"So dwelt we, brethren and father; and Fafnir my brother faredAs 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 fieldWere 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 hallsGrew 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,And Loki, the World's Begrudger, who maketh all labour vain,And Hænir, the Utter-Blameless, who wrought the hope of man,And his heart and inmost yearnings, when first the work began;——The God that was aforetime, and hereafter yet shall beWhen the new light yet undreamed of shall shine o'er earth and sea."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 dayFor its plenteous fruit of fishes; and there on the bank he layAs the Gods came wandering thither; and he slept, and in his dreamsHe 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 poisèd 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 blindThe while he devoured the prey, a golden red-flecked trout.Then passed by Odin and Hænir, 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 outrightFrom 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 Hænir 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 plainBeneath 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 seeThe wealth of its smooth-wrought stonework and its world of imagery:Then Loki bade turn thither since day was at an end,And into that noble dwelling the lords of God-home wend;And the porch was fair and mighty, and so smooth-wrought was its gold,That the mirrored stars of heaven therein might ye behold:But the hall, what words shall tell it, how fair it rose aloft,And the marvels of its windows, and its golden hangings soft,And the forest of its pillars! and each like the wave's heart shoneAnd the mirrored boughs of the garden were dancing fair thereon.—Long years agone was it builded, and where are its wonders now?"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 cupThey felt themselves tangled and caught, as when the net cometh upBefore 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 knewTo 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, Hænir, fashion nowMy 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 to-day I undo it, that work of your fashioning,If the web of the world run backward, and the high heavens lack a King?—Woe's me! for your ancient mastery shall help you at your need:If ye fill up the gulf of my longing and my empty heart of greed,And slake the flame ye have quickened, then may ye go your waysAnd get ye back to your kingship and the driving on of the daysTo the day of the gathered war-hosts, and the tide of your Fateful Gloom.Now nought may ye gainsay it that my mouth must speak the doom,For ye wot well I am Reidmar, and that there ye lie red-handFrom the slaughtering of my offspring, and the spoiling of my land;For his death of my wold hath bereft me and every highway wet.—Nay, Loki, naught avails it, well-fashioned is the net.Come forth, my son, my war-god, and show the Gods their work,And thou who mightst learn e'en Loki, if need were to lie or lurk!'"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 belovèd with bitter-heavy rods,And make them beasts beneath us, save to-day 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 freeWhen 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 turnedTo the edge of the outer desert, so sore for the gold he yearned.But Loki I loosed from the toils, and he goeth his ways 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 tellOf 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 goOn 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 hourNor 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 floodGo up to the floor of heaven, and thither turn his feetAs 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 goOn 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 flameSees 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 tellThat 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 GodAnd 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 taleOf the wisdom that Gods have 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 handE'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 worseThan 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 landsAre 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 wiseBut turned his face from the Treasure, and peered with eager eyesEndlong the hall and athwart it, as a man may chase aboutA 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-sayingThat 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 sheafAnd 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 striveWith 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 floorAnd 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 moreThan 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 grimAs he looked upon our father, and noted the ways of him."The night waned into the morning, and still above the HoardSat 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 nightThat 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 redWith 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 keepThe 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, and the Gold and its waxing curse,I shall brood on them both together, let my life grow better or worse.And I am a King henceforward and long shall be my life,And the Gold shall grow with my longing, for I shall hide it from strife,And hoard up the Ring of Andvari in the house thine hand hath built.O thou, wilt thou tarry and tarry, till I cast thy blood on the guilt?Lo, I am a King for ever, and alone on the Gold shall I dwellAnd do no deed to repent of and leave no tale to tell.'"More awful grew his visage as he spake the word of dreadAnd 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 agoAs 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 isThat 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 heartWhen the Kings of the earthly kingdoms would give me golden giftsFrom 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 lieAnd the house was rent and ragged and open to the sky.But lo, when I came to the doorway, great silence brooded there,Nor bat nor owl would haunt it, nor the wood-wolves drew anear.Then I went to the pillared hall-stead, and lo, huge heaps of gold,And to and fro amidst them a mighty Serpent rolled:Then my heart grew chill with terror, for I thought on the wont of our race,And I, who had lost their cunning, was a man in a deadly place,A feeble man and a swordless in the lone destroyer's fold;For I knew that the Worm was Fafnir, the Wallower on the Gold."So I gathered my strength and fled, and hid my shame againMid 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 toldHow 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 placeMy hands of old had builded; for I knew by many a signThat the Fearful Face was my brother, that the bloodof 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 heartThat 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 heartAnd 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 springTo 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, and Freyia, and Bragi in one:Yea the God of all that is,—and no deed in the wide world done,But the deed that my heart would fashion: and the songs of the freed from the yokeShall bear to my house in the heavens the love and the longing of folk;And there shall be no more dying, and the sea shall be as the land,And the world for ever and ever shall be young beneath my hand."Then his eyelids fell, and he slumbered, and it seemed as Sigurd gazedThat 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 oldTo avenge him for his father? Wilt thou win that Treasure of GoldAnd be more than the Kings of the earth? Wilt thou rid the earth of a wrongAnd 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."
"So dwelt we, brethren and father; and Fafnir my brother faredAs 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 fieldWere 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 hallsGrew 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,And Loki, the World's Begrudger, who maketh all labour vain,And Hænir, the Utter-Blameless, who wrought the hope of man,And his heart and inmost yearnings, when first the work began;——The God that was aforetime, and hereafter yet shall beWhen the new light yet undreamed of shall shine o'er earth and sea."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 dayFor its plenteous fruit of fishes; and there on the bank he layAs the Gods came wandering thither; and he slept, and in his dreamsHe 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 poisèd 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 blindThe while he devoured the prey, a golden red-flecked trout.Then passed by Odin and Hænir, 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 outrightFrom 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 Hænir 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 plainBeneath 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 seeThe wealth of its smooth-wrought stonework and its world of imagery:Then Loki bade turn thither since day was at an end,And into that noble dwelling the lords of God-home wend;And the porch was fair and mighty, and so smooth-wrought was its gold,That the mirrored stars of heaven therein might ye behold:But the hall, what words shall tell it, how fair it rose aloft,And the marvels of its windows, and its golden hangings soft,And the forest of its pillars! and each like the wave's heart shoneAnd the mirrored boughs of the garden were dancing fair thereon.—Long years agone was it builded, and where are its wonders now?"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 cupThey felt themselves tangled and caught, as when the net cometh upBefore 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 knewTo 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, Hænir, fashion nowMy 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 to-day I undo it, that work of your fashioning,If the web of the world run backward, and the high heavens lack a King?—Woe's me! for your ancient mastery shall help you at your need:If ye fill up the gulf of my longing and my empty heart of greed,And slake the flame ye have quickened, then may ye go your waysAnd get ye back to your kingship and the driving on of the daysTo the day of the gathered war-hosts, and the tide of your Fateful Gloom.Now nought may ye gainsay it that my mouth must speak the doom,For ye wot well I am Reidmar, and that there ye lie red-handFrom the slaughtering of my offspring, and the spoiling of my land;For his death of my wold hath bereft me and every highway wet.—Nay, Loki, naught avails it, well-fashioned is the net.Come forth, my son, my war-god, and show the Gods their work,And thou who mightst learn e'en Loki, if need were to lie or lurk!'"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 belovèd with bitter-heavy rods,And make them beasts beneath us, save to-day 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 freeWhen 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 turnedTo the edge of the outer desert, so sore for the gold he yearned.But Loki I loosed from the toils, and he goeth his ways 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 tellOf 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 goOn 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 hourNor 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 floodGo up to the floor of heaven, and thither turn his feetAs 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 goOn 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 flameSees 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 tellThat 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 GodAnd 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 taleOf the wisdom that Gods have 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 handE'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 worseThan 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 landsAre 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 wiseBut turned his face from the Treasure, and peered with eager eyesEndlong the hall and athwart it, as a man may chase aboutA 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-sayingThat 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 sheafAnd 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 striveWith 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 floorAnd 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 moreThan 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 grimAs he looked upon our father, and noted the ways of him."The night waned into the morning, and still above the HoardSat 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 nightThat 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 redWith 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 keepThe 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, and the Gold and its waxing curse,I shall brood on them both together, let my life grow better or worse.And I am a King henceforward and long shall be my life,And the Gold shall grow with my longing, for I shall hide it from strife,And hoard up the Ring of Andvari in the house thine hand hath built.O thou, wilt thou tarry and tarry, till I cast thy blood on the guilt?Lo, I am a King for ever, and alone on the Gold shall I dwellAnd do no deed to repent of and leave no tale to tell.'"More awful grew his visage as he spake the word of dreadAnd 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 agoAs 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 isThat 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 heartWhen the Kings of the earthly kingdoms would give me golden giftsFrom 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 lieAnd the house was rent and ragged and open to the sky.But lo, when I came to the doorway, great silence brooded there,Nor bat nor owl would haunt it, nor the wood-wolves drew anear.Then I went to the pillared hall-stead, and lo, huge heaps of gold,And to and fro amidst them a mighty Serpent rolled:Then my heart grew chill with terror, for I thought on the wont of our race,And I, who had lost their cunning, was a man in a deadly place,A feeble man and a swordless in the lone destroyer's fold;For I knew that the Worm was Fafnir, the Wallower on the Gold."So I gathered my strength and fled, and hid my shame againMid 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 toldHow 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 placeMy hands of old had builded; for I knew by many a signThat the Fearful Face was my brother, that the bloodof 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 heartThat 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 heartAnd 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 springTo 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, and Freyia, and Bragi in one:Yea the God of all that is,—and no deed in the wide world done,But the deed that my heart would fashion: and the songs of the freed from the yokeShall bear to my house in the heavens the love and the longing of folk;And there shall be no more dying, and the sea shall be as the land,And the world for ever and ever shall be young beneath my hand."Then his eyelids fell, and he slumbered, and it seemed as Sigurd gazedThat 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 oldTo avenge him for his father? Wilt thou win that Treasure of GoldAnd be more than the Kings of the earth? Wilt thou rid the earth of a wrongAnd 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."
Now again came Sigurd to Regin, and said: "Thou hast taught me a taskWhereof none knoweth the ending: and a gift at thine hands I ask."Then answered Regin the Master: "The world must be wide indeedIf 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 aloftHow 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 fieldA 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 charmAnd 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 outshoneAs he turned about to the anvil, and smote the sword thereon;But the shards fell shivering earthward, and Sigurd's heart grew wrothAs 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 doorAnd 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 skyAnd sawest the dim white circle amid the cloud-flecks lie;And night and day have I laboured; and the cunning of old daysHath 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 faceThose eyes of the heart of the Volsungs; but trembled in his placeAs Sigurd cried: "O Regin, thy kin of the days of oldWere an evil and treacherous folk, and they lied and murdered for gold;And now if thou wouldst bewray 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 highMust 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 layOn 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 sakeIn 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 wallBetwixt 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 blueE'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 praiseWhen 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 hoardWere as bright in the hilts and glorious, as when in the Volsungs' hallIt 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 meThe message of my fathers, and the word of things 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 gold;They have ended many a story, they shall fashion a tale to be told:They have lived in the wrack of the people; they shall live in the glory of folk:They have stricken the Gods in battle, for the Gods shall they strike the stroke."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 placeShe stood when he was departed: as some for-travailed oneComes 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.
Now again came Sigurd to Regin, and said: "Thou hast taught me a taskWhereof none knoweth the ending: and a gift at thine hands I ask."Then answered Regin the Master: "The world must be wide indeedIf 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 aloftHow 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 fieldA 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 charmAnd 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 outshoneAs he turned about to the anvil, and smote the sword thereon;But the shards fell shivering earthward, and Sigurd's heart grew wrothAs 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 doorAnd 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 skyAnd sawest the dim white circle amid the cloud-flecks lie;And night and day have I laboured; and the cunning of old daysHath 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 faceThose eyes of the heart of the Volsungs; but trembled in his placeAs Sigurd cried: "O Regin, thy kin of the days of oldWere an evil and treacherous folk, and they lied and murdered for gold;And now if thou wouldst bewray 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 highMust 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 layOn 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 sakeIn 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 wallBetwixt 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 blueE'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 praiseWhen 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 hoardWere as bright in the hilts and glorious, as when in the Volsungs' hallIt 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 meThe message of my fathers, and the word of things 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 gold;They have ended many a story, they shall fashion a tale to be told:They have lived in the wrack of the people; they shall live in the glory of folk:They have stricken the Gods in battle, for the Gods shall they strike the stroke."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 placeShe stood when he was departed: as some for-travailed oneComes 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?"
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 doNought 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 appeaseBlind 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 liesTo do the deed or leave it: since thou hast shown mine eyesThe 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 dieEre the first of my strokes be stricken? Wilt thou get to thy masteryAnd 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 swordIs the slayer of the Serpent, and the scatterer of the Hoard."Great waxed the gloom of Regin, and he said: "Thou sayest soothFor none may turn him backward: the sword of a very youthShall 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 standest, yet get thee from mine house,For in me too might ariseth, and the place is perilousWith 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 swayFor 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 hateOf 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 stoodLike an image of deeds departed and days that once were good;And he seemed but faint and weary, and his eyes were dim and dazedAs 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 paleLike 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 ranThat swallowed the runes of wisdom wherewith its sides were scored.No sound did Sigurd utter as he stooped adown for his sword,But it seemed as his lips were moving with speech of strong desire.White leapt the blade o'er his head, and he stood in the ring of its fireAs hither and thither it played, till it fell on the anvil's strength,And he cried aloud in his glory, and held out the sword full length,As one who would show it the world; for the edges were dulled no whit,And the anvil was cleft to the pavement with the dreadful dint of it.But Regin cried to his harp-strings: "Before the days of menI smithied the Wrath of Sigurd, and now is it smithied again:And my hand alone hath done it, and my heart alone hath daredTo 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 realmAnd 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 fulfillWith 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 adownAs a man that pondereth sorely, and his voice once more was grownAs the voice of the smithying-master as he spake: "This Wrath of thineHath 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 sheathAnd 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.
Then answered the eye-bright Sigurd: "If thou thy craft wilt doNought 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 appeaseBlind 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 liesTo do the deed or leave it: since thou hast shown mine eyesThe 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 dieEre the first of my strokes be stricken? Wilt thou get to thy masteryAnd 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 swordIs the slayer of the Serpent, and the scatterer of the Hoard."Great waxed the gloom of Regin, and he said: "Thou sayest soothFor none may turn him backward: the sword of a very youthShall 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 standest, yet get thee from mine house,For in me too might ariseth, and the place is perilousWith 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 swayFor 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 hateOf 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 stoodLike an image of deeds departed and days that once were good;And he seemed but faint and weary, and his eyes were dim and dazedAs 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 paleLike 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 ranThat swallowed the runes of wisdom wherewith its sides were scored.No sound did Sigurd utter as he stooped adown for his sword,But it seemed as his lips were moving with speech of strong desire.White leapt the blade o'er his head, and he stood in the ring of its fireAs hither and thither it played, till it fell on the anvil's strength,And he cried aloud in his glory, and held out the sword full length,As one who would show it the world; for the edges were dulled no whit,And the anvil was cleft to the pavement with the dreadful dint of it.But Regin cried to his harp-strings: "Before the days of menI smithied the Wrath of Sigurd, and now is it smithied again:And my hand alone hath done it, and my heart alone hath daredTo 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 realmAnd 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 fulfillWith 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 adownAs a man that pondereth sorely, and his voice once more was grownAs the voice of the smithying-master as he spake: "This Wrath of thineHath 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 sheathAnd 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.