So wear the ten days over, and the morrow-morn is come,And the light-foot expectation flits through the Niblung home,And the girded hope is ready, and all people are astir,When the voice of the keen-eyed watchman from the topmost tower they hear:"Look forth from the Burg, O Niblungs, and the war-gate of renown!For the wind is up in the morning, and the may-blooms fall adown,And the sun on the earth is shining, and the clouds are small and high,And here is a goodly people and an army drawing anigh."Then horsed are the sons of the earl-folk, and their robes are glittering-gay,And they ride o'er the bridge of the river adown the dusty way,Till they come on a lovely people, and the maids of war they meet,Whose cloaks are blue and broidered, and their girded linen sweet;And they ride on the roan and the grey, and the dapple-grey and the red,And many a bloom of the may-tide on their crispy locks is shed:Fair, young are the sons of the earl-folk, and they laugh for love and glee,As the lovely-wristed maidens on the summer ways they see.But lo, mid the sweet-faced fellows there cometh a golden wain,Like the wain of the sea be-shielded with the signs of the war-god's gain:Snow-white are its harnessed yoke-beasts, and its bench-cloths are of blue,Inwrought with the written wonders that ancient women knew;But nought therein there sitteth save a crownèd queen alone,Swan-white on the dark-blue bench-cloths and the carven ivory throne;Abashed are sons of the earl-folk of their laughter and their glee,When the glory of Queen Brynhild on the summer ways they see.But they hear the voice of the woman, and her speech is soft and kind:"Are ye the sons of the Niblungs, and the folk I came to find,O young men fair and lovely? So may your days be long,And grow in gain and glory, and fail of grief and wrong!"Then they hailed her sweet and goodly, and back again they rodeBy the bridge o'er the rushing river to the gate of their abode;And high aloft, half-hearkened, rang the joyance of the horn,And the cry of the Ancient People from their walls of war was borneO'er the tilth of the plain, and the meadows, and the sheep-fed slopes that leadFrom the God-built wall of the mountains to the blossoms of the mead.Then up in the wain stood Brynhild, and her voice was sweet as she said:"Is this the house of Gunnar, and the man I swore to wed?"But she hearkened the cry from the gateway and the hollow of the door:"Yea this is the dwelling of Gunnar, and the house of the God of War:There is none of the world so mighty, be he outland King or Goth,Save Sigurd the mighty Volsung and the brother of his troth."Then spake Brynhild and said: "Lo, a house of ancient Kings,Wrought for great deeds' fulfilment, and the birth of noble things!Be the bloom of the earth upon it, and the hope of the heavens above!May peace and joy abide there, and the full content of love!And when our days are done with, and we lie alow in rest,May its lords returning homeward still deem they see the best!"She spake with voice unfaltering, and the golden wain moved on,And all men deemed who heard her that great gifts their home had won.So she passed through the dusk of the doorway, and the cave of the war-fair folk,Wherein the echoing horse-hoofs as the sound of swords awoke,And the whispering wind of the may-tide from the cloudy wall smote back,And cried in the crown of the roof-arch of battle and the wrack;And the voice of maidens sounded as kings' cries in the day of the wrath,When the flame is on the threshold and the war-shields strew the path.So fair in the sun of the forecourt doth Brynhild's wain shine bright,And the huge hall riseth before her, and the ernes cry out from its height,And there by the door of the Niblungs she sees huge warriors stand,Dark-clad, by the shoulders greater than the best of any land,And she knoweth the chiefs of the Niblungs, the dreaded dukes of war:But one in cloudy raiment stands a very midst the door,And ruddy and bright is his visage, and his black locks wave in the wind,And she knoweth the King of the Niblungs and the man she came to find:Then nought she lingered nor loitered, but stepped to the earth adownWith right-hand reached to the War-God, the wearer of the crown;And she said:"I behold thee, Gunnar, the King of War that rodeThrough the waves of the Flickering Fire to the door of mine abode,To lie by my side in the even, and waken in the morn;And for this I needs must deem thee the best of all men born,The highest-hearted, the greatest, the staunchest of thy love:And that such the world yet holdeth, my heart is fain thereof:And for thee I deem was I fashioned, and for thee the oath I sworeIn the days of my glory and wisdom, ere the days of youth were o'er.May the bloom of the earth be upon thee, and the hope of the heavens above,May the blessing of days be upon thee, and the full content of love!Mayst thou see our children's children, and the crownèd kin of kings!May no hope from thine eyes be hidden of the day of better things!May the fire ne'er stay thy glory, nor the ocean-flood thy fame!Through ages of all ages may the wide world praise thy name!Yea oft may the word be spoken when low we lie at rest,'It befell in the days of Gunnar, the happiest and the best!'All this may the high Gods give thee, and thereto a gift I give,The body of Queen Brynhild so long as both we live."With unmoved face, unfaltering, the blessing-words she said,But the joy sprang up in Gunnar and increased his goodlihead,And he cast his arms about her and kissed her on the mouth,And he said:"The gift is greater than all treasure of the south:As glad as my heart this moment, so glad may be thy life,And the world be never weary of the joy of Gunnar's wife!"She spake no word, and smiled not, but she held his hand henceforth.And he said: "Now take the greetings of my men, the most of worth."Then she turned her face to the war-dukes, and hearkened to their praise,And she spake in few words sweetly, and blessed their coming days.Then again spake Gunnar and said: "Lo, Hogni my brother is this;But Guttorm is far on the East-seas, and seeketh the warrior's bliss;A third there is of my brethren, and my house holds none so great;In the hall by the side of my sister thy face doth he await."Then Brynhild turned unto Hogni, and he greeted her fair and well,And she prayed all blessings upon him, and a tale that the world should tell:Then again she spake unto Gunnar: "I had deemed ye had been but threeWho sprang from the loins of Giuki; is this fourth akin unto thee,This hall-abider the mighty?"He said: "He is nought of our blood.But the Gods have sent him to usward to work us measureless good:It is even Sigurd the Volsung, the best man ever born,The man that the Gods withstand not, my friend, and my brother sworn."She heard the name, and she changed not, but her feet went forth as he led,And under the cloudy roof-tree Queen Brynhild bowed her head.Then, were there a man so ancient as had lived beyond his peersOn the earth, that beareth all things, a twice-told tale of years,He had heard no sound so mighty as the shout that shook the wallWhen Brynhild's feet unhearkened first trod the Niblung hall.No whit the clamour stirred her; but her godlike eyes she raisedAnd betwixt the hedge of the earl-folk on the golden high-seat gazed,And the man that sat by Gudrun: but e'en as the rainless cloudEre the first of the tempest ariseth the latter sun doth shroud,And men look round and shudder, so Grimhild came betweenThe silent golden Sigurd and the eyes of the mighty Queen,And again heard Brynhild greeting, and again she spake and said:"O Mother of the Niblungs, such hap be on thine head,As thy love for me, the stranger, was past the pain of words!Mayst thou see thy son's sons glorious in the meeting of the swords!Mayst thou sleep and doubt thee nothing of the fortunes of thy race!Mayst thou hear folk call yon high-seat the earth's most happy place!"Then the Wise-wife hushed before her, and a little fell aside,And nought from the eyes of Brynhild the high-seat now did hide;And the face so long desired, unchanged from time agone,In the house of the Cloudy People from the Niblung high-seat shone:She stood with her hand in Gunnar's, and all about and aroundWere the unfamiliar faces, and the folk that day had found;But her heart ran back through the years, and yet her lips did moveWith the words she spake on Hindfell, when they plighted troth of love.Lo, Sigurd fair on the high-seat by the white-armed Gudrun's side,In the midst of the Cloudy People, in the dwelling of their pride!His face is exceeding glorious and awful to behold;For of all his sorrow he knoweth and his hope smit dead and cold:The will of the Norns is accomplished, and, lo, they wend on their ways,And leave the mighty Sigurd to deal with the latter days:The Gods look down from heaven, and the lonely King they see,And sorrow over his sorrow, and rejoice in his majesty.For the will of the Norns is accomplished, and outworn is Grimhild's spell,And nought now shall blind or help him, and the tale shall be to tell:He hath seen the face of Brynhild, and he knows why she hath come,And that his is the hand that hath drawn her to the Cloudy People's home:He knows of the net of the days, and the deeds that the Gods have bid,And no whit of the sorrow that shall be from his wakened soul is hid:And his glory his heart restraineth, and restraineth the hand of the strongFrom the hope of the fools of desire and the wrong that amendeth wrong;And he seeth the ways of the burden till the last of the uttermost end.But for all the measureless anguish, and the woe that nought may amend,His heart speeds back to Hindfell, and the dawn of the wakening day;And the hours betwixt are as nothing, and their deeds are fallen awayAs he looks on the face of Brynhild; and nought is the Niblung folk,But they two are again together, and he speaketh the words he spoke,When he swore the love that endureth, and the truth that knoweth not change;And Brynhild's face drew near him with eyes grown stern and strange.—Lo, such is the high Gods' sorrow, and men know nought thereof,Who cry out o'er their undoing, and wail o'er broken love.Now she stands on the floor of the high-seat, and for e'en so little a spaceAs men may note delaying, she looketh on Sigurd's face,Ere she saith:"I have greeted many in the Niblungs' house today,And for thee is the last of my greetings ere the feast shall wear away:Hail, Sigurd, son of the Volsungs! hail, lord of Odin's storm!Hail, rider of the wasteland and slayer of the Worm!If aught thy soul shall desire while yet thou livest on earth,I pray that thou mayst win it, nor forget its might and worth."All grief, sharp scorn, sore longing, stark death in her voice he knew,But gone forth is the doom of the Norns, and what shall he answer thereto,While the death that amendeth lingers? and they twain shall dwell for awhileIn the Niblung house together by the hearth that forged the guile;Yet amid the good and the guileless, and the love that thought no wrong,Shall they fashion the deeds to remember, and the fame that endureth for long:And oft shall he look on Brynhild, and oft her words shall he hear,And no hope and no beseeching in his inmost heart shall stir.So he spake as a King of the people in whom all fear is dead,And his anguish no man noted, as the greeting-words he said:"Hail, fairest of all things fashioned! hail, thou desire of eyes!Hail, chooser of the mightiest, and teacher of the wise!Hail, wife of my brother Gunnar! in might may thy days endure,And in peace without a trouble that the world's weal may be sure!"She heard and turned unto Gunnar as a queen that seeketh her place,But to Gudrun she gave no greeting, nor beheld the Niblung's face.Then up stood the wife of Sigurd and strove with the greeting-word,But the cold fear rose in her heart, and the hate within her stirred,And the greeting died on her lips, and she gazed for a moment or twainOn the lovely face of Brynhild, and so sat in the high-seat again,And turned to her lord beside her with many a word of love.But the song sprang up in the hall, and the eagles cried from above,And forth to the freshness of May went the joyance of the feast:And Sigurd sat with the Niblungs, and gave ear to most and to least,And showed no sign to the people of the grief that on him lay;Nor seemeth he worser to any than he was on the yesterday.
So wear the ten days over, and the morrow-morn is come,And the light-foot expectation flits through the Niblung home,And the girded hope is ready, and all people are astir,When the voice of the keen-eyed watchman from the topmost tower they hear:"Look forth from the Burg, O Niblungs, and the war-gate of renown!For the wind is up in the morning, and the may-blooms fall adown,And the sun on the earth is shining, and the clouds are small and high,And here is a goodly people and an army drawing anigh."
Then horsed are the sons of the earl-folk, and their robes are glittering-gay,And they ride o'er the bridge of the river adown the dusty way,Till they come on a lovely people, and the maids of war they meet,Whose cloaks are blue and broidered, and their girded linen sweet;And they ride on the roan and the grey, and the dapple-grey and the red,And many a bloom of the may-tide on their crispy locks is shed:Fair, young are the sons of the earl-folk, and they laugh for love and glee,As the lovely-wristed maidens on the summer ways they see.
But lo, mid the sweet-faced fellows there cometh a golden wain,Like the wain of the sea be-shielded with the signs of the war-god's gain:Snow-white are its harnessed yoke-beasts, and its bench-cloths are of blue,Inwrought with the written wonders that ancient women knew;But nought therein there sitteth save a crownèd queen alone,Swan-white on the dark-blue bench-cloths and the carven ivory throne;Abashed are sons of the earl-folk of their laughter and their glee,When the glory of Queen Brynhild on the summer ways they see.
But they hear the voice of the woman, and her speech is soft and kind:"Are ye the sons of the Niblungs, and the folk I came to find,O young men fair and lovely? So may your days be long,And grow in gain and glory, and fail of grief and wrong!"Then they hailed her sweet and goodly, and back again they rodeBy the bridge o'er the rushing river to the gate of their abode;And high aloft, half-hearkened, rang the joyance of the horn,And the cry of the Ancient People from their walls of war was borneO'er the tilth of the plain, and the meadows, and the sheep-fed slopes that leadFrom the God-built wall of the mountains to the blossoms of the mead.
Then up in the wain stood Brynhild, and her voice was sweet as she said:"Is this the house of Gunnar, and the man I swore to wed?"
But she hearkened the cry from the gateway and the hollow of the door:"Yea this is the dwelling of Gunnar, and the house of the God of War:There is none of the world so mighty, be he outland King or Goth,Save Sigurd the mighty Volsung and the brother of his troth."
Then spake Brynhild and said: "Lo, a house of ancient Kings,Wrought for great deeds' fulfilment, and the birth of noble things!Be the bloom of the earth upon it, and the hope of the heavens above!May peace and joy abide there, and the full content of love!And when our days are done with, and we lie alow in rest,May its lords returning homeward still deem they see the best!"
She spake with voice unfaltering, and the golden wain moved on,And all men deemed who heard her that great gifts their home had won.
So she passed through the dusk of the doorway, and the cave of the war-fair folk,Wherein the echoing horse-hoofs as the sound of swords awoke,And the whispering wind of the may-tide from the cloudy wall smote back,And cried in the crown of the roof-arch of battle and the wrack;And the voice of maidens sounded as kings' cries in the day of the wrath,When the flame is on the threshold and the war-shields strew the path.
So fair in the sun of the forecourt doth Brynhild's wain shine bright,And the huge hall riseth before her, and the ernes cry out from its height,And there by the door of the Niblungs she sees huge warriors stand,Dark-clad, by the shoulders greater than the best of any land,And she knoweth the chiefs of the Niblungs, the dreaded dukes of war:But one in cloudy raiment stands a very midst the door,And ruddy and bright is his visage, and his black locks wave in the wind,And she knoweth the King of the Niblungs and the man she came to find:Then nought she lingered nor loitered, but stepped to the earth adownWith right-hand reached to the War-God, the wearer of the crown;And she said:"I behold thee, Gunnar, the King of War that rodeThrough the waves of the Flickering Fire to the door of mine abode,To lie by my side in the even, and waken in the morn;And for this I needs must deem thee the best of all men born,The highest-hearted, the greatest, the staunchest of thy love:And that such the world yet holdeth, my heart is fain thereof:And for thee I deem was I fashioned, and for thee the oath I sworeIn the days of my glory and wisdom, ere the days of youth were o'er.May the bloom of the earth be upon thee, and the hope of the heavens above,May the blessing of days be upon thee, and the full content of love!Mayst thou see our children's children, and the crownèd kin of kings!May no hope from thine eyes be hidden of the day of better things!May the fire ne'er stay thy glory, nor the ocean-flood thy fame!Through ages of all ages may the wide world praise thy name!Yea oft may the word be spoken when low we lie at rest,'It befell in the days of Gunnar, the happiest and the best!'All this may the high Gods give thee, and thereto a gift I give,The body of Queen Brynhild so long as both we live."
With unmoved face, unfaltering, the blessing-words she said,But the joy sprang up in Gunnar and increased his goodlihead,And he cast his arms about her and kissed her on the mouth,And he said:"The gift is greater than all treasure of the south:As glad as my heart this moment, so glad may be thy life,And the world be never weary of the joy of Gunnar's wife!"
She spake no word, and smiled not, but she held his hand henceforth.And he said: "Now take the greetings of my men, the most of worth."
Then she turned her face to the war-dukes, and hearkened to their praise,And she spake in few words sweetly, and blessed their coming days.Then again spake Gunnar and said: "Lo, Hogni my brother is this;But Guttorm is far on the East-seas, and seeketh the warrior's bliss;A third there is of my brethren, and my house holds none so great;In the hall by the side of my sister thy face doth he await."
Then Brynhild turned unto Hogni, and he greeted her fair and well,And she prayed all blessings upon him, and a tale that the world should tell:Then again she spake unto Gunnar: "I had deemed ye had been but threeWho sprang from the loins of Giuki; is this fourth akin unto thee,This hall-abider the mighty?"He said: "He is nought of our blood.But the Gods have sent him to usward to work us measureless good:It is even Sigurd the Volsung, the best man ever born,The man that the Gods withstand not, my friend, and my brother sworn."
She heard the name, and she changed not, but her feet went forth as he led,And under the cloudy roof-tree Queen Brynhild bowed her head.Then, were there a man so ancient as had lived beyond his peersOn the earth, that beareth all things, a twice-told tale of years,He had heard no sound so mighty as the shout that shook the wallWhen Brynhild's feet unhearkened first trod the Niblung hall.No whit the clamour stirred her; but her godlike eyes she raisedAnd betwixt the hedge of the earl-folk on the golden high-seat gazed,And the man that sat by Gudrun: but e'en as the rainless cloudEre the first of the tempest ariseth the latter sun doth shroud,And men look round and shudder, so Grimhild came betweenThe silent golden Sigurd and the eyes of the mighty Queen,And again heard Brynhild greeting, and again she spake and said:
"O Mother of the Niblungs, such hap be on thine head,As thy love for me, the stranger, was past the pain of words!Mayst thou see thy son's sons glorious in the meeting of the swords!Mayst thou sleep and doubt thee nothing of the fortunes of thy race!Mayst thou hear folk call yon high-seat the earth's most happy place!"
Then the Wise-wife hushed before her, and a little fell aside,And nought from the eyes of Brynhild the high-seat now did hide;And the face so long desired, unchanged from time agone,In the house of the Cloudy People from the Niblung high-seat shone:She stood with her hand in Gunnar's, and all about and aroundWere the unfamiliar faces, and the folk that day had found;But her heart ran back through the years, and yet her lips did moveWith the words she spake on Hindfell, when they plighted troth of love.
Lo, Sigurd fair on the high-seat by the white-armed Gudrun's side,In the midst of the Cloudy People, in the dwelling of their pride!His face is exceeding glorious and awful to behold;For of all his sorrow he knoweth and his hope smit dead and cold:The will of the Norns is accomplished, and, lo, they wend on their ways,And leave the mighty Sigurd to deal with the latter days:The Gods look down from heaven, and the lonely King they see,And sorrow over his sorrow, and rejoice in his majesty.For the will of the Norns is accomplished, and outworn is Grimhild's spell,And nought now shall blind or help him, and the tale shall be to tell:He hath seen the face of Brynhild, and he knows why she hath come,And that his is the hand that hath drawn her to the Cloudy People's home:He knows of the net of the days, and the deeds that the Gods have bid,And no whit of the sorrow that shall be from his wakened soul is hid:And his glory his heart restraineth, and restraineth the hand of the strongFrom the hope of the fools of desire and the wrong that amendeth wrong;And he seeth the ways of the burden till the last of the uttermost end.But for all the measureless anguish, and the woe that nought may amend,His heart speeds back to Hindfell, and the dawn of the wakening day;And the hours betwixt are as nothing, and their deeds are fallen awayAs he looks on the face of Brynhild; and nought is the Niblung folk,But they two are again together, and he speaketh the words he spoke,When he swore the love that endureth, and the truth that knoweth not change;And Brynhild's face drew near him with eyes grown stern and strange.—Lo, such is the high Gods' sorrow, and men know nought thereof,Who cry out o'er their undoing, and wail o'er broken love.Now she stands on the floor of the high-seat, and for e'en so little a spaceAs men may note delaying, she looketh on Sigurd's face,Ere she saith:"I have greeted many in the Niblungs' house today,And for thee is the last of my greetings ere the feast shall wear away:Hail, Sigurd, son of the Volsungs! hail, lord of Odin's storm!Hail, rider of the wasteland and slayer of the Worm!If aught thy soul shall desire while yet thou livest on earth,I pray that thou mayst win it, nor forget its might and worth."
All grief, sharp scorn, sore longing, stark death in her voice he knew,But gone forth is the doom of the Norns, and what shall he answer thereto,While the death that amendeth lingers? and they twain shall dwell for awhileIn the Niblung house together by the hearth that forged the guile;Yet amid the good and the guileless, and the love that thought no wrong,Shall they fashion the deeds to remember, and the fame that endureth for long:And oft shall he look on Brynhild, and oft her words shall he hear,And no hope and no beseeching in his inmost heart shall stir.So he spake as a King of the people in whom all fear is dead,And his anguish no man noted, as the greeting-words he said:
"Hail, fairest of all things fashioned! hail, thou desire of eyes!Hail, chooser of the mightiest, and teacher of the wise!Hail, wife of my brother Gunnar! in might may thy days endure,And in peace without a trouble that the world's weal may be sure!"
She heard and turned unto Gunnar as a queen that seeketh her place,But to Gudrun she gave no greeting, nor beheld the Niblung's face.Then up stood the wife of Sigurd and strove with the greeting-word,But the cold fear rose in her heart, and the hate within her stirred,And the greeting died on her lips, and she gazed for a moment or twainOn the lovely face of Brynhild, and so sat in the high-seat again,And turned to her lord beside her with many a word of love.
But the song sprang up in the hall, and the eagles cried from above,And forth to the freshness of May went the joyance of the feast:And Sigurd sat with the Niblungs, and gave ear to most and to least,And showed no sign to the people of the grief that on him lay;Nor seemeth he worser to any than he was on the yesterday.
So there are all these abiding in the Burg of the ancient folkMid the troth-plight sworn and broken, and the oaths of the earthly yoke.Then Guttorm comes from his sea-fare, and is waxen fierce and strong,A man in the wars delighting, blind-eyed through right and wrong:Still Sigurd rides with the Brethren, as oft in the other days,And never a whit abateth the sound of the people's praise;They drink in the hall together, they doom in the people's strife,And do every deed of the King-folk, that the world may rejoice in their life.There now is Brynhild abiding as a Queen in the house of the Kings,And hither and thither she wendeth through the day of queenly things;And no man knoweth her sorrow; though whiles is the Niblung bedToo hot and weary a dwelling for the temples of her head,And she wends, as her wont was aforetime, when the moon is riding high,And the night on the earth is deepest; and she deemeth it good to lieIn the trench of the windy mountains, and the track of the wandering sheep,While soft in the arms of Sigurd Queen Gudrun lieth asleep:There she cries on the lovely Sigurd, and she cries on the love and the oath,And she cries on the change and the vengeance, and the death to deliver them both.But her crying none shall hearken, and her sorrow nought shall know,Save the heart of the golden Sigurd, and the man fast bound in woe:So she wendeth her back in the dawning, toward the deeds and the dwellings of men,And she sits in the Niblung high-seat, and is fair and queenly again.Close now is her converse with Gudrun, and sore therein she strivesLest the barren stark contention should mingle in their lives;And she humbles her oft before her, as before the Queen of the earth,The mistress, the overcomer, the winner of all that is worth:And Gudrun beareth it all, and deemeth it little enowThough the wife of Sigurd be worshipped: and the scorn in her heart doth grow,Of every soul save Sigurd: for that tale of the night she bearsScarce hid 'twixt the lips and the bosom; and with evil eye she hearsSongs sung of the deeds of Gunnar, and the rider of the fire,Who mocked at the bane of King-folk to win his heart's desire:But Sigurd's will constraineth, and with seeming words of peaceShe deals with the converse of Brynhild, and the days her load increase.Men tell how the heart-wise Hogni grew wiser day by day;He knows of the craft of Grimhild, and how she looketh to swayThe very council of God-home and the Norns' unchanging mind;And he saith that well-learned is his mother, but that e'en her feet are blindDown the path that she cannot escape from: nay oft is she nothing, he saith,Save a staff for the foredoomed staying, and a sword for the ordered death;And that he will be wiser than this, nor thrust his desire aside,Nor smother the flame of his hatred; but the steed of the Norns will he ride,Till he see great marvels and wonders, and leave great tales to be told:And measureless pride is in him, a stern heart, stubborn and cold.But of Gunnar the Niblung they say it, that the bloom of his youth is o'er,And many are manhood's troubles, and they burden him oft and sore.He dwells with Brynhild his wife, with Grimhild his mother he dwells,And noble things of his greatness, of his joy, the rumour tells;Yet oft and oft of an even he thinks of that tale of the night,And the shame springs fresh in his heart at his brother Sigurd's might;And the wonder riseth within him, what deed did Sigurd there,What gift to the King hath he given: and he looks on Brynhild the fair,The fair face never smiling, and the eyes that know no change,And he deems in the bed of the Niblungs she is but cold and strange;And the Lie is laid between them, as the sword lay while agone.He hearkens to Grimhild moreover, and he deems she is driving him on,He knoweth not whither nor wherefore: but she tells of the measureless Gold,And the Flame of the uttermost Waters, and the Hoard of the kings of old:And she tells of kings' supplanters, and the leaders of the war,Who take the crown of song-craft, and the tale when all is o'er:She tells of kings' supplanters, and saith: Perchance 'twere well,Might some tongue of the wise of the earth of those deeds of the night-tide tell:She tells of kings' supplanters: I am wise, and the wise I know,And for nought is the sword-edge whetted, save the smiting of the blow:Old friends are last to sever, and twain are strong indeed,When one the King's shame knoweth, and the other knoweth his need.So Gunnar hearkens and hearkens, and he saith, It is idle and worse:If the oath of my brother be broken, let the earth then see to the curse!But again he hearkens and hearkens, and when none may hear his thoughtHe saith in the silent night-tide: Shall my brother bring me to nought?Must my stroke be a stroke of the guilty, though on sackless folk it fall?Shall a king sit joy-forsaken mid the riches of his hall?And measureless pride is in Gunnar, and it blends with doubt and shame,And the unseen blossom is envy and desire without a name.But fair-faced, calm as a God who hath none to call his foes,Betwixt the Kings and the people the golden Sigurd goes;No knowledge of man he lacketh, and the lore he gained of oldFrom the ancient heart of the Serpent and the Wallower on the GoldSprings fresh in the soul of Sigurd; the heart of Hogni he sees,And the heart of his brother Gunnar, and he grieveth sore for these.But he seeth the heart of Brynhild, and knoweth her lonely cryWhen the waste is all about her, and none but the Gods are anigh:And he knoweth her tale of the night-tide, when desire, that day doth dull,Is stirred by hope undying, and fills her bosom fullOf the sighs she may not utter, and the prayers that none may heed;Though the Gods were once so mighty the smiling world to speed.And he knows of the day of her burden, and the measure of her toil,And the peerless pride of her heart, and her scorn of the fall and the foil.And the shadowy wings of the Lie, that with hand unwitting he ledTo the Burg of the ancient people, brood over board and bed;And the hand of the hero faileth, and seared is the sight of the wise,And good is at one with evil till the new-born death shall arise.In the hall sitteth Sigurd by Brynhild, in the council of the Kings,And he hearkeneth her spoken wisdom, and her word of lovely things:In the field they meet, and the wild-wood; on the acre and the heath;And scarce may he tell if the meeting be worse than the coward's death,Or better than life of the righteous: but his love is a flaming fire,That hath burnt up all before it of the things that feed desire.The heart of Gudrun he seeth, her heart of burning love,That knoweth of nought but Sigurd on the earth, in the heavens above,Save the foes that encompass his life, and the woman that wasteth away'Neath the toil of a love like her love, and the unrewarded day:For hate her eyes hath quickened, and no more is Gudrun blind,And sure, though dim it may be, she seeth the days behind:And the shadowy wings of the Lie, that the hand unwitting ledTo the love and the heart of Gudrun, brood over board and bed;And for all the hand of the hero and the foresight of the wise,From the heart of a loving woman shall the death of men arise.It was most in these latter days that his fame went far abroad,The helper, the overcomer, the righteous sundering sword;The loveliest King of the King-folk, the man of sweetest speech,Whose ear is dull to no man that his helping shall beseech;The eye-bright seer of all things, that wasteth every wrong,The straightener of the crooked, the hammer of the strong:Lo, such was the Son of Sigmund in the days whereof I tell,The dread of the doom and the battle; and all children loved him well.Now it happed on a summer season mid the blossom of the year,When the clouds were high and little, and the sun exceeding clear,That Queen Brynhild arose in the morning, and longed for the eddying pool,And the Water of the Niblungs her summer sleep to cool:So she set her face to the river, where the hawthorn and the roseHide the face of the sunlit water from the yellow-blossomed closeAnd the house-built Burg of the Niblungs; for there by a grassy strandThe shallow water floweth o'er white and stoneless sandAnd deepeneth up and outward; and the bank on the further sideGoes high and shear and rocky the water's face to hideFrom the plain and the horse-fed meadow: there the wives of the Niblungs oftWould play in the wide-spread water when the summer days were soft;And thither now goes Brynhild, and the flowery screen doth pass,When lo, fair linen raiment falls before her on the grass,And she looks, and there is Gudrun, the white-armed Niblung child,All bare for the sunny river and the water undefiled.Round she turned with her face yet dreamy with the love of yesternight,Till the flush of anger changed it: but Brynhild's face grew white,Though soft she spake and queenly:"Hail, sister of my lord!Thou art fair in the summer morning 'twixt the river and the sward!"Then she disarrayed her shoulders and cast her golden girth,And she said: "Thou art sister of Gunnar, and the kin of the best of the earth;So shalt thou go before me to meet the water cold."Then, smiling nowise kindly, doth Gudrun her behold,And she saith: "Thou art wrong, Queen Brynhild, to give the place to me,For she that is wife of the greatest more than sister-kin shall be.—Nay, if here were the sister of Sigurd ne'er before me should she go,Though sister were she surely of the best that the earth-folk know:Yet I linger not, since thou biddest, for the courteous of women thou art;And the love of the night and the morning is heavy at my heart;For the best of the world was beside me, while thou layest with Gunnar the King."She laughs and leaps, and about her the glittering waters spring:But Brynhild laugheth in answer, and her face is white and wanAs swift she taketh the water; and the bed-gear of the swanWreathes long folds round about her as she wadeth straight and swiftWhere the white-scaled slender fishes make head against the drift:Then she turned to the white-armed Gudrun, who stood far down the streamIn the lapping of the west-wind and the rippling shallows' gleam,And her laugh went down the waters, as the war-horn on the wind,When the kings of war are seeking, and their foes are fain to find.But Gudrun cried upon her, and said: "Why wadest thou soIn the deeps and the upper waters, and wilt leave me here below?"Then e'en as one transfigured loud Brynhild cried, and said:"So oft shall it be between us at hall and board and bed;E'en so in Freyia's garden shall the lilies cover me,While thou on the barren footways thy gown-hem folk shall see:E'en so shall the gold cloths lap me, when we sit in Odin's hall,While thou shiverest, little hidden, by thy lord, the Helper's thrall,By the serving-man of Gunnar, who all his bidding doth,And waits by the door of the bower while his master plighteth the troth:But my mate is the King of the King-folk who rode the Wavering Fire,And mocked at the ruddy death to win his heart's desire.Lo now, it is meet and righteous that ye of the happy daysShould bow the heads and wonder at the wedding all men praise.O, is it not goodly and sweet with the best of the earth to dwell,And the man that all shall worship when the tale grows old to tell!For the woe and the anguish endure not, but the tale and the fame endure,And as wavering wind is the joyance, but the Gods' renown shall be sure:It is well, O ye troth-breakers! there was found a man to rideThrough the waves of my Flickering Fire to lie by Brynhild's side."Then no word answered Gudrun till she waded up the streamAnd stretched forth her hand to Brynhild, and thereon was a golden gleam,And she spake, and her voice was but little:"Thou mayst know by this token and signIf the best of the kings of man-folk and the master of masters is thine."White waxed the face of Brynhild as she looked on the glittering thing:And she spake: "By all thou lovest, whence haddest thou the ring?"Then Gudrun laughed in her glory the face of the Queen to see:"Thinkst thou that my brother Gunnar gave the Dwarf-wrought ring to me?"Nought spake the glorious woman, but as one who clutcheth a knifeShe turned on the mocking Gudrun, and again spake Sigurd's wife:"I had the ring, O Brynhild, on the night that followed the morn,When the semblance of Gunnar left thee in thy golden hall forlorn:And he, the giver that gave it, was the Helper's war-got thrall,And the babe King Elf uplifted to the war-dukes in the hall;And he rode with the heart-wise Regin, and rode the Glittering Heath,And gathered the Golden Harvest and smote the Worm to the death:And he rode with the sons of the Niblungs till the words of men must failTo tell of the deeds of Sigurd and the glory of his tale:Yet e'en as thou sayst, O Brynhild, the bidding of Gunnar he did,For he cloaked him in Gunnar's semblance and his shape in Gunnar's hid:—Thou all-wise Queen of the Niblungs, was this so hard a partFor the learned in the lore of Regin, who ate of the Serpent's heart?—Thus he wooed the bride for Gunnar, and for Gunnar rode the fire;And he held thine hand for Gunnar, and lay by thy dead desire.We have known thee for long, O Brynhild, and great is thy renown;In this shalt thou joy henceforward and nought in thy wedding crown."Now is Brynhild wan as the dead, and she openeth her mouth to speak,But no word cometh outward: then the green bank doth she seek,And casteth her raiment upon her, and flees o'er the meadow fair,As though flames were burning beneath it, and red gleeds the daisies were:But fair with face triumphant from the water Gudrun goes,And with many a thought of Sigurd the heart within her glows.And yet as she walked the meadow a fear upon her came,What deeds are the deeds of women in their anguish and their shame;And many a heavy warning and many a word of fateBy the lips of Sigurd spoken she remembereth overlate;Yet e'en to the heart within her she dissembleth all her dread.Daylong she sat in her bower in glee and goodlihead,But when the day was departing and the earl-folk drank in the hallShe went alone in the garden by the nook of the Niblung wall;There she thought of that word in the river, and of how it were better unsaid,And she looked with kind words to hide it, as men bury their battle-deadWith the spice and the sweet-smelling raiment: in the cool of the eve she wentAnd murmured her speech of forgiveness and the words of her intent,While her heart was happy with love: then she lifted up her face,And lo, there was Brynhild the Queen hard by in the leafy place;Then the smile from her bright eyes faded and a flush came over her cheekAnd she said: "What dost thou, Brynhild? what matter dost thou seek?"But the word of Sigurd smote her, and she spake ere the answer came:"Hard speech was between us, Brynhild, and words of evil and shame;I repent, and crave thy pardon: wilt thou say so much unto me,That the Niblung wives may be merry, as great queens are wont to be?"But no word answered Brynhild, and the wife of Sigurd spake:"Lo, I humble myself before thee for many a warrior's sake,And yet is thine anger heavy—well then, tell all thy tale,And the grief that sickens thine heart, that a kindly word may avail."Then spake Brynhild and said: "Thou art great and livest in bliss,And the noble queens and the happy should ask better tidings than this:For ugly words must tell it; thou shouldst scarce know what they mean;Thou, the child of the mighty Niblungs, thou, Sigurd's wedded queen.It is good to be kindly and soft while the heart hath all its will."Said the Queen: "There is that in thy word that the joy of my heart would kill.I have humbled myself before thee, and what further shall I say?"Then spake Brynhild the Queen: "I spake heavy words today;And thereof do I repent me; but one thing I beseech thee and crave:That thou speak but a word in thy turn my life and my soul to save:—Yea the lives of many warriors, and the joy of the Niblung home,And the days of the unborn children, and the health of the days to come—Say thou it was Gunnar thy brother that gave thee the Dwarf-lord's ring,And not the glorious Sigurd, the peerless lovely King;E'en so will I serve thee for ever, and peace on this house shall be,And rest ere my departing, and a joyous life for thee;And long life for the lovely Sigurd, and a glorious tale to tell.O speak, thou sister of Gunnar, that all may be better than well!"But hard grew the heart of Gudrun, and she said: "Hast thou heard the taleThat the wives of the Niblungs lie, lest the joy of their life-days fail?Wilt thou threaten the house of the Niblungs, wilt thou threaten my love and my lord?—It was Sigurd that lay in thy bed with thee and the edge of the sword;And he told me the tale of the night-tide, and the bitterest tidings thereof,And the shame of my brother Gunnar, how his glory was turned to a scoff;And he set the ring on my finger with sweet words of the sweetest of men,And no more from me shall it sunder—lo, wilt thou behold it again?"And her hand gleamed white in the even with the ring of Andvari thereon,The thrice-cursed burden of greed and the grain from the needy won;Then uprose the voice of Brynhild, and she cried to the towers aloft:"O house of the ancient people, I blessed thee sweet and soft;In the day of my grief I blessed thee, when my life seemed evil and long;Look down, O house of the Niblungs, on the hapless Brynhild's wrong!Lest the day and the hour be coming when no man in thy courts shall be leftTo remember the woe of Brynhild, and the joy from her life-days reft;Lest the grey wolf howl in the hall, and the wood-king roll in the porch,And the moon through thy broken rafters be the Niblungs' feastful torch.""O God-folk hearken," cried Gudrun, "what a tale there is to tell!How a Queen hath cursed her people, and the folk that hath cherished her well!""O Niblung child," said Brynhild, "what bitterer curse may beThan the curse of Grimhild thy mother, and the womb that carried thee?""Ah fool!" said the wife of Sigurd, "wilt thou curse thy very friend?But the bitter love bewrays thee, and thy pride that nought shall end.""Do I curse the accursèd?" said Brynhild, "but yet the day shall come,When thy word shall scarce be better on the threshold of thine home;When thine heart shall be dulled and chilly with e'en such a mingling of might,As in Sigurd's cup she mingled, and thou shalt not remember aright."Out-brake the child of the Niblungs: "A witless lie is this;But thou sickenest sore for Sigurd, and the giver of all bliss:A ruthless liar thou art: thou wouldst cut off my glory and gain,Though it further thine own hope nothing, and thy longing be empty and vain.Ah, thou hungerest after mine husband!—yet greatly art thou wed,And high o'er the kings of the Goth-folk doth Gunnar rear the head.""Which one of the sons of Giuki," said Brynhild, "durst to rideThrough the waves of my Flickering Fire to lie by Brynhild's side?Thou shouldst know him, O Sister of Kings; let the glorious name be said,Lest mine oath in the water be written, and I wake up, vile and betrayed,In the arms of the faint-heart dastard, and of him that loveth life,And casteth his deeds to another, and the wooing of his wife.""Yea, hearken," said she of the Niblungs, "what words the stranger saith!Hear the words of the fool of love, how she feareth not the death,Nor to cry the shame on Gunnar, whom the King-folk tremble before:The wise and the overcomer, the crown of happy war!"Said Brynhild: "Long were the days ere the Son of Sigmund came;Long were the days and lone, but nought I dreamed of the shame.So may the day come, Grimhild, when thine eyes know not thy son!Think then on the man I knew not, and the deed thy guile hath done!"Then coldly laughed Queen Gudrun, and she said: "Wilt thou lay all thingsOn the woman that hath loved thee and the Mother of the Kings?O all-wise Queen of the Niblungs, was this change too hard a partFor the learned in the lore of Regin, who ate of the Serpent's heart?"Then was Brynhild silent a little, and forth from the Niblung hallCame the sound of the laughter of men to the garth by the nook of the wall;And a wind arose in the twilight, and sounds came up from the plainOf kine in the dew-fall wandering, and of oxen loosed from the wain,And the songs of folk free-hearted, and the river rushing by;And the heart of Brynhild hearkened and she cried with a grievous cry:"O Sigurd, O my Sigurd, we twain were one, time was,And the wide world lay before us and the deeds to bring to pass!And now I am nought for helping, and no helping mayst thou give;And all is marred and evil, and why hast thou heart to live?"She held her peace for anguish, and forth from the hall there cameThe shouts of the joyous Niblungs, and the sound of Sigurd's name:And Brynhild turned from Gudrun, and lifted her voice and said:"O evil house of the Niblungs, may the day of your woe and your dreadBe meted with the measure of the guile ye dealt to me,When ye sealed your hearts from pity and forgat my misery!"And she turned to flee from the garden; but her gown-lap Gudrun caught,And cried: "Thou evil woman, for thee were the Niblungs wrought,And their day of the fame past telling, that they should heed thy life?Dear house of the Niblung glory, fair bloom of the warriors' strife,How well shalt thou stand triumphant, when all we lie in the earthFor a little while remembered in the story of thy worth!"But the lap of her linen raiment did Brynhild tear from her holdAnd spake from her mouth brought nigher, and her voice was low and cold:"Such pride and comfort in Sigurd henceforward mayst thou find,Such joy of his life's endurance, as thou leav'st me joy behind!"But turmoil of wrath wrapt Gudrun, that she knew not the day from the night,And she hardened her heart for evil as the warriors when they smite:And she cried: "Thou filled with murder, my love shall blossom and bloomWhen thou liest in the hell forgotten! smite thence from the deedless gloom,Smite thence at the lovely Sigurd, from the dark without a day!Let the hand that death hath loosened the King of Glory slay!"So died her words of anger, and her latter speech none heard,Save the wind of the early night-tide and the leaves by its wandering stirred;For amidst her wrath and her blindness was the hapless Brynhild gone:And she fled from the Burg of the Niblungs and cried to the night alone:"O Sigurd, O my Sigurd, what now shall give me backOne word of thy loving-kindness from the tangle and the wrack?O Norns, fast bound from helping, O Gods that never weep,Ye have left stark death to help us, and the semblance of our sleep!Yet I sleep and remember Sigurd; and I wake and nought is there,Save the golden bed of the Niblungs, and the hangings fashioned fair:If I stretch out mine hand to take it, that sleep that the sword-edge gives,How then shall I come on Sigurd, when again my sorrow livesIn the dreams of the slumber of death? O nameless, measureless woe,To abide on the earth without him, and alone from earth to go!"So wailed the wife of Gunnar, as she fled through the summer night,And unwitting around she wandered, till again in the dawning lightShe stood by the Burg of the Niblungs, and the dwelling of her lord.Awhile bode the white-armed Gudrun on the edge of the daisied sward,Till she shrank from the lonely flowers and the chill, speech-burdened wind.Then she turned to the house of her fathers and her golden chamber kind;And for long by the side of Sigurd hath she lain in light-breathed sleep,While yet the winds of night-tide round the wandering Brynhild sweep.
So there are all these abiding in the Burg of the ancient folkMid the troth-plight sworn and broken, and the oaths of the earthly yoke.Then Guttorm comes from his sea-fare, and is waxen fierce and strong,A man in the wars delighting, blind-eyed through right and wrong:Still Sigurd rides with the Brethren, as oft in the other days,And never a whit abateth the sound of the people's praise;They drink in the hall together, they doom in the people's strife,And do every deed of the King-folk, that the world may rejoice in their life.
There now is Brynhild abiding as a Queen in the house of the Kings,And hither and thither she wendeth through the day of queenly things;And no man knoweth her sorrow; though whiles is the Niblung bedToo hot and weary a dwelling for the temples of her head,And she wends, as her wont was aforetime, when the moon is riding high,And the night on the earth is deepest; and she deemeth it good to lieIn the trench of the windy mountains, and the track of the wandering sheep,While soft in the arms of Sigurd Queen Gudrun lieth asleep:There she cries on the lovely Sigurd, and she cries on the love and the oath,And she cries on the change and the vengeance, and the death to deliver them both.But her crying none shall hearken, and her sorrow nought shall know,Save the heart of the golden Sigurd, and the man fast bound in woe:So she wendeth her back in the dawning, toward the deeds and the dwellings of men,And she sits in the Niblung high-seat, and is fair and queenly again.Close now is her converse with Gudrun, and sore therein she strivesLest the barren stark contention should mingle in their lives;And she humbles her oft before her, as before the Queen of the earth,The mistress, the overcomer, the winner of all that is worth:And Gudrun beareth it all, and deemeth it little enowThough the wife of Sigurd be worshipped: and the scorn in her heart doth grow,Of every soul save Sigurd: for that tale of the night she bearsScarce hid 'twixt the lips and the bosom; and with evil eye she hearsSongs sung of the deeds of Gunnar, and the rider of the fire,Who mocked at the bane of King-folk to win his heart's desire:But Sigurd's will constraineth, and with seeming words of peaceShe deals with the converse of Brynhild, and the days her load increase.
Men tell how the heart-wise Hogni grew wiser day by day;He knows of the craft of Grimhild, and how she looketh to swayThe very council of God-home and the Norns' unchanging mind;And he saith that well-learned is his mother, but that e'en her feet are blindDown the path that she cannot escape from: nay oft is she nothing, he saith,Save a staff for the foredoomed staying, and a sword for the ordered death;And that he will be wiser than this, nor thrust his desire aside,Nor smother the flame of his hatred; but the steed of the Norns will he ride,Till he see great marvels and wonders, and leave great tales to be told:And measureless pride is in him, a stern heart, stubborn and cold.
But of Gunnar the Niblung they say it, that the bloom of his youth is o'er,And many are manhood's troubles, and they burden him oft and sore.He dwells with Brynhild his wife, with Grimhild his mother he dwells,And noble things of his greatness, of his joy, the rumour tells;Yet oft and oft of an even he thinks of that tale of the night,And the shame springs fresh in his heart at his brother Sigurd's might;And the wonder riseth within him, what deed did Sigurd there,What gift to the King hath he given: and he looks on Brynhild the fair,The fair face never smiling, and the eyes that know no change,And he deems in the bed of the Niblungs she is but cold and strange;And the Lie is laid between them, as the sword lay while agone.He hearkens to Grimhild moreover, and he deems she is driving him on,He knoweth not whither nor wherefore: but she tells of the measureless Gold,And the Flame of the uttermost Waters, and the Hoard of the kings of old:And she tells of kings' supplanters, and the leaders of the war,Who take the crown of song-craft, and the tale when all is o'er:She tells of kings' supplanters, and saith: Perchance 'twere well,Might some tongue of the wise of the earth of those deeds of the night-tide tell:She tells of kings' supplanters: I am wise, and the wise I know,And for nought is the sword-edge whetted, save the smiting of the blow:Old friends are last to sever, and twain are strong indeed,When one the King's shame knoweth, and the other knoweth his need.
So Gunnar hearkens and hearkens, and he saith, It is idle and worse:If the oath of my brother be broken, let the earth then see to the curse!But again he hearkens and hearkens, and when none may hear his thoughtHe saith in the silent night-tide: Shall my brother bring me to nought?Must my stroke be a stroke of the guilty, though on sackless folk it fall?Shall a king sit joy-forsaken mid the riches of his hall?And measureless pride is in Gunnar, and it blends with doubt and shame,And the unseen blossom is envy and desire without a name.
But fair-faced, calm as a God who hath none to call his foes,Betwixt the Kings and the people the golden Sigurd goes;No knowledge of man he lacketh, and the lore he gained of oldFrom the ancient heart of the Serpent and the Wallower on the GoldSprings fresh in the soul of Sigurd; the heart of Hogni he sees,And the heart of his brother Gunnar, and he grieveth sore for these.But he seeth the heart of Brynhild, and knoweth her lonely cryWhen the waste is all about her, and none but the Gods are anigh:And he knoweth her tale of the night-tide, when desire, that day doth dull,Is stirred by hope undying, and fills her bosom fullOf the sighs she may not utter, and the prayers that none may heed;Though the Gods were once so mighty the smiling world to speed.And he knows of the day of her burden, and the measure of her toil,And the peerless pride of her heart, and her scorn of the fall and the foil.And the shadowy wings of the Lie, that with hand unwitting he ledTo the Burg of the ancient people, brood over board and bed;And the hand of the hero faileth, and seared is the sight of the wise,And good is at one with evil till the new-born death shall arise.
In the hall sitteth Sigurd by Brynhild, in the council of the Kings,And he hearkeneth her spoken wisdom, and her word of lovely things:In the field they meet, and the wild-wood; on the acre and the heath;And scarce may he tell if the meeting be worse than the coward's death,Or better than life of the righteous: but his love is a flaming fire,That hath burnt up all before it of the things that feed desire.
The heart of Gudrun he seeth, her heart of burning love,That knoweth of nought but Sigurd on the earth, in the heavens above,Save the foes that encompass his life, and the woman that wasteth away'Neath the toil of a love like her love, and the unrewarded day:For hate her eyes hath quickened, and no more is Gudrun blind,And sure, though dim it may be, she seeth the days behind:And the shadowy wings of the Lie, that the hand unwitting ledTo the love and the heart of Gudrun, brood over board and bed;And for all the hand of the hero and the foresight of the wise,From the heart of a loving woman shall the death of men arise.
It was most in these latter days that his fame went far abroad,The helper, the overcomer, the righteous sundering sword;The loveliest King of the King-folk, the man of sweetest speech,Whose ear is dull to no man that his helping shall beseech;The eye-bright seer of all things, that wasteth every wrong,The straightener of the crooked, the hammer of the strong:Lo, such was the Son of Sigmund in the days whereof I tell,The dread of the doom and the battle; and all children loved him well.
Now it happed on a summer season mid the blossom of the year,When the clouds were high and little, and the sun exceeding clear,That Queen Brynhild arose in the morning, and longed for the eddying pool,And the Water of the Niblungs her summer sleep to cool:So she set her face to the river, where the hawthorn and the roseHide the face of the sunlit water from the yellow-blossomed closeAnd the house-built Burg of the Niblungs; for there by a grassy strandThe shallow water floweth o'er white and stoneless sandAnd deepeneth up and outward; and the bank on the further sideGoes high and shear and rocky the water's face to hideFrom the plain and the horse-fed meadow: there the wives of the Niblungs oftWould play in the wide-spread water when the summer days were soft;And thither now goes Brynhild, and the flowery screen doth pass,When lo, fair linen raiment falls before her on the grass,And she looks, and there is Gudrun, the white-armed Niblung child,All bare for the sunny river and the water undefiled.Round she turned with her face yet dreamy with the love of yesternight,Till the flush of anger changed it: but Brynhild's face grew white,Though soft she spake and queenly:"Hail, sister of my lord!Thou art fair in the summer morning 'twixt the river and the sward!"
Then she disarrayed her shoulders and cast her golden girth,And she said: "Thou art sister of Gunnar, and the kin of the best of the earth;So shalt thou go before me to meet the water cold."
Then, smiling nowise kindly, doth Gudrun her behold,And she saith: "Thou art wrong, Queen Brynhild, to give the place to me,For she that is wife of the greatest more than sister-kin shall be.—Nay, if here were the sister of Sigurd ne'er before me should she go,Though sister were she surely of the best that the earth-folk know:Yet I linger not, since thou biddest, for the courteous of women thou art;And the love of the night and the morning is heavy at my heart;For the best of the world was beside me, while thou layest with Gunnar the King."
She laughs and leaps, and about her the glittering waters spring:But Brynhild laugheth in answer, and her face is white and wanAs swift she taketh the water; and the bed-gear of the swanWreathes long folds round about her as she wadeth straight and swiftWhere the white-scaled slender fishes make head against the drift:Then she turned to the white-armed Gudrun, who stood far down the streamIn the lapping of the west-wind and the rippling shallows' gleam,And her laugh went down the waters, as the war-horn on the wind,When the kings of war are seeking, and their foes are fain to find.
But Gudrun cried upon her, and said: "Why wadest thou soIn the deeps and the upper waters, and wilt leave me here below?"
Then e'en as one transfigured loud Brynhild cried, and said:"So oft shall it be between us at hall and board and bed;E'en so in Freyia's garden shall the lilies cover me,While thou on the barren footways thy gown-hem folk shall see:E'en so shall the gold cloths lap me, when we sit in Odin's hall,While thou shiverest, little hidden, by thy lord, the Helper's thrall,By the serving-man of Gunnar, who all his bidding doth,And waits by the door of the bower while his master plighteth the troth:But my mate is the King of the King-folk who rode the Wavering Fire,And mocked at the ruddy death to win his heart's desire.Lo now, it is meet and righteous that ye of the happy daysShould bow the heads and wonder at the wedding all men praise.O, is it not goodly and sweet with the best of the earth to dwell,And the man that all shall worship when the tale grows old to tell!For the woe and the anguish endure not, but the tale and the fame endure,And as wavering wind is the joyance, but the Gods' renown shall be sure:It is well, O ye troth-breakers! there was found a man to rideThrough the waves of my Flickering Fire to lie by Brynhild's side."
Then no word answered Gudrun till she waded up the streamAnd stretched forth her hand to Brynhild, and thereon was a golden gleam,And she spake, and her voice was but little:"Thou mayst know by this token and signIf the best of the kings of man-folk and the master of masters is thine."
White waxed the face of Brynhild as she looked on the glittering thing:And she spake: "By all thou lovest, whence haddest thou the ring?"
Then Gudrun laughed in her glory the face of the Queen to see:"Thinkst thou that my brother Gunnar gave the Dwarf-wrought ring to me?"
Nought spake the glorious woman, but as one who clutcheth a knifeShe turned on the mocking Gudrun, and again spake Sigurd's wife:
"I had the ring, O Brynhild, on the night that followed the morn,When the semblance of Gunnar left thee in thy golden hall forlorn:And he, the giver that gave it, was the Helper's war-got thrall,And the babe King Elf uplifted to the war-dukes in the hall;And he rode with the heart-wise Regin, and rode the Glittering Heath,And gathered the Golden Harvest and smote the Worm to the death:And he rode with the sons of the Niblungs till the words of men must failTo tell of the deeds of Sigurd and the glory of his tale:Yet e'en as thou sayst, O Brynhild, the bidding of Gunnar he did,For he cloaked him in Gunnar's semblance and his shape in Gunnar's hid:—Thou all-wise Queen of the Niblungs, was this so hard a partFor the learned in the lore of Regin, who ate of the Serpent's heart?—Thus he wooed the bride for Gunnar, and for Gunnar rode the fire;And he held thine hand for Gunnar, and lay by thy dead desire.We have known thee for long, O Brynhild, and great is thy renown;In this shalt thou joy henceforward and nought in thy wedding crown."
Now is Brynhild wan as the dead, and she openeth her mouth to speak,But no word cometh outward: then the green bank doth she seek,And casteth her raiment upon her, and flees o'er the meadow fair,As though flames were burning beneath it, and red gleeds the daisies were:But fair with face triumphant from the water Gudrun goes,And with many a thought of Sigurd the heart within her glows.
And yet as she walked the meadow a fear upon her came,What deeds are the deeds of women in their anguish and their shame;And many a heavy warning and many a word of fateBy the lips of Sigurd spoken she remembereth overlate;Yet e'en to the heart within her she dissembleth all her dread.Daylong she sat in her bower in glee and goodlihead,But when the day was departing and the earl-folk drank in the hallShe went alone in the garden by the nook of the Niblung wall;There she thought of that word in the river, and of how it were better unsaid,And she looked with kind words to hide it, as men bury their battle-deadWith the spice and the sweet-smelling raiment: in the cool of the eve she wentAnd murmured her speech of forgiveness and the words of her intent,While her heart was happy with love: then she lifted up her face,And lo, there was Brynhild the Queen hard by in the leafy place;Then the smile from her bright eyes faded and a flush came over her cheekAnd she said: "What dost thou, Brynhild? what matter dost thou seek?"
But the word of Sigurd smote her, and she spake ere the answer came:"Hard speech was between us, Brynhild, and words of evil and shame;I repent, and crave thy pardon: wilt thou say so much unto me,That the Niblung wives may be merry, as great queens are wont to be?"
But no word answered Brynhild, and the wife of Sigurd spake:"Lo, I humble myself before thee for many a warrior's sake,And yet is thine anger heavy—well then, tell all thy tale,And the grief that sickens thine heart, that a kindly word may avail."
Then spake Brynhild and said: "Thou art great and livest in bliss,And the noble queens and the happy should ask better tidings than this:For ugly words must tell it; thou shouldst scarce know what they mean;Thou, the child of the mighty Niblungs, thou, Sigurd's wedded queen.It is good to be kindly and soft while the heart hath all its will."
Said the Queen: "There is that in thy word that the joy of my heart would kill.I have humbled myself before thee, and what further shall I say?"
Then spake Brynhild the Queen: "I spake heavy words today;And thereof do I repent me; but one thing I beseech thee and crave:That thou speak but a word in thy turn my life and my soul to save:—Yea the lives of many warriors, and the joy of the Niblung home,And the days of the unborn children, and the health of the days to come—Say thou it was Gunnar thy brother that gave thee the Dwarf-lord's ring,And not the glorious Sigurd, the peerless lovely King;E'en so will I serve thee for ever, and peace on this house shall be,And rest ere my departing, and a joyous life for thee;And long life for the lovely Sigurd, and a glorious tale to tell.O speak, thou sister of Gunnar, that all may be better than well!"
But hard grew the heart of Gudrun, and she said: "Hast thou heard the taleThat the wives of the Niblungs lie, lest the joy of their life-days fail?Wilt thou threaten the house of the Niblungs, wilt thou threaten my love and my lord?—It was Sigurd that lay in thy bed with thee and the edge of the sword;And he told me the tale of the night-tide, and the bitterest tidings thereof,And the shame of my brother Gunnar, how his glory was turned to a scoff;And he set the ring on my finger with sweet words of the sweetest of men,And no more from me shall it sunder—lo, wilt thou behold it again?"And her hand gleamed white in the even with the ring of Andvari thereon,The thrice-cursed burden of greed and the grain from the needy won;Then uprose the voice of Brynhild, and she cried to the towers aloft:
"O house of the ancient people, I blessed thee sweet and soft;In the day of my grief I blessed thee, when my life seemed evil and long;Look down, O house of the Niblungs, on the hapless Brynhild's wrong!Lest the day and the hour be coming when no man in thy courts shall be leftTo remember the woe of Brynhild, and the joy from her life-days reft;Lest the grey wolf howl in the hall, and the wood-king roll in the porch,And the moon through thy broken rafters be the Niblungs' feastful torch."
"O God-folk hearken," cried Gudrun, "what a tale there is to tell!How a Queen hath cursed her people, and the folk that hath cherished her well!"
"O Niblung child," said Brynhild, "what bitterer curse may beThan the curse of Grimhild thy mother, and the womb that carried thee?"
"Ah fool!" said the wife of Sigurd, "wilt thou curse thy very friend?But the bitter love bewrays thee, and thy pride that nought shall end."
"Do I curse the accursèd?" said Brynhild, "but yet the day shall come,When thy word shall scarce be better on the threshold of thine home;When thine heart shall be dulled and chilly with e'en such a mingling of might,As in Sigurd's cup she mingled, and thou shalt not remember aright."
Out-brake the child of the Niblungs: "A witless lie is this;But thou sickenest sore for Sigurd, and the giver of all bliss:A ruthless liar thou art: thou wouldst cut off my glory and gain,Though it further thine own hope nothing, and thy longing be empty and vain.Ah, thou hungerest after mine husband!—yet greatly art thou wed,And high o'er the kings of the Goth-folk doth Gunnar rear the head."
"Which one of the sons of Giuki," said Brynhild, "durst to rideThrough the waves of my Flickering Fire to lie by Brynhild's side?Thou shouldst know him, O Sister of Kings; let the glorious name be said,Lest mine oath in the water be written, and I wake up, vile and betrayed,In the arms of the faint-heart dastard, and of him that loveth life,And casteth his deeds to another, and the wooing of his wife."
"Yea, hearken," said she of the Niblungs, "what words the stranger saith!Hear the words of the fool of love, how she feareth not the death,Nor to cry the shame on Gunnar, whom the King-folk tremble before:The wise and the overcomer, the crown of happy war!"
Said Brynhild: "Long were the days ere the Son of Sigmund came;Long were the days and lone, but nought I dreamed of the shame.So may the day come, Grimhild, when thine eyes know not thy son!Think then on the man I knew not, and the deed thy guile hath done!"
Then coldly laughed Queen Gudrun, and she said: "Wilt thou lay all thingsOn the woman that hath loved thee and the Mother of the Kings?O all-wise Queen of the Niblungs, was this change too hard a partFor the learned in the lore of Regin, who ate of the Serpent's heart?"
Then was Brynhild silent a little, and forth from the Niblung hallCame the sound of the laughter of men to the garth by the nook of the wall;And a wind arose in the twilight, and sounds came up from the plainOf kine in the dew-fall wandering, and of oxen loosed from the wain,And the songs of folk free-hearted, and the river rushing by;And the heart of Brynhild hearkened and she cried with a grievous cry:
"O Sigurd, O my Sigurd, we twain were one, time was,And the wide world lay before us and the deeds to bring to pass!And now I am nought for helping, and no helping mayst thou give;And all is marred and evil, and why hast thou heart to live?"
She held her peace for anguish, and forth from the hall there cameThe shouts of the joyous Niblungs, and the sound of Sigurd's name:And Brynhild turned from Gudrun, and lifted her voice and said:"O evil house of the Niblungs, may the day of your woe and your dreadBe meted with the measure of the guile ye dealt to me,When ye sealed your hearts from pity and forgat my misery!"
And she turned to flee from the garden; but her gown-lap Gudrun caught,And cried: "Thou evil woman, for thee were the Niblungs wrought,And their day of the fame past telling, that they should heed thy life?Dear house of the Niblung glory, fair bloom of the warriors' strife,How well shalt thou stand triumphant, when all we lie in the earthFor a little while remembered in the story of thy worth!"
But the lap of her linen raiment did Brynhild tear from her holdAnd spake from her mouth brought nigher, and her voice was low and cold:
"Such pride and comfort in Sigurd henceforward mayst thou find,Such joy of his life's endurance, as thou leav'st me joy behind!"
But turmoil of wrath wrapt Gudrun, that she knew not the day from the night,And she hardened her heart for evil as the warriors when they smite:And she cried: "Thou filled with murder, my love shall blossom and bloomWhen thou liest in the hell forgotten! smite thence from the deedless gloom,Smite thence at the lovely Sigurd, from the dark without a day!Let the hand that death hath loosened the King of Glory slay!"
So died her words of anger, and her latter speech none heard,Save the wind of the early night-tide and the leaves by its wandering stirred;For amidst her wrath and her blindness was the hapless Brynhild gone:And she fled from the Burg of the Niblungs and cried to the night alone:
"O Sigurd, O my Sigurd, what now shall give me backOne word of thy loving-kindness from the tangle and the wrack?O Norns, fast bound from helping, O Gods that never weep,Ye have left stark death to help us, and the semblance of our sleep!Yet I sleep and remember Sigurd; and I wake and nought is there,Save the golden bed of the Niblungs, and the hangings fashioned fair:If I stretch out mine hand to take it, that sleep that the sword-edge gives,How then shall I come on Sigurd, when again my sorrow livesIn the dreams of the slumber of death? O nameless, measureless woe,To abide on the earth without him, and alone from earth to go!"
So wailed the wife of Gunnar, as she fled through the summer night,And unwitting around she wandered, till again in the dawning lightShe stood by the Burg of the Niblungs, and the dwelling of her lord.
Awhile bode the white-armed Gudrun on the edge of the daisied sward,Till she shrank from the lonely flowers and the chill, speech-burdened wind.Then she turned to the house of her fathers and her golden chamber kind;And for long by the side of Sigurd hath she lain in light-breathed sleep,While yet the winds of night-tide round the wandering Brynhild sweep.