On the morrow awakeneth Gudrun; and she speaketh with Sigurd and saith:"For what cause is Brynhild heavy, and as one who abideth but death?""Yea," Sigurd said, "is it so? as a great queen she goes upon earth,And thoughtful of weighty matters, and things that are most of worth.""It was other than this," said Gudrun, "that I deemed her yesterday;All men would have said great trouble on the wife of Gunnar lay.""Is it so?" said Sigurd the Volsung, "Ah, I sore misdoubt me then,That thereof shall we hear great tidings that shall be for the ruin of men.""Why grieveth she so," said Gudrun, "a queen so mighty and wise,The Chooser of the war-host, the desire of many eyes,The Queen of the glorious Gunnar, the wife of the man she chose?And she sits by his side on the high-seat, as the lily blooms by the rose.""Where then in the world was Brynhild," said he, "when she spake that word,And said that her belovèd was her very earthly lord?"Then was Sigurd silent a little, and Gudrun spake no more;For despite the heart of the Niblungs, and her love exceeding sore,With fear her soul was smitten for the word that Sigurd spake,And yet more for his following silence; and the stark death seemed to awakeAnd stride through the Niblung dwelling, and the sunny morn grew dim:Till, lo, the voice of the Volsung, and the speech came forth from him:"Hearken, Gudrun my wife; the season is nigh at hand,Yea, the day is now on the threshold, when thou alone in the landShalt answer for Sigurd departed, and shalt say that I loved thee well;And yet if thou hear'st men say it, then true is the tale to tell,That Brynhild was my belovèd in the tide and the season of youth;And as great as is thy true-love, e'en so was her love and her truth.But for this cause thus have I spoken, that the tale of the night hast thou told,And cast the word unto Brynhild, and shown her the token of gold.—A deed for the slaying of many, and the ending of my life,Since I betrayed her unwitting.—Yet grieve not, Gudrun my wife!For cloudy of late were the heavens with many a woven lie,And now is the clear of the twilight, when the slumber draweth anigh.But call up the soul of the Niblungs, and harden thine heart to bear,For wert thou not sprung from the mighty, today were thy portion of fear:Yea, thou wottest it even as I; but I see thine heart arise,And the soul of the mighty Niblungs, and fair is the love in thine eyes."Then forth went the King from the chamber to the council of the Kings,And he sat with the wise in the Doom-ring for the sifting of troublous things,And rejoiced the heart of the people: and the Wrath kept watch by his side.And his eyen were nothing dimmer than on many a joyous tide.But abed lay Brynhild the Queen, as a woman dead she lay,And no word for better or worse to the best of her folk would she say:So they bore the tidings to Gunnar, and said: "Queen Brynhild ailsWith a sickness whereof none knoweth, and death o'er her life prevails."Then uprose Gunnar the Niblung, and he went to Brynhild his wife,And prayed her to strengthen her heart for the glory of his life:But she gave not a word in answer, nor turned to where he stood,And there rose up a fear in his heart, and he looked for little of good:There he bode for a long while silent, and the thought within him stirredOf wise speech of his mother Grimhild, and many a warning word:But he spake:"Art thou smitten of God, unto whom shall we cast the prayer?Art thou wronged by one of the King-folk, for whom shall the blades be bare?"Belike she never heard him; she lay in her misery,And the slow tears gushed from her eyen and nought of the world would she see.But ill thoughts arose in Gunnar, and remembrance of the speechErst spoken low by Grimhild; yet he turned his heart to beseech,And he spake again:"O Brynhild, if I ever made thee glad,If the glory of the great-ones of my gift thine heart hath had.As mine heart hath been faithful to thee, as I longed for thy life-days' gain,Tell now of thy toil and thy trouble that we each of each may be fain!"Nought spake she, nothing she moved, and the tears were dried on her cheek;But the very words of Grimhild did Gunnar's memory seek;He sought and he found and considered; and mighty he was and young,And he thought of the deeds of his fathers and the tales of the Niblungs sung;How they bore no God's constraining, and rode through the wrong and the rightThat the storm of their wrath might quicken, and their tempest carry the light.The words of his mother he gathered and the wrath-flood over him rolled,And with it came many a longing, that his heart had never told,Nay, scarce to himself in the night-tide, for the gain of the ruddy rings,And the fame of the earth unquestioned and the mastery over kings,And he sole King in the world-throne, unequalled, unconstrained;And with wordless wrath he fretted at the bonds that his glory had chained,And the bitter anger stirred him, and at last he spake and cried:"How long, O all-wise Brynhild, like the dead wilt thou abide,Nor speak to thy lord and thy husband and the man that rode thy Fire,And mocked at the bane of King-folk to accomplish thy desire?I deem thou sickenest, Brynhild, with the love of a mighty-one,The foe, the King's supplanter, he that so long hath shoneMid the honour of our fathers, and the lovely Niblung house,Like a serpent amidst of the treasure that the day makes glorious."Yet never a word she answered, nor unto the great King turned,Till through all the patience of King-folk the flame of his anger burned,And his voice was the rattling thunder, as he cried across the bed:"O who art thou, fearful woman? art thou one of the first of the dead?Hast thou long ago seen and hated the tide of the Niblung praise,And clad thee in flesh twice over for the bane of our happy days?Art thou come from the far-off country that none may live and beholdFor the bane of the King of the Niblungs, and of Sigurd lord of the Gold?"Then she raised herself on her elbow and turned her eyes on the King:"O tell me, Gunnar," she said, "that thou gavest Andvari's RingTo thy sister the white-armed Gudrun!—thou, not thy captain of war,The son of the God-born Volsungs, the Lord of the Treasure of yore!O swear it that I may live! that I may be glad in thine hall,And weave with the wisdom of women, and broider the purple and pall,And look in thy face at the chess-play, and drink of thy carven cup,And whisper a word in season when the voice of the wise goes up,And speak thee the speech of kindness by the hallowed Niblung hearth.O swear it, King of the Niblungs, lest thine honour die of the dearth!O swear it, lord I have wedded, lest mine honour come to nought,And I be but a wretch and a bondmaid for a year's embracing bought!"Till his heart hath heard her meaning at the golden bed he stares,And the last of the words she speaketh flit empty past his ears;For he knows that the tale of the night-tide hath been told and understood,And now of her shame was he deeming e'en worse than Brynhild would.So he turns from her face and the chamber with his glory so undone,That he saith the Gods did evil when the mighty work they won,And wrought the Burg of the Niblungs, and fashioned his fathers' days,And led them on to the harvest of the deeds and the people's praise.And nought he sees to amend it, save the hungry eyeless sword,And the war without hope or honour, and the strife without reward.So alone he goeth his ways, and the morn to the noontide falls,And the sun goeth down in the heavens, and fades from the Niblung walls,And the dusk and the dark draw over, and no man the King may see.But Sigurd sits in the hall mid the war-dukes' company:Alone of the Kings in the Doom-ring, and the council of the wise,By the street and the wharf and the burg-gate he shines in the people's eyes;Stately and lovely to look on he heareth of good and of ill,And he knitteth up and divideth, with life and death at his will.
On the morrow awakeneth Gudrun; and she speaketh with Sigurd and saith:"For what cause is Brynhild heavy, and as one who abideth but death?"
"Yea," Sigurd said, "is it so? as a great queen she goes upon earth,And thoughtful of weighty matters, and things that are most of worth."
"It was other than this," said Gudrun, "that I deemed her yesterday;All men would have said great trouble on the wife of Gunnar lay."
"Is it so?" said Sigurd the Volsung, "Ah, I sore misdoubt me then,That thereof shall we hear great tidings that shall be for the ruin of men."
"Why grieveth she so," said Gudrun, "a queen so mighty and wise,The Chooser of the war-host, the desire of many eyes,The Queen of the glorious Gunnar, the wife of the man she chose?And she sits by his side on the high-seat, as the lily blooms by the rose."
"Where then in the world was Brynhild," said he, "when she spake that word,And said that her belovèd was her very earthly lord?"
Then was Sigurd silent a little, and Gudrun spake no more;For despite the heart of the Niblungs, and her love exceeding sore,With fear her soul was smitten for the word that Sigurd spake,And yet more for his following silence; and the stark death seemed to awakeAnd stride through the Niblung dwelling, and the sunny morn grew dim:Till, lo, the voice of the Volsung, and the speech came forth from him:
"Hearken, Gudrun my wife; the season is nigh at hand,Yea, the day is now on the threshold, when thou alone in the landShalt answer for Sigurd departed, and shalt say that I loved thee well;And yet if thou hear'st men say it, then true is the tale to tell,That Brynhild was my belovèd in the tide and the season of youth;And as great as is thy true-love, e'en so was her love and her truth.But for this cause thus have I spoken, that the tale of the night hast thou told,And cast the word unto Brynhild, and shown her the token of gold.—A deed for the slaying of many, and the ending of my life,Since I betrayed her unwitting.—Yet grieve not, Gudrun my wife!For cloudy of late were the heavens with many a woven lie,And now is the clear of the twilight, when the slumber draweth anigh.But call up the soul of the Niblungs, and harden thine heart to bear,For wert thou not sprung from the mighty, today were thy portion of fear:Yea, thou wottest it even as I; but I see thine heart arise,And the soul of the mighty Niblungs, and fair is the love in thine eyes."
Then forth went the King from the chamber to the council of the Kings,And he sat with the wise in the Doom-ring for the sifting of troublous things,And rejoiced the heart of the people: and the Wrath kept watch by his side.And his eyen were nothing dimmer than on many a joyous tide.
But abed lay Brynhild the Queen, as a woman dead she lay,And no word for better or worse to the best of her folk would she say:So they bore the tidings to Gunnar, and said: "Queen Brynhild ailsWith a sickness whereof none knoweth, and death o'er her life prevails."
Then uprose Gunnar the Niblung, and he went to Brynhild his wife,And prayed her to strengthen her heart for the glory of his life:But she gave not a word in answer, nor turned to where he stood,And there rose up a fear in his heart, and he looked for little of good:There he bode for a long while silent, and the thought within him stirredOf wise speech of his mother Grimhild, and many a warning word:But he spake:"Art thou smitten of God, unto whom shall we cast the prayer?Art thou wronged by one of the King-folk, for whom shall the blades be bare?"
Belike she never heard him; she lay in her misery,And the slow tears gushed from her eyen and nought of the world would she see.But ill thoughts arose in Gunnar, and remembrance of the speechErst spoken low by Grimhild; yet he turned his heart to beseech,And he spake again:"O Brynhild, if I ever made thee glad,If the glory of the great-ones of my gift thine heart hath had.As mine heart hath been faithful to thee, as I longed for thy life-days' gain,Tell now of thy toil and thy trouble that we each of each may be fain!"
Nought spake she, nothing she moved, and the tears were dried on her cheek;But the very words of Grimhild did Gunnar's memory seek;He sought and he found and considered; and mighty he was and young,And he thought of the deeds of his fathers and the tales of the Niblungs sung;How they bore no God's constraining, and rode through the wrong and the rightThat the storm of their wrath might quicken, and their tempest carry the light.The words of his mother he gathered and the wrath-flood over him rolled,And with it came many a longing, that his heart had never told,Nay, scarce to himself in the night-tide, for the gain of the ruddy rings,And the fame of the earth unquestioned and the mastery over kings,And he sole King in the world-throne, unequalled, unconstrained;And with wordless wrath he fretted at the bonds that his glory had chained,And the bitter anger stirred him, and at last he spake and cried:
"How long, O all-wise Brynhild, like the dead wilt thou abide,Nor speak to thy lord and thy husband and the man that rode thy Fire,And mocked at the bane of King-folk to accomplish thy desire?I deem thou sickenest, Brynhild, with the love of a mighty-one,The foe, the King's supplanter, he that so long hath shoneMid the honour of our fathers, and the lovely Niblung house,Like a serpent amidst of the treasure that the day makes glorious."
Yet never a word she answered, nor unto the great King turned,Till through all the patience of King-folk the flame of his anger burned,And his voice was the rattling thunder, as he cried across the bed:
"O who art thou, fearful woman? art thou one of the first of the dead?Hast thou long ago seen and hated the tide of the Niblung praise,And clad thee in flesh twice over for the bane of our happy days?Art thou come from the far-off country that none may live and beholdFor the bane of the King of the Niblungs, and of Sigurd lord of the Gold?"
Then she raised herself on her elbow and turned her eyes on the King:"O tell me, Gunnar," she said, "that thou gavest Andvari's RingTo thy sister the white-armed Gudrun!—thou, not thy captain of war,The son of the God-born Volsungs, the Lord of the Treasure of yore!O swear it that I may live! that I may be glad in thine hall,And weave with the wisdom of women, and broider the purple and pall,And look in thy face at the chess-play, and drink of thy carven cup,And whisper a word in season when the voice of the wise goes up,And speak thee the speech of kindness by the hallowed Niblung hearth.O swear it, King of the Niblungs, lest thine honour die of the dearth!O swear it, lord I have wedded, lest mine honour come to nought,And I be but a wretch and a bondmaid for a year's embracing bought!"
Till his heart hath heard her meaning at the golden bed he stares,And the last of the words she speaketh flit empty past his ears;For he knows that the tale of the night-tide hath been told and understood,And now of her shame was he deeming e'en worse than Brynhild would.So he turns from her face and the chamber with his glory so undone,That he saith the Gods did evil when the mighty work they won,And wrought the Burg of the Niblungs, and fashioned his fathers' days,And led them on to the harvest of the deeds and the people's praise.And nought he sees to amend it, save the hungry eyeless sword,And the war without hope or honour, and the strife without reward.
So alone he goeth his ways, and the morn to the noontide falls,And the sun goeth down in the heavens, and fades from the Niblung walls,And the dusk and the dark draw over, and no man the King may see.But Sigurd sits in the hall mid the war-dukes' company:Alone of the Kings in the Doom-ring, and the council of the wise,By the street and the wharf and the burg-gate he shines in the people's eyes;Stately and lovely to look on he heareth of good and of ill,And he knitteth up and divideth, with life and death at his will.
Now the sun cometh up in the morning and shines o'er holt and heath,And the wall of the mighty mountains, and the sheep-fed slopes beneath,And the horse-fed plain and the river, and the acres of the wheat,And the herbs of bane and of healing, and the garden hedges sweet;It shines on the sea and the shepherd, and the husbandman's desire;On the Niblung Burg it shineth and smiteth the vanes afire;And in Gudrun's bower it shineth, and seeth small joy therein,For hushed the fair-clad maidens the work of women win;Then Gudrun looketh about her, and she saith:"Why sit ye so,That I hearken but creak of the loom-stock and the battens' homeward blow?Why is your joy departed and your sweet speech fallen dumb?Are the Niblungs fled from the battle, is their war-host overcome?Have the Norns given forth their shaming? have they fallen in the fight?Yet the sun shines notwithstanding, and the world around is bright."Then answered a noble woman, and the wise of maids was she:"Thou knowest, O lovely lady, that nought of this may be;Yet with woe that the world shall hearken the glorious house is filled,On the hearth of all men hallowed the cup of joy is spilled.—A dread, an untimely hour, an exceeding evil day!"Then the wife of Sigurd answered: "Arise and go thy wayTo the chamber of Queen Brynhild, and bid her wake at last,For that long have we slept and slumbered, and the deedless night is passed:Bid her wake to the deeds of queen-folk, and be glad as the world-queens areWhen they look on the people that loves them, and thrust all trouble afar.Let her foster her greatness and glory, and the fame no ages forget,That tomorn may as yesterday blossom, yea more abundantly yet."Then arose the light-foot maiden: but she stayed and spake by the door:"O Gudrun, I durst not behold her, for the days of her joyance are o'er,And the days of her life are numbered, and her might is waxen weak,And she lieth as one forsaken, and no word her lips will speak,Nay, not to her lord that loveth: but all we deem, O Queen,That the wrath of the Gods is upon her for ancient deeds unseen."Nought answered the white-armed Gudrun, but the fear in her soul arose,For she thought of the golden Sigurd, and the compassing of foes,And great grew the dread of her maidens as they gazed upon her face:But she rose and looked not backward as she hastened from her place,And sought the King of the Niblungs by hall and chamber and stair,And bright was the pure mid-morning and the wind was fresh and fair.So she came on her brother Gunnar, as he sat apart and alone,Arrayed in the Niblung war-gear, nor moved he more than the stoneIn the jaws of the barren valley and the man-deserted dale;On his knees was the breadth of the sunshine, and thereon lay the edges pale,The war-flame of the Niblungs, the sword that his right hand knew:White was the fear on her lips, and hard at her heart it drew.As she spake:"I have found thee, O brother! O Gunnar, go to her and sayThat my heart is grieved with her grief and I mourn for her evil day."Then Gunnar answered her word, but his words were heavy and slow:"Thou know'st not the words thou speakest—and wherefore should I go,Since I am forbidden to share it, the woe or the weal of her heart?Look thou on the King of the Niblungs, how he sitteth alone and apart,Fast bound in the wiles of women, and the web that a traitor hath spun,And no deed for his hand he knoweth, or to do or to leave undone."Wan-faced from before him she fled, and she went with hurrying feet,And no child of man in her going would she look upon or greet,Till she came unto Hogni the Wise; and he sat in his war-array,The coal-blue gear of the Niblungs, and the sword o'er his knees there lay:She sickened, and said: "What dost thou? what then is the day and the deed,That the sword on thy knees is naked, and thou clad in the warrior's weed?Go in, go in to Brynhild, and tell her how I mournFor the grief whereof none wotteth that hath made her days forlorn.""It is good, my sister," said Hogni, "to abide in the harness of warWhen the days and the days are changing, and the Norns' feet stand by the door.I will nowise go in unto Brynhild, lest the evil tide grow worse.For what woman will bear the sorrow and burden her soul with a curseIf she may escape it unbidden? and there are words that woundFar worse than the bitter edges, though wise in the air they sound.Bide thou and behold things fated! Hast thou learned how men may teachThe stars in their ordered courses, or lead the Norns with speech?"She stood and trembled before him, nor durst she long beholdThe silent face of Hogni and the far-seeing eyes and cold.So she gat her forth from before him, and Sigurd her husband she sought,And the speech on her lips was ready, till the chill fear made it nought;For apart and alone was he sitting in all his war-gear clad,And Fafnir's Helm of Aweing, and Regin's Wrath he had,And over the breast of Sigurd was the Hauberk all of goldThat hath not the like in the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told.But he set her down beside him and said: "What fearest thou then?What terror strideth in daylight mid the peace of the Niblung men?"She cried: "The Helm and the Sword, and the golden guard of thy breast!""So oft, O wife," said Sigurd, "is a war-king clad the bestWhen the peril quickens before him, and on either hand is doubt;Thus men wreathe round the beaker whence the wine shall be soon poured out.But hope thou not overmuch, for the end is not today;And fear thou little indeed, for not long shall the sword delay:But speak, O daughter of Giuki, for thy lips scarce held the wordEre thou sawest the gleam of my hauberk and the edge of the ancient Sword,The Light that hath lain in the Branstock, the hope of the Volsung tree,The Sunderer, the Deliverer, the torch of days to be."She sighed; for her heart was heavy for the days but a while agone,When the death was little dreamed of, and the joy was lightly won;And her soul was bitter with anger for the day that Brynhild had ledTo the heart of the Niblung glory: but fear thrust on, and she said:"O my lord, O Sigurd the mighty, an evil day is this,A chill, an untimely hour for the blooming of our bliss!Go in to my sister Brynhild, and tell her of very soothThat my heart for her sorrow sorrows, and is sick for woe and ruth.""The hour draws nigh," said Sigurd, "for I know of the speech and the wordThat is kind in the air to hearken, and is worse than the whetted sword.Now is Brynhild sore encompassed by a tide of measureless woe,And amidst and anear, as I see it, she seeth the death-star grow.Yet belike it is, O Gudrun, that thy will herein shall be done;But now depart, I pray thee, and leave thy lord alone:Heavy and hard shall it be, for a season shall it endure,But the grief and the sorrow shall perish, and the fame of the Gods is sure."Yet she sat by his side and spake not, and a while at his glory she gazed,For his face o'erpassed the brightness that so long the folk had praised,And she durst not question or touch him, and at last she rose from his side,And gat her away soft-footed, and wandered far and wideThrough the house and the Burg of the Niblungs; yet durst she never moreGo look on the Niblung Brethren as they sat in their harness of war.But the morn to the noon hath fallen, and the afternoon to the eve,And the beams of the westering sun the Niblung wall-stones leave,And yet sitteth Sigurd alone; then the sun sinketh down into night,And the moon ariseth in heaven, and the earth is pale with her light:And there sitteth Sigurd the Volsung in the gold and the harness of warThat was won from the heart-wise Fafnir and the guarded Treasure of yore,But pale is the Helm of Aweing, and wan are the ruddy rings:So whiles in a city forsaken ye see the shapes of kings,And the lips that the carvers wrought, while their words were remembered and known,And the brows men trembled to look on in the long-enduring stone,And their hands once unforgotten, and their breasts, the walls of war;But now are they hidden marvels to the wise and the master of lore,And he nameth them not, nor knoweth, and their fear is faded away.E'en so sat Sigurd the Volsung till the night waxed moonless and grey,Till the chill dawn spread o'er the lowland, and the purple fells grew clearIn the cloudless summer dawn-dusk, and the sun was drawing anear:Then reddened the Burg of the Niblungs, and the walls of the ancient folk,And a wind came down from the mountains and the living things awokeAnd cried out for need and rejoicing; till, lo, the rim of the sunShowed over the eastern ridges, and the new day was begun;And the beams rose higher and higher, and white grew the Niblung wall,And the spears on the ramparts glistered and the windows blazed withal,And the sunlight flooded the courts, and throughout the chambers streamed:Then bright as the flames of the heaven the Helm of Aweing gleamed,Then clashed the red rings of the Treasure, as Sigurd stood on his feet,And went through the echoing chambers, as the winds in the wall-nook beat;And there in the earliest morning while the lords of the Niblungs lie'Twixt light sleep and awakening they hear the clash go by,And their dreams are of happy battle, and the songs that follow fame,And the hope of the Gods accomplished, and the tales of the ancient name,Ere Sigurd came to the Niblungs and faced their gathered foes.But on to the chamber of Brynhild alone in the morning he goes,And the sun lieth broad across it, and the door is open wideAs the last of the women had left it; then he lifted his voice and cried:"Awake, arise, O Brynhild! for the house is smitten throughWith the light of the sun awakened, and the hope of deeds to do."She spake: "Art thou come to behold me? thou, the mightiest and the worstOf the pitiless betrayers, that the hope of my life hath nursed."He said: "It is I that awake thee, and I give thee the life and the daysFor fulfilling the deedful measure, and the cup of the people's praise."She cried: "O the gifts of Sigurd!—Ah why didst thou cast me aside,That we twain should be dwelling, the strangers, in the house of the Niblung pride?What life is the death in life? what deeds—where the shame cometh upBetwixt the speech of the wise-ones and the draught of the welcoming cup;And the shame and repentance awaketh when the song in the harp is awake?Where we rise in the morning for nothing, and lie down for no love's sake?Where thou ridest forth to the battle and the dead hope dulleth thy light,And with shame thy hand is cumbered when the sword is uplifted to smite?O Sigurd, what hast thou done, that the gifts are cast aback?—O nay, no life of repentance!—but the bitter sword and the wrack!""O Brynhild, live!" said the Volsung, "for what shall the world be thenWhen thou from the earth art departed, and the hallowed hearths of men?"She said: "Woe worth the while for the word that hath come from thy mouth!As the bitter weltering ocean to the shipman dying of drouth,E'en so is the life thou biddest, since thou pitiedst not thine own,Nor thy love, nor the hope of thy life-days, but must dwell as a glory alone!""It is truer to tell," said Sigurd, "that mine heart in thy love was enwrappedTill the evil hour of the darkening, and the eyeless tangle had happed:And thereof shalt thou know, O Brynhild, on one day better than I,When the stroke of the sword hath been smitten, and the night hath seen me die:Then belike in thy fresh-springing wisdom thou shalt know of the dark and the deed,And the snare for our feet fore-ordered from whence they shall never be freed.But for me, in the net I awakened and the toils that unwitting I wove,And no tongue may tell of the sorrow that I had for thy wedded love:But I dwelt in the dwelling of kings; so I thrust its seeming apartAnd I laboured the field of Odin: and e'en this was a joy to my heart,That we dwelt in one house together, though a stranger's house it were.""O late, and o'erlate!" cried Brynhild—"may the dead folk hearken and hear?All was and today it is not—And the Oath unto Gunnar is sworn,Shall I live the days twice over, and the life thou hast made forlorn?"And she heard the words of Hindfell and the oath of the earlier day,Till the daylight darkened before her, and all memory passed away,And she cried: "I may live no longer, for the Gods have forgotten the earth,And my heart is the forge of sorrow, and my life is a wasting dearth."Then once again spake Sigurd, once only and no more:A pillar of light all golden he stood on the sunlit floor;And his eyes were the eyes of Odin, and his face was the hope of the world,And his voice was the thunder of even when the bolt o'er the mountains is hurled:The fairest of all things fashioned he stood 'twixt life and death,And the Wrath of Regin rattled, and the rings of the Glittering Heath,As he cried:"I am Sigurd the Volsung, and belike the tale shall be trueThat no hand on the earth may hinder what my hand would fashion and do:And what God or what man shall gainsay it if our love be greater than these,The pride and the glory of Sigurd, and the latter days' increase?O live, live, Brynhild belovèd! and thee on the earth will I wed,And put away Gudrun the Niblung—and all those shall be as the dead."But so swelled the heart within him as he cast the speech abroad,That the golden wall of the battle, the fence unrent by the sword.The red rings of the uttermost ocean on the breast of Sigurd brake:And he saw the eyes of Brynhild, and turned from the word she spake:"I will not wed thee, Sigurd, nor any man alive."Then Sigurd goes out from before her; and the winds in the wall-nook strive,And the craving of fowl and the beast-kind with the speech of men is blent,And the voice of the sons of the Niblungs; and their day's first hour is spentAs he goes through the hall of the War-dukes, and many an earl is astir,But none durst question Sigurd lest of evil days he hear:So he comes to his kingly chamber, and there sitteth Gudrun alone,And the fear in her soul is minished, but the love and the hatred are grown:She is wan as the moonlit midnight; but her heart is cold and proud,And she asketh him nought of Brynhild, and nought he speaketh aloud.
Now the sun cometh up in the morning and shines o'er holt and heath,And the wall of the mighty mountains, and the sheep-fed slopes beneath,And the horse-fed plain and the river, and the acres of the wheat,And the herbs of bane and of healing, and the garden hedges sweet;It shines on the sea and the shepherd, and the husbandman's desire;On the Niblung Burg it shineth and smiteth the vanes afire;And in Gudrun's bower it shineth, and seeth small joy therein,For hushed the fair-clad maidens the work of women win;Then Gudrun looketh about her, and she saith:"Why sit ye so,That I hearken but creak of the loom-stock and the battens' homeward blow?Why is your joy departed and your sweet speech fallen dumb?Are the Niblungs fled from the battle, is their war-host overcome?Have the Norns given forth their shaming? have they fallen in the fight?Yet the sun shines notwithstanding, and the world around is bright."
Then answered a noble woman, and the wise of maids was she:"Thou knowest, O lovely lady, that nought of this may be;Yet with woe that the world shall hearken the glorious house is filled,On the hearth of all men hallowed the cup of joy is spilled.—A dread, an untimely hour, an exceeding evil day!"
Then the wife of Sigurd answered: "Arise and go thy wayTo the chamber of Queen Brynhild, and bid her wake at last,For that long have we slept and slumbered, and the deedless night is passed:Bid her wake to the deeds of queen-folk, and be glad as the world-queens areWhen they look on the people that loves them, and thrust all trouble afar.Let her foster her greatness and glory, and the fame no ages forget,That tomorn may as yesterday blossom, yea more abundantly yet."
Then arose the light-foot maiden: but she stayed and spake by the door:"O Gudrun, I durst not behold her, for the days of her joyance are o'er,And the days of her life are numbered, and her might is waxen weak,And she lieth as one forsaken, and no word her lips will speak,Nay, not to her lord that loveth: but all we deem, O Queen,That the wrath of the Gods is upon her for ancient deeds unseen."
Nought answered the white-armed Gudrun, but the fear in her soul arose,For she thought of the golden Sigurd, and the compassing of foes,And great grew the dread of her maidens as they gazed upon her face:But she rose and looked not backward as she hastened from her place,And sought the King of the Niblungs by hall and chamber and stair,And bright was the pure mid-morning and the wind was fresh and fair.
So she came on her brother Gunnar, as he sat apart and alone,Arrayed in the Niblung war-gear, nor moved he more than the stoneIn the jaws of the barren valley and the man-deserted dale;On his knees was the breadth of the sunshine, and thereon lay the edges pale,The war-flame of the Niblungs, the sword that his right hand knew:
White was the fear on her lips, and hard at her heart it drew.As she spake:"I have found thee, O brother! O Gunnar, go to her and sayThat my heart is grieved with her grief and I mourn for her evil day."
Then Gunnar answered her word, but his words were heavy and slow:"Thou know'st not the words thou speakest—and wherefore should I go,Since I am forbidden to share it, the woe or the weal of her heart?Look thou on the King of the Niblungs, how he sitteth alone and apart,Fast bound in the wiles of women, and the web that a traitor hath spun,And no deed for his hand he knoweth, or to do or to leave undone."
Wan-faced from before him she fled, and she went with hurrying feet,And no child of man in her going would she look upon or greet,Till she came unto Hogni the Wise; and he sat in his war-array,The coal-blue gear of the Niblungs, and the sword o'er his knees there lay:
She sickened, and said: "What dost thou? what then is the day and the deed,That the sword on thy knees is naked, and thou clad in the warrior's weed?Go in, go in to Brynhild, and tell her how I mournFor the grief whereof none wotteth that hath made her days forlorn."
"It is good, my sister," said Hogni, "to abide in the harness of warWhen the days and the days are changing, and the Norns' feet stand by the door.I will nowise go in unto Brynhild, lest the evil tide grow worse.For what woman will bear the sorrow and burden her soul with a curseIf she may escape it unbidden? and there are words that woundFar worse than the bitter edges, though wise in the air they sound.Bide thou and behold things fated! Hast thou learned how men may teachThe stars in their ordered courses, or lead the Norns with speech?"
She stood and trembled before him, nor durst she long beholdThe silent face of Hogni and the far-seeing eyes and cold.So she gat her forth from before him, and Sigurd her husband she sought,And the speech on her lips was ready, till the chill fear made it nought;For apart and alone was he sitting in all his war-gear clad,And Fafnir's Helm of Aweing, and Regin's Wrath he had,And over the breast of Sigurd was the Hauberk all of goldThat hath not the like in the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told.
But he set her down beside him and said: "What fearest thou then?What terror strideth in daylight mid the peace of the Niblung men?"
She cried: "The Helm and the Sword, and the golden guard of thy breast!"
"So oft, O wife," said Sigurd, "is a war-king clad the bestWhen the peril quickens before him, and on either hand is doubt;Thus men wreathe round the beaker whence the wine shall be soon poured out.But hope thou not overmuch, for the end is not today;And fear thou little indeed, for not long shall the sword delay:But speak, O daughter of Giuki, for thy lips scarce held the wordEre thou sawest the gleam of my hauberk and the edge of the ancient Sword,The Light that hath lain in the Branstock, the hope of the Volsung tree,The Sunderer, the Deliverer, the torch of days to be."
She sighed; for her heart was heavy for the days but a while agone,When the death was little dreamed of, and the joy was lightly won;And her soul was bitter with anger for the day that Brynhild had ledTo the heart of the Niblung glory: but fear thrust on, and she said:"O my lord, O Sigurd the mighty, an evil day is this,A chill, an untimely hour for the blooming of our bliss!Go in to my sister Brynhild, and tell her of very soothThat my heart for her sorrow sorrows, and is sick for woe and ruth."
"The hour draws nigh," said Sigurd, "for I know of the speech and the wordThat is kind in the air to hearken, and is worse than the whetted sword.Now is Brynhild sore encompassed by a tide of measureless woe,And amidst and anear, as I see it, she seeth the death-star grow.Yet belike it is, O Gudrun, that thy will herein shall be done;But now depart, I pray thee, and leave thy lord alone:Heavy and hard shall it be, for a season shall it endure,But the grief and the sorrow shall perish, and the fame of the Gods is sure."
Yet she sat by his side and spake not, and a while at his glory she gazed,For his face o'erpassed the brightness that so long the folk had praised,And she durst not question or touch him, and at last she rose from his side,And gat her away soft-footed, and wandered far and wideThrough the house and the Burg of the Niblungs; yet durst she never moreGo look on the Niblung Brethren as they sat in their harness of war.
But the morn to the noon hath fallen, and the afternoon to the eve,And the beams of the westering sun the Niblung wall-stones leave,And yet sitteth Sigurd alone; then the sun sinketh down into night,And the moon ariseth in heaven, and the earth is pale with her light:And there sitteth Sigurd the Volsung in the gold and the harness of warThat was won from the heart-wise Fafnir and the guarded Treasure of yore,But pale is the Helm of Aweing, and wan are the ruddy rings:So whiles in a city forsaken ye see the shapes of kings,And the lips that the carvers wrought, while their words were remembered and known,And the brows men trembled to look on in the long-enduring stone,And their hands once unforgotten, and their breasts, the walls of war;But now are they hidden marvels to the wise and the master of lore,And he nameth them not, nor knoweth, and their fear is faded away.
E'en so sat Sigurd the Volsung till the night waxed moonless and grey,Till the chill dawn spread o'er the lowland, and the purple fells grew clearIn the cloudless summer dawn-dusk, and the sun was drawing anear:Then reddened the Burg of the Niblungs, and the walls of the ancient folk,And a wind came down from the mountains and the living things awokeAnd cried out for need and rejoicing; till, lo, the rim of the sunShowed over the eastern ridges, and the new day was begun;And the beams rose higher and higher, and white grew the Niblung wall,And the spears on the ramparts glistered and the windows blazed withal,And the sunlight flooded the courts, and throughout the chambers streamed:Then bright as the flames of the heaven the Helm of Aweing gleamed,Then clashed the red rings of the Treasure, as Sigurd stood on his feet,And went through the echoing chambers, as the winds in the wall-nook beat;And there in the earliest morning while the lords of the Niblungs lie'Twixt light sleep and awakening they hear the clash go by,And their dreams are of happy battle, and the songs that follow fame,And the hope of the Gods accomplished, and the tales of the ancient name,Ere Sigurd came to the Niblungs and faced their gathered foes.But on to the chamber of Brynhild alone in the morning he goes,And the sun lieth broad across it, and the door is open wideAs the last of the women had left it; then he lifted his voice and cried:
"Awake, arise, O Brynhild! for the house is smitten throughWith the light of the sun awakened, and the hope of deeds to do."
She spake: "Art thou come to behold me? thou, the mightiest and the worstOf the pitiless betrayers, that the hope of my life hath nursed."
He said: "It is I that awake thee, and I give thee the life and the daysFor fulfilling the deedful measure, and the cup of the people's praise."
She cried: "O the gifts of Sigurd!—Ah why didst thou cast me aside,That we twain should be dwelling, the strangers, in the house of the Niblung pride?What life is the death in life? what deeds—where the shame cometh upBetwixt the speech of the wise-ones and the draught of the welcoming cup;And the shame and repentance awaketh when the song in the harp is awake?Where we rise in the morning for nothing, and lie down for no love's sake?Where thou ridest forth to the battle and the dead hope dulleth thy light,And with shame thy hand is cumbered when the sword is uplifted to smite?O Sigurd, what hast thou done, that the gifts are cast aback?—O nay, no life of repentance!—but the bitter sword and the wrack!"
"O Brynhild, live!" said the Volsung, "for what shall the world be thenWhen thou from the earth art departed, and the hallowed hearths of men?"
She said: "Woe worth the while for the word that hath come from thy mouth!As the bitter weltering ocean to the shipman dying of drouth,E'en so is the life thou biddest, since thou pitiedst not thine own,Nor thy love, nor the hope of thy life-days, but must dwell as a glory alone!"
"It is truer to tell," said Sigurd, "that mine heart in thy love was enwrappedTill the evil hour of the darkening, and the eyeless tangle had happed:And thereof shalt thou know, O Brynhild, on one day better than I,When the stroke of the sword hath been smitten, and the night hath seen me die:Then belike in thy fresh-springing wisdom thou shalt know of the dark and the deed,And the snare for our feet fore-ordered from whence they shall never be freed.But for me, in the net I awakened and the toils that unwitting I wove,And no tongue may tell of the sorrow that I had for thy wedded love:But I dwelt in the dwelling of kings; so I thrust its seeming apartAnd I laboured the field of Odin: and e'en this was a joy to my heart,That we dwelt in one house together, though a stranger's house it were."
"O late, and o'erlate!" cried Brynhild—"may the dead folk hearken and hear?All was and today it is not—And the Oath unto Gunnar is sworn,Shall I live the days twice over, and the life thou hast made forlorn?"
And she heard the words of Hindfell and the oath of the earlier day,Till the daylight darkened before her, and all memory passed away,And she cried: "I may live no longer, for the Gods have forgotten the earth,And my heart is the forge of sorrow, and my life is a wasting dearth."
Then once again spake Sigurd, once only and no more:A pillar of light all golden he stood on the sunlit floor;And his eyes were the eyes of Odin, and his face was the hope of the world,And his voice was the thunder of even when the bolt o'er the mountains is hurled:The fairest of all things fashioned he stood 'twixt life and death,And the Wrath of Regin rattled, and the rings of the Glittering Heath,As he cried:"I am Sigurd the Volsung, and belike the tale shall be trueThat no hand on the earth may hinder what my hand would fashion and do:And what God or what man shall gainsay it if our love be greater than these,The pride and the glory of Sigurd, and the latter days' increase?O live, live, Brynhild belovèd! and thee on the earth will I wed,And put away Gudrun the Niblung—and all those shall be as the dead."
But so swelled the heart within him as he cast the speech abroad,That the golden wall of the battle, the fence unrent by the sword.The red rings of the uttermost ocean on the breast of Sigurd brake:And he saw the eyes of Brynhild, and turned from the word she spake:
"I will not wed thee, Sigurd, nor any man alive."
Then Sigurd goes out from before her; and the winds in the wall-nook strive,And the craving of fowl and the beast-kind with the speech of men is blent,And the voice of the sons of the Niblungs; and their day's first hour is spentAs he goes through the hall of the War-dukes, and many an earl is astir,But none durst question Sigurd lest of evil days he hear:So he comes to his kingly chamber, and there sitteth Gudrun alone,And the fear in her soul is minished, but the love and the hatred are grown:She is wan as the moonlit midnight; but her heart is cold and proud,And she asketh him nought of Brynhild, and nought he speaketh aloud.
Ere the noon ariseth Brynhild, and forth abroad she goes,And sits by the wall of her bower 'twixt the lily and the rose;Great dread and sickness is on her, as it shall be once on the mornWhen the uttermost sun is arisen 'neath the blast of the world-shaking horn:Her maidens come and go, but none dares cast her a word;From the wall the warders behold her, and turn round to the spear and the sword;Yea, few dare speak of Brynhild as morning fadeth in noonIn the Burg of the ancient people mid the stir and the glory of June.Then cometh forth speech from Brynhild, and she calls to her maidens and saith:"Go tell ye the King of the Niblungs that I am arisen from death,And come forth from the uttermost sickness, and with him I needs must speak:That we look into weighty matters and due deeds for king-folk seek."So they went and returned not again, and it was but a little spaceEre she looked, and behold, it was Gunnar that stood before her face,And his war-gear darkened the noon-tide and the grey helm gleamed from his head,But his eyes were fearful beneath it: then she gazed on the heavens and said:"Thou art come, O King of the Niblungs; what mighty deed is to frameThat thou wearest the cloudy harness, and the arms of the Niblung name?"He spake: "O woman, thou mockest! what King of the people is here?Are not all kings confounded, and all peoples' shame laid bare?Shall the Gods grow little to help, or men grow great to amend?Nay, the hunt is up in the world and the Gods to the forest will wend,And their hearts are exceeding merry as they ride and drive the prey:But what if the bear grin on them, and the wood-beast turn to bay?What now if the whelp of their breeding a wolf of the world be grown,To cry out in the face of their brightness and mar their glad renown?"She heeded him not, nor hearkened: but he said: "Thou wert wise of old;And hither I come at thy bidding: let the thought of thine heart be told."She said: "What aileth thee, Gunnar? time was thou wert great and glad.And that was yester-morning: how then is the good turned bad?"He said: "I was glad in my dreams, and I woke and my glory was dead.""Hath a God then wrought thee evil, or one of the King-folk?" she said.He said: "In the snare am I taken, in the web that a traitor hath spun;And no deed knoweth my right-hand to do or to leave undone.""I look upon thee," said Brynhild, "I know thy race and thy name.Yet meseems the deed thou sparest, to amend thine evil and shame.""Nought, nought," he said, "may amend it, save the hungry eyeless sword.And the war without hope or honour, and the strife without reward.""Thou hast spoken the word," said Brynhild, "if the word is enough, it is well.Let us eat and drink and be merry, that all men of our words may tell!""O all-wise woman," said Gunnar, "what deed lieth under the tongue?What day for the dearth of the people, when the seed of thy sowing hath sprung?"She said: "Our garment is Shame, and nought the web shall rend,Save the day without repentance, and the deed that nought may amend.""Speak, mighty of women," said Gunnar, "and cry out the name and the deedThat the ends of the Earth may hearken, and the Niblungs' grievous Need.""To slay," she said, "is the deed, to slay a King ere the morn,And the name is Sigurd the Volsung, my love and thy brother sworn."She turned and departed from him, and he knew not whither she went;But he took his sword from the girdle and the peace-strings round it rent,And into the house he gat him, and the sunlit fair abode,But his heart in the mid-mirk waded, as through the halls he strode,Till he came to a chamber apart; and Grimhild his mother was there,And there was his brother Hogni in the cloudy Niblung gear:Him-seemed there was silence between them as of them that have spoken, and waitTill the words of their mouths be accomplished by slow unholpen Fate:But they turned to the door, and beheld him, and he took his sheathèd swordAnd cast it adown betwixt them, and it clashed half bare on the board,And Grimhild spake as it clattered: "For whom are the peace-strings rent?For whom is the blood-point whetted and the edge of thine intent?"He said: "For the heart of Sigurd; and thus all is rent awayBetwixt this word and his slaying, save a little hour of day."Then spake Hogni and answered: "All lands beneath the sunShall know and hearken and wonder that such a deed must be done.""Speak, brother of Kings," said Gunnar, "dost thou know deeds better or worseThat shall wash us clean from shaming, and redeem our lives from the curse?""I am none of the Norns," said Hogni, "nor the heart of Odin the Goth,To avenge the foster-brethren, or broken love and troth:Thy will is the story fated, nor shall I look on the deedWith uncursed hands unreddened, and edges dulled at need."Again spake Grimhild the wise-wife: "Where then is Guttorm the brave?For he blent not his blood with the Volsung's, nor his oath to Sigurd gave,Nor called on Earth to witness, nor went beneath the yoke;And now is he Sigurd's foeman; and who may curse his stroke?"Then Hogni laughed and answered: "His feet on the threshold stand:Forged is thy sword, O Mother, and its hilts are come to hand,And look that thou whet it duly; for the Norns are departed now;From the blood of our foster-brother no branch of bale shall grow;Hoodwinked are the Gods of heaven, their sleep-dazed eyes are blind;They shall peer and grope through the darkness, and nought therein shall find,Save the red right hand of Guttorm, and his lips that never swore;At the young man's deed shall they wonder, and all shall be covered o'er:Ho, Guttorm, enter, and hearken to the counsel of the wise!"Then in through the door strode Guttorm fair-clad in hunter's guise,With no steel save his wood-knife girded; but his war-fain eyes stared wild,As he spake: "What words are ye hiding from the youngest Niblung child?What work is to win, my brethren, that ye sit in warrior's weed,And tell me nought of the glory, and cover up the deed?"Then uprose Grimhild the wise-wife, and took the cup again;Night-long had she brewed that witch-drink and laboured not in vain,For therein was the creeping venom, and hearts of things that preyOn the hidden lives of ocean, and never look on day;And the heart of the ravening wood-wolf and the hunger-blinded beastAnd the spent slaked heart of the wild-fire the guileful cup increased:But huge words of ancient evil about its rim were scored,The curse and the eyeless craving of the first that fashioned sword.So the cup in her hand was gleaming, as she turned unto Guttorm and spake;"Be merry, King of the War-fain! we hold counsel for thy sake:The work is a God's son's slaying, and thine is the hand that shall smite,That thy name may be set in glory and thy deeds live on in light."Forth flashed the flame from his eyen, and he cried: "Where then is the foe,This dread of mine house and my brethren, that my hand may lay him alow?""Drink, son," she said, "and be merry! and I shall tell his name,Whose death shall crown thy life-days, and increase thy fame with his fame."He drinketh and craveth for battle, and his hand for a sword doth seek,And he looketh about on his brethren, but his lips no word may speak;They speak the name, and he hears not, and again he drinks of the cupAnd knows not friend nor kindred, and the wrath in his heart wells up,That no God may bear unmingled, and he cries a wordless cry,As the last of the day is departing and the dusk time drawing anigh.Then Grimhild goes from the chamber, and bringeth his harness of war,And therewith they array his body, and he drinketh the cup once more,And his heart is set on the murder, and now may he understandWhat soul is dight for the slaying, and what quarry is for his hand.For again, they tell him of Sigurd, and the man he remembereth,And praiseth his mighty name and his deeds that laughed on death.Now dusk and dark draw over, and through the glimmering houseThey go to the place of the Niblungs, the high hall and glorious;For hard by is the chamber of Sigurd: there dight in their harness of warIn their thrones sit Gunnar and Hogni, but Guttorm stands on the floorWith his blue blade naked before them: the torches flare from the wallAnd the woven God-folk waver, but the hush is deep in the hall,And those Niblung faces change not, though the slow moon slips from her heightAnd earth is acold ere dawning, and new winds shake the night.Now it was in the earliest dawn-dusk that Guttorm stirred in his place,And the mail-rings tinkled upon him, as he turned his helm-hid face,And went forth from the hall and the high-seat; but the Kings sat still in their prideAnd hearkened the clash of his going and heeded how it died.Slow, all alone goeth Guttorm to Sigurd's chamber door,And all is open before him, and the white moon lies on the floorAnd the bed where Sigurd lieth with Gudrun on his breast,And light comes her breath from her bosom in the joy of infinite rest.Then Guttorm stands on the threshold, and his heart of the murder is fain,And he thinks of the deeds of Sigurd, and praiseth his greatness and gain;Bright blue is his blade in the moonlight—but lo, how Sigurd lies,As the carven dead that die not, with fair wide-open eyes;And their glory gleameth on Guttorm, and the hate in his heart is chilled,And he shrinketh aback from the threshold and knoweth not what he willed.But his brethren heed and hearken, and they hear the clash draw nigh,But they stir no whit in their pride, though the lord of all creatures should die.Then they see where cometh Guttorm, but they cast him never a word,For white 'neath the flickering torches they see his unstained sword;But he gazed on those Kings of the kindred, and the beast of war awoke;And his heart was exceeding wrathful with the tarrying of the stroke:And he strode to the chamber of Sigurd, and again they heeded wellHow the clash, in the cloister awakened, by the threshold died and fell.But Guttorm gazed from the threshold, and the moon was fading awayFrom the golden bed of Sigurd, and the Niblung woman layOn the bosom of the Volsung, and her hand lay light on her lord;But dread were his eyes wide-open, and they gleamed against the sword,And Guttorm shrank from before them, and back to the hall he came:There the biding brethren behold him flash wild in the torches' flame,Nor stir their lips to question; but their swords on their knees are laid;The torches faint in the dawning, and they see his unstained blade.Now dieth moon and candle, and though the day be nighThe roof of the hall fair-builded seems far aloof as the sky,But a glimmer grows on the pavement and the ernes on the roof-ridge stir:Then the brethren hist and hearken, for a sound of feet they hear,And into the hall of the Niblungs a white thing cometh apace:But the sword of Guttorm upriseth, and he wendeth from his place,And the clash of steel goes with him; yet loud as it may soundStill more they hear those footsteps light-falling on the ground,And the hearts of the Niblungs waver, and their pride is smitten acold,For they look on that latest comer, and Brynhild they behold:But she sits by their side in silence, and heeds them nothing moreThan the grey soft-footed morning heeds yester-even's war.But Guttorm clashed in the cloisters and through the silence strodeAnd scarce on the threshold of Sigurd a little while abode:There the moon from the floor hath departed and heaven without is grey,And afar in the eastern quarter faint glimmer streaks of day.Close over the head of Sigurd the Wrath gleams wan and bare,And the Niblung woman stirreth, and her brow is knit with fear;But the King's closed eyes are hidden, loose lie his empty hands,There is nought 'twixt the sword of the slayer and the Wonder of all Lands.Then Guttorm laughed in his war-rage, and his sword leapt up on high,As he sprang to the bed from the threshold and cried a wordless cry,And with all the might of the Niblungs through Sigurd's body thrust,And turned and fled from the chamber, and fell amid the dust,Within the door and without it, the slayer slain by the slain;For the cast of the sword of Sigurd had smitten his body atwainWhile yet his cry of onset through the echoing chambers went.Woe's me! how the house of the Niblungs by another cry was rent,The wakening wail of Gudrun, as she shrank in the river of bloodFrom the breast of the mighty Sigurd: he heard it and understood,And rose up on the sword of Guttorm, and turned from the country of death,And spake words of loving-kindness as he strove for life and breath:"Wail not, O child of the Niblungs! I am smitten, but thou shalt live,In remembrance of our glory, mid the gifts the Gods shall give!"She stayed her cry to hearken, and her heart well nigh stood still:But he spake: "Mourn not, O Gudrun, this stroke is the last of ill;Fear leaveth the House of the Niblungs on this breaking of the morn;Mayst thou live, O woman belovèd, unforsaken, unforlorn!"Then he sank aback on the sword, and down to his lips she bentIf some sound therefrom she might hearken; for his breath was well-nigh spent:"It is Brynhild's deed," he murmured, "and the woman that loves me well;Nought now is left to repent of, and the tale abides to tell.I have done many deeds in my life-days, and all these, and my love, they lieIn the hollow hand of Odin till the day of the world go by.I have done and I may not undo, I have given and I take not again:Art thou other than I, Allfather, wilt thou gather my glory in vain?"There was silence then in the chamber, as the dawn spread wide and grey,And hushed was the hall of the Niblungs at the entering-in of day.Long Gudrun hung o'er the Volsung and waited the coming word;Then she stretched out her hand to Sigurd and touched her love and her lord,And the broad day fell on his visage, and she knew she was there alone,And her heart was wrung with anguish and she uttered a weary moan:Then Brynhild laughed in the hall, and the first of men's voices was thatSince when on yester-even the kings in the high-seat had sat.But the wrath of Gunnar was kindled and the words of the king out-brake,"Woe's me, thou wonder of women! thou art glad for no man's sake,Nay not for thine own, meseemeth, for thou bidest here as the dead,As the pale ones stricken deedless, whose tale of life is sped."She hearkened him not nor answered; and day came on apace,And they heard the anguish of Gudrun and her voice in the ancient place."Awake, O House of the Niblungs! for my kin hath slain my lord.Awake, awake, to the murder, and the edges of the sword!Awake, go forth and be merry! and yet shall the day betide,When ye stand in the garth of the foemen, and death is on every side,And ye look about and around you, and right and left ye lookFor the least of the hours of Sigurd, and his hand that the battle shook:Then be your hope as mine is, then face ye death and shameAs I face the desolation, and the days without a name!"And she shrieked as the woe gathered on her, and the sun rose over her head:"Wake, wake, O men of this house, for Sigurd the Volsung is dead!"In the house rose rumour and stir, and men stood up in the morn,And their hearts with doubt were shaken, as if with the Uttermost Horn:The cry and the calling spread, and shields clashed down from the wall,And swords in the chamber glittered, and men ran apace to the hall.Nor knew what man to question, nor who had tidings to give,Nor what were the days thenceforward wherein the folk should live.But ever the word is amongst them that Sigurd the Volsung is slain,And the spears in the hall were tossing as the rye in the windy plain.But they look aloft to the high-seat and they see the gleam of the gold:And Gunnar the King of battle, and Hogni wise and cold,And Brynhild the wonder of women; and her face is deadly pale,And the Kings are clad in their war-gear, and bared are the edges of bale.Then cold fear falleth upon them, but the noise and the clamour abate,And they look on the war-wise Gunnar and awhile for his word they wait;But e'en as he riseth above them, doth a shriek through the tumult ring:"Awake, O House of the Niblungs, for slain is Sigurd the King!"Then nothing faltered Gunnar, but he stood o'er the Niblung folk,And over the hall woe-stricken the words of pride he spoke:"Mourn now, O Niblung people, for gone is Sigurd our guest,And Guttorm the King is departed, and this is our day of unrest;But all this of the Norns was fore-ordered, and herein is Odin's hand;Cast down are the mighty of men-folk, but the Niblung house shall stand:Mourn then today and tomorrow, but the third day waken and live,For the Gods died not this morning, and great gifts they have to give."He spake and awhile was silence, and then did the cry outbreak,And many there were of the Earl-folk that wept for Sigurd's sake;And they wept for their little children, and they wept for those unborn,Who should know the earth without him and the world of his worth forlorn.But wild is the wailing of women as they fare to the place of the dead,Where cold is Gudrun sitting mid the waste of Sigurd's bed.Then they take the man belovèd, and bear him forth to the hall,And spread the linen above him, and cloth of purple and pall;And meekly Gudrun followeth, and she sitteth down thereby,But mute is her mouth henceforward, and she giveth forth no cry,And no word of lamentation, though far abroad they weepFor the gift of the Gods departed, and the golden Sigurd's sleep.Meanwhile elsewhere the women and the wives of the Niblungs wailO'er the body of King Guttorm and array him for the bale,And Grimhild opens her treasure and bears forth plenteous goldAnd goodly things for his journey, and the land of Death acold.So rent is the joy of the Niblungs; and their simple days and fainFrom that ancient house are departed, and who shall buy them again?For he, the redeemer, the helper, the crown of all their worth,They looked upon him and wondered, they loved; and they thrust him forth.
Ere the noon ariseth Brynhild, and forth abroad she goes,And sits by the wall of her bower 'twixt the lily and the rose;Great dread and sickness is on her, as it shall be once on the mornWhen the uttermost sun is arisen 'neath the blast of the world-shaking horn:Her maidens come and go, but none dares cast her a word;From the wall the warders behold her, and turn round to the spear and the sword;Yea, few dare speak of Brynhild as morning fadeth in noonIn the Burg of the ancient people mid the stir and the glory of June.
Then cometh forth speech from Brynhild, and she calls to her maidens and saith:"Go tell ye the King of the Niblungs that I am arisen from death,And come forth from the uttermost sickness, and with him I needs must speak:That we look into weighty matters and due deeds for king-folk seek."
So they went and returned not again, and it was but a little spaceEre she looked, and behold, it was Gunnar that stood before her face,And his war-gear darkened the noon-tide and the grey helm gleamed from his head,But his eyes were fearful beneath it: then she gazed on the heavens and said:
"Thou art come, O King of the Niblungs; what mighty deed is to frameThat thou wearest the cloudy harness, and the arms of the Niblung name?"
He spake: "O woman, thou mockest! what King of the people is here?Are not all kings confounded, and all peoples' shame laid bare?Shall the Gods grow little to help, or men grow great to amend?Nay, the hunt is up in the world and the Gods to the forest will wend,And their hearts are exceeding merry as they ride and drive the prey:But what if the bear grin on them, and the wood-beast turn to bay?What now if the whelp of their breeding a wolf of the world be grown,To cry out in the face of their brightness and mar their glad renown?"
She heeded him not, nor hearkened: but he said: "Thou wert wise of old;And hither I come at thy bidding: let the thought of thine heart be told."
She said: "What aileth thee, Gunnar? time was thou wert great and glad.And that was yester-morning: how then is the good turned bad?"
He said: "I was glad in my dreams, and I woke and my glory was dead."
"Hath a God then wrought thee evil, or one of the King-folk?" she said.
He said: "In the snare am I taken, in the web that a traitor hath spun;And no deed knoweth my right-hand to do or to leave undone."
"I look upon thee," said Brynhild, "I know thy race and thy name.Yet meseems the deed thou sparest, to amend thine evil and shame."
"Nought, nought," he said, "may amend it, save the hungry eyeless sword.And the war without hope or honour, and the strife without reward."
"Thou hast spoken the word," said Brynhild, "if the word is enough, it is well.Let us eat and drink and be merry, that all men of our words may tell!"
"O all-wise woman," said Gunnar, "what deed lieth under the tongue?What day for the dearth of the people, when the seed of thy sowing hath sprung?"
She said: "Our garment is Shame, and nought the web shall rend,Save the day without repentance, and the deed that nought may amend."
"Speak, mighty of women," said Gunnar, "and cry out the name and the deedThat the ends of the Earth may hearken, and the Niblungs' grievous Need."
"To slay," she said, "is the deed, to slay a King ere the morn,And the name is Sigurd the Volsung, my love and thy brother sworn."
She turned and departed from him, and he knew not whither she went;But he took his sword from the girdle and the peace-strings round it rent,And into the house he gat him, and the sunlit fair abode,But his heart in the mid-mirk waded, as through the halls he strode,Till he came to a chamber apart; and Grimhild his mother was there,And there was his brother Hogni in the cloudy Niblung gear:Him-seemed there was silence between them as of them that have spoken, and waitTill the words of their mouths be accomplished by slow unholpen Fate:But they turned to the door, and beheld him, and he took his sheathèd swordAnd cast it adown betwixt them, and it clashed half bare on the board,And Grimhild spake as it clattered: "For whom are the peace-strings rent?For whom is the blood-point whetted and the edge of thine intent?"
He said: "For the heart of Sigurd; and thus all is rent awayBetwixt this word and his slaying, save a little hour of day."
Then spake Hogni and answered: "All lands beneath the sunShall know and hearken and wonder that such a deed must be done."
"Speak, brother of Kings," said Gunnar, "dost thou know deeds better or worseThat shall wash us clean from shaming, and redeem our lives from the curse?"
"I am none of the Norns," said Hogni, "nor the heart of Odin the Goth,To avenge the foster-brethren, or broken love and troth:Thy will is the story fated, nor shall I look on the deedWith uncursed hands unreddened, and edges dulled at need."
Again spake Grimhild the wise-wife: "Where then is Guttorm the brave?For he blent not his blood with the Volsung's, nor his oath to Sigurd gave,Nor called on Earth to witness, nor went beneath the yoke;And now is he Sigurd's foeman; and who may curse his stroke?"
Then Hogni laughed and answered: "His feet on the threshold stand:Forged is thy sword, O Mother, and its hilts are come to hand,And look that thou whet it duly; for the Norns are departed now;From the blood of our foster-brother no branch of bale shall grow;Hoodwinked are the Gods of heaven, their sleep-dazed eyes are blind;They shall peer and grope through the darkness, and nought therein shall find,Save the red right hand of Guttorm, and his lips that never swore;At the young man's deed shall they wonder, and all shall be covered o'er:Ho, Guttorm, enter, and hearken to the counsel of the wise!"
Then in through the door strode Guttorm fair-clad in hunter's guise,With no steel save his wood-knife girded; but his war-fain eyes stared wild,As he spake: "What words are ye hiding from the youngest Niblung child?What work is to win, my brethren, that ye sit in warrior's weed,And tell me nought of the glory, and cover up the deed?"
Then uprose Grimhild the wise-wife, and took the cup again;Night-long had she brewed that witch-drink and laboured not in vain,For therein was the creeping venom, and hearts of things that preyOn the hidden lives of ocean, and never look on day;And the heart of the ravening wood-wolf and the hunger-blinded beastAnd the spent slaked heart of the wild-fire the guileful cup increased:But huge words of ancient evil about its rim were scored,The curse and the eyeless craving of the first that fashioned sword.
So the cup in her hand was gleaming, as she turned unto Guttorm and spake;"Be merry, King of the War-fain! we hold counsel for thy sake:The work is a God's son's slaying, and thine is the hand that shall smite,That thy name may be set in glory and thy deeds live on in light."
Forth flashed the flame from his eyen, and he cried: "Where then is the foe,This dread of mine house and my brethren, that my hand may lay him alow?"
"Drink, son," she said, "and be merry! and I shall tell his name,Whose death shall crown thy life-days, and increase thy fame with his fame."
He drinketh and craveth for battle, and his hand for a sword doth seek,And he looketh about on his brethren, but his lips no word may speak;They speak the name, and he hears not, and again he drinks of the cupAnd knows not friend nor kindred, and the wrath in his heart wells up,That no God may bear unmingled, and he cries a wordless cry,As the last of the day is departing and the dusk time drawing anigh.
Then Grimhild goes from the chamber, and bringeth his harness of war,And therewith they array his body, and he drinketh the cup once more,And his heart is set on the murder, and now may he understandWhat soul is dight for the slaying, and what quarry is for his hand.For again, they tell him of Sigurd, and the man he remembereth,And praiseth his mighty name and his deeds that laughed on death.
Now dusk and dark draw over, and through the glimmering houseThey go to the place of the Niblungs, the high hall and glorious;For hard by is the chamber of Sigurd: there dight in their harness of warIn their thrones sit Gunnar and Hogni, but Guttorm stands on the floorWith his blue blade naked before them: the torches flare from the wallAnd the woven God-folk waver, but the hush is deep in the hall,And those Niblung faces change not, though the slow moon slips from her heightAnd earth is acold ere dawning, and new winds shake the night.
Now it was in the earliest dawn-dusk that Guttorm stirred in his place,And the mail-rings tinkled upon him, as he turned his helm-hid face,And went forth from the hall and the high-seat; but the Kings sat still in their prideAnd hearkened the clash of his going and heeded how it died.
Slow, all alone goeth Guttorm to Sigurd's chamber door,And all is open before him, and the white moon lies on the floorAnd the bed where Sigurd lieth with Gudrun on his breast,And light comes her breath from her bosom in the joy of infinite rest.Then Guttorm stands on the threshold, and his heart of the murder is fain,And he thinks of the deeds of Sigurd, and praiseth his greatness and gain;Bright blue is his blade in the moonlight—but lo, how Sigurd lies,As the carven dead that die not, with fair wide-open eyes;And their glory gleameth on Guttorm, and the hate in his heart is chilled,And he shrinketh aback from the threshold and knoweth not what he willed.
But his brethren heed and hearken, and they hear the clash draw nigh,But they stir no whit in their pride, though the lord of all creatures should die.Then they see where cometh Guttorm, but they cast him never a word,For white 'neath the flickering torches they see his unstained sword;But he gazed on those Kings of the kindred, and the beast of war awoke;And his heart was exceeding wrathful with the tarrying of the stroke:And he strode to the chamber of Sigurd, and again they heeded wellHow the clash, in the cloister awakened, by the threshold died and fell.
But Guttorm gazed from the threshold, and the moon was fading awayFrom the golden bed of Sigurd, and the Niblung woman layOn the bosom of the Volsung, and her hand lay light on her lord;But dread were his eyes wide-open, and they gleamed against the sword,And Guttorm shrank from before them, and back to the hall he came:There the biding brethren behold him flash wild in the torches' flame,Nor stir their lips to question; but their swords on their knees are laid;The torches faint in the dawning, and they see his unstained blade.
Now dieth moon and candle, and though the day be nighThe roof of the hall fair-builded seems far aloof as the sky,But a glimmer grows on the pavement and the ernes on the roof-ridge stir:Then the brethren hist and hearken, for a sound of feet they hear,And into the hall of the Niblungs a white thing cometh apace:But the sword of Guttorm upriseth, and he wendeth from his place,And the clash of steel goes with him; yet loud as it may soundStill more they hear those footsteps light-falling on the ground,And the hearts of the Niblungs waver, and their pride is smitten acold,For they look on that latest comer, and Brynhild they behold:But she sits by their side in silence, and heeds them nothing moreThan the grey soft-footed morning heeds yester-even's war.
But Guttorm clashed in the cloisters and through the silence strodeAnd scarce on the threshold of Sigurd a little while abode:There the moon from the floor hath departed and heaven without is grey,And afar in the eastern quarter faint glimmer streaks of day.Close over the head of Sigurd the Wrath gleams wan and bare,And the Niblung woman stirreth, and her brow is knit with fear;But the King's closed eyes are hidden, loose lie his empty hands,There is nought 'twixt the sword of the slayer and the Wonder of all Lands.Then Guttorm laughed in his war-rage, and his sword leapt up on high,As he sprang to the bed from the threshold and cried a wordless cry,And with all the might of the Niblungs through Sigurd's body thrust,And turned and fled from the chamber, and fell amid the dust,Within the door and without it, the slayer slain by the slain;For the cast of the sword of Sigurd had smitten his body atwainWhile yet his cry of onset through the echoing chambers went.
Woe's me! how the house of the Niblungs by another cry was rent,The wakening wail of Gudrun, as she shrank in the river of bloodFrom the breast of the mighty Sigurd: he heard it and understood,And rose up on the sword of Guttorm, and turned from the country of death,And spake words of loving-kindness as he strove for life and breath:
"Wail not, O child of the Niblungs! I am smitten, but thou shalt live,In remembrance of our glory, mid the gifts the Gods shall give!"
She stayed her cry to hearken, and her heart well nigh stood still:But he spake: "Mourn not, O Gudrun, this stroke is the last of ill;Fear leaveth the House of the Niblungs on this breaking of the morn;Mayst thou live, O woman belovèd, unforsaken, unforlorn!"
Then he sank aback on the sword, and down to his lips she bentIf some sound therefrom she might hearken; for his breath was well-nigh spent:"It is Brynhild's deed," he murmured, "and the woman that loves me well;Nought now is left to repent of, and the tale abides to tell.I have done many deeds in my life-days, and all these, and my love, they lieIn the hollow hand of Odin till the day of the world go by.I have done and I may not undo, I have given and I take not again:Art thou other than I, Allfather, wilt thou gather my glory in vain?"
There was silence then in the chamber, as the dawn spread wide and grey,And hushed was the hall of the Niblungs at the entering-in of day.Long Gudrun hung o'er the Volsung and waited the coming word;Then she stretched out her hand to Sigurd and touched her love and her lord,And the broad day fell on his visage, and she knew she was there alone,And her heart was wrung with anguish and she uttered a weary moan:Then Brynhild laughed in the hall, and the first of men's voices was thatSince when on yester-even the kings in the high-seat had sat.
But the wrath of Gunnar was kindled and the words of the king out-brake,"Woe's me, thou wonder of women! thou art glad for no man's sake,Nay not for thine own, meseemeth, for thou bidest here as the dead,As the pale ones stricken deedless, whose tale of life is sped."
She hearkened him not nor answered; and day came on apace,And they heard the anguish of Gudrun and her voice in the ancient place.
"Awake, O House of the Niblungs! for my kin hath slain my lord.Awake, awake, to the murder, and the edges of the sword!Awake, go forth and be merry! and yet shall the day betide,When ye stand in the garth of the foemen, and death is on every side,And ye look about and around you, and right and left ye lookFor the least of the hours of Sigurd, and his hand that the battle shook:Then be your hope as mine is, then face ye death and shameAs I face the desolation, and the days without a name!"
And she shrieked as the woe gathered on her, and the sun rose over her head:"Wake, wake, O men of this house, for Sigurd the Volsung is dead!"
In the house rose rumour and stir, and men stood up in the morn,And their hearts with doubt were shaken, as if with the Uttermost Horn:The cry and the calling spread, and shields clashed down from the wall,And swords in the chamber glittered, and men ran apace to the hall.Nor knew what man to question, nor who had tidings to give,Nor what were the days thenceforward wherein the folk should live.But ever the word is amongst them that Sigurd the Volsung is slain,And the spears in the hall were tossing as the rye in the windy plain.But they look aloft to the high-seat and they see the gleam of the gold:And Gunnar the King of battle, and Hogni wise and cold,And Brynhild the wonder of women; and her face is deadly pale,And the Kings are clad in their war-gear, and bared are the edges of bale.Then cold fear falleth upon them, but the noise and the clamour abate,And they look on the war-wise Gunnar and awhile for his word they wait;But e'en as he riseth above them, doth a shriek through the tumult ring:
"Awake, O House of the Niblungs, for slain is Sigurd the King!"
Then nothing faltered Gunnar, but he stood o'er the Niblung folk,And over the hall woe-stricken the words of pride he spoke:
"Mourn now, O Niblung people, for gone is Sigurd our guest,And Guttorm the King is departed, and this is our day of unrest;But all this of the Norns was fore-ordered, and herein is Odin's hand;Cast down are the mighty of men-folk, but the Niblung house shall stand:Mourn then today and tomorrow, but the third day waken and live,For the Gods died not this morning, and great gifts they have to give."
He spake and awhile was silence, and then did the cry outbreak,And many there were of the Earl-folk that wept for Sigurd's sake;And they wept for their little children, and they wept for those unborn,Who should know the earth without him and the world of his worth forlorn.But wild is the wailing of women as they fare to the place of the dead,Where cold is Gudrun sitting mid the waste of Sigurd's bed.Then they take the man belovèd, and bear him forth to the hall,And spread the linen above him, and cloth of purple and pall;And meekly Gudrun followeth, and she sitteth down thereby,But mute is her mouth henceforward, and she giveth forth no cry,And no word of lamentation, though far abroad they weepFor the gift of the Gods departed, and the golden Sigurd's sleep.
Meanwhile elsewhere the women and the wives of the Niblungs wailO'er the body of King Guttorm and array him for the bale,And Grimhild opens her treasure and bears forth plenteous goldAnd goodly things for his journey, and the land of Death acold.
So rent is the joy of the Niblungs; and their simple days and fainFrom that ancient house are departed, and who shall buy them again?For he, the redeemer, the helper, the crown of all their worth,They looked upon him and wondered, they loved; and they thrust him forth.