
night forbear to fall;
Through the horse-mead shalt thou wander, through
the meadows of the
sheep,
But forbear to count their thousands lest thou
weary for thy sleep;
Thou shalt look if the barns be empty, though
the wheat-field whiteneth
now,
In the midmost of the summer in the fields men
cared to plough;
Thou shalt dwell with men that lack not, and the
tillers fair and fain;
Thou shalt see, and long, and wonder, and tell
thy King of his gain;
For in all that here thou beholdest hath he portion
even as we;
Sweet bloometh his love in our midmost, and the
fair time yet may be,
When we twain shall meet and be merry; and sure
when our lives are done
No more shall men sunder our glory than the Gods
have rent the sun.
Sit, mighty man, and be joyous: and then
shalt thou cast us a word
And say how fareth our sister mid the glory of
her lord.”
Then Knefrud looked upon Gunnar,
and spake, nor sank his eyes:
“Each morn at the day’s
beginning when the sun hath hope to arise
She looketh from Atli’s
tower toward the west part and the grey,
To see the Niblung spear-heads
gleam down the lonely way:
Each eve at the day’s
departing on the topmost tower she stands,
And looketh toward the mirk-wood
and the sea of the western lands:
There long in the wind she
standeth, and the even grown acold,
To see the Niblung war-shields
come forth from out the wold.”
Then Gunnar turneth to Hogni,
and he saith: “O glorious lord,
What saith thine heart to
the bidding, and Atli’s loving word?”
“I have done many deeds,”
said Hogni, “I have worn the smooth and the
rough,
While the Gods looked on from
heaven, and belike I have done enough,
And no deed for me abideth,
but rather the sleep and the rest
But thou, O Son of King Giuki,
art our eldest and our best,
And fair lie the fields before
thee wherein thine hand shall work:
By the wayside of the greedy
doth many a peril lurk;
Full wise is the great one
meseemeth who bideth his ending at home
When the winds and the waves
may be dealing with hate that hath far
to come.”
“I hearken thy word,”
said Gunnar, “and I know in very deed
That long-lived and happy
are most men that hearken Hogni’s rede.
Hear thou, O Eastland War-god,
and bear this answer aback,
That nought may the earth
of my people King Giuki’s children lack,
And that here in the land
am I biding till the Norns my life shall
change;
Howbeit, if here were Atli,
his face were scarce more strange
Than that daughter of my father
whom sore I long to see:
Let him come, and sit with
the Niblungs, and be called their king
with me.”
Then spake the guileful Knefrud,
and his word was exceeding proud:
“It is little the wont
of Atli to sit at meat with a crowd;
Yet know, O Westland Warrior,
that thy message shall be done.
Since the Cloudy Folk make
ready new lodging for the sun.”
He laughed, and the wise kept
silence, and Gunnar heeded him nought:
On the daughter of his people
was set the Niblung’s thought,
So sore he longed to behold
her; for his life seemed wearing away,
And the wealth and the fame
he had gathered seemed nought by the
earlier day,
The day of love departed,
and of hope forgotten long.
But Hogni laughs with the
stranger, and cries out for harp and song,
And the glee rises up as a
river when the mountain-tops grow clear,
When seaward drift the rain-clouds,
and the end of day is near;
As of birds in the green groves
singing is the Niblung manhood’s voice,
And the Earls without foreboding
Then Knefrud looked upon Gunnar,
and forth from the teeth he spoke:
“It is e’en as
I said, King Gunnar: all eves she stands by the
gate
The coming of her kindred
through the dusky tide to wait:
Each day in the dawn she ariseth,
and saith the time is at hand
When the feet of the Niblung
War-Kings shall tread King Atli’s land:
Then she praiseth the wings
of the dove, and the wings of the
wayfaring crane
’Gainst whom the wind
prevails not, and the tempest driveth in vain;
And she praiseth the waves
of the ocean, how they toil and toil and
blend,
Till they break on the strand
beloved, and the Niblung earth in the
end.”
He spake, and the song rose
upward and the wine of Kings was poured,
And Gunnar heard in the wall-nook
how the wind went forth abroad,
And he dreamed, and beheld
the ocean, and all kingdoms of the earth,
And the world lay fair before
him and his worship and his worth.
Then again spake the Eastland
liar: “O King, I may not hide
That great things in the land
of Atli thy mighty soul abide;
For the King is spent and
war-weak, nor rejoiceth more in strife;
And his sons, the children
of Gudrun, now look their first on life:
For this end meseems is his
bidding, that no worser men than ye
May sit in the throne of Atli
and the place where he wont to be.”
In the tuneful hall of the
Niblungs that Eastland liar spake,
And he heard the song of the
mighty o’er Gunnar’s musing break,
And his cold heart gladdened
within him as man cried out to man,
And fair ’twixt horn
and beaker the red wine bubbled and ran.
At last spake Gunnar the Niblung
as his hand on the cup he laid:
“A great king craveth
our coming, and no more shall he be gainsayed:
We will go to look on Atli,
though the Gods and the Goths forbid;
Nought worse than death meseemeth
on the Niblungs’ path is hid,
And this shall the high Gods
see to, but I to the Niblung name,
And the day of deeds to accomplish,
and the gathering-in of fame.”
Up he stood with the bowl
in his right-hand, and mighty and great he
was,
And he cried: “Now
let the beakers adown the benches pass;
Let us drink dear draughts
and glorious, though the last farewell it
be,
And this draught that I drink
have sundered my father’s house and me.”
He drank, and all men drank
with him, and the hearts of the Earls
arose,
As of them that snatch forth
glory from the deadly wall of foes:
With the joy of life were
they drunken and no man knew for why,
And the voice of their exultation
rose up in an awful cry;
—It is joy in the
mouths that utter, it is hope in the hearts that
crave,
And think of no gainsaying,
and remember nought to save;
But without the women hearken,
and the hearts within them sink;
And they say: What then
betideth that our lords forbear to drink,
And wail and weep in the night-tide
and cry the Gods to aid?
Why then are the Kings tormented,
and the warriors’ hearts afraid?
Then the deadened sound sweeps
landward, and the hearts of the
field-folk fail,
And they say: Is there
death in the Burg, that thence goeth the cry and
the wail?
Lo, lo, the feast-hall’s
windows! blood-red through the dark they
shine:
Why is weeping the song of
the Niblungs, and blood the warrior’s wine?
But therein are the torches
tossing, and the shields of men upborne,
And the death-blades yet unbloodied
cast up ’twixt bowl and horn,
And all rest of heart is departed
as men speak of the mirk-wood’s ways,
And the fame of outland countries,
and the green sea’s troublous days.
But Gunnar arose o’er
the people, as a mighty King he spake:
“O ye of the house of
Giuki that are joyous for my sake,
What then shall be left to
the Niblungs if we return no more?
Then let the wolves be warders
of the Niblungs’ gathered store!
On the hearth let the worm
creep over where the fire now flares aloft!
And the adder coil in the
chambers where the Niblung wives sleep soft!
Let the master of the pine-wood
roll huge in the Niblung porch,
And the moon through the broken
rafters be the Niblungs’ feastful
torch!”
Glad they cried on the glorious
Gunnar; for they saw the love in his
eyes,
And with joy and wine were
they drunken, and his words passed over the
wise,
As oft o’er the garden
lilies goes the rising thunder-wind,
And they know no other summer,
and no spring that was they mind.
But Hogni speaketh to Knefrud:
“Lo, Gunnar’s word is said:
How fares it, lord, with Gudrun?
remembereth she the dead?”
Then the liar laughed out
and answered: “Ye shall go tomorrow morn;
The man to turn back Gunnar
shall never now be born:
Each day-spring the white
Gudrun on Sigurd’s glory cries,
All eves she wails on Sigurd
when the fair sun sinks and dies!”
“Thou sayest sooth,”
said Hogni, “one day we twain shall wend
To the gate of the Eastland
Atli, that our tale may have an end.
Long time have I looked for
the journey, and marvelled at the day,
With what eyes I shall look
on Sigurd, what words his mouth shall say.”
Then he raiseth the cup for
Gunnar, and men see his glad face shine
As he crieth hail and glory
o’er the bubbles of the wine;
And they drink to the lives
of the brethren, and men of the latter
earth
May not think of the height
of their hall-glee, or measure out their
mirth:
So they feast in the undark
even to the midmost of the night.
Till at last, with sleep unwearied,
they weary with delight,
And pass forth to the beds
blue-covered, and leave the hearth acold:
They sleep; in the hall grown
silent scarce glimmereth now the gold:
For the moon from the world
is departed, and grey clouds draw across,
To hide the dawn’s first
promise and deepen earthly loss.
The lone night draws to its
death, and never another shall fall
On those sons of the feastful
warriors in the Niblungs’ holy hall.
How the Niblungs fare to the Land of King Atli.
Now when the house was silent,
and all men in slumber lay,
And yet two hours were lacking
of the dawning-tide of day,
The sons of his foster-mother
doth the heart-wise Hogni find;
In the dead night, speaking
softly, he showeth them his mind,
And they wake and hearken
and heed him, and arise from the bolster
blue,
Nor aught do their stout hearts
falter at the deed he bids them do.
So he and they go softly while
all men slumber and sleep,
And they enter the treasure-houses,
and come to their midmost heap;
But so rich in the night it
glimmers that the brethren hold their
breath,
While Hogni laugheth upon
it:—long it lay on the Glittering Heath,
Long it lay in the house of
Reidmar, long it lay ’neath the waters wan;
But no long while hath it
tarried in the houses and dwellings of man.
Nor long these linger before
it; they set their hands to the toil,
And uplift the Bed of the
Serpent, the Seed of murder and broil;
No word they speak in their
labour, but bear out load on load
To great wains that out in
the fore-court for the coming Gold abode:
Most huge were the men, far
mightier than the mightiest fashioned now,
But the salt sweat dimmed
their eyesight and flooded cheek and brow
Ere half the work was accomplished;
and by then the laden wains
Came groaning forth from the
gateway, dawn drew on o’er the plains;
And the ramparts of the people,
those walls high-built of old,
Stood grey as the bones of
a battle in a dale few folk behold:
But in haste they goad the
yoke-beasts, and press on and make no
speech,
Though the hearts are proud
within them and their eyes laugh each at
each.
No great way down from the
burg-gate, anigh to the hallowed field,
There lieth a lake in the
river as round as Odin’s shield,
A black pool huge and awful:
ten long-ships of the most
Therein might wager battle,
and the sunken should be lost
Beyond all hope of diver,
yea, beyond the plunging lead;
On either side its rock-walls
rise up to a mighty head,
But by green slopes from the
meadows ’tis easy drawing near
To the brow whence the dark-grey
rampart to the water goeth sheer:
’Tis as if the Niblung
River had cleft the grave-mound through
Of the mightiest of all Giants
ere the Gods’ work was to do;
And indeed men well might
deem it, that fearful sights lie hid
Beneath the unfathomed waters,
the place to all forbid;
No stream the black deep showeth,
few winds may search its face,
And the silver-scaled sea-farers
love nought its barren space.
There now the Niblung War-king
and the foster-brethren twain
Lead up their golden harvest
and stay it wain by wain,
Till they hang o’er
the rim scarce balanced: no glance they cast below
To the black and awful waters
well known from long ago,
But they cut the yoke-beasts’
traces, and drive them down the slopes,
Who rush through the widening
daylight, and bellow forth their hopes
Of the straw-stall and the
barley: but the Niblungs turn once more,
Hard toil the warrior cart-carles
for the garnering of their store,
And shoulder on the wain-wheels
o’er the edge of the grimly wall,
And stand upright to behold
it, how the waggons plunge and fall.
Down then and whirling outward
the ruddy Gold fell forth,
As a flame in the dim grey
morning, flashed out a kingdom’s worth,
Then the waters, roared above
it, the wan water and the foam
Flew up o’er the face
of the rock-wall as the tinkling Gold fell home,
Unheard, unseen for ever,
a wonder and a tale,
Till the last of earthly singers
from, the sons of men shall fail:
Then the face of the further
waters a widening ripple rent
And forth from hollow places
strange sounds as of talking went,
And loud laughed Hogni in
answer; but not so long he stayed
As that half the oily ripple
in long sleepy coils was laid,
Or the lapping fallen silent
in the water-beaten caves;
Scarce streamward yet were
drifting the foam-heaps o’er the waves.
When betwixt the foster-brethren
down the slopes King Hogni strode
Toward the ancient Burg of
his fathers, as a man that casteth a load:
No word those fellows had
spoken since he whispered low and light
O’er the beds of the
foster-brethren in the dead hour of the night,
But his face was proud and
glorious as he strode the war-gate through,
And went up to his kingly
chamber, and the golden bed he knew,
And lay down and slept by
his help-mate as a play-spent child might
sleep
In some franklin’s wealthy
homestead, in the room the nurses keep.
Nought the sun on that morn
delayeth, but light o’er the world’s face
flies.
And awake by the side of King
Hogni the wedded woman lies,
And her bosom is weary with
sighing, and her eyes with dream-born
tears.
And a sound as of all confusion
is ever in her ears:
Then she turneth and crieth
to Hogni, as she layeth a hand on his
breast;
“Wake, wake, thou son
of Giuki! save thy speech-friend all unrest!”
Then he waketh up as a child
that hath slept in the summer grass,
And he saith: “What
tidings, O Bera, what tidings come to pass?”
She saith, “Wilt thou wend with Gunnar to Atli over the main?”
Said Hogni: “Hast thou not heard it, how rich we shall come again?”
“Ye shall never come back,” said Bera, “ye shall die by the inner sea.”
“Yea, here or there,” said Hogni, “my death no doubt shall be.”
“O Hogni,” she
said, “forbear it, that snare of the Eastland
wrong!
In the health and the wealth
of the sunlight at home mayst thou tarry
for long:
For waking or sleeping I dreamed,
and dreaming, the tokens I saw.”
“Oft,” he said,
“in the hands of the house-wife comes the crock
by its
fatal flaw:
An hundred earls shall slay
me, or the fleeing night-thief’s shaft,
The sickness that wasteth
cities, or the unstrained summer draught:
Now as mighty shall be King
Atli and the gathered Eastland force
As the fly in the wine desired,
or the weary stumbling horse.”
She said: “Wilt
thou stay in the land, lest the noble faint and fail,
And the Gods have nought to
tell of in the ending of the tale?
O King, save thou thine hand-maid,
lest the bloom of Kings decay!”
He said: “Good
yet were the earth, though all we should die in a day:
But so fares it with you,
ye women: when your husband or brother shall
die,
Ye deem that the world shall
perish, and the race of man go by.”
“Sure then is thy death,”
she answered, “for I saw the Eastland flood
Break over the Burg of the
Niblungs, and fill the hall with blood.”
He said: “Shall
we wade the meadows to the feast of Atli the King?
Then the blood-red blossoming
sorrel about our legs shall cling.”
Said Bera: “I saw
thee coming with the face of other days;
But the flame was in thy raiment,
and thy kingly cloak was ablaze.”
“How else,” said
he, “O woman, wouldst thou have a Niblung stride,
Save in ruddy gold sun-lighted,
through the house of Atli’s pride?”
She said: “I beheld
King Atli midst the place of sacrifice
And the holy grove of the
Eastland in a king’s most hallowed guise:
Then I looked, as with laughter
triumphant he laid his gift in the
fire,
And lo, ’twas the heart
of Hogni, and the heart of my desire;
But he turned and looked upon
me as I sickened with fear and with love,
And I saw the guile of the
greedy, and with speechless sleep I strove,
And had cried out curses against
him, but my gaping throat was hushed,
Till the light of a deedless
dawning o’er dream and terror rushed;
And there wert thou lying
beside me, though but little joy it seemed,
For thou wert but an image
unstable of the days before I dreamed.”
Quoth Hogni, “Shall
I arede it? Seems it not meet to thee
That the heart and the love
of the Niblungs in Atli’s hand should be,
When he stands by the high
Gods’ altars, and uplifts his heart for the
tide
When the kings of the world-great
people to the Eastland house shall
ride?
Nay, Bera, wilt thou be weeping?
but parting-fear is this;
Doubt not we shall come back
happy from the house of Atli’s bliss:
At least, when a king’s
hand offers all honour and great weal,
Wouldst thou have me strive
to unclasp it to show the hidden steel?
With evil will I meet evil
when it draweth exceeding near;
But oft have I heard of evil,
whose father was but fear,
And his mother lust of living,
and nought will I deal with it,
Lest the past, and those deeds
of my doing be as straw when the fire
is lit.
Lo now, O Daughter of Kings,
let us rise in the face of the day,
And be glad in the summer
morning when the kindred ride on their way;
For tears beseem not king-folk,
nor a heart made dull with dreams,
But to hope, if thou mayst,
for ever, and to fear nought, well
beseems.”
There the talk falls down
between them, and they rise in the morn,
they twain,
And bright-faced wend through
the dwelling of the Niblungs’ glory and
gain.
Meanwhile awakeneth Gunnar,
and looks on the wife by his side,
And saith: “Why
weepest thou, Glaumvor, what evil now shall betide?”
She said: “I was
waking and dreamed, or I slept and saw the truth;
The Norns are hooded and angry,
and the Gods have forgotten their
ruth.”
“Speak, sweet-mouthed
woman,” said Gunnar, “if the Norns are
hard, I
am kind;
Though even the King of the
Niblungs may loose not where they bind.”
She said: “Wilt
thou go unto Atli and enter the Burg of the East?
Wilt thou leave the house
of the faithful, and turn to the murderer’s
feast?”
“It is e’en as
certain,” said Gunnar, “as though I knocked
at his gate,
If the winds and waters stay
not, or death, or the dealings of Fate.”
“Woe worth the while!”
said Glaumvor, “then I talk with the dead
indeed:
And why must I tarry behind
thee afar from the Niblungs’ Need?”
He said: “Thou
wert heavy-hearted last night for the parting-tide;
And alone in the dreamy country
thy soul would needs abide,
And see not the King that
loves thee, nor remember the might of his
hand;
So thou falledst a prey unholpen
to the lies of the dreamy land.”
“Ah, would they were
lies,” said Glaumvor, “for not the worst
was this:
There thou wert in the holy
high-seat mid the heart of the Niblung
bliss,
And a sword was borne into
our midmost, and its point and its edge
were red,
And at either end the wood-wolves
howled out in the day of dread;
With that sword wert thou
smitten, O Gunnar, and the sharp point
pierced thee through.
And the kin were all departed,
and no face of man I knew:
Then I strove to flee and
might not; for day grew dark and strange,
And no moonrise and no morning
the eyeless mirk would change.”
“Such are dreams of
the night,” said Gunnar, “that lovers oft
perplex,
When the sundering hour is
coming with the cares that entangle and vex.
Yet if there be more, fair
woman, when a king speaks loving words,
May I cast back words of anger,
and the threat of grinded swords?”
“O yet wouldst thou
tarry,” said Glaumvor, “in the fair sun-lighted
day!
Nor give thy wife to another,
nor cast thy kingdom away.”
“Of what king of the
people,” said Gunnar, “hast thou known
it written
or told,
That the word was born in
the even which the morrow should withhold?”
“Alas, alas!”
said Glaumvor, “then all is over and done!
For I dreamed of the hall
of the Niblungs at the setting of the sun,
How dead women came in thither
no worse than queens arrayed,
Who passed by the earls of
the Niblungs, and their hands on thy
gown-skirt laid,
And hailed thee fair for their
fellow, and bade thee come to their
hall.
O bethink thee, King of the
Niblungs, what tidings shall befall!”
“Yea, shall they befall?”
said Gunnar, “then who am I to strive
Against the change of my life-days,
while the Gods on high are alive?
I shall ride as my heart would
have me; let the Gods bestir them then,
And raise up another people
in the stead of the Niblung men:
But at home shalt thou sit,
King’s Daughter, in the keeping of the
Fates,
And be blithe with the men
of thy people and the guest within thy
gates,
Till thou know of our glad
returning to the holy house and dear
Or the fall of Giuki’s
children, and a tale that all shall hear.
Arise and do on gladness,
lest the clouds roll on and lower
O’er the heavy hearts
of the people in the Niblungs’ parting hour.”
So he spake, and his love
rejoiced her, and they rose in the face of
the day,
And no seeming shadow of evil
on those bright-eyed King-folk lay.
Thus stirreth the house of
the Niblungs, and awakeneth unto life;
And were there any envy, or
doubt that breedeth strife,
’Twixt friends or kin
or brethren, ’twas healed that self-same morn,
And peace and loving-kindness
o’er all the house was borne,
Now arrayed are the earls
and the warriors, and into the hall they come
When the morning sun is shining
through the heart of their ancient
home;
And lo, how the allwise Grimhild
is set in the golden seat,
The first of the way-fain
warriors, and the first of the wives to
greet;
In the raiment of old she
sitteth, aloft in the kingly place,
And all men marvel to see
her and the glory of her face.
So all is dight for departing
and the helms of the Niblung lords
Shine close as a river of
fire o’er the hilts of hidden swords:
About and around are the women;
and who e’er hath been heavy of heart,
If their hearts are light
this morning when their fairest shall depart?
They hear the steeds in the
forecourt; from the rampart of the wall
Comes the cry and noise of
the warders as man to man doth call;
For the young give place to
the old, and the strong carles labour to
show
The last-learned craft of
battle to their fathers ere they go.
There is mocking and mirth
and laughter as men tell to the ancient
sires
Of the four-sheared shaft
of the gathering, and the horn, and the
beaconing fires.
Woe’s me! but the women
laugh not: do they hope that the sun may be
stayed,
And the journey of the Niblungs
a little while delayed?
Or is not their hope the rather,
that they do but dream in the night,
And that they shall awake
in a little with the land’s life faring
aright?
Ah, fair and fresh is the
morning as ever a season hath been,
And the nourishing sun shines
glorious on the toil of carle and quean,
And the wealth of the land
desired, and all things are alive and awake;
Let them wait till the even
bringeth sweet rest for hearts that ache.
Lo now, a stir by the doorway,
and men see how great and grand
Come the Kings of Giuki begotten,
all-armed, and hand in hand:
Where then shall the world
behold them, such champions clad in steel,
Such hearts so free and bounteous,
so wise for the people’s weal?
Where then shall the world
see such-like, if these must die as the
mean,
And fall as lowly people,
and their days be no more seen?
They go forth fair and softly
as they wend to the seat of the Kings,
And they smile in their loving-kindness
as they talk of bygone things.
But Hogni spake to his brother,
and they looked on the liar’s son,
And clear ran King Gunnar’s
laughter as the summer waters run;
Then the Queens’ hearts
fainted within them, and with pain they drew
their breath;
For they knew that the King
was merry and laughed in the face of death.
Fair now on the ancient high-seat,
and the heart of the Niblung pride,
Stand those lovely lords of
Giuki with their wedded wives beside.
And Gunnar cries: “O
maidens, let the cup be in every hand,
For this morn for a little
season we leave our fathers’ land,
And love we leave behind us,
and love abroad we bear,
And these twain shall meet
in a little, and their meeting-tide be fair:
Rejoice, O Niblung children,
be glad o’er the parting cup!
For meseems if the heavens
were falling, our spears should hold them
up.”
Then he leaped adown from
the high-seat and amidst his men he stood,
And the very joy of God-folk
ran through the Niblung blood,
And the glee of them that
die not: there they drink in their mighty
hall,
And glad on the ancient fathers,
and the sons of God they call:
The hope of their hearts goes
upward in the last most awful voice,
And once more the quivering
timbers of the Niblung home rejoice.
But exceeding proud sits Grimhild,
and so wondrous is her state
That men deem they have never
seen her so glorious and so great,
And she speaks, when again
in the feast-hall is there silence save of
the mail
And the whispered voice of
women, as they tell their latest tale:
“Go forth, O Kings,
to dominion, and the crown of all your might,
And the tale from of old foreordered
ere the day was begotten of night.
For all this is the work of
the Norns, though ye leave a woman behind
Who hath toiled and toiled
in the darkness, the road of fate to find:
Go glad, O children of Giuki;
though scarce ye wot indeed
Of the labour of your mother
to win your glory’s meed.
Farewell, farewell, O children,
till ye get you back again
To her that bore you in darkness,
and brought you forth in pain!
Cast wide the doors for the
King-folk, ring out O harpstrings now!
For the best e’er born
of woman go forth with cloudless brow.
Be glad O ancient lintel,
O threshold of the door,
For such another parting shall
earth behold no more!”
She ceased, and no voice gave
answer save the voice of smitten harps,
As the hands of the music-weavers
went o’er their golden warps;
Then high o’er the warriors
towering, as the king-leek o’er the grass,
Out into the world of sunlight
through the door those Brethren pass,
And all the host of the warriors,
the women’s silent woe,
The steel and the feet soft-falling
o’er the ancient threshold go,
While all alone on the high-seat
the god-born Grimhild sits:
There hearkeneth she steeds’
neighing, and the champing of the bits,
And the clash of steel-clad
champions, as at last they leap aloft,
And cries and women’s
weeping ’mid the music breathing soft;
Then the clattering of the
horse-hoofs, and the echo of the gate
With the wakened sword-song
singing o’er departure of the great,
Till the many mingled voices
are swallowed up and stilled,
And all the air by seeming
with an awful sound is filled,
The cry of the Niblung trumpet,
as men reach the unwalled space:
So whiles in a mighty city,
and a many-peopled place,
When the rain falls down ’mid
the babble, nor ceaseth rattle of wheels,
And with din of wedding joy-bells
the minster steeple reels,
Lo, God sends down his thunder,
and all else is hushed as then,
And it is as the world’s
beginning, and before the birth of men.
Long sitteth the god-born
Grimhild till all is silent there,
For afar down the meadows
with the host all people fare;
Then bitter groweth her visage,
in the hush she crieth and saith:
“O ye—whom
then shall I cry on, ye that hunt my sons unto death,
And overthrow our glory, and
bring our labour to nought—
Ye Gods, ye had fashioned
the greatest, and to make them greater I
wrought,
And to strengthen your hands
for the battle, and uplift your hearts
for the end:
But ye, ye have fashioned
confusion, and the great with the little ye
blend,
Till no more on the earth
shall be living the mighty that mock at your
death,
Till like the leaves men tremble,
like the dry leaves quake at a
breath.
I have wrought for your lives
and your glory, and for this have I
strengthened my
guile,
That the earth your hands
uplifted might endure, nor pass in a while
Like the clouds of latter
morning that melt in the first of the night.”
She rose up great and dreadful,
and stood on the floor upright,
And cast up her hands to the
roof-tree, and cried aloud and said:
“Woe to you that have
made me for nothing! for the house of the
Niblungs is dead,
Empty and dead as the desert,
where the sun is idle and vain
And no hope hath the dew to
cherish, and no deed abideth the rain!”
She falleth aback in the high
seat, and the eagles cry from aloof,
While Grimhild’s eyes
wide-open stare up at the Niblung roof:
But they see not, nought are
they doing to feed her fear or desire;
And her heart, the forge of
sorrow, dead, cold, is its baneful fire;
And her cunning hand is helpless,
for her hopeless soul is gone;
Far off belike it drifteth
from the waste her labour won.
Fair now through midmost ocean
King Gunnar’s dragons run,
And the green hills round
about them gleam glorious with the sun;
The keels roll down the sea-dale,
and welter up the steep,
And o’er the brow hang
quivering ere again they take the leap;
For the west wind pipes behind
them, and no land is on their lea,
As the mightiest of earth’s
peoples sails down the summer sea:
And as eager as the west-wind,
no duller than the foam
They spread all sails to the
breezes, and seek their glory home:
Six days they sail the sea-flood,
and the seventh dawn of day
Up-heaveth a new country,
a land far-off and grey;
Then Knefrud biddeth heed
it, and he saith: “Lo, the Eastland shore,
And the land few ships have
sailed to, by the mirk-wood covered o’er.”
Then riseth the cry and the
shouting as the golden beaks they turn,
For all hearts for the land
of cities, and the hall of Atli yearn:
But a little after the noontide
is the Niblung host embayed,
And betwixt the sheltering
nesses the ocean-wind is laid:
No whit they brook delaying:
but their noblest and their best
Toss up the shaven oar-blades,
and toil and mock at rest:
Full swift they skim the swan-mead
till the tall masts quake and reel,
And the oaken sea-burgs quiver
from bulwark unto keel.
It is Gunnar goes the foremost
with the tiller in his hand,
And beside him standeth Knefrud
and laughs on Atli’s land:
And so fair are the dragons
driven, that by ending of the day
On the beach by the ebb left
naked the sea-beat keels they lay:
Then they look aloft from
the foreshore, and lo, King Atli’s steeds
On the brow of the mirk-wood
standing, well dight for the warriors’
needs,
The red and the roan together,
and the dapple-grey and the black;
Nor bits nor silken bridles,
nor golden cloths they lack,
And the horse-lads of King
Atli with that horse-array are blent,
And their shout of salutation
o’er the oozy sand is sent:
Then no more will the Niblungs
tarry when they see that ready band
But they leap adown from the
long-ships, and waist-deep they wade the
strand,
And they in their armour of
onset, beshielded, and sword by the side,
E’en as men returning
homeward to their loves and their friends that
abide.
The first of all goeth Gunnar,
and Hogni the wise cometh after,
And wringeth the sea from
his kirtle; and all men hearken his laughter,
As his feet on the earth stand
firm, and the sun in the west goeth
down,
And the Niblungs stand on
the foreshore ’twixt the sea and the
mirk-wood brown.
For no meat there they linger,
and they tarry for no sleep,
But aloft to the golden saddles
those Giuki’s children leap,
And forth from the side of
the sea-flood they ride the mirk-wood’s
ways,
Loud then is the voice of
King Hogni and he sets forth Atli’s praise,
As they ride through the night
of the tree-boughs till the earthly
night prevails,
And along the desert sea-strand
the wind of ocean wails.
There none hath tethered the
dragons, or inboard handled the oars,
And the tide of the sea cometh
creeping along the stranger-shores,
Till those golden dragons
are floated, and their unmanned oars awash
In the sandy waves of the
shallows, from stem to tiller clash:
Then setteth a wind from the
shore, and the night is waxen a-cold,
And seaward drift the long-ships
with their raiment and vessels of
gold,
And their Gods with mastery
carven: and who knoweth the story to tell,
If their wrack came ever to
shoreward in some place where fishers
dwell,
Or sank in midmost ocean,
and lay on the sea-floor wan
Where the pale sea-goddess
singeth o’er the bane of many a man?
Atli speaketh with the Niblungs.
Three days the Niblung warriors
the ways of the mirk-wood ride
Till they come to a land of
cities and the peopled country-side,
And the land’s-folk
run from their labour, and the merchants throng
the street
And the lords of many a city
the stranger kings would meet.
But nought will the Niblungs
tarry; swift through Atli’s weal they
wend,
For their hearts are exceeding
eager for their journey’s latter end.
Three days they ride that
country, and many a city leave,
But the fourth dawn mighty
mountains by the inner sea upheave.
Then they ride a little further,
and Atli’s burg they see
With the feet of the mountains
mingled above the flowery lea,
And yet a little further,
and lo, its long white wall,
And its high-built guarded
gateways, and its towers o’erhung and tall;
And ever all along them the
glittering spear-heads run,
As the sparks of the white
wood-ashes when the cooking-fire is done.
Then they look to the right
and the left hand, and see no folk astir,
And no reek from the homestead
chimneys; and no toil of men they hear:
But the hook hangs lone in
the vineyard, and the scythe is lone in the
hay,
The bucket thirsts by the
well-side, the void cart cumbers the way.
Then doubt on the war-host
falleth, and they think: Well were we then,
When once we rode in the Westland
and saw the brown-faced men
Peer through the hawthorn
hedges as the Niblung host went by.
Yet they laugh and make no
semblance of any fear drawn nigh.
Yea, Knefrud looked upon them,
and with chilly voice he spake:
“Now his guests doth
Atli honour, and yet more will he do for your
sake,
Who hath hidden all his people,
and holdeth his vassals at home
On the day that the mighty
Niblungs adown his highway come,
Lest men fear as the finders
of Gods, and tremble and cumber the ways,
And the voice of the singers
fail them to sing of the Niblungs’
praise.”
Men laughed as his voice they
hearkened, and none bade turn again,
But the swords in the scabbards
rattled as they rode with loosened
rein.
Now they ride in the Burg-gate’s
shadow from out the sunlit fields,
Till the spears aloft are hidden and Atli’s
painted shields;
And no captain cries from the rampart, nor soundeth
any horn,
And the doors of oak and iron are shut this merry
morn:
Then the Niblungs leap from the saddle, and the
threats of earls arise,
And the wrath of Kings’ defenders is waxing
in their eyes;
But Knefrud looketh and laugheth, and he saith:
“So
is Atli fain
Of the glory of the Niblungs and their honour’s
utmost gain:
By no feet but yours this morning will he have
his threshold trod,
Nay, not by the world’s most glorious, nay
not by a wandering God.”
Then Hogni looked on Knefrud as
the bodily death shall gaze
On the last of the Kings of men-folk in the last
of the latter days,
And he caught a staff from his saddle, a mighty
axe of war,
And stood most huge of all men in face of Atli’s
door,
And upreared the axe against it with such wondrous
strokes and great,
That the iron-knitted marvel hung shattered in
the gate:
Through the rent poured the Niblung children,
and in Atli’s burg they
stood;
With none to bid them welcome, or ask them what
they would.
But Hogni turned upon Knefrud,
and spake: “I said, time was,
That we twain should ride
out hither to bring a deed to pass:
And now one more deed abideth,
and then no more for thee,
And another and another, and
no more deeds for me.”
’Gainst the liar’s
eyes one moment flashed out the axe-head’s sheen,
And then was the face of Knefrud
as though it ne’er had been,
And his gay-clad corpse lay
glittering on the causeway in the sun.
No man cried out on Hogni
or asked of the deed so done,
But their shielded ranks they
marshalled and through Atli’s burg they
strode:
There they see the merchant’s
dwelling, the rich man’s fair abode,
The halls of doom, and the
market, the loom and the smithying-booth,
The stall for the wares of
the outlands, the temples high and smooth:
But all is hushed and empty,
and no child of man they meet
As they thread the city’s
tangle, and enter street on street,
And leave the last forgotten,
and of the next know nought.
So through the silent city
by the Norns their feet are brought,
Till lo, on a hill’s
uprising a huge house they behold,
And a hall with gates all
brazen, and roof of ruddy gold:
Then they know the house of
Atli, and they trow that sooth it is
That the Lord of such a dwelling
may give his guest-folk bliss:
Then they loosen the swords
in their scabbards, and upraise a mighty
shout,
And the trumpet of the Niblungs
through the lonely street rings out
And stilleth the wind in the
wall-nook: but hark, as its echoes die,
How forth from that hall of
the Eastlands comes the sound of
minstrelsy,
And the brazen doors swing
open: but the Niblungs are at the door,
And the bidden guests of Atli
o’er the fateful threshold pour;
There the music faileth before
them, till its sound is over and done,
And fair in the city behind
them lies the flood of the morning sun:
No man of the Niblungs murmureth,
none biddeth turn aback
And still their hands are
empty, and sleep the edges of wrack.
Huge, dim is the hall of Atli,
and faint and far aloof,
As stars in the misty even,
yet hang the lamps in the roof,
And but little daylight toucheth
the walls and the hangings of gold:
No King and no earl-folk’s
children do the bidden guests behold,
Till they look aloft to the
high-seat, and lo, a woman alone,
A white queen crowned, and
silent as the ancient shapen stone
That men find in the dale
deserted, as beneath the moon they wend,
When they weary even to slumber,
and the journey draws to an end.
Chill then are the hearts
of the warriors, for they know how they look
on a queen,
That Gudrun well-beloved of
the days that once have been;
Then were men that murmured
on Sigurd, and as in some dream of the
night
They looked, but the left
hand failed them, and there came no help
from the right.
But forth stood the mighty
Gunnar, and men heard his kingly voice
As he spake: “O
child of my father, I see thee again and rejoice,
Though I wot not where I have
wended, or where thou dwellest on earth,
Or if this be the dead men’s
dwelling, or the hall of Atli’s mirth!”
She stirred not, nothing she
answered: but forth stood Hogni the King,
Clear, sharp, in the house
of the stranger did the voice of the
fearless ring:
“O sister, O daughter
of Giuki, O child of my mother’s womb,
By what death shall the Niblungs
perish, what day is the day of their
doom?”
Forth then from the lips of
Gudrun a dreadful voice was borne:
“Ye shall die to-day,
O brethren, at the hands of a King forsworn.”
As she spake the outer door-leaves
clashed to with a mighty sound,
And the outer air was troubled
with a new noise gathering around:
As of leaves in the midmost
summer ere the dusk of the even warm.
When the winds in the hillsides
gathered go forth before the storm;
Men abode, and a wicket opened
on the feast-hall’s inner side
And the Niblungs looked for
the coming of King Atli in his pride:
But one man entered only,
and he thin and old and spare,
A swordless man and a little—yet
was King Atli there.
He looked not once on the
Niblungs, but forth to the high-seat went,
And stood aloof from Gudrun
with his eyes to the hall-floor bent:
Thence came a voice from his
lips, and men heard, for the hush was
great.
And the hearts of the bold
were astonished ’neath the overhanging fate.
“Ye are come, O Kings
of the Niblungs, ye are come, O slayers of men!
But how great, and where is
the ransom that shall buy your departure
again?”
Then spake the wise-heart
Hogni: “Do the bidden guests so long
To depart to the night and
the silence from the fire and the wine and
the song?
Fear not! the feast shall
be merry, and here we abide in thine hall,
Till thou and the great feast-master
shall bid the best befall.”
There were cries of men in
the city, there was clang and clatter of
steel.
And high cried the thin-voiced
Atli, the lord of the Eastland weal:
“Ye are come in your
pride, O Niblungs; but this day of days is mine:
Will ye die? will ye live
and be little? Hear now the token and sign!”
Great then grew the voices
without, with one name was the city filled,
Yea, all the world it might
be, and all sounds of the earth were
stilled
With that cry of the name
of Atli: but Gunnar stood for a space
Till the cry was something
sunken, then he put back the helm from his
face
And spread out his hands before
him, and his hands were empty and bare
As he stood in the front of
the Niblungs like a great God smiling and
fair:
“We shall live and never
be little, we shall die and be masters of
fame:
I know not thy will, O Atli,
nor what thou wouldst with thy name.”
“Ye shall know my will,”
said Atli, “ye shall do it, or do no more
The deeds of the days of the
living: ye shall render the garnered
store,
Ye shall give forth the Gold
of Sigurd, the wealth of the uttermost
strand.”
“To give a gift,”
cried Hogni, “we came to King Atli’s land:
Tomorn for a little season
thou shalt be the richest fool
Of all kings ever told of;
and the rest let the high Gods rule.”
“O King of the East,”
said Gunnar, “great gifts for thee draw nigh,
But the treasure of the Niblungs
in their guarded house shall lie.”
“What then will ye do?” quoth Atli; “have ye seen the fish in the net?”
“Eve telleth of deeds,”
said Gunnar, “and it is but the morning as
yet.”
Said Atli: “Yea, will ye die? are there no deeds left you to do?”
“We shall smite with
the sword,” said the Niblung, “and tomorn
will we
journey anew.”
“Craftsmaster Hogni,”
said Atli, “where then are the shifts of the
wise?”
Said Hogni: “To
smite with the sword, and go glad from the country
of
lies.”
“So died the fool,” said Atli, “as Hogni dieth today.”
“Smote the blind and
the aimless,” said Hogni, “and Baldur passed
away.”
Said Atli: “Yet
may ye live in the wholesome light of the sun,
And your latter days be as
plenteous as the deeds your hands have
done.”
“Dost thou hearken,
O sword,” said Gunnar, “and yet thou liest
in
peace?
When then wilt thou look on
the daylight, that the words of the
mocker may cease?”
“Thou, Hogni the wise,”
said Atli, “art thou weary of wisdom and lore,
Wilt thou die with these fools
of the sword, and be mocked mid the
blind of the war?”
“Many things have I
learned,” said Hogni, “but today’s
task, easy it
is;
For men die every hour and
they wage no master for this.
—Get hence, thou
evil King, thou liar and traitor of kings,
Lest the edge of my sword
be thy portion and not the ruddy rings!”
Then Atli shrank from before
him, and the eyes of his intent,
And no more words he cast
them, but forth from the hall he went,
And again were the Niblung
children alone in the hall of their foes
With the wan and silent woman:
but without great clamour arose,
And the clashing of steel
against steel, and the crying of man unto
man,
And the wind of that summer
morning through the Eastland banners ran:
Then so loud o’er all
was winded a mighty horn of fight,
That unheard were the shouts
of the Niblungs as Gunnar’s sword leapt
white.
But Hogni turned to the great-one
who the Niblung trumpet bore,
And he took the mighty metal,
and kissed the brass of war,
And its shattering blast went
forward, and beat back from the
gable-wall
And shook the ancient timbers,
and the carven work of the hall:
Then it was to the Niblung
warriors as their very hearts they heard
Cry out, not glad nor sorry,
nor hoping, nor afeard,
But touched by the hand of
Odin, smit with foretaste of the day,
When the fire shall burn up
fooling, and the veil shall fall away;
When bare-faced, all unmingled,
shall the evil stand in the light,
And men’s deeds shall
be nothing doubtful, nor the foe that they shall
smite.
Of the Battle in Atli’s Hall.
Ye shall know that in Atli’s
feast-hall on the side that joined the
house
Were many carven doorways
whose work was glorious
With marble stones and gold-work,
and their doors of beaten brass:
Lo now, in the merry morning
how the story cometh to pass!
—While the echoes
of the trumpet yet fill the people’s ears,
And Hogni casts by the war-horn,
and his Dwarf-wrought sword uprears,
All those doors aforesaid
open, and in pour the streams of steel,
The best of the Eastland champions,
the bold men of Atli’s weal:
They raise no cry of battle
nor cast forth threat of woe,
And their helmed and hidden
faces from each other none may know:
Then a light in the hall ariseth,
and the fire of battle runs
All adown the front of the
Niblungs in the face of the mighty-ones;
All eyes are set upon them,
hard drawn is every breath,
Ere the foremost points be
mingled and death be blent with death.
—All eyes save
the eyes of Hogni; but e’en as the edges meet,
He turneth about for a moment
to the gold of the kingly seat,
Then aback to the front of
battle; there then, as the lightning-flash
Through the dark night showeth
the city when the clouds of heaven
clash,
And the gazer shrinketh backward,
yet he seeth from end to end
The street and the merry market,
and the windows of his friend,
And the pavement where his
footsteps yestre’en returning trod,
Now white and changed and
dreadful ’neath the threatening voice of God;
So Hogni seeth Gudrun, and
the face he used to know,
Unspeakable, unchanging, with
white unknitted brow,
With half-closed lips untrembling,
with deedless hands and cold
Laid still on knees that stir
not, and the linen’s moveless fold.
Turned Hogni unto the spear-wall,
and smote from where he stood,
And hewed with his sword two-handed as the axe-man
in a wood:
Before his sword was a champion and the edges
clave to the chin,
And the first man fell in the feast-hall of those
that should fall
therein,
Then man with man was dealing, and the Niblung
host of war
Was swept by the leaping iron, as the rock anigh
the shore
By the ice-cold waves of winter: yet a moment
Gunnar stayed,
As high in his hand unbloodied he shook his awful
blade;
And he cried:
“O Eastland champions, do
So he saith in the midst of the
foemen with his war-flame reared on
high,
But all about and around him goes up a bitter
cry
From the iron men of Atli, and the bickering of
the steel
Sends a roar up to the roof-ridge, and the Niblung
war-ranks reel
Behind the steadfast Gunnar: but lo, have
ye seen the corn,
While yet men grind the sickle, by the wind-streak
overborne
When the sudden rain sweeps downward, and summer
groweth black,
And the smitten wood-side roareth ’neath
the driving thunder-wrack?
So before the wise-heart Hogni shrank the champions
of the East
As his great voice shook the timbers in the hall
of Atli’s feast.
There he smote and beheld not the smitten, and
by nought were his
edges stopped;
He smote and the dead were thrust from him; a
hand with its shield he
lopped;
There met him Atli’s marshal, and his arm
at the shoulder he shred;
Three swords were upreared against him of the
best of the kin of the
dead;
And he struck off a head to the rightward, and
his sword through a
throat he thrust,
But the third stroke fell on his helm-crest, and
he stooped to the
ruddy dust,
And uprose as the ancient Giant, and both his
hands were wet:
Red then was the world to his eyen, as his hand
to the labour he set;
Swords shook and fell in his pathway, huge bodies
leapt and fell,
Harsh grided shield and war-helm like the tempest-smitten
bell,
And the war-cries ran together, and no man his
brother knew,
And the dead men loaded the living, as he went
the war-wood through;
And man ’gainst man was huddled, till no
sword rose to smite.
And clear stood the glorious Hogni in an island
of the fight,
And there ran a river of death ’twixt the
Niblung and his foes,
And therefrom the terror of men and the wrath
of the Gods arose.
Now fell the sword of Gunnar
and rose up red in the air,
And hearkened the song of
the Niblung, as his voice rang glad and
clear,
And rejoiced and leapt at
the Eastmen, and cried as it met the rings
Of a giant of King Atli, and
a murder-wolf of kings;
But it quenched its thirst
in his entrails, and knew the heart in his
breast,
And hearkened the praise of
Gunnar, and lingered not to rest,
But fell upon Atli’s
brother and stayed not in his brain;
Then he fell and the King
leapt over, and clave a neck atwain,
And leapt o’er the sweep
of a pole-axe and thrust a lord in the throat,
And King Atli’s banner-bearer
through shield and hauberk smote;
Then on came the Niblung bucklers,
and they drave the East-folk home
As the bows of the oar-driven
long-ship beat off the waves in foam:
They leave their dead behind
them, and they come to the doors and the
wall,
And a few last spears from
the fleeing amidst their shield-hedge fall:
But the doors clash to in
their faces, as the fleeing rout they drive,
And fain would follow after;
and none is left alive
In the feast-hall of King
Atli, save those fishes of the net,
And the white and silent woman
above the slaughter set.
Then biddeth the heart-wise
Hogni, and men to the windows climb,
And uplift the war-grey corpses,
dead drift of the stormy time,
And cast them adown to their
people: thence they come aback and say
That scarce shall ye see the
houses, and no whit the wheel-worn way
For the spears and shields
of the Eastlands that the merchant city
throng:
And back to the Niblung burg-gate
the way seemed weary-long.
Yet passeth hour on hour,
and the doors they watch and ward,
But a long while hear no mail-clash,
nor the ringing of the sword;
Then droop the Niblung children,
and their wounds are waxen chill,
And they think of the Burg
by the river, and the builded holy hill,
And their eyes are set on
Gudrun as of men who would beseech;
But unlearned are they in
craving and know not dastard’s speech.
Then doth Giuki’s first-begotten
a deed most fair to be told,
For his fair harp Gunnar taketh,
and the warp of silver and gold;
With the hand of a cunning
harper he dealeth with the strings,
And his voice in their midst
goeth upward, as of ancient days he sings,
Of the days before the Niblungs,
and the days that shall be yet;
Till the hour of toil and
smiting the warrior hearts forget,
Nor hear the gathering foemen,
nor the sound of swords aloof:
Then clear the song of Gunnar
goes up to the dusky roof;
And the coming spear-host
tarries, and the bearers of the woe
Through the cloisters of King
Atli with lingering footsteps go.
But Hogni looketh on Gudrun,
and no change in her face he sees,
And no stir in her folded
linen and the deedless hands on her knees:
Then from Gunnar’s side
he hasteneth; and lo, the open door,
And a foeman treadeth the
pavement, and his lips are on Atli’s floor,
For Hogni is death in the
doorway: then the Niblungs turn on the foe,
And the hosts are mingled
together, and blow cries out on blow.
Still the song goeth up from
Gunnar, though his harp to earth be laid;
But he fighteth exceeding
wisely, and is many a warrior’s aid,
And he shieldeth and delivereth,
and his eyes search through the hall,
And woe is he for his fellows,
as his battle-brethren fall;
For the turmoil hideth little
from that glorious folk-king’s eyes,
And o’er all he beholdeth
Gudrun, and his soul is waxen wise,
And he saith: We shall
look on Sigurd, and Sigmund of old days,
And see the boughs of the
Branstock o’er the ancient Volsung’s praise.
Woe’s me for the wrath
of Hogni! From the door he giveth aback
That the Eastland slayers
may enter to the murder and the wrack:
Then he rageth and driveth
the battle to the golden kingly seat,
And the last of the foes he
slayeth by Gudrun’s very feet,
That the red blood splasheth
her raiment; and his own blood therewithal
He casteth aloft before her,
and the drops on her white hands fall:
But nought she seeth or heedeth,
and again he turns to the fight,
Nor heedeth stroke nor wounding
so he a foe may smite:
Then the battle opens before
him, and the Niblungs draw to his side;
As Death in the world first
fashioned, through the feast-hall doth he
stride.
And so once more do the Niblungs
sweep that murder-flood of men
From the hall of toils and
treason, and the doors swing to again.
Then again is there peace
for a little within the fateful fold;
But the Niblungs look about
them, and but few folk they behold
Upright on their feet for
the battle: now they climb aloft no more.
Nor cast the dead from the
windows; but they raise a rampart of war,
And its stones are the fallen
East-folk, and no lowly wall is that.
Therein was Gunnar the mighty:
on the shields of men he sat,
And the sons of his people
hearkened, for his hand through the
harp-strings ran,
And he sang in the hall of
his foeman of the Gods and the making of
man,
And how season was sundered
from season in the days of the fashioning,
And became the Summer and
Autumn, and became the Winter and Spring;
He sang of men’s hunger
and labour, and their love and their breeding
of broil,
And their hope that is fostered
of famine, and their rest that is
fashioned of toil:
Fame then and the sword he
So he sang, and beheld not
Gudrun, save as long ago he saw
His sister, the little maiden
of the face without a flaw:
But wearily Hogni beheld her,
and no change in her face there was,
And long thereon gazed Hogni,
and set his brows as the brass,
Though the hands of the King
were weary, and weak his knees were grown.
And he felt as a man unholpen
in a waste land wending alone.
Now the noon was long passed
over when again the rumour arose,
And through the doors cast
open flowed in the river of foes:
They flooded the hall of the
murder, and surged round that rampart of
dead;
No war-duke ran before them,
no lord to the onset led,
But the thralls shot spears
at adventure, and shot out shafts from
afar,
Till the misty hall was blinded
with the bitter drift of war:
Few and faint were the Niblung
children, and their wounds were waxen
acold,
And they saw the Hell-gates
open as they stood in their grimly hold:
Yet thrice stormed out King
Hogni, thrice stormed out Gunnar the King,
Thrice fell they aback yet
living to the heart of the fated ring;
And they looked and their
band was little, and no man but was wounded
sore,
And the hall seemed growing
greater, such hosts of foes it bore,
So tossed the iron harvest
from wall to gilded wall;
And they looked and the white-clad
Gudrun sat silent over all.
Then the churls and thralls
of the Eastland howled out as wolves
accurst,
But oft gaped the Niblungs
voiceless, for they choked with anger and
thirst;
And the hall grew hot as a
furnace, and men drank their flowing blood,
Men laughed and gnawed on
their shield-rims, men knew not where they
stood
And saw not what was before
them; as in the dark men smote,
Men died heart-broken, unsmitten;
men wept with the cry in the throat,
Men lived on full of war-shafts,
men cast their shields aside
And caught the spears to their
bosoms; men rushed with none beside,
And fell unarmed on the foemen,
and tore and slew in death:
And still down rained the
arrows as the rain across the heath;
Still proud o’er all
the turmoil stood the Kings of Giuki born,
Nor knit were the brows of
Gunnar, nor his song-speech overworn;
But Hogni’s mouth kept
silence, and oft his heart went forth
To the long, long day of the
darkness, and the end of worldly worth.
Loud rose the roar of the
East-folk, and the end was coming at last;
Now the foremost locked their
shield-rims and the hindmost over them
cast,
And nigher they drew and nigher,
and their fear was fading away,
For every man of the Niblungs
on the shaft-strewn pavement lay,
Save Gunnar the King and Hogni:
still the glorious King up-bore
The cloudy shield of the Niblungs
set full of shafts of war;
But Hogni’s hands had
fainted, and his shield had sunk adown,
So thick with the Eastland
spearwood was that rampart of renown;
And hacked and dull were the
edges that had rent the wall of foes;
Yet he stood upright by Gunnar
before that shielded close,
Nor looked on the foemen’s
faces as their wild eyes drew anear,
And their faltering shield-rims
clattered with the remnant of their
fear;
But he gazed on the Niblung
woman, and the daughter of his folk,
Who sat o’er all unchanging
ere the war-cloud over them broke.
Now nothing might men hearken
in the house of Atli’s weal,
Save the feet slow tramping
onward, and the rattling of the steel,
And the song of the glorious
Gunnar, that rang as clearly now
As the speckled storm-cock
singeth from the scant-leaved hawthorn-bough
When the sun is dusking over
and the March snow pelts the land.
There stood the mighty Gunnar
with sword and shield in hand,
There stood the shieldless
Hogni with set unangry eyes,
And watched the wall of war-shields
o’er the dead men’s rampart rise,
And the white blades flickering
nigher, and the quavering points of
war.
Then the heavy air of the
feast-hall was rent with a fearful roar,
And the turmoil came and the
tangle, as the wall together ran:
But aloft yet towered the
Niblungs, and man toppled over man,
And leapt and struggled to
tear them; as whiles amidst the sea
The doomed ship strives its
utmost with mid-ocean’s mastery,
And the tall masts whip the
cordage, while the welter whirls and leaps,
And they rise and reel and
waver, and sink amid the deeps:
So before the little-hearted
in King Atli’s murder-hall
Did the glorious sons of Giuki
’neath the shielded onrush fall:
Sore wounded, bound and helpless,
but living yet, they lie
Till the afternoon and the
even in the first of night shall die.
Of the Slaying of the Niblung Kings.
Lo now, ’tis an hour
or twain, and a labour lightly won
By the serving-men of Atli,
and the Niblung blood is gone
From the golden house of his
greatness, and the Eastland dead no more
Lie in great heaps together
on Atli’s mazy floor:
Then they cast fair summer
blossoms o’er the footprints of the dead,
They wreathe round Atli’s
high-seat and the benches fair bespread,
And they light the odorous
torches, and the sun of the golden roof,
Till the candles of King Atli
hold dusky night aloof.
So they toil and are heavy-hearted,
nor know what next shall betide,
As they look on the stranger-woman
in the heart of Atli’s pride.
Now stand they aback for the
trumpet and the merry minstrelsy,
For they tremble before King
Atli, and golden-clad is he,
And his golden crown is heavy
and he strides exceeding slow,
With the wise and the mighty
about him, through the house of the
Niblungs’
woe.
There then by the Niblung
woman on the throne he sat him down,
And folk heard the gold gear
tinkle and the rings of the Eastland
crown:
Folk looked on his rich adornment,
on King Atli’s pride they gazed,
And the bright beams wearied
their eyen, by the glory were they dazed;
There the councillors kept
silence and the warriors clad in steel,
All men lowly, all men mighty,
that had care of Atli’s weal;
Yea there in the hall were
they waiting for the word to come from his
lips,
As they of the merchant-city
behold the shield-hung ships
Sweep slow through the windless
haven with their gaping heads of gold,
And they know not their nation
and names, nor hath aught of their
errand been told.
But King Atli looketh before
him, and is grown too great to rejoice,
And he speaks and the world
is troubled, though thin and scant be his
voice:
“Bring forth the fallen
and conquered, bring forth the bounden thrall,
That they who were once the
Niblungs did once King Hogni call.”
So they brought him fettered
and bound; and scarce on his feet he
stood,
But men stayed him up by the
King; for the sword had drunk of his
blood,
And the might of his body
had failed him, and yet so great was he
That the East-folk cowered
before him and the might of his majesty.
Then spake the all-great Atli:
“Thou yielded thrall of war,
I would hear thee tell of
the Treasure, the Hoard of the kings of
yore!”
But words were grown heavy
to Hogni, and scarce he spake with a smile:
“Let the living seek
their desire; for indeed thou shalt live for a
while.”
“Wilt thou speak and
live,” said Atli, “nor pay for the blood
thou
hast spilt?”
Said he: “Thou
art waxen so mighty, thou mayst have the Gold when
thou
wilt.”
Said the King: “I
will give thee thy life, and forgive thee measureless
woe.”
“It was gathered for thee,” said Hogni, “and fashioned long ago.”
“Speak, man o’ercome,” quoth Atli: “Is life so little a thing?”
“Art thou mighty? put
forth thine hand and gather the Gold!” said the
King.
“Wilt thou tell of the
Gold,” said the East-King, “the desire
of many
eyes?”
“Yea, once on a day,”
said Hogni, “when the dead from the sea shall
arise.”
Said he: “So great
is my longing, that, O foe, I would have thee live,
Yea, live and be great as
aforetime, if this word thou yet wouldst
give.”
Said the Niblung: “Thee
shall I heed, or the longing of thy pride?
I, who heeded Sigurd nothing,
who thrust mine oath aside,
When the years were young
and goodly and the summer bore increase!
Shall I crave my life of the
greedy and pray for days of peace?
I, who whetted the sword for
Sigurd, and bared the blade in the morn,
And smote ere the sun’s
uprising, and left my sister forlorn:
‘Yea I lied,’
quoth the God-loved Singer, ’when the will of
the Gods I
told!’
—Stretch forth
thine hand, O Mighty, and take thy Treasure of Gold!”
Then was Atli silent a little,
for anger dulled his thought,
And the heaped-up wealth of the Eastland seemed
an idle thing and
nought:
He turned and looked upon Gudrun as one who was
fain to beseech,
But he saw her eyes that beheld not, and her lips
that knew no speech,
And fear shot across his anger, and guile with
his wrath was blent,
And he spake aloud to the war-lords:
“O
ye, shall the eve be spent,
Nor behold the East rejoicing? what a mock for
the Gods is this,
That men ever care for the morrow, nor nurse their
toil-won bliss!
Lo now, this hour I speak in is the first of the
seven-days’ feast,
And the spring of our exultation o’er the
glory of the East:
Draw nigh, O wise, O mighty, and gather words
to praise
The hope of the King accomplished in the harvest
of his days:
Bear forth this slave of the Niblungs to the pit
and the chamber of
death,
That he hearken the council of night, and the
rede that tomorrow saith,
And think of the might of King Atli, and his hand
that taketh his own,
Though the hill-fox bark at his going, and his
path with the bramble
be grown.”
So they led the Niblung away
from the light and the joy of the feast,
In the chamber of death they
cast him, and the pit of the Lord of the
East:
And thralls were the high
King’s warders; yet sons of the wise withal
Came down to sit with Hogni
in the doomed man’s darkling hall;
For they looked in his face
and feared, lest Atli smite too nigh
The kin of the Gods of Heaven,
and more than a man’s child die.
But ’neath the golden
roof-sun, at beginning of the night,
Is the seven-days’ feast
of triumph in the hall of Atli dight;
And his living Earls come
thither in peaceful gold attire,
And the cups on the East-King’s
tables shine out as a river of fire,
And sweet is the song of the
harp-strings, and the singers’ honeyed
words;
While wide through all the
city do wives bewail their lords,
And curse the untimely hour
and the day of the land forlorn,
And the year that the Earth
shall rue of, and children never born.
But Atli spake to his thrall-folk,
and they went, and were little
afraid
To take the glorious Gunnar,
and the King in shackles laid:
They deemed they should live
for ever, and eat and sleep as the swine,
To them were the tales of
the singers no token and no sign;
For the blossom of the Niblungs
they rolled amid the dust,
That well-renowned Gunnar
’neath Atli’s chair they thrust;
The feet of the Eastland liar
on Gunnar’s neck are set,
And by Atli Gudrun sitteth,
and nought she stirreth yet.
Outbrake the glee of the dastards,
and they that had not dared
To meet the swords of the
Niblungs, no whit the God-folk feared:
They forgat that the Norns
were awake, and they praised the master of
guile
The war-spent conquering Atli
and the face without a smile;
And the tumult of their triumph
and the wordless mingled roar
Went forth from that hall
of the Eastlands and smote the heavenly
floor.
At last spake Atli the mighty:
“Stand up, thou war-won thrall,
Whom they that were once the
Niblungs did once King Gunnar call!”
From the dust they dragged
up Gunnar, and set him on his feet,
And the heart within him was
living and the pride for a war-king meet;
And his glory was nothing
abated, and fair he seemed and young,
As the first of the Cloudy
Kings, fresh shoot from the sower sprung.
But Atli looked upon him,
and a smile smoothed out his brow
As he said: “What
thoughtest thou, Gunnar, when thou layst in the dust
e’en now?”
He said: “Of Valhall
I thought, and the host of my fathers’ land,
And of Hogni that thou hast
slaughtered, and my brother Sigurd’s hand.”
Said Atli: “Think
of thy life, and the days that shall be yet,
And thyself, maybe, as aforetime,
in the throne of thy father set.”
“O Eastland liar,” said Gunnar, “no more will I live and rue.”
Said Atli: “The word I have spoken, thy word may yet make true.”
“I weary of speech,”
said the Niblung, “with those that are lesser
than I.”
“Yet words of mine shalt thou hearken,” said Atli, “or ever thou die.”
“So crieth the fool,”
said Gunnar, “on the God that his folly hath
slain.”
Said Atli: “Forth shall my word, nor yet shall be gathered again.”
“Yet meeter were thy silence; for thy folk make ready to sing.”
“O Gunnar, I long for the Gold with the heart and the will of a king.”
“This were good to tell,”
said Gunnar, “to the Gods that fashioned the
earth!”
“Make me glad with the Gold,” said Atli, “live on in honour and worth!”
With a dreadful voice cried
Gunnar: “O fool, hast thou heard it told
Who won the Treasure aforetime
and the ruddy rings of the Gold?
It was Sigurd, child of the
Volsungs, the best sprung forth from the
best:
He rode from the North and
the mountains and became my summer-guest.
My friend and my brother sworn:
he rode the Wavering Fire
And won me the Queen of Glory
and accomplished my desire;
The praise of the world he
was, the hope of the biders in wrong,
The help of the lowly people,
the hammer of the strong:
Ah, oft in the world henceforward
shall the tale be told of the deed,
And I, e’en I, will
tell it in the day of the Niblungs’ Need:
For I sat night-long in my
armour, and when light was wide o’er the
land
I slaughtered Sigurd my brother,
and looked on the work of mine hand.
And now, O mighty Atli, I
have seen the Niblungs’ wreck,
And the feet of the faint-heart
dastard have trodden Gunnar’s neck;
And if all be little enough,
and the Gods begrudge me rest,
Let me see the heart of Hogni
cut quick from his living breast,
And laid, on the dish before
me: and then shall I tell of the Gold,
And become thy servant, Atli,
and my life at thy pleasure hold.
O goodly story of Gunnar,
and the King of the broken troth
In the heavy Need of the Niblungs,
and the Sorrow of Odin the Goth!”
Grim then waxed Atli bemocked,
yet he pondered a little while,
For yet with his bitter anger
strove the hope of his greedy guile,
And as one who falleth a-dreaming
he hearkened Gunnar’s word,
While his eyes beheld that
Treasure, and the rings of the Ancient
Hoard.
But he spake low-voiced to
his sword-carles, and they heard and
understood,
And departed swift from the
feast-hall to do the work he would.
To the chamber of death they
gat them, to the pit they went adown,
And saw the wise men sitting
round the war-king of renown:
Then they spake: “We
are Atli’s bondmen, and Atli’s doom we
bring:
We shall carve the heart from
thy body, and thou living yet, O King.”
Then Hogni laughed, for they
feared him; and he said: “Speed ye the
work!
For fain would I look on the
storehouse where such marvels used to
lurk,
And the forge of fond desires,
and the nurse of life that fails.
Take heed now! deeds are doing
for the fashioners of tales.”
But they feared as they looked
on the Niblung, and the wise men
hearkened and
spake,
And bade them abide for a
season, yea even for Atli’s sake,
For the night-slaying is as
the murder; and they looked on each other
and feared,
For Atli’s bitter whisper
their very hearts had heard:
Then they said: “The
King makes merry, as a well the white wine
springs,
And the red wine runs as a
river; and what are the hearts of kings,
That men may know them naked
from the hearts of bond and thrall?
Nor go we empty-handed to
King Atli in his hall.”
So the sword-carles spake
to each other, and they looked and a man
they saw,
Who should hew the wood if
he lived, and for thralls the water should
draw,
A thrall-born servant of servants,
begetter of thralls on the earth:
And they said: “If
this one were away, scarce greater were waxen the
dearth
That this morning hath wrought
on the Eastland; for the years shall
eke out his woe,
And no day his toil shall
lessen, and worse and worse shall he grow.”
They drew the steel new-whetted,
on the thrall they laid the hand;
For they said: “All
hearts be fashioned as the heart of the King of
the land.”
But the thrall was bewildered
with anguish, and wept and bewailed him
sore
For the loss of his life of
labour, and the grief that long he bore.
But wroth was the son of Giuki
and he spake: “It is idle and vain,
And two men for one shall
perish, and the knife shall be whetted again.
It is better to die than be
sorry, and to hear the trembling cry,
And to see the shame of the
poor: O fools, must the lowly die
Because kings strove with
swords? I bid you to hasten the end,
For my soul is sick with confusion,
and fain on the way would I wend.”
But the life of the thrall
is over, and his fearful heart they set
On a fair wide golden platter,
and bear it ruddy wet
To the throne of the triumphing
East-King; he looketh, and feareth
withal
Lest the house should fail
about him and the golden roof should fall:
But Gunnar laughed beside
him, and spake o’er the laden gold:
“O heart of a feeble
trembler, no heart of Hogni the bold!
A gold dish bears thee quaking,
yet indeed thou quakedst more
When the breast of the helpless
dastard the burden of thee bore.”
The great hall was smitten
silent and its mirth to fear was turned,
For the wrath of the King
was kindled, and the eyes of Atli burned,
And he cried as they trembled
before him: “Let me see the heart of my
foe!
Fear ye to mock King Atli
till his head in the dust be alow!”
Then the sword-carles flee
before him, and are angry with their dread,
For they fear the living East-King
yet more than the Niblung dead:
They come to the pit and the
death-house, and the whetted steel they
bear;
They are pale before King
Hogni; as winter-wolves they glare
Whom the ravening hunger driveth,
when the chapmen journey slow,
And their horses faint in
the moon-dusk, and stumble through the snow.
But Hogni laughed before them,
and he saith: “Now welcome again,
Now welcome again, war-fellows!
Was Atli hood-winked then?
I looked that ye should be
speedy; and, forsooth, ye needs must haste,
Lest more lives than one this
even for Atli’s will ye waste.”
About him throng the sword-men,
and they shout as the war-fain cry
In the heart of the bitter
battle when their hour is come to die,
And they cast themselves upon
him, as on some wide-shielded man
That fierce in the storm of
Odin upreareth edges wan.
With the bound man swift is
the steel: sore tremble the sons of the
wise,
And their hearts grow faint
within them; yet no man hideth his eyes
As the edges deal with the
mighty: nor dreadful is he now,
For the mock from his mouth
hath faded, and the threat hath failed
from his brow,
And his face is as great and
Godlike as his fathers of old days,
As fair as an image fashioned
in remembrance of their praise:
But fled is the spirit of
Hogni, and every deed he did,
The seed of the world it lieth,
in the hand of Odin hid.
On the gold is the heart of
Hogni, and men bear it forth to the King,
As he sits in the hall of
his triumph mid the glee and the
harp-playing:
Lo, the heart of a son of
Giuki! and Gunnar liveth yet,
And the white unangry Gudrun
by the Eastland King is set:
Upriseth the soul of Atli,
and his breast is swollen with pride,
And he laughs in the face
of Gunnar and the woman set by his side:
Then he looks on his living
earls, and they cast their cry to the roof,
And it clangs o’er the
woeful city and wails through the night aloof;
All the world of man-folk
hearkeneth, and hath little joy therein,
Though the men of the East
in glory high-tide with Atli win.
But fair is the face of Gunnar
as the token draweth anigh;
And he saith: “O
heart of Hogni, on the gold indeed dost thou lie,
And as little as there thou
quakest far less wert thou wont to quake
When thou lay’st in
the breast of the mighty, and wert glad for his
gladness’
sake,
And wert sorry with his sorrow;
O mighty heart, farewell!
Farewell for a little season,
till thy latest deed I tell.”
Then was Gunnar silent a little,
and the shout in the hall had died,
And he spoke as a man awakening,
and turned on Atli’s pride.
“Thou all-rich King
of the Eastlands, e’en such a man might I be
That I might utter a word,
and the heart should be glad in thee,
And I should live and be sorry;
for I, I only am left
To tell of the ransom of Odin,
and the wealth from the toiler reft.
Lo, once it lay in the water,
hid, deep adown it lay,
Till the Gods were grieved
and lacking, and men saw it and the day:
Let it lie in the water once
more, let the Gods be rich and in peace!
But I at least in the world
from the words and the babble shall cease.”
So he spake and Atli beheld
him, and before his eyes he shrank:
Still deep of the cup of desire
the mighty Atli drank,
And to overcome seemed little
if the Gold he might not have,
And his hard heart craved
for a while to hold the King for a slave,
A bondman blind and guarded
in his glorious house and great:
But he thought of the overbold,
and of kings who have dallied with
fate,
And died bemocked and smitten;
and he deemed it worser than well
While the last of the sons
of Giuki hangeth back from his journey to
Hell:
So he turneth away from the
stranger, and beholdeth Gudrun his wife,
Not glad nor sorry by seeming,
no stirrer nor stayer of strife:
Then he looked at his living
earl-folk, and thought of his groves of
war,
And his realm and the kindred
nations, and his measureless guarded
store:
And he thought: Shall
Atli perish, shall his name be cast to the dead,
Though the feeble folk go
wailing? Then he cried aloud and said:
“Why tarry ye, Sons
of the Morning? the wain for the bondman is dight;
And the folk that are waiting
his body have need of no sunshine to
smite.
Go forth ’neath the
stars and the night-wind; go forth by the cloud and
the moon,
And come back with the word
in the dawning, that my house may be merry
at noon!”
Then the sword-folk rise round
Gunnar, round the fettered and bound
they throng,
As men in the bitter battle
round the God-kin over-strong;
They bore him away to the
doorway, and the winds were awake in the
night,
And the wood of the thorns
of battle in the moon shone sharp and
bright;
But Gunnar looked to the heavens,
and blessed the promise of rain,
And the windy drift of the
clouds, and the dew on the builded wain:
And the sword-folk tarried
a little, and the sons of the wise were
there,
And beheld his face o’er
the war-helms, and the wavy night of his hair.
Then they feared for the weal
of Atli, and the Niblung’s harp they
brought,
And they dealt with the thralls
of the sword, and commanded and
besought,
Till men loosened the gyves
of Gunnar, and laid the harp by his side,
Then the yoke-beasts lowed
in the forecourt and the wheels of the
waggon cried,
And the war-thorns clashed
in the night, and the men went dark on
their way,
And the city was silent before
them, on the roofs the white moon lay.
Now they left the gate and
the highway, and came to a lonely place,
Where the sun all day had
been shining on the desert’s empty face;
Then the moon ran forth from
a cloud, the grey light shone and showed
The pit of King Atli’s
adders in the land without a road,
Still hot was that close with
the sun, and thronged with the coiling
folk,
And about the feet of Gunnar
their hissing mouths awoke:
But he heeded them not nor
beheld them, and his hands in the
harp-strings ran,
As he sat him down in the
midmost on a sun-scorched rock and wan:
And he sighed as one who resteth
on a flowery bank by the way
When the wind is in the blossoms
at the even-tide of day:
But his harp was murmuring
low, and he mused: Am I come to the death,
And I, who was Gunnar the
Niblung? nay, nay, how I draw my breath,
And love my life as the living!
and so I ever shall do,
Though wrack be loosed in
the heavens and the world be fashioned anew.
But the worms were beholding
their prey, and they drew around and
nigher,
Smooth coil, and flickering
tongue, and eyes as the gold in the fire;
And he looked and beheld them
and spake, nor stilled his harp
meanwhile:
“What will ye?
O thralls of Atli, O images of guile?”
Then, he rose at once to his
feet, and smote the harp with his hand,
And it rang as if with a cry
in the dream of a lonely land;
Then he fondled its wail as
it faded, and orderly over the strings
Went the marvellous sound
of its sweetness, like the march of Odin’s
kings
New-risen for play in the
morning when o’er meadows of God-home they
wend,
And hero playeth with hero,
that their hands may be deft in the end.
But the crests of the worms
were uplifted, though coil on coil was
stayed,
And they moved but as dark-green
rushes by the summer river swayed.
Then uprose the Song of Gunnar,
and sang o’er his crafty hands,
And told of the World of Aforetime,
unshapen, void of lands;
Yet it wrought, for its memory
bideth, and it died and abode its doom;
It shaped, and the Upper-Heavens,
and the hope came forth from its
womb.
Great then grew the voice
of Gunnar, and his speech was sweet on the
wild,
And the moon on his harp was
shining, and the hands of the Niblung
child:
“So perished the Gap
of the Gaping, and the cold sea swayed and sang,
And the wind came down on
the waters, and the beaten rock-walls rang;
Then the Sun from the south
came shining, and the Starry Host stood
round,
And the wandering Moon of
“On the Thrones are
the Powers that fashioned, and they name the Night
and the Day,
And the tide of the Moon’s
increasing, and the tide of his waning away:
And they name the years for
the story; and the Lands they change and
change,
The great and the mean and
the little, that this unto that may be
strange:
They met, and they fashioned
dwellings, and the House of Glory they
built;
They met, and they fashioned
the Dwarf-kind, and the Gold and the
Gifts and the
Guilt.
“There were twain, and
they went upon earth, and were speechless
unmighty and wan;
They were hopeless, deathless,
lifeless, and the Mighty named them Man:
Then they gave them speech
and power, and they gave them colour and
breath;
And deeds and the hope they
gave them, and they gave them Life and
Death;
Yea, hope, as the hope of
the Framers; yea, might, as the Fashioners
had,
Till they wrought, and rejoiced
in their bodies, and saw their sons
and were glad:
And they changed their lives
and departed, and came back as the leaves
of the trees
Come back and increase in
the summer:—and I, I, I am of these;
And I know of Them that have
fashioned, and the deeds that have
blossomed and
grow;
But nought of the Gods’
repentance, or the Gods’ undoing I know.”
Then falleth the speech of
Gunnar, and his lips the word forget,
But his crafty hands are busy,
and the harp is murmuring yet.
And the crests of the worms
have fallen, and their flickering tongues
are still,
The Roller and the Coiler,
and Greyback, lord of ill,
Grave-groper and Death-swaddler,
the Slumberer of the Heath,
Gold-wallower, Venom-smiter,
lie still, forgetting death,
And loose are coils of Long-back;
yea, all as soft are laid
As the kine in midmost summer
about the elmy glade;
—All save the Grey
and Ancient, that holds his crest aloft,
Light-wavering as the flame-tongue
when the evening wind is soft:
For he comes of the kin of
the Serpent once wrought all wrong to nurse,
The bond of earthly evil,
the Midworld’s ancient curse.
But Gunnar looked and considered,
and wise and wary he grew,
And the dark of night was
waning and chill in the dawning it grew;
But his hands were strong
and mighty and the fainting harp he woke,
And cried in the deadly desert,
and the song from his soul out-broke:
“O Hearken, Kindreds
and Nations, and all Kings of the plenteous earth.
Heed, ye that shall come hereafter,
and are far and far from the birth!
I have dwelt in the world
aforetime, and I called it the garden of God;
I have stayed my heart with
its sweetness, and fair on its freshness I
trod;
I have seen its tempest and
wondered, I have cowered adown from its
rain,
And desired the brightening
sunshine, and seen it and been fain;
I have waked, time was, in
its dawning; its noon and its even I wore;
I have slept unafraid of its
darkness, and the days have been many and
more:
I have dwelt with the deeds
of the mighty; I have woven the web of the
sword;
I have borne up the guilt
nor repented; I have sorrowed nor spoken the
word;
And I fought and was glad
in the morning, and I sing in the night and
the end:
So let him stand forth, the
Accuser, and do on the death-shoon to wend;
For not here on the earth
shall I hearken, nor on earth for the
dooming shall
stay,
Nor stretch out mine hand
for the pleading; for I see the spring of
the day
Round the doors of the golden
Valhall, and I see the mighty arise,
And I hearken the voice of
Odin, and his mouth on Gunnar cries,
And he nameth the Son of Giuki,
and cries on deeds long done,
And the fathers of my fathers,
and the sons of yore agone.
“O Odin, I see, and
I hearken; but, lo thou, the bonds on my feet,
And the walls of the wilderness
round me, ere the light of thy land I
meet!
I crave and I weary, Allfather,
and long and dark is the road;
And the feet of the mighty
are weakened, and the back is bent with the
load.”
Then fainted the song of Gunnar,
and the harp from his hand fell down,
And he cried: “Ah,
what hath betided? for cold the world hath grown,
And cold is the heart within
me, and my hand is heavy and strange;
What voice is the voice I
hearken in the chill and the dusk and the
change?
Where art thou, God of the
war-fain? for this is the death indeed;
And I unsworded, unshielded,
in the Day of the Niblungs’ Need!”
He fell to the earth as he
spake, and life left Gunnar the King,
For his heart was chilled
for ever by the sleepless serpent’s sting,
The grey Worm, Great and Ancient—and
day in the East began,
And the moon was low in the
heavens, and the light clouds over him ran.
The Ending of Gudrun.
Men sleep in the dwelling
of Atli through the latter hours of night,
Though the comfortless women
be wailing as they that love not light
Men sleep in the dawning-hour,
and bowed down is Atli’s head
Amidst the gold and the purple,
and the pillows of his bed:
Then he said: “Whence
come ye, children? whence come ye, Lords of the
East?
Shall today be for evil and
mourning or a day of joyance and feast?”
They said: “Today
shall be wailing for the foes of the Eastland kin;
But for them that love King
Atli shall the day of feasts begin:
For we come from the land
deserted, and the heath without a way,
And now are the earth’s
folk telling of the Niblungs passed away.”
Then King Atli turned unto
Gudrun, and the new sun shone through the
door,
The long beams fell from the
mountains and lighted Atli’s floor:
Then he cried: “Lo,
the day-light, Gudrun! and the Cloudy Folk is gone;
There is glory now in the
Eastland, and thy lord is king alone.”
But Gudrun rose from the high-seat,
and her eyes on the King she
turned;
And he stood rejoicing before
her, and his crown in the sunlight
burned,
With the golden gear was he
swaddled, and he held the red-gold rod
That the Kings of the East
had carried since first they came from God:
Down she came, and men kept
silence, and the earls beheld her face,
As her raiment rustled about
her in the morning-joyous place:
So she stood amidst of the
sun-beams, by King Atli’s board she stood,
And men looked and wondered
at her, would she speak them ill or good:
She wept not, and she sighed
not, nor smiled in the stranger land,
But she stood before King
Atli, and the cup was in her hand.
Then she spake: “Take,
King, and drink it! for earth’s mightiest men
prevail,
And to thee is the praise
and the glory, and the ending of the tale:
There are men to the dead
land faring, but the dark o’er their heads
is deep,
They cry not, they return
not, and no more renown they reap;
But we do our will without
them, nor fear their speech or frown;
And glad shall be our uprising,
and light our lying-down.”
She said: “A maid
of maidens my mother reared me erst;
By the side of the glorious
Gunnar my early days were nursed;
By the side of the heart-wise
Hogni I went from field to flower,
Joy rose with the sun’s
uprising, nor sank in the twilight hour;
Kings looked and laughed upon
us as we played with the golden toy:
And oft our hands were meeting
as we mingled joy with joy.”
More she spake: “O
King command me! for women’s knees are weak,
And their feet are little
steadfast, and their hands for comfort seek:
On the earth the blossom falleth
when the branch is dried with day,
And the vine to the elm-bough
clingeth when men smite the roots away.”
Then drank the Eastland Atli
as he looked in Gudrun’s face,
And beheld no wrath against
him, and no hate of the coming days;
Then he spake: “O
mighty woman, this day the feast shall be
For the heritance of Atli,
and the gain of mine and me:
For this day the Eastland
people such great dominion win,
That a world to their will
new-fashioned ’neath their glory shall
begin.
Yet, since the mighty are
fallen, and kings are gone from earth,
Let these at the feast be
remembered, and their ancient deeds of worth.
So I bid thee, O King’s
Daughter, sit by Atli at the feast,
To praise thy kin departed
and Atli’s weal increased;
And the heirship-feast and
the death-feast today shall be as one;
And then shalt thou wake tomorrow
with all thy mourning done,
And all thy will accomplished,
and thy glory great and sure.
That for ever and for ever
shall the tale thereof endure.”
He spake in the sunny morning,
and Gudrun answered and said:
“Thou hast bidden me
feast, O Atli, and thy will shall be obeyed:
And well I thank thee, great-one,
for the gifts thine hand would give;
For who shall gainsay the
mighty, and the happy Kings that live?
Thou hast swallowed the might
of the Niblungs, and their glory lieth
in thee:
Live long, and cherish thy
wealth, that the world may wonder and see!”
Therewith to the bower of
queens the Niblung wendeth her way,
And in all the glory of women
the folk her body array:
Forth she comes with the crown
on her head and the ivory rod in her
hand,
With queens for her waiting-women,
and the hope of many a land:
There she goes in that wonder
of houses when the high-tide of Atli is
dight,
And her face is as fair as
the sea, and her eyen are glittering bright.
By Atli’s side she sitteth,
o’er the earls they twain are set,
And shields of the ancient
wise-ones on the wall are hanging yet,
And the golden sun of the
roof-sky, the sun of Atli’s pride,
Through the beams where day
but glimmers casts red light far and wide:
The beakers clash thereunder,
the red wine murmureth speech,
And the eager long-beard warriors
cast praises each to each
Of the blossoming tree of
the Eastland:—and tomorrow shall be as
today,
Yea, even more abundant, and
all foes have passed away.
It was then in the noon-tide
moment; o’er the earth high hung the sun,
When the song o’er the
mighty Niblungs in a stranger-house was begun,
And their deeds were told
by the foemen, and the names of hope they had
Rang sweet in the hall of
the murder to make King Atli glad:
It is little after the noon-tide
when thereof they sing no more,
Nor tell of the strife that
has been, and the leaping flames of war,
And the vengeance lulled for
ever and the wrath that shall never awake:
For where is the kin of Hogni,
and who liveth for Gunnar’s sake?
So men in the hall make merry,
nor note the afternoon,
And the time when men grow
weary with the task that ends not soon;
The sun falls down unnoted,
and night and her daughter are nigh,
And a dull grey mist and awful
hangeth over the east of the sky,
And spreadeth, though winds
are sleeping, and riseth higher and higher;
But the clouds hang high in
the west as a sea of rippling fire,
That the face of the gazer
is lighted, if unto the west ye gaze,
And white walls in the lonely
meadows grow ruddy under the blaze;
Yet brighter e’en than
the cloud-sea, far-off and clear serene,
Mid purple clouds unlitten
the light lift lieth between;
And who looks, save the lonely
shepherd on the brow of the houseless
hill,
Who hath many a day seen no
man to tell him of good or of ill?
Day dies, and the storm-threats
perish, and the stars to the heaven
are come,
And the white moon climbeth
upward and hangs o’er the Eastland home;
But no man in the hall of
King Atli shall heed the heavens without,
For Atli’s roof is their
heaven, and thereto they cast the shout,
And this, the glory they builded,
is become their God to praise,
The hope of their generations,
the giver of goodly days:
No more they hearken the harp-strings,
no more they hearken the song;
All the might of the deedful
Niblungs is a tale forgotten long,
And yester-morning’s
murder is as though it ne’er had been;
They heed not the white-armed
Gudrun, the glorious Stranger-Queen,
They heed not Atli triumphant,
for they also, they are Kings,
They are brethren of the God-folk
and the fashioners of things;
Nay, the Gods,—and
the Gods have sorrow, and these shall rue no more,
These world-kings, these prevailers,
these beaters-down of war:
What golden house shall hold
them, what nightless shadowless heaven?
—So they feast
in the hall of Atli, and that eve is the first of the
seven.
So they feast, and weary,
and know not how weary they are grown,
As they stretch out hands
to gather where their hands have never sown;
They are drunken with wine
and with folly, and the hope they would
bring to pass
Of the mirth no man may compass,
and the joy that never was,
Till their heads hang heavy
with slumber, and their hands from the
wine-cup fail,
And blind stray their hands
in the harp-strings and their mouths may
tell no tale.
Now the throne of Atli is
empty, low lieth the world-king’s head
Mid the woven gold and the
purple, and the dreams of Atli’s bed,
And Gudrun lieth beside him
as the true by the faithful and kind,
And every foe is departed,
and no fear is left behind:
Lo, lo, the rest of the night-tide
for which all kings would long,
And all warriors of the people
that have fought with fear and wrong.
Yet a while;—it
was but an hour and the moon was hung so high,
As it seemed that the silent
night-tide would never change and die;
But lo, how the dawn comes
stealing o’er the mountains of the east,
And dim grows Atli’s
roof-sun o’er yestereven’s feast;
Dim yet in the treasure-houses
lie the ancient heaps of gold,
But slowly come the colours
to the Dwarf-wrought rings of old:
Yet a while; and the day-light
lingers: yea, yea, is it darker than
erst?
Hath the day into night-tide
drifted, the day by the twilight nursed?
Are the clouds in the house
of King Atli? Or what shines brighter that
morn,
In helms and shields of the
ancient, and swords by dead kings borne?
Have the heavens come down
to Atli? Hath his house been lifted on high,
Lest the pride of the triumphing
World-King should fade in the world
and die?
Lo, lo, in the hall of the
Murder where the white-armed Gudrun stands,
Aloft by the kingly high-seat,
and nought empty are her hands;
For the litten brand she beareth,
and the grinded war-sword bare:
Still she stands for a little
season till day groweth white and fair
Without the garth of King
Atli; but within, a wavering cloud
Rolls, hiding the roof and
the roof-sun; then she stirreth and crieth
aloud:
“Alone was I yestereven:
and alone in the night I lay,
And I thought on the ancient
fathers, and longed for the dawning of
day:
Then I rose from the bed of
the Eastlands; to the Holy Hearth I went;
And lo, how the brands were
abiding the hand of mine intent!
Then I caught them up with
wisdom, with care I bore them forth,
And I laid them amidst of
the treasures and dear things of uttermost
worth;
’Neath the fair-dight
benches I laid them and the carven work of the
hall;
I was wise, as the handmaid
arising ere the sun hath litten the wall,
When the brands on the hearth
she lighteth that her work betimes she
may win,
That her hand may toil unchidden,
and her day with praise begin.
—Begin, O day of
Atli! O ancient sun, arise,
With the light that I loved
aforetime, with the light that blessed
mine eyes,
When I woke and looked on
Sigurd, and he rose on the world and shone!
And we twain in the world
together! and I dwelt with Sigurd alone.”
She spake; and the sun clomb
over the Eastland mountains’ rim
And shone through the door
of Atli and the smoky hall and dim,
But the fire roared up against
him, and the smoke-cloud rolled aloof,
And back and down from the
timbers, and the carven work of the roof;
There the ancient trees were
crackling as the red flames shot aloft
From the heart of the gathering
smoke-cloud; there the far-fetched
hangings soft,
The gold and the sea-born
purple, shrank up in a moment of space,
And the walls of Atli trembled,
and the ancient golden place.
But the wine-drenched earls
were awaking, and the sleep-dazed warriors
stirred,
And the light of their dawning
was dreadful; wild voice of the day
they heard,
And they knew not where they
were gotten, and their hearts were
smitten with dread,
And they deemed that their
house was fallen to the innermost place of
the dead,
The hall for the traitors
builded, the house of the changeless plain;
They cried, and their tongues
were confounded, and none gave answer
again:
They rushed, and came nowhither;
each man beheld his foe,
And smote as the hopeless
and dying, nor brother brother might know,
The sons of one mother’s
sorrow in the fire-blast strove and smote,
And the sword of the first-begotten
was thrust in the father’s throat,
And the father hewed at his
stripling; the thrall at the war-king
cried,
And mocked the face of the
mighty in that house of Atli’s pride.
There Gudrun stood o’er
the turmoil; there stood the Niblung child;
As the battle-horn is dreadful,
as the winter wind is wild,
So dread and shrill was her
crying and the cry none heeded or heard,
As she shook the sword in
the Eastland, and spake the hidden word:
“The brand for the flesh
of the people, and the sword for the King of
the world!”
Then adown the hall and the
smoke-cloud the half-slaked torch she
hurled
And strode to the chamber
of Atli, white-fluttering mid the smoke;
But their eyen met in the
doorway and he knew the hand and the stroke,
And shrank aback before her;
and no hand might he upraise,
There was nought in his heart
but anguish in that end of Atli’s days.
But she towered aloft before
him, and cried in Atli’s home:
“Lo, lo, the day-light,
Atli, and the last foe overcome!”
And with all the might of
the Niblungs she thrust him through and fled,
And the flame was fleet behind
her and hung o’er the face of the dead.
There was none to hinder Gudrun,
and the fire-blast scathed her nought,
For the ways of the Norns
she wended, and her feet from the wrack they
brought
Till free from the bane of
the East-folk, the swift pursuing flame,
To the uttermost wall of Atli
and the side of the sea she came:
She stood on the edge of the
steep, and no child of man was there:
A light wind blew from the
sea-flood and its waves were little and
fair,
And gave back no sign of the
burning, as in twinkling haste they ran,
White-topped in the merry
morning, to the walls and the havens of man.
Then Gudrun girded her raiment,
on the edge of the steep she stood,
She looked o’er the
shoreless water, and cried out o’er the measureless
flood:
“O Sea, I stand before
thee; and I who was Sigurd’s wife!
By his brightness unforgotten
I bid thee deliver my life
From the deeds and the longing
of days, and the lack I have won of the
earth,
And the wrong amended by wrong,
and the bitter wrong of my birth!”
She hath spread out her arms
as she spake it, and away from the earth
she leapt,
And cut off her tide of returning;
for the sea-waves over her swept,
And their will is her will
henceforward; and who knoweth the deeps of
the sea,
And the wealth of the bed
of Gudrun, and the days that yet shall be?
Ye have heard of Sigurd aforetime,
how the foes of God he slew;
How forth from the darksome
desert the Gold of the Waters he drew;
How he wakened Love on the
Mountain, and wakened Brynhild the Bright,
And dwelt upon Earth for a
season, and shone in all men’s sight.
Ye have heard of the Cloudy
People, and the dimming of the day,
And the latter world’s
confusion, and Sigurd gone away;
Now ye know of the Need of
the Niblungs and the end of broken troth,
All the death of kings and
of kindreds and the sorrow of Odin the Goth.
Transcriber’s Notes
Page Problem Correction v Siggier Siggeir 7 he said: O Guest, begin; he said: “O Guest, begin; 17 to meet his guests by the way. to meet his guests by the way.” 28 wend the ways of his fate.” wend the ways of his fate.’” 30 and said: What is it and said: “What is it 42 Sinfioli’s Sinfiotli’s 57 Sigmund’s loins shall grow.’ Sigmund’s loins shall grow.” 64 waded the swathes of the sword waded the swathes of the sword. 99 the blood of the Worm was mine the blood of the Worm was mine. 128 and the Gods are yet but young. and the Gods are yet but young.” 140 All hail, O Day “All hail, O Day 141 the Sting of the Sleepful Thorn! the Sting of the Sleepful Thorn!’ 143 I needs must speak thy speech.’ I needs must speak thy speech.” 183 as the sun-beams hide the way as the sun-beams hide the way. 189 God that is smitten nor smites God that is smitten nor smites. 216 his worth with thy worth.’ his worth with thy worth.” 237 ’A witless lie is this; “A witless lie is this; 257 lord of all creatures should die lord of all creatures should die. 281 asembled assembled 283 Now to day do we come Now today do we come 293 called their king with me.’ called their king with me.” 304 and they seem so gay and kind. and they seem so gay and kind, 338 Lords of the East Lords of the East?
The following words with and without hyphens are transcribed as in the text:
a-cold acold a-land aland all-wise allwise beshielded be-shielded daylight day-light Daylong Day-long doorway door-way downward down-ward evermore ever-more forecourt fore-court forefront fore-front foreordered fore-orderedPage 251
foreshore fore-shore forthright forth-right fosterbrethren foster-brethren gemstones gem-stones godlike god-like goodwill good-will gravemound grave-mound greensward green-sward handmaid hand-maid harpstrings harp-strings heavyhearted heavy-hearted helpmate help-mate lealand lea-land leechcraft leech-craft lifedays life-days longships long-ships manchild man-child manfolk’s man-folk’s manlike manlike midnoon mid-noon moonlit moon-lit moonrise moon-rise noontide noon-tide O’ershort O’er-short oakwood oak-wood outbrake out-brake overworn over-worn sidelong side-long songcraft song-craft spearwood spear-wood springtide spring-tide storehouse store-house sunbeams sun-beams sunbright sun-bright sunlit sun-lit today to-day tonight to-night torchlight torch-light trothplight troth-plight upbuilded up-builded upheaveth up-heaveth upraised up-raised warfarings war-farings warflame war-flame wargear war-gear wildfire wild-fire woodways wood-ways yestereve yester-eve yestereven yester-even
The following words with and without accented vowels are transcribed as in the text:
accursed accursed assured assured beloved beloved changed changed crooked crooked crowned crowned heaped heaped loved loved sheathed sheathed Son Son