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.
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.
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 dwellWhen 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' fireBut show their swords to Odin, and cry on Vingi-ThorWith 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 gainOf the war-lord sped to Odin as he rends the battle atwain.And their days are young and glorious, and in hope exceeding greatWith 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 hallWhen 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 king 'twixt the night of his wavy hair:And there is the wise-heart Hogni; and his lips are close and thin,And grey and awful his eyen, and a many sights they win:And there is Guttorm the youngest, of the fierce and wandering glance,And the heart that never resteth till the swords in the war-wind dance:And there is Gudrun his daughter, and light she stands by the board,And fair are her arms in the hall as the beaker's flood is poured:She comes, and the earls keep silence; she smiles, and men rejoice;She speaks, and the harps unsmitten thrill faint to her queenly voice.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 feetBetwixt the rose and the lily, nor blessed the blossoms sweet:And she spake:"What ails thee, daughter, as one asleep to treadO'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 groundTo 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 scornFor 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 sweptO'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 loreIn 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 gloriousWith 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 tideRuns 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 faceAs 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 ariseFrom the face of the darksome ocean when the isle before her lies,So Brynhild arose from her throne and the fashioned cloths of blueWhen 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 comeTo 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 wordOf 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 gateFor the gleam of our golden wains and the dust-cloud thin and soft;But nought shall they now behold them till the moon-lamp blazeth aloft.Farewell, and have thanks for thy welcome and thy glory that I have seen,And I bid thee come to the Niblungs while the summer-ways are green,That we thine heart may gladden as thou gladdenedst ours today."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 fearWhen 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 indeedBut 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 spaceAnd 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 strangeThat 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 excellentBefore 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 thrustAnd 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 painMust 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 gazeAs 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 comeWhilst 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 aloftWhile 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 crushThe weary dust of the summer amidst the midnight hush.So came the daughter of Giuki from the hall of Brynhild the queenWhen the days of the Niblungs blossomed and their hope was springing green.
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 dwellWhen 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' fireBut show their swords to Odin, and cry on Vingi-ThorWith 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 gainOf the war-lord sped to Odin as he rends the battle atwain.And their days are young and glorious, and in hope exceeding greatWith 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 hallWhen 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 king 'twixt the night of his wavy hair:And there is the wise-heart Hogni; and his lips are close and thin,And grey and awful his eyen, and a many sights they win:And there is Guttorm the youngest, of the fierce and wandering glance,And the heart that never resteth till the swords in the war-wind dance:And there is Gudrun his daughter, and light she stands by the board,And fair are her arms in the hall as the beaker's flood is poured:She comes, and the earls keep silence; she smiles, and men rejoice;She speaks, and the harps unsmitten thrill faint to her queenly voice.
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 feetBetwixt the rose and the lily, nor blessed the blossoms sweet:And she spake:"What ails thee, daughter, as one asleep to treadO'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 groundTo 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 scornFor 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 sweptO'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 loreIn 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 gloriousWith 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 tideRuns 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 faceAs 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 ariseFrom the face of the darksome ocean when the isle before her lies,So Brynhild arose from her throne and the fashioned cloths of blueWhen 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 comeTo 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 wordOf 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 gateFor the gleam of our golden wains and the dust-cloud thin and soft;But nought shall they now behold them till the moon-lamp blazeth aloft.Farewell, and have thanks for thy welcome and thy glory that I have seen,And I bid thee come to the Niblungs while the summer-ways are green,That we thine heart may gladden as thou gladdenedst ours today."
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 fearWhen 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 indeedBut 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 spaceAnd 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 strangeThat 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 excellentBefore 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 thrustAnd 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 painMust 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 gazeAs 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 comeWhilst 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 aloftWhile 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 crushThe weary dust of the summer amidst the midnight hush.
So came the daughter of Giuki from the hall of Brynhild the queenWhen the days of the Niblungs blossomed and their hope was springing green.
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 stillThey 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 queanTo 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 dancing down the oaks in the early morn:There they strain and strive for the quarry, when the wind hath fallen deadIn the odorous dusk of the pine-wood, and the noon is high o'erhead:There oft with horns triumphant their rout by the lone tree turns,When over the bison's lea-land the last of sunset burns;Or by night and cloud all eager with shaft on string they fare,When the wind from the elk-mead setteth, or the wood-boar's tangled lair:For the wood is their barn and their storehouse, and their bower and feasting-hall,And many an one of their warriors in the woodland war shall fall.So now in the sweet spring season, on a morn of the sunny tideAbroad 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 bornThe 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 sunWere 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 treeThat girdeth the dread of his war-helm, and they wonder at his sword,And the tinkling rings of his hauberk, and the rings of the ancient Hoard:And they say: Are the Gods on the earth? did the world change yesternight?Are the sons of Odin coming, and the days of Baldur the bright?But forth stood Heimir the ancient, and of Gods and men was he chiefOf 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 reinedBy 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 anewAnd 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 homeThat 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 thereAt 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 cameA 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 leapAnd get them forth from the wood-ways to the lea-land of the sheep,And the bull-fed Lymdale meadows; and thereover Sigurd seesThe 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.
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 stillThey 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 queanTo 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 dancing down the oaks in the early morn:There they strain and strive for the quarry, when the wind hath fallen deadIn the odorous dusk of the pine-wood, and the noon is high o'erhead:There oft with horns triumphant their rout by the lone tree turns,When over the bison's lea-land the last of sunset burns;Or by night and cloud all eager with shaft on string they fare,When the wind from the elk-mead setteth, or the wood-boar's tangled lair:For the wood is their barn and their storehouse, and their bower and feasting-hall,And many an one of their warriors in the woodland war shall fall.
So now in the sweet spring season, on a morn of the sunny tideAbroad 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 bornThe 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 sunWere 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 treeThat girdeth the dread of his war-helm, and they wonder at his sword,And the tinkling rings of his hauberk, and the rings of the ancient Hoard:And they say: Are the Gods on the earth? did the world change yesternight?Are the sons of Odin coming, and the days of Baldur the bright?
But forth stood Heimir the ancient, and of Gods and men was he chiefOf 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 reinedBy 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 anewAnd 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 homeThat 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 thereAt 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 cameA 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 leapAnd get them forth from the wood-ways to the lea-land of the sheep,And the bull-fed Lymdale meadows; and thereover Sigurd seesThe 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.
So there abideth Sigurd with the Lymdale forest-lordsIn mighty honour holden, and in love beyond all words,And thence abroad through the people there goeth a rumour and breathOf 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 frayAs one whose heart is ready and abides a better day:In the woodland fray he fareth, and oft on a day doth rideWhere 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 swardBetwixt the woodland dwellings and the house of Lymdale's lord;And he hearkens Greyfell's going as he wends adown the lea,And his heart for love is craving, and the deeds he deems shall be;And he hears the Wrath's sheath tinkling as he rides the daisies downAnd he thinks of his love laid safely in the arms of his renown.But lo, as he rides the meadows, before him now he seesA builded burg arising amid the leafy trees,And a white-walled house on its topmost with a golden roof-ridge done,And thereon the clustering dove-kind in the brightness of the sun.So Sigurd stayed to behold it, for the heart within him laughed,But e'en then, as the arrow speedeth from the mighty archer's draught,Forth fled the falcon unhooded from the hand of Sigurd the King,And up, and over the tree-boughs he shot with steady wing:Then the Volsung followed his flight, for he looked to see him fallOn the fluttering folk of the doves, and he cried the backward callFull oft and over again; but the falcon heeded it nought,Nor turned to his kingly wrist-perch, nor the folk of the pigeons sought,But flew up to a high-built tower, and sat in the window a space,Crying out like the fowl of Odin when the first of the morning they face,And then passed through the open casement as an erne to his eyrie goes.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 spiesWith 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 sitteth, so fair and softly madeAre her limbs by the linen hidden, and so white is she arrayed.But a web of gold is before her, and therein by her shuttle wroughtThe early days of the Volsungs and the war by the sea's rim fought,And the crowned queen over Sigmund, and the Helper's pillared hall,And the golden babe uplifted to the eyes of duke and thrall;And there was the slender stripling by the knees of the Dwarf-folk's lord,And the gift of the ancient Gripir, and the forging of the Sword;And there were the coils of Fafnir, and the hooded threat of death,And the King by the cooking-fire, and the fowl of the Glittering Heath;And there was the headless King-smith and the golden halls of the Worm,And the laden Greyfell faring through the land of perished storm;And there was the head of Hindfell, and the flames to the sky-floor driven;And there was the glittering shield-burg, and the fallow bondage riven;And there was the wakening woman and the golden Volsung done,And they twain o'er the earthly kingdoms in the lonely evening sun:And there were fells and forests, and towns and tossing seas,And the Wrath and the golden Sigurd for ever blent with these,In the midst of the battle triumphant, in the midst of the war-kings' fall,In the midst of the peace well-conquered, in the midst of the praising hall.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 movedAs 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 spaceSince 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 smileAnd 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 meetThat 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 dayThat 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 daysWhen 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 sworeThat 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 abodeAs 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.
So there abideth Sigurd with the Lymdale forest-lordsIn mighty honour holden, and in love beyond all words,And thence abroad through the people there goeth a rumour and breathOf 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 frayAs one whose heart is ready and abides a better day:In the woodland fray he fareth, and oft on a day doth rideWhere 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 swardBetwixt the woodland dwellings and the house of Lymdale's lord;And he hearkens Greyfell's going as he wends adown the lea,And his heart for love is craving, and the deeds he deems shall be;And he hears the Wrath's sheath tinkling as he rides the daisies downAnd he thinks of his love laid safely in the arms of his renown.But lo, as he rides the meadows, before him now he seesA builded burg arising amid the leafy trees,And a white-walled house on its topmost with a golden roof-ridge done,And thereon the clustering dove-kind in the brightness of the sun.So Sigurd stayed to behold it, for the heart within him laughed,But e'en then, as the arrow speedeth from the mighty archer's draught,Forth fled the falcon unhooded from the hand of Sigurd the King,And up, and over the tree-boughs he shot with steady wing:Then the Volsung followed his flight, for he looked to see him fallOn the fluttering folk of the doves, and he cried the backward callFull oft and over again; but the falcon heeded it nought,Nor turned to his kingly wrist-perch, nor the folk of the pigeons sought,But flew up to a high-built tower, and sat in the window a space,Crying out like the fowl of Odin when the first of the morning they face,And then passed through the open casement as an erne to his eyrie goes.
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 spiesWith 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 sitteth, so fair and softly madeAre her limbs by the linen hidden, and so white is she arrayed.But a web of gold is before her, and therein by her shuttle wroughtThe early days of the Volsungs and the war by the sea's rim fought,And the crowned queen over Sigmund, and the Helper's pillared hall,And the golden babe uplifted to the eyes of duke and thrall;And there was the slender stripling by the knees of the Dwarf-folk's lord,And the gift of the ancient Gripir, and the forging of the Sword;And there were the coils of Fafnir, and the hooded threat of death,And the King by the cooking-fire, and the fowl of the Glittering Heath;And there was the headless King-smith and the golden halls of the Worm,And the laden Greyfell faring through the land of perished storm;And there was the head of Hindfell, and the flames to the sky-floor driven;And there was the glittering shield-burg, and the fallow bondage riven;And there was the wakening woman and the golden Volsung done,And they twain o'er the earthly kingdoms in the lonely evening sun:And there were fells and forests, and towns and tossing seas,And the Wrath and the golden Sigurd for ever blent with these,In the midst of the battle triumphant, in the midst of the war-kings' fall,In the midst of the peace well-conquered, in the midst of the praising hall.
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 movedAs 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 spaceSince 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 smileAnd 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 meetThat 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 dayThat 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 daysWhen 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 sworeThat 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 abodeAs 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.