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.

* * * * *

  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 goes;
  Aloft in the wind of the mountains its golden roof-ridge glows,
  And down mid its buttressed feet is the wind’s voice never still;
  And the day and the night pass o’er it and it changes to their will,
  And whiles is it glassy and dark, and whiles is it white and dead,
  And whiles is it grey as the sea-mead, and whiles is it angry red;
  And it shimmers under the sunshine and grows black to the threat of the
       storm,
  And dusk its gold roof glimmers when the rain-clouds over it swarm,
  And bright in the first of the morning its flame doth it uplift,
  When the light clouds rend before it and along its furrows drift.

Then Sigurd’s heart was glad as he beheld the city, and after a while he came to a gate-way set in the northern wall, and the gate was long and dark as a sea-cave.  But no man stayed him as he rode through the dusk to the inner court-yard, and saw the lofty roof of the hall before him, cold now and grey like a very cloud, for the sun was fully set.  But in the towers watch-men were calling one to another.  To them he cried, saying:—­

  “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 board,
  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: