There now is Gudrun abiding, and gone by is the bloom of her youth,And she dwells with a folk untrusty, and a King that knows not ruth:Great are his gains in the world, and few men may his might withstand,But he weigheth sore on his people and cumbers the hope of his land;He craves as the sea-flood craveth, he gripes as the dying hour,All folk lie faint before him as he seeketh a soul to devour:Like breedeth like in his house, and venom, and guile, and the knifeOft lie 'twixt brother and brother, and the son and the father's life:As dogs doth Gudrun heed them, and looks with steadfast eyesOn the guile and base contention, and the strife of murder and lies.So pass the days and the moons, and the seasons wend on their ways,And there as a woman alone she sits mid the glory and praise:There oft in the hall she sitteth, and as empty imagesAre grown the shapes of the strangers, till her fathers' hall she sees:Void then seems the throne of the King, and no man sits by her sideIn the house of the Cloudy People and the place of her brethren's pride;But a dead man lieth before her, and there cometh a voice and a hand,And the cloth is plucked from the dead, and, lo, the beloved of the land,The righter of wrongs, the deliverer, yea he that gainsayed no grace:In a stranger's house is Gudrun and no change comes over her face,But her heart cries: Woe, woe, woe, O woe unto me and to all!On the fools, on the wise, on the evil let the swift destruction fall!Cold then is her voice in the high-seat, and she hears not what it saith;But Atli heedeth and hearkeneth, for she tells of the Glittering Heath,And the Load of the mighty Greyfell, and the Ransom of Odin the Goth:Cold yet is her voice as she telleth of murder and breaking of troth,Of the stubborn hearts of the Niblungs, and their hands that never yield,Of their craving that nought fulfilleth, of their hosts arrayed for the field.—What then are the words of King Atli that the cold voice answereth thus?"King, so shalt thou do, and be sackless of the vengeance that lieth with us:What words are these of my brethren, what words are these of my kin?For kin upon kin hath pity, and good deeds do brethren winFor the babes of their mothers' bosoms, and the children of one womb:But no man on me had pity, no kings were gathered for doom,When I lifted my hands for the pleading in the house of my father's folk;When men turned and wrapped them in treason, and did on wrong as a cloak:I have neither brethren nor kindred, and I am become thy wifeTo help thine heart to its craving, and strengthen thine hand in the strife."Thus she stirred up the lust of Atli, she, unmoved as a mighty queen,While the fire that burned within her by no child of man was seen.There oft in the bed she lieth, and beside her Atli sleeps,And she seeth him not nor heedeth, for the horror over her creeps,And her own cry rings through the chamber that along ago she cried,And a man for his life-breath gasping is struggling by her side,Yea, who but Sigurd the Volsung; and no man of men in deathEre spake such words of pity as the words that now he saith,As the words he speaketh ever while he riseth up on the sword,The sword of the foster-brethren and the Kings that swore the word.Lo, there she lieth and hearkeneth if yet he speak again,And long she lieth hearkening and lieth by the slain.So dreams the waking Gudrun till the morn comes on apaceAnd the daylight shines on Atli, and no change comes over her face,And deep hush lies on the chamber; but loud cries out her heart:How long, how long, O God-folk, will ye sit alone and apart,And let the blood of Sigurd cry on you from the earth,While crowned are the sons of murder with worship and with worth?If ye tarry shall I tarry? From the darkness of the wombCame I not in the days passed over for accomplishing your doom?So she saith till the daylight brightens, and the kingly house is astir,And she sits by the side of Atli, and a woman's voice doth hear,One who speaks with the voice of Gudrun, a queenly voice and cold:"How oft shall I tell thee, Atli, of the wise Andvari's Gold,The Treasure Regin craved for, the uncounted ruddy rings?Full surely he that holds it shall rule all earthly kings:Stretch forth thine hand, O Atli, for the gift is marvellous great,And I am she that giveth! how long wilt thou linger and waitTill the traitors come against thee with the war-torch and the steel,And here in thy land thou perish, befooled of thy kingly weal?Have I wedded the King of the Eastlands, the master of numberless swords,Or a serving-man of the Niblungs, a thrall of the Westland lords?"So spake the voice of Gudrun; suchwise she cast the seedO'er the gold-lust of King Atli for the day of the Niblungs' Need.Who is this in the hall of King Gunnar, this golden-gleaming man?Who is this, the bright and the silent as the frosty eve and wan,Round whom the speech of wise-ones lies hid in bonds of fear?Who this in the Niblung feast-hall as the moon-rise draweth anear?Hark! his voice mid the glittering benches and the wine-cups of the Earls,As cold as the wind that bloweth where the winter river whirls,And the winter sun forgetteth all the promise of the spring:"Hear ye, O men of the Westlands, hear thou, O Westland King,I have ridden the scorching highways, I have ridden the mirk-wood blind,I have sailed the weltering ocean your Westland house to find;For I am the man called Knefrud with Atli's word in my mouth.That saith: O noble Gunnar, come thou and be glad in the south,And rejoice with Eastland warriors; for the feast for thee is dight,And the cloths for thy coming fashioned my glorious hall make bright.Knowst thou not how the sun of the heavens hangs there 'twixt floor and roof.How the light of the lamp all golden holds dusky night aloof?How the red wine runs like a river, and the white wine springs as a well,And the harps are never ceasing of ancient deeds to tell?Thou shalt come when thy heart desireth, when thou weariest thou shalt go,And shalt say that no such high-tide the world shall ever know.Come bare and bald as the desert, and leave mine house againAs rich as the summer wine-burg, and the ancient wheat-sown plain!Come, bid thy men be building thy store-house greater yet,And make wide thy stall and thy stable for the gifts thine hand shall get!Yet when thou art gone from Atli he shall stand by his treasure of gold,He shall look through stall and stable, he shall ride by field and fold,And no ounce from the weight shall be lacking, of his beasts shall lack no head,If no thief hath stolen from Gunnar, if no beast in his land lie dead.Yea henceforth let our lives be as one, let our wars and our wayfarings blend,That my name with thine may be told of when the song is sung in the end,That the ancient war-spent Atli may sit and laugh with delightO'er thy feet the swift in battle, o'er thine hand uplifted to smite."So spake the guileful Knefrud mid the silence of the wise,Nor once his cold voice faltered, nor once he sank his eyes:Then spake the glorious Gunnar:"We hear King Atli's voice.And the heart is glad within us that he biddeth us rejoice:Yet the thing shall be seen but seldom that a Niblung fares from his landWith eyes by the gold-lust blinded, with the greedy griping hand.When thou farest aback unto Atli, thou shalt tell him how thou hast beenIn the house of the Westland Gunnar, and what things thine eyes have seen:Thou shalt tell of the seven store-houses with swords filled through and through,Gold-hilted, deftly smithied, in the Southland wave made blue:Thou shalt tell of the house of the treasures and the Gold that lay erewhileOn the Glittering Heath of murder 'neath the heart of the Serpent's guile:Thou shalt note our glittering hauberk, thou shalt strive to bend our bow,Thou shalt look on the shield of Gunnar that its white face thou mayst know:Thou shalt back the Niblung war-steed when the west wind blows its most,And see if it over-run thee; thou shalt gaze on the Niblung hostAnd be glad of the friends of Atli; thou shalt fare through stable and stall,And tell over the tale of the beast-kind, if the night forbear to fall;Through the horse-mead shalt thou wander, through the meadows of the sheep,But forbear to count their thousands lest thou weary for thy sleep;Thou shalt look if the barns be empty, though the wheat-field whiteneth now,In the midmost of the summer in the fields men cared to plough;Thou shalt dwell with men that lack not, and the tillers fair and fain;Thou shalt see, and long, and wonder, and tell thy King of his gain;For in all that here thou beholdest hath he portion even as we;Sweet bloometh his love in our midmost, and the fair time yet may be,When we twain shall meet and be merry; and sure when our lives are doneNo more shall men sunder our glory than the Gods have rent the sun.Sit, mighty man, and be joyous: and then shalt thou cast us a wordAnd say how fareth our sister mid the glory of her lord."Then Knefrud looked upon Gunnar, and spake, nor sank his eyes:"Each morn at the day's beginning when the sun hath hope to ariseShe looketh from Atli's tower toward the west part and the grey,To see the Niblung spear-heads gleam down the lonely way:Each eve at the day's departing on the topmost tower she stands,And looketh toward the mirk-wood and the sea of the western lands:There long in the wind she standeth, and the even grown acold,To see the Niblung war-shields come forth from out the wold."Then Gunnar turneth to Hogni, and he saith: "O glorious lord,What saith thine heart to the bidding, and Atli's loving word?""I have done many deeds," said Hogni, "I have worn the smooth and the rough,While the Gods looked on from heaven, and belike I have done enough,And no deed for me abideth, but rather the sleep and the restBut thou, O Son of King Giuki, art our eldest and our best,And fair lie the fields before thee wherein thine hand shall work:By the wayside of the greedy doth many a peril lurk;Full wise is the great one meseemeth who bideth his ending at homeWhen the winds and the waves may be dealing with hate that hath far to come.""I hearken thy word," said Gunnar, "and I know in very deedThat long-lived and happy are most men that hearken Hogni's rede.Hear thou, O Eastland War-god, and bear this answer aback,That nought may the earth of my people King Giuki's children lack,And that here in the land am I biding till the Norns my life shall change;Howbeit, if here were Atli, his face were scarce more strangeThan that daughter of my father whom sore I long to see:Let him come, and sit with the Niblungs, and be called their king with me."Then spake the guileful Knefrud, and his word was exceeding proud:"It is little the wont of Atli to sit at meat with a crowd;Yet know, O Westland Warrior, that thy message shall be done.Since the Cloudy Folk make ready new lodging for the sun."He laughed, and the wise kept silence, and Gunnar heeded him nought:On the daughter of his people was set the Niblung's thought,So sore he longed to behold her; for his life seemed wearing away,And the wealth and the fame he had gathered seemed nought by the earlier day,The day of love departed, and of hope forgotten long.But Hogni laughs with the stranger, and cries out for harp and song,And the glee rises up as a river when the mountain-tops grow clear,When seaward drift the rain-clouds, and the end of day is near;As of birds in the green groves singing is the Niblung manhood's voice,And the Earls without foreboding in their mighty life rejoice.Glad then grows the King of the people, and the sweetness filleth his heart,And he turneth about a little, and speaketh to Knefrud apart:"What sayest thou, lord of the Eastland, how with Gudrun's heart it fares?Is she sunk in the day of dominion and the burden that it bears,Or remembereth she her brethren and her father and her folk?"Then Knefrud looked upon Gunnar, and forth from the teeth he spoke:"It is e'en as I said, King Gunnar: all eves she stands by the gateThe coming of her kindred through the dusky tide to wait:Each day in the dawn she ariseth, and saith the time is at handWhen the feet of the Niblung War-Kings shall tread King Atli's land:Then she praiseth the wings of the dove, and the wings of the wayfaring crane'Gainst whom the wind prevails not, and the tempest driveth in vain;And she praiseth the waves of the ocean, how they toil and toil and blend,Till they break on the strand belovèd, and the Niblung earth in the end."He spake, and the song rose upward and the wine of Kings was poured,And Gunnar heard in the wall-nook how the wind went forth abroad,And he dreamed, and beheld the ocean, and all kingdoms of the earth,And the world lay fair before him and his worship and his worth.Then again spake the Eastland liar: "O King, I may not hideThat great things in the land of Atli thy mighty soul abide;For the King is spent and war-weak, nor rejoiceth more in strife;And his sons, the children of Gudrun, now look their first on life:For this end meseems is his bidding, that no worser men than yeMay sit in the throne of Atli and the place where he wont to be."In the tuneful hall of the Niblungs that Eastland liar spake,And he heard the song of the mighty o'er Gunnar's musing break,And his cold heart gladdened within him as man cried out to man,And fair 'twixt horn and beaker the red wine bubbled and ran.At last spake Gunnar the Niblung as his hand on the cup he laid:"A great king craveth our coming, and no more shall he be gainsayed:We will go to look on Atli, though the Gods and the Goths forbid;Nought worse than death meseemeth on the Niblungs' path is hid,And this shall the high Gods see to, but I to the Niblung name,And the day of deeds to accomplish, and the gathering-in of fame."Up he stood with the bowl in his right-hand, and mighty and great he was,And he cried: "Now let the beakers adown the benches pass;Let us drink dear draughts and glorious, though the last farewell it be,And this draught that I drink have sundered my father's house and me."He drank, and all men drank with him, and the hearts of the Earls arose,As of them that snatch forth glory from the deadly wall of foes:With the joy of life were they drunken and no man knew for why,And the voice of their exultation rose up in an awful cry;—It is joy in the mouths that utter, it is hope in the hearts that crave,And think of no gainsaying, and remember nought to save;But without the women hearken, and the hearts within them sink;And they say: What then betideth that our lords forbear to drink,And wail and weep in the night-tide and cry the Gods to aid?Why then are the Kings tormented, and the warriors' hearts afraid?Then the deadened sound sweeps landward, and the hearts of the field-folk fail,And they say: Is there death in the Burg, that thence goeth the cry and the wail?Lo, lo, the feast-hall's windows! blood-red through the dark they shine:Why is weeping the song of the Niblungs, and blood the warrior's wine?But therein are the torches tossing, and the shields of men upborne,And the death-blades yet unbloodied cast up 'twixt bowl and horn,And all rest of heart is departed as men speak of the mirk-wood's ways,And the fame of outland countries, and the green sea's troublous days.But Gunnar arose o'er the people, as a mighty King he spake:"O ye of the house of Giuki that are joyous for my sake,What then shall be left to the Niblungs if we return no more?Then let the wolves be warders of the Niblungs' gathered store!On the hearth let the worm creep over where the fire now flares aloft!And the adder coil in the chambers where the Niblung wives sleep soft!Let the master of the pine-wood roll huge in the Niblung porch,And the moon through the broken rafters be the Niblungs' feastful torch!"Glad they cried on the glorious Gunnar; for they saw the love in his eyes,And with joy and wine were they drunken, and his words passed over the wise,As oft o'er the garden lilies goes the rising thunder-wind,And they know no other summer, and no spring that was they mind.But Hogni speaketh to Knefrud: "Lo, Gunnar's word is said:How fares it, lord, with Gudrun? remembereth she the dead?"Then the liar laughed out and answered: "Ye shall go tomorrow morn;The man to turn back Gunnar shall never now be born:Each day-spring the white Gudrun on Sigurd's glory cries,All eves she wails on Sigurd when the fair sun sinks and dies!""Thou sayest sooth," said Hogni, "one day we twain shall wendTo the gate of the Eastland Atli, that our tale may have an end.Long time have I looked for the journey, and marvelled at the day,With what eyes I shall look on Sigurd, what words his mouth shall say."Then he raiseth the cup for Gunnar, and men see his glad face shineAs he crieth hail and glory o'er the bubbles of the wine;And they drink to the lives of the brethren, and men of the latter earthMay not think of the height of their hall-glee, or measure out their mirth:So they feast in the undark even to the midmost of the night.Till at last, with sleep unwearied, they weary with delight,And pass forth to the beds blue-covered, and leave the hearth acold:They sleep; in the hall grown silent scarce glimmereth now the gold:For the moon from the world is departed, and grey clouds draw across,To hide the dawn's first promise and deepen earthly loss.The lone night draws to its death, and never another shall fallOn those sons of the feastful warriors in the Niblungs' holy hall.
There now is Gudrun abiding, and gone by is the bloom of her youth,And she dwells with a folk untrusty, and a King that knows not ruth:Great are his gains in the world, and few men may his might withstand,But he weigheth sore on his people and cumbers the hope of his land;He craves as the sea-flood craveth, he gripes as the dying hour,All folk lie faint before him as he seeketh a soul to devour:Like breedeth like in his house, and venom, and guile, and the knifeOft lie 'twixt brother and brother, and the son and the father's life:As dogs doth Gudrun heed them, and looks with steadfast eyesOn the guile and base contention, and the strife of murder and lies.
So pass the days and the moons, and the seasons wend on their ways,And there as a woman alone she sits mid the glory and praise:There oft in the hall she sitteth, and as empty imagesAre grown the shapes of the strangers, till her fathers' hall she sees:Void then seems the throne of the King, and no man sits by her sideIn the house of the Cloudy People and the place of her brethren's pride;But a dead man lieth before her, and there cometh a voice and a hand,And the cloth is plucked from the dead, and, lo, the beloved of the land,The righter of wrongs, the deliverer, yea he that gainsayed no grace:In a stranger's house is Gudrun and no change comes over her face,But her heart cries: Woe, woe, woe, O woe unto me and to all!On the fools, on the wise, on the evil let the swift destruction fall!
Cold then is her voice in the high-seat, and she hears not what it saith;But Atli heedeth and hearkeneth, for she tells of the Glittering Heath,And the Load of the mighty Greyfell, and the Ransom of Odin the Goth:Cold yet is her voice as she telleth of murder and breaking of troth,Of the stubborn hearts of the Niblungs, and their hands that never yield,Of their craving that nought fulfilleth, of their hosts arrayed for the field.—What then are the words of King Atli that the cold voice answereth thus?
"King, so shalt thou do, and be sackless of the vengeance that lieth with us:What words are these of my brethren, what words are these of my kin?For kin upon kin hath pity, and good deeds do brethren winFor the babes of their mothers' bosoms, and the children of one womb:But no man on me had pity, no kings were gathered for doom,When I lifted my hands for the pleading in the house of my father's folk;When men turned and wrapped them in treason, and did on wrong as a cloak:I have neither brethren nor kindred, and I am become thy wifeTo help thine heart to its craving, and strengthen thine hand in the strife."
Thus she stirred up the lust of Atli, she, unmoved as a mighty queen,While the fire that burned within her by no child of man was seen.
There oft in the bed she lieth, and beside her Atli sleeps,And she seeth him not nor heedeth, for the horror over her creeps,And her own cry rings through the chamber that along ago she cried,And a man for his life-breath gasping is struggling by her side,Yea, who but Sigurd the Volsung; and no man of men in deathEre spake such words of pity as the words that now he saith,As the words he speaketh ever while he riseth up on the sword,The sword of the foster-brethren and the Kings that swore the word.Lo, there she lieth and hearkeneth if yet he speak again,And long she lieth hearkening and lieth by the slain.
So dreams the waking Gudrun till the morn comes on apaceAnd the daylight shines on Atli, and no change comes over her face,And deep hush lies on the chamber; but loud cries out her heart:How long, how long, O God-folk, will ye sit alone and apart,And let the blood of Sigurd cry on you from the earth,While crowned are the sons of murder with worship and with worth?If ye tarry shall I tarry? From the darkness of the wombCame I not in the days passed over for accomplishing your doom?
So she saith till the daylight brightens, and the kingly house is astir,And she sits by the side of Atli, and a woman's voice doth hear,One who speaks with the voice of Gudrun, a queenly voice and cold:"How oft shall I tell thee, Atli, of the wise Andvari's Gold,The Treasure Regin craved for, the uncounted ruddy rings?Full surely he that holds it shall rule all earthly kings:Stretch forth thine hand, O Atli, for the gift is marvellous great,And I am she that giveth! how long wilt thou linger and waitTill the traitors come against thee with the war-torch and the steel,And here in thy land thou perish, befooled of thy kingly weal?Have I wedded the King of the Eastlands, the master of numberless swords,Or a serving-man of the Niblungs, a thrall of the Westland lords?"
So spake the voice of Gudrun; suchwise she cast the seedO'er the gold-lust of King Atli for the day of the Niblungs' Need.
Who is this in the hall of King Gunnar, this golden-gleaming man?Who is this, the bright and the silent as the frosty eve and wan,Round whom the speech of wise-ones lies hid in bonds of fear?Who this in the Niblung feast-hall as the moon-rise draweth anear?
Hark! his voice mid the glittering benches and the wine-cups of the Earls,As cold as the wind that bloweth where the winter river whirls,And the winter sun forgetteth all the promise of the spring:"Hear ye, O men of the Westlands, hear thou, O Westland King,I have ridden the scorching highways, I have ridden the mirk-wood blind,I have sailed the weltering ocean your Westland house to find;For I am the man called Knefrud with Atli's word in my mouth.That saith: O noble Gunnar, come thou and be glad in the south,And rejoice with Eastland warriors; for the feast for thee is dight,And the cloths for thy coming fashioned my glorious hall make bright.Knowst thou not how the sun of the heavens hangs there 'twixt floor and roof.How the light of the lamp all golden holds dusky night aloof?How the red wine runs like a river, and the white wine springs as a well,And the harps are never ceasing of ancient deeds to tell?Thou shalt come when thy heart desireth, when thou weariest thou shalt go,And shalt say that no such high-tide the world shall ever know.Come bare and bald as the desert, and leave mine house againAs rich as the summer wine-burg, and the ancient wheat-sown plain!Come, bid thy men be building thy store-house greater yet,And make wide thy stall and thy stable for the gifts thine hand shall get!Yet when thou art gone from Atli he shall stand by his treasure of gold,He shall look through stall and stable, he shall ride by field and fold,And no ounce from the weight shall be lacking, of his beasts shall lack no head,If no thief hath stolen from Gunnar, if no beast in his land lie dead.Yea henceforth let our lives be as one, let our wars and our wayfarings blend,That my name with thine may be told of when the song is sung in the end,That the ancient war-spent Atli may sit and laugh with delightO'er thy feet the swift in battle, o'er thine hand uplifted to smite."
So spake the guileful Knefrud mid the silence of the wise,Nor once his cold voice faltered, nor once he sank his eyes:Then spake the glorious Gunnar:"We hear King Atli's voice.And the heart is glad within us that he biddeth us rejoice:Yet the thing shall be seen but seldom that a Niblung fares from his landWith eyes by the gold-lust blinded, with the greedy griping hand.When thou farest aback unto Atli, thou shalt tell him how thou hast beenIn the house of the Westland Gunnar, and what things thine eyes have seen:Thou shalt tell of the seven store-houses with swords filled through and through,Gold-hilted, deftly smithied, in the Southland wave made blue:Thou shalt tell of the house of the treasures and the Gold that lay erewhileOn the Glittering Heath of murder 'neath the heart of the Serpent's guile:Thou shalt note our glittering hauberk, thou shalt strive to bend our bow,Thou shalt look on the shield of Gunnar that its white face thou mayst know:Thou shalt back the Niblung war-steed when the west wind blows its most,And see if it over-run thee; thou shalt gaze on the Niblung hostAnd be glad of the friends of Atli; thou shalt fare through stable and stall,And tell over the tale of the beast-kind, if the night forbear to fall;Through the horse-mead shalt thou wander, through the meadows of the sheep,But forbear to count their thousands lest thou weary for thy sleep;Thou shalt look if the barns be empty, though the wheat-field whiteneth now,In the midmost of the summer in the fields men cared to plough;Thou shalt dwell with men that lack not, and the tillers fair and fain;Thou shalt see, and long, and wonder, and tell thy King of his gain;For in all that here thou beholdest hath he portion even as we;Sweet bloometh his love in our midmost, and the fair time yet may be,When we twain shall meet and be merry; and sure when our lives are doneNo more shall men sunder our glory than the Gods have rent the sun.Sit, mighty man, and be joyous: and then shalt thou cast us a wordAnd say how fareth our sister mid the glory of her lord."
Then Knefrud looked upon Gunnar, and spake, nor sank his eyes:"Each morn at the day's beginning when the sun hath hope to ariseShe looketh from Atli's tower toward the west part and the grey,To see the Niblung spear-heads gleam down the lonely way:Each eve at the day's departing on the topmost tower she stands,And looketh toward the mirk-wood and the sea of the western lands:There long in the wind she standeth, and the even grown acold,To see the Niblung war-shields come forth from out the wold."
Then Gunnar turneth to Hogni, and he saith: "O glorious lord,What saith thine heart to the bidding, and Atli's loving word?"
"I have done many deeds," said Hogni, "I have worn the smooth and the rough,While the Gods looked on from heaven, and belike I have done enough,And no deed for me abideth, but rather the sleep and the restBut thou, O Son of King Giuki, art our eldest and our best,And fair lie the fields before thee wherein thine hand shall work:By the wayside of the greedy doth many a peril lurk;Full wise is the great one meseemeth who bideth his ending at homeWhen the winds and the waves may be dealing with hate that hath far to come."
"I hearken thy word," said Gunnar, "and I know in very deedThat long-lived and happy are most men that hearken Hogni's rede.Hear thou, O Eastland War-god, and bear this answer aback,That nought may the earth of my people King Giuki's children lack,And that here in the land am I biding till the Norns my life shall change;Howbeit, if here were Atli, his face were scarce more strangeThan that daughter of my father whom sore I long to see:Let him come, and sit with the Niblungs, and be called their king with me."
Then spake the guileful Knefrud, and his word was exceeding proud:"It is little the wont of Atli to sit at meat with a crowd;Yet know, O Westland Warrior, that thy message shall be done.Since the Cloudy Folk make ready new lodging for the sun."
He laughed, and the wise kept silence, and Gunnar heeded him nought:On the daughter of his people was set the Niblung's thought,So sore he longed to behold her; for his life seemed wearing away,And the wealth and the fame he had gathered seemed nought by the earlier day,The day of love departed, and of hope forgotten long.
But Hogni laughs with the stranger, and cries out for harp and song,And the glee rises up as a river when the mountain-tops grow clear,When seaward drift the rain-clouds, and the end of day is near;As of birds in the green groves singing is the Niblung manhood's voice,And the Earls without foreboding in their mighty life rejoice.Glad then grows the King of the people, and the sweetness filleth his heart,And he turneth about a little, and speaketh to Knefrud apart:"What sayest thou, lord of the Eastland, how with Gudrun's heart it fares?Is she sunk in the day of dominion and the burden that it bears,Or remembereth she her brethren and her father and her folk?"
Then Knefrud looked upon Gunnar, and forth from the teeth he spoke:"It is e'en as I said, King Gunnar: all eves she stands by the gateThe coming of her kindred through the dusky tide to wait:Each day in the dawn she ariseth, and saith the time is at handWhen the feet of the Niblung War-Kings shall tread King Atli's land:Then she praiseth the wings of the dove, and the wings of the wayfaring crane'Gainst whom the wind prevails not, and the tempest driveth in vain;And she praiseth the waves of the ocean, how they toil and toil and blend,Till they break on the strand belovèd, and the Niblung earth in the end."
He spake, and the song rose upward and the wine of Kings was poured,And Gunnar heard in the wall-nook how the wind went forth abroad,And he dreamed, and beheld the ocean, and all kingdoms of the earth,And the world lay fair before him and his worship and his worth.
Then again spake the Eastland liar: "O King, I may not hideThat great things in the land of Atli thy mighty soul abide;For the King is spent and war-weak, nor rejoiceth more in strife;And his sons, the children of Gudrun, now look their first on life:For this end meseems is his bidding, that no worser men than yeMay sit in the throne of Atli and the place where he wont to be."
In the tuneful hall of the Niblungs that Eastland liar spake,And he heard the song of the mighty o'er Gunnar's musing break,And his cold heart gladdened within him as man cried out to man,And fair 'twixt horn and beaker the red wine bubbled and ran.
At last spake Gunnar the Niblung as his hand on the cup he laid:"A great king craveth our coming, and no more shall he be gainsayed:We will go to look on Atli, though the Gods and the Goths forbid;Nought worse than death meseemeth on the Niblungs' path is hid,And this shall the high Gods see to, but I to the Niblung name,And the day of deeds to accomplish, and the gathering-in of fame."
Up he stood with the bowl in his right-hand, and mighty and great he was,And he cried: "Now let the beakers adown the benches pass;Let us drink dear draughts and glorious, though the last farewell it be,And this draught that I drink have sundered my father's house and me."
He drank, and all men drank with him, and the hearts of the Earls arose,As of them that snatch forth glory from the deadly wall of foes:With the joy of life were they drunken and no man knew for why,And the voice of their exultation rose up in an awful cry;—It is joy in the mouths that utter, it is hope in the hearts that crave,And think of no gainsaying, and remember nought to save;But without the women hearken, and the hearts within them sink;And they say: What then betideth that our lords forbear to drink,And wail and weep in the night-tide and cry the Gods to aid?Why then are the Kings tormented, and the warriors' hearts afraid?
Then the deadened sound sweeps landward, and the hearts of the field-folk fail,And they say: Is there death in the Burg, that thence goeth the cry and the wail?Lo, lo, the feast-hall's windows! blood-red through the dark they shine:Why is weeping the song of the Niblungs, and blood the warrior's wine?
But therein are the torches tossing, and the shields of men upborne,And the death-blades yet unbloodied cast up 'twixt bowl and horn,And all rest of heart is departed as men speak of the mirk-wood's ways,And the fame of outland countries, and the green sea's troublous days.
But Gunnar arose o'er the people, as a mighty King he spake:"O ye of the house of Giuki that are joyous for my sake,What then shall be left to the Niblungs if we return no more?Then let the wolves be warders of the Niblungs' gathered store!On the hearth let the worm creep over where the fire now flares aloft!And the adder coil in the chambers where the Niblung wives sleep soft!Let the master of the pine-wood roll huge in the Niblung porch,And the moon through the broken rafters be the Niblungs' feastful torch!"
Glad they cried on the glorious Gunnar; for they saw the love in his eyes,And with joy and wine were they drunken, and his words passed over the wise,As oft o'er the garden lilies goes the rising thunder-wind,And they know no other summer, and no spring that was they mind.
But Hogni speaketh to Knefrud: "Lo, Gunnar's word is said:How fares it, lord, with Gudrun? remembereth she the dead?"
Then the liar laughed out and answered: "Ye shall go tomorrow morn;The man to turn back Gunnar shall never now be born:Each day-spring the white Gudrun on Sigurd's glory cries,All eves she wails on Sigurd when the fair sun sinks and dies!"
"Thou sayest sooth," said Hogni, "one day we twain shall wendTo the gate of the Eastland Atli, that our tale may have an end.Long time have I looked for the journey, and marvelled at the day,With what eyes I shall look on Sigurd, what words his mouth shall say."
Then he raiseth the cup for Gunnar, and men see his glad face shineAs he crieth hail and glory o'er the bubbles of the wine;And they drink to the lives of the brethren, and men of the latter earthMay not think of the height of their hall-glee, or measure out their mirth:So they feast in the undark even to the midmost of the night.Till at last, with sleep unwearied, they weary with delight,And pass forth to the beds blue-covered, and leave the hearth acold:They sleep; in the hall grown silent scarce glimmereth now the gold:For the moon from the world is departed, and grey clouds draw across,To hide the dawn's first promise and deepen earthly loss.The lone night draws to its death, and never another shall fallOn those sons of the feastful warriors in the Niblungs' holy hall.
Now when the house was silent, and all men in slumber lay,And yet two hours were lacking of the dawning-tide of day,The sons of his foster-mother doth the heart-wise Hogni find;In the dead night, speaking softly, he showeth them his mind,And they wake and hearken and heed him, and arise from the bolster blue,Nor aught do their stout hearts falter at the deed he bids them do.So he and they go softly while all men slumber and sleep,And they enter the treasure-houses, and come to their midmost heap;But so rich in the night it glimmers that the brethren hold their breath,While Hogni laugheth upon it:—long it lay on the Glittering Heath,Long it lay in the house of Reidmar, long it lay 'neath the waters wan;But no long while hath it tarried in the houses and dwellings of man.Nor long these linger before it; they set their hands to the toil,And uplift the Bed of the Serpent, the Seed of murder and broil;No word they speak in their labour, but bear out load on loadTo great wains that out in the fore-court for the coming Gold abode:Most huge were the men, far mightier than the mightiest fashioned now,But the salt sweat dimmed their eyesight and flooded cheek and browEre half the work was accomplished; and by then the laden wainsCame groaning forth from the gateway, dawn drew on o'er the plains;And the ramparts of the people, those walls high-built of old,Stood grey as the bones of a battle in a dale few folk behold:But in haste they goad the yoke-beasts, and press on and make no speech,Though the hearts are proud within them and their eyes laugh each at each.No great way down from the burg-gate, anigh to the hallowed field,There lieth a lake in the river as round as Odin's shield,A black pool huge and awful: ten long-ships of the mostTherein might wager battle, and the sunken should be lostBeyond all hope of diver, yea, beyond the plunging lead;On either side its rock-walls rise up to a mighty head,But by green slopes from the meadows 'tis easy drawing nearTo the brow whence the dark-grey rampart to the water goeth sheer:'Tis as if the Niblung River had cleft the grave-mound throughOf the mightiest of all Giants ere the Gods' work was to do;And indeed men well might deem it, that fearful sights lie hidBeneath the unfathomed waters, the place to all forbid;No stream the black deep showeth, few winds may search its face,And the silver-scaled sea-farers love nought its barren space.There now the Niblung War-king and the foster-brethren twainLead up their golden harvest and stay it wain by wain,Till they hang o'er the rim scarce balanced: no glance they cast belowTo the black and awful waters well known from long ago,But they cut the yoke-beasts' traces, and drive them down the slopes,Who rush through the widening daylight, and bellow forth their hopesOf the straw-stall and the barley: but the Niblungs turn once more,Hard toil the warrior cart-carles for the garnering of their store,And shoulder on the wain-wheels o'er the edge of the grimly wall,And stand upright to behold it, how the waggons plunge and fall.Down then and whirling outward the ruddy Gold fell forth,As a flame in the dim grey morning, flashed out a kingdom's worth,Then the waters, roared above it, the wan water and the foamFlew up o'er the face of the rock-wall as the tinkling Gold fell home,Unheard, unseen for ever, a wonder and a tale,Till the last of earthly singers from, the sons of men shall fail:Then the face of the further waters a widening ripple rentAnd forth from hollow places strange sounds as of talking went,And loud laughed Hogni in answer; but not so long he stayedAs that half the oily ripple in long sleepy coils was laid,Or the lapping fallen silent in the water-beaten caves;Scarce streamward yet were drifting the foam-heaps o'er the waves.When betwixt the foster-brethren down the slopes King Hogni strodeToward the ancient Burg of his fathers, as a man that casteth a load:No word those fellows had spoken since he whispered low and lightO'er the beds of the foster-brethren in the dead hour of the night,But his face was proud and glorious as he strode the war-gate through,And went up to his kingly chamber, and the golden bed he knew,And lay down and slept by his help-mate as a play-spent child might sleepIn some franklin's wealthy homestead, in the room the nurses keep.Nought the sun on that morn delayeth, but light o'er the world's face flies.And awake by the side of King Hogni the wedded woman lies,And her bosom is weary with sighing, and her eyes with dream-born tears.And a sound as of all confusion is ever in her ears:Then she turneth and crieth to Hogni, as she layeth a hand on his breast;"Wake, wake, thou son of Giuki! save thy speech-friend all unrest!"Then he waketh up as a child that hath slept in the summer grass,And he saith: "What tidings, O Bera, what tidings come to pass?"She saith, "Wilt thou wend with Gunnar to Atli over the main?"Said Hogni: "Hast thou not heard it, how rich we shall come again?""Ye shall never come back," said Bera, "ye shall die by the inner sea.""Yea, here or there," said Hogni, "my death no doubt shall be.""O Hogni," she said, "forbear it, that snare of the Eastland wrong!In the health and the wealth of the sunlight at home mayst thou tarry for long:For waking or sleeping I dreamed, and dreaming, the tokens I saw.""Oft," he said, "in the hands of the house-wife comes the crock by its fatal flaw:An hundred earls shall slay me, or the fleeing night-thief's shaft,The sickness that wasteth cities, or the unstrained summer draught:Now as mighty shall be King Atli and the gathered Eastland forceAs the fly in the wine desired, or the weary stumbling horse."She said: "Wilt thou stay in the land, lest the noble faint and fail,And the Gods have nought to tell of in the ending of the tale?O King, save thou thine hand-maid, lest the bloom of Kings decay!"He said: "Good yet were the earth, though all we should die in a day:But so fares it with you, ye women: when your husband or brother shall die,Ye deem that the world shall perish, and the race of man go by.""Sure then is thy death," she answered, "for I saw the Eastland floodBreak over the Burg of the Niblungs, and fill the hall with blood."He said: "Shall we wade the meadows to the feast of Atli the King?Then the blood-red blossoming sorrel about our legs shall cling."Said Bera: "I saw thee coming with the face of other days;But the flame was in thy raiment, and thy kingly cloak was ablaze.""How else," said he, "O woman, wouldst thou have a Niblung stride,Save in ruddy gold sun-lighted, through the house of Atli's pride?"She said: "I beheld King Atli midst the place of sacrificeAnd the holy grove of the Eastland in a king's most hallowed guise:Then I looked, as with laughter triumphant he laid his gift in the fire,And lo, 'twas the heart of Hogni, and the heart of my desire;But he turned and looked upon me as I sickened with fear and with love,And I saw the guile of the greedy, and with speechless sleep I strove,And had cried out curses against him, but my gaping throat was hushed,Till the light of a deedless dawning o'er dream and terror rushed;And there wert thou lying beside me, though but little joy it seemed,For thou wert but an image unstable of the days before I dreamed."Quoth Hogni, "Shall I arede it? Seems it not meet to theeThat the heart and the love of the Niblungs in Atli's hand should be,When he stands by the high Gods' altars, and uplifts his heart for the tideWhen the kings of the world-great people to the Eastland house shall ride?Nay, Bera, wilt thou be weeping? but parting-fear is this;Doubt not we shall come back happy from the house of Atli's bliss:At least, when a king's hand offers all honour and great weal,Wouldst thou have me strive to unclasp it to show the hidden steel?With evil will I meet evil when it draweth exceeding near;But oft have I heard of evil, whose father was but fear,And his mother lust of living, and nought will I deal with it,Lest the past, and those deeds of my doing be as straw when the fire is lit.Lo now, O Daughter of Kings, let us rise in the face of the day,And be glad in the summer morning when the kindred ride on their way;For tears beseem not king-folk, nor a heart made dull with dreams,But to hope, if thou mayst, for ever, and to fear nought, well beseems."There the talk falls down between them, and they rise in the morn, they twain,And bright-faced wend through the dwelling of the Niblungs' glory and gain.Meanwhile awakeneth Gunnar, and looks on the wife by his side,And saith: "Why weepest thou, Glaumvor, what evil now shall betide?"She said: "I was waking and dreamed, or I slept and saw the truth;The Norns are hooded and angry, and the Gods have forgotten their ruth.""Speak, sweet-mouthed woman," said Gunnar, "if the Norns are hard, I am kind;Though even the King of the Niblungs may loose not where they bind."She said: "Wilt thou go unto Atli and enter the Burg of the East?Wilt thou leave the house of the faithful, and turn to the murderer's feast?""It is e'en as certain," said Gunnar, "as though I knocked at his gate,If the winds and waters stay not, or death, or the dealings of Fate.""Woe worth the while!" said Glaumvor, "then I talk with the dead indeed:And why must I tarry behind thee afar from the Niblungs' Need?"He said: "Thou wert heavy-hearted last night for the parting-tide;And alone in the dreamy country thy soul would needs abide,And see not the King that loves thee, nor remember the might of his hand;So thou falledst a prey unholpen to the lies of the dreamy land.""Ah, would they were lies," said Glaumvor, "for not the worst was this:There thou wert in the holy high-seat mid the heart of the Niblung bliss,And a sword was borne into our midmost, and its point and its edge were red,And at either end the wood-wolves howled out in the day of dread;With that sword wert thou smitten, O Gunnar, and the sharp point pierced thee through.And the kin were all departed, and no face of man I knew:Then I strove to flee and might not; for day grew dark and strange,And no moonrise and no morning the eyeless mirk would change.""Such are dreams of the night," said Gunnar, "that lovers oft perplex,When the sundering hour is coming with the cares that entangle and vex.Yet if there be more, fair woman, when a king speaks loving words,May I cast back words of anger, and the threat of grinded swords?""O yet wouldst thou tarry," said Glaumvor, "in the fair sun-lighted day!Nor give thy wife to another, nor cast thy kingdom away.""Of what king of the people," said Gunnar, "hast thou known it written or told,That the word was born in the even which the morrow should withhold?""Alas, alas!" said Glaumvor, "then all is over and done!For I dreamed of the hall of the Niblungs at the setting of the sun,How dead women came in thither no worse than queens arrayed,Who passed by the earls of the Niblungs, and their hands on thy gown-skirt laid,And hailed thee fair for their fellow, and bade thee come to their hall.O bethink thee, King of the Niblungs, what tidings shall befall!""Yea, shall they befall?" said Gunnar, "then who am I to striveAgainst the change of my life-days, while the Gods on high are alive?I shall ride as my heart would have me; let the Gods bestir them then,And raise up another people in the stead of the Niblung men:But at home shalt thou sit, King's Daughter, in the keeping of the Fates,And be blithe with the men of thy people and the guest within thy gates,Till thou know of our glad returning to the holy house and dearOr the fall of Giuki's children, and a tale that all shall hear.Arise and do on gladness, lest the clouds roll on and lowerO'er the heavy hearts of the people in the Niblungs' parting hour."So he spake, and his love rejoiced her, and they rose in the face of the day,And no seeming shadow of evil on those bright-eyed King-folk lay.Thus stirreth the house of the Niblungs, and awakeneth unto life;And were there any envy, or doubt that breedeth strife,'Twixt friends or kin or brethren, 'twas healed that self-same morn,And peace and loving-kindness o'er all the house was borne,Now arrayed are the earls and the warriors, and into the hall they comeWhen the morning sun is shining through the heart of their ancient home;And lo, how the allwise Grimhild is set in the golden seat,The first of the way-fain warriors, and the first of the wives to greet;In the raiment of old she sitteth, aloft in the kingly place,And all men marvel to see her and the glory of her face.So all is dight for departing and the helms of the Niblung lordsShine close as a river of fire o'er the hilts of hidden swords:About and around are the women; and who e'er hath been heavy of heart,If their hearts are light this morning when their fairest shall depart?They hear the steeds in the forecourt; from the rampart of the wallComes the cry and noise of the warders as man to man doth call;For the young give place to the old, and the strong carles labour to showThe last-learned craft of battle to their fathers ere they go.There is mocking and mirth and laughter as men tell to the ancient siresOf the four-sheared shaft of the gathering, and the horn, and the beaconing fires.Woe's me! but the women laugh not: do they hope that the sun may be stayed,And the journey of the Niblungs a little while delayed?Or is not their hope the rather, that they do but dream in the night,And that they shall awake in a little with the land's life faring aright?Ah, fair and fresh is the morning as ever a season hath been,And the nourishing sun shines glorious on the toil of carle and quean,And the wealth of the land desired, and all things are alive and awake;Let them wait till the even bringeth sweet rest for hearts that ache.Lo now, a stir by the doorway, and men see how great and grandCome the Kings of Giuki begotten, all-armed, and hand in hand:Where then shall the world behold them, such champions clad in steel,Such hearts so free and bounteous, so wise for the people's weal?Where then shall the world see such-like, if these must die as the mean,And fall as lowly people, and their days be no more seen?They go forth fair and softly as they wend to the seat of the Kings,And they smile in their loving-kindness as they talk of bygone things.Are they not as the children of Giuki, that fared afield erewhileIn hope without contention, mid the youth that knew no guile?Their wedded wives are beside them with faces proud and fair,That smile, if the lips smile only, for the Eastland liar is there.Fain the women are of those Brethren, and they seem so gay and kind,That again the hope upspringeth of their lords abiding behind.But Hogni spake to his brother, and they looked on the liar's son,And clear ran King Gunnar's laughter as the summer waters run;Then the Queens' hearts fainted within them, and with pain they drew their breath;For they knew that the King was merry and laughed in the face of death.Fair now on the ancient high-seat, and the heart of the Niblung pride,Stand those lovely lords of Giuki with their wedded wives beside.And Gunnar cries: "O maidens, let the cup be in every hand,For this morn for a little season we leave our fathers' land,And love we leave behind us, and love abroad we bear,And these twain shall meet in a little, and their meeting-tide be fair:Rejoice, O Niblung children, be glad o'er the parting cup!For meseems if the heavens were falling, our spears should hold them up."Then he leaped adown from the high-seat and amidst his men he stood,And the very joy of God-folk ran through the Niblung blood,And the glee of them that die not: there they drink in their mighty hall,And glad on the ancient fathers, and the sons of God they call:The hope of their hearts goes upward in the last most awful voice,And once more the quivering timbers of the Niblung home rejoice.But exceeding proud sits Grimhild, and so wondrous is her stateThat men deem they have never seen her so glorious and so great,And she speaks, when again in the feast-hall is there silence save of the mailAnd the whispered voice of women, as they tell their latest tale:"Go forth, O Kings, to dominion, and the crown of all your might,And the tale from of old foreordered ere the day was begotten of night.For all this is the work of the Norns, though ye leave a woman behindWho hath toiled and toiled in the darkness, the road of fate to find:Go glad, O children of Giuki; though scarce ye wot indeedOf the labour of your mother to win your glory's meed.Farewell, farewell, O children, till ye get you back againTo her that bore you in darkness, and brought you forth in pain!Cast wide the doors for the King-folk, ring out O harpstrings now!For the best e'er born of woman go forth with cloudless brow.Be glad O ancient lintel, O threshold of the door,For such another parting shall earth behold no more!"She ceased, and no voice gave answer save the voice of smitten harps,As the hands of the music-weavers went o'er their golden warps;Then high o'er the warriors towering, as the king-leek o'er the grass,Out into the world of sunlight through the door those Brethren pass,And all the host of the warriors, the women's silent woe,The steel and the feet soft-falling o'er the ancient threshold go,While all alone on the high-seat the god-born Grimhild sits:There hearkeneth she steeds' neighing, and the champing of the bits,And the clash of steel-clad champions, as at last they leap aloft,And cries and women's weeping 'mid the music breathing soft;Then the clattering of the horse-hoofs, and the echo of the gateWith the wakened sword-song singing o'er departure of the great,Till the many mingled voices are swallowed up and stilled,And all the air by seeming with an awful sound is filled,The cry of the Niblung trumpet, as men reach the unwalled space:So whiles in a mighty city, and a many-peopled place,When the rain falls down 'mid the babble, nor ceaseth rattle of wheels,And with din of wedding joy-bells the minster steeple reels,Lo, God sends down his thunder, and all else is hushed as then,And it is as the world's beginning, and before the birth of men.Long sitteth the god-born Grimhild till all is silent there,For afar down the meadows with the host all people fare;Then bitter groweth her visage, in the hush she crieth and saith:"O ye—whom then shall I cry on, ye that hunt my sons unto death,And overthrow our glory, and bring our labour to nought—Ye Gods, ye had fashioned the greatest, and to make them greater I wrought,And to strengthen your hands for the battle, and uplift your hearts for the end:But ye, ye have fashioned confusion, and the great with the little ye blend,Till no more on the earth shall be living the mighty that mock at your death,Till like the leaves men tremble, like the dry leaves quake at a breath.I have wrought for your lives and your glory, and for this have I strengthened my guile,That the earth your hands uplifted might endure, nor pass in a whileLike the clouds of latter morning that melt in the first of the night."She rose up great and dreadful, and stood on the floor upright,And cast up her hands to the roof-tree, and cried aloud and said:"Woe to you that have made me for nothing! for the house of the Niblungs is dead,Empty and dead as the desert, where the sun is idle and vainAnd no hope hath the dew to cherish, and no deed abideth the rain!"She falleth aback in the high seat, and the eagles cry from aloof,While Grimhild's eyes wide-open stare up at the Niblung roof:But they see not, nought are they doing to feed her fear or desire;And her heart, the forge of sorrow, dead, cold, is its baneful fire;And her cunning hand is helpless, for her hopeless soul is gone;Far off belike it drifteth from the waste her labour won.Fair now through midmost ocean King Gunnar's dragons run,And the green hills round about them gleam glorious with the sun;The keels roll down the sea-dale, and welter up the steep,And o'er the brow hang quivering ere again they take the leap;For the west wind pipes behind them, and no land is on their lea,As the mightiest of earth's peoples sails down the summer sea:And as eager as the west-wind, no duller than the foamThey spread all sails to the breezes, and seek their glory home:Six days they sail the sea-flood, and the seventh dawn of dayUp-heaveth a new country, a land far-off and grey;Then Knefrud biddeth heed it, and he saith: "Lo, the Eastland shore,And the land few ships have sailed to, by the mirk-wood covered o'er."Then riseth the cry and the shouting as the golden beaks they turn,For all hearts for the land of cities, and the hall of Atli yearn:But a little after the noontide is the Niblung host embayed,And betwixt the sheltering nesses the ocean-wind is laid:No whit they brook delaying: but their noblest and their bestToss up the shaven oar-blades, and toil and mock at rest:Full swift they skim the swan-mead till the tall masts quake and reel,And the oaken sea-burgs quiver from bulwark unto keel.It is Gunnar goes the foremost with the tiller in his hand,And beside him standeth Knefrud and laughs on Atli's land:And so fair are the dragons driven, that by ending of the dayOn the beach by the ebb left naked the sea-beat keels they lay:Then they look aloft from the foreshore, and lo, King Atli's steedsOn the brow of the mirk-wood standing, well dight for the warriors' needs,The red and the roan together, and the dapple-grey and the black;Nor bits nor silken bridles, nor golden cloths they lack,And the horse-lads of King Atli with that horse-array are blent,And their shout of salutation o'er the oozy sand is sent:Then no more will the Niblungs tarry when they see that ready bandBut they leap adown from the long-ships, and waist-deep they wade the strand,And they in their armour of onset, beshielded, and sword by the side,E'en as men returning homeward to their loves and their friends that abide.The first of all goeth Gunnar, and Hogni the wise cometh after,And wringeth the sea from his kirtle; and all men hearken his laughter,As his feet on the earth stand firm, and the sun in the west goeth down,And the Niblungs stand on the foreshore 'twixt the sea and the mirk-wood brown.For no meat there they linger, and they tarry for no sleep,But aloft to the golden saddles those Giuki's children leap,And forth from the side of the sea-flood they ride the mirk-wood's ways,Loud then is the voice of King Hogni and he sets forth Atli's praise,As they ride through the night of the tree-boughs till the earthly night prevails,And along the desert sea-strand the wind of ocean wails.There none hath tethered the dragons, or inboard handled the oars,And the tide of the sea cometh creeping along the stranger-shores,Till those golden dragons are floated, and their unmanned oars awashIn the sandy waves of the shallows, from stem to tiller clash:Then setteth a wind from the shore, and the night is waxen a-cold,And seaward drift the long-ships with their raiment and vessels of gold,And their Gods with mastery carven: and who knoweth the story to tell,If their wrack came ever to shoreward in some place where fishers dwell,Or sank in midmost ocean, and lay on the sea-floor wanWhere the pale sea-goddess singeth o'er the bane of many a man?
Now when the house was silent, and all men in slumber lay,And yet two hours were lacking of the dawning-tide of day,The sons of his foster-mother doth the heart-wise Hogni find;In the dead night, speaking softly, he showeth them his mind,And they wake and hearken and heed him, and arise from the bolster blue,Nor aught do their stout hearts falter at the deed he bids them do.So he and they go softly while all men slumber and sleep,And they enter the treasure-houses, and come to their midmost heap;But so rich in the night it glimmers that the brethren hold their breath,While Hogni laugheth upon it:—long it lay on the Glittering Heath,Long it lay in the house of Reidmar, long it lay 'neath the waters wan;But no long while hath it tarried in the houses and dwellings of man.
Nor long these linger before it; they set their hands to the toil,And uplift the Bed of the Serpent, the Seed of murder and broil;No word they speak in their labour, but bear out load on loadTo great wains that out in the fore-court for the coming Gold abode:Most huge were the men, far mightier than the mightiest fashioned now,But the salt sweat dimmed their eyesight and flooded cheek and browEre half the work was accomplished; and by then the laden wainsCame groaning forth from the gateway, dawn drew on o'er the plains;And the ramparts of the people, those walls high-built of old,Stood grey as the bones of a battle in a dale few folk behold:But in haste they goad the yoke-beasts, and press on and make no speech,Though the hearts are proud within them and their eyes laugh each at each.
No great way down from the burg-gate, anigh to the hallowed field,There lieth a lake in the river as round as Odin's shield,A black pool huge and awful: ten long-ships of the mostTherein might wager battle, and the sunken should be lostBeyond all hope of diver, yea, beyond the plunging lead;On either side its rock-walls rise up to a mighty head,But by green slopes from the meadows 'tis easy drawing nearTo the brow whence the dark-grey rampart to the water goeth sheer:'Tis as if the Niblung River had cleft the grave-mound throughOf the mightiest of all Giants ere the Gods' work was to do;And indeed men well might deem it, that fearful sights lie hidBeneath the unfathomed waters, the place to all forbid;No stream the black deep showeth, few winds may search its face,And the silver-scaled sea-farers love nought its barren space.
There now the Niblung War-king and the foster-brethren twainLead up their golden harvest and stay it wain by wain,Till they hang o'er the rim scarce balanced: no glance they cast belowTo the black and awful waters well known from long ago,But they cut the yoke-beasts' traces, and drive them down the slopes,Who rush through the widening daylight, and bellow forth their hopesOf the straw-stall and the barley: but the Niblungs turn once more,Hard toil the warrior cart-carles for the garnering of their store,And shoulder on the wain-wheels o'er the edge of the grimly wall,And stand upright to behold it, how the waggons plunge and fall.
Down then and whirling outward the ruddy Gold fell forth,As a flame in the dim grey morning, flashed out a kingdom's worth,Then the waters, roared above it, the wan water and the foamFlew up o'er the face of the rock-wall as the tinkling Gold fell home,Unheard, unseen for ever, a wonder and a tale,Till the last of earthly singers from, the sons of men shall fail:Then the face of the further waters a widening ripple rentAnd forth from hollow places strange sounds as of talking went,And loud laughed Hogni in answer; but not so long he stayedAs that half the oily ripple in long sleepy coils was laid,Or the lapping fallen silent in the water-beaten caves;Scarce streamward yet were drifting the foam-heaps o'er the waves.When betwixt the foster-brethren down the slopes King Hogni strodeToward the ancient Burg of his fathers, as a man that casteth a load:No word those fellows had spoken since he whispered low and lightO'er the beds of the foster-brethren in the dead hour of the night,But his face was proud and glorious as he strode the war-gate through,And went up to his kingly chamber, and the golden bed he knew,And lay down and slept by his help-mate as a play-spent child might sleepIn some franklin's wealthy homestead, in the room the nurses keep.
Nought the sun on that morn delayeth, but light o'er the world's face flies.And awake by the side of King Hogni the wedded woman lies,And her bosom is weary with sighing, and her eyes with dream-born tears.And a sound as of all confusion is ever in her ears:Then she turneth and crieth to Hogni, as she layeth a hand on his breast;"Wake, wake, thou son of Giuki! save thy speech-friend all unrest!"
Then he waketh up as a child that hath slept in the summer grass,And he saith: "What tidings, O Bera, what tidings come to pass?"
She saith, "Wilt thou wend with Gunnar to Atli over the main?"
Said Hogni: "Hast thou not heard it, how rich we shall come again?"
"Ye shall never come back," said Bera, "ye shall die by the inner sea."
"Yea, here or there," said Hogni, "my death no doubt shall be."
"O Hogni," she said, "forbear it, that snare of the Eastland wrong!In the health and the wealth of the sunlight at home mayst thou tarry for long:For waking or sleeping I dreamed, and dreaming, the tokens I saw."
"Oft," he said, "in the hands of the house-wife comes the crock by its fatal flaw:An hundred earls shall slay me, or the fleeing night-thief's shaft,The sickness that wasteth cities, or the unstrained summer draught:Now as mighty shall be King Atli and the gathered Eastland forceAs the fly in the wine desired, or the weary stumbling horse."
She said: "Wilt thou stay in the land, lest the noble faint and fail,And the Gods have nought to tell of in the ending of the tale?O King, save thou thine hand-maid, lest the bloom of Kings decay!"
He said: "Good yet were the earth, though all we should die in a day:But so fares it with you, ye women: when your husband or brother shall die,Ye deem that the world shall perish, and the race of man go by."
"Sure then is thy death," she answered, "for I saw the Eastland floodBreak over the Burg of the Niblungs, and fill the hall with blood."
He said: "Shall we wade the meadows to the feast of Atli the King?Then the blood-red blossoming sorrel about our legs shall cling."
Said Bera: "I saw thee coming with the face of other days;But the flame was in thy raiment, and thy kingly cloak was ablaze."
"How else," said he, "O woman, wouldst thou have a Niblung stride,Save in ruddy gold sun-lighted, through the house of Atli's pride?"
She said: "I beheld King Atli midst the place of sacrificeAnd the holy grove of the Eastland in a king's most hallowed guise:Then I looked, as with laughter triumphant he laid his gift in the fire,And lo, 'twas the heart of Hogni, and the heart of my desire;But he turned and looked upon me as I sickened with fear and with love,And I saw the guile of the greedy, and with speechless sleep I strove,And had cried out curses against him, but my gaping throat was hushed,Till the light of a deedless dawning o'er dream and terror rushed;And there wert thou lying beside me, though but little joy it seemed,For thou wert but an image unstable of the days before I dreamed."
Quoth Hogni, "Shall I arede it? Seems it not meet to theeThat the heart and the love of the Niblungs in Atli's hand should be,When he stands by the high Gods' altars, and uplifts his heart for the tideWhen the kings of the world-great people to the Eastland house shall ride?Nay, Bera, wilt thou be weeping? but parting-fear is this;Doubt not we shall come back happy from the house of Atli's bliss:At least, when a king's hand offers all honour and great weal,Wouldst thou have me strive to unclasp it to show the hidden steel?With evil will I meet evil when it draweth exceeding near;But oft have I heard of evil, whose father was but fear,And his mother lust of living, and nought will I deal with it,Lest the past, and those deeds of my doing be as straw when the fire is lit.Lo now, O Daughter of Kings, let us rise in the face of the day,And be glad in the summer morning when the kindred ride on their way;For tears beseem not king-folk, nor a heart made dull with dreams,But to hope, if thou mayst, for ever, and to fear nought, well beseems."
There the talk falls down between them, and they rise in the morn, they twain,And bright-faced wend through the dwelling of the Niblungs' glory and gain.
Meanwhile awakeneth Gunnar, and looks on the wife by his side,And saith: "Why weepest thou, Glaumvor, what evil now shall betide?"
She said: "I was waking and dreamed, or I slept and saw the truth;The Norns are hooded and angry, and the Gods have forgotten their ruth."
"Speak, sweet-mouthed woman," said Gunnar, "if the Norns are hard, I am kind;Though even the King of the Niblungs may loose not where they bind."
She said: "Wilt thou go unto Atli and enter the Burg of the East?Wilt thou leave the house of the faithful, and turn to the murderer's feast?"
"It is e'en as certain," said Gunnar, "as though I knocked at his gate,If the winds and waters stay not, or death, or the dealings of Fate."
"Woe worth the while!" said Glaumvor, "then I talk with the dead indeed:And why must I tarry behind thee afar from the Niblungs' Need?"
He said: "Thou wert heavy-hearted last night for the parting-tide;And alone in the dreamy country thy soul would needs abide,And see not the King that loves thee, nor remember the might of his hand;So thou falledst a prey unholpen to the lies of the dreamy land."
"Ah, would they were lies," said Glaumvor, "for not the worst was this:There thou wert in the holy high-seat mid the heart of the Niblung bliss,And a sword was borne into our midmost, and its point and its edge were red,And at either end the wood-wolves howled out in the day of dread;With that sword wert thou smitten, O Gunnar, and the sharp point pierced thee through.And the kin were all departed, and no face of man I knew:Then I strove to flee and might not; for day grew dark and strange,And no moonrise and no morning the eyeless mirk would change."
"Such are dreams of the night," said Gunnar, "that lovers oft perplex,When the sundering hour is coming with the cares that entangle and vex.Yet if there be more, fair woman, when a king speaks loving words,May I cast back words of anger, and the threat of grinded swords?"
"O yet wouldst thou tarry," said Glaumvor, "in the fair sun-lighted day!Nor give thy wife to another, nor cast thy kingdom away."
"Of what king of the people," said Gunnar, "hast thou known it written or told,That the word was born in the even which the morrow should withhold?"
"Alas, alas!" said Glaumvor, "then all is over and done!For I dreamed of the hall of the Niblungs at the setting of the sun,How dead women came in thither no worse than queens arrayed,Who passed by the earls of the Niblungs, and their hands on thy gown-skirt laid,And hailed thee fair for their fellow, and bade thee come to their hall.O bethink thee, King of the Niblungs, what tidings shall befall!"
"Yea, shall they befall?" said Gunnar, "then who am I to striveAgainst the change of my life-days, while the Gods on high are alive?I shall ride as my heart would have me; let the Gods bestir them then,And raise up another people in the stead of the Niblung men:But at home shalt thou sit, King's Daughter, in the keeping of the Fates,And be blithe with the men of thy people and the guest within thy gates,Till thou know of our glad returning to the holy house and dearOr the fall of Giuki's children, and a tale that all shall hear.Arise and do on gladness, lest the clouds roll on and lowerO'er the heavy hearts of the people in the Niblungs' parting hour."
So he spake, and his love rejoiced her, and they rose in the face of the day,And no seeming shadow of evil on those bright-eyed King-folk lay.
Thus stirreth the house of the Niblungs, and awakeneth unto life;And were there any envy, or doubt that breedeth strife,'Twixt friends or kin or brethren, 'twas healed that self-same morn,And peace and loving-kindness o'er all the house was borne,
Now arrayed are the earls and the warriors, and into the hall they comeWhen the morning sun is shining through the heart of their ancient home;And lo, how the allwise Grimhild is set in the golden seat,The first of the way-fain warriors, and the first of the wives to greet;In the raiment of old she sitteth, aloft in the kingly place,And all men marvel to see her and the glory of her face.
So all is dight for departing and the helms of the Niblung lordsShine close as a river of fire o'er the hilts of hidden swords:About and around are the women; and who e'er hath been heavy of heart,If their hearts are light this morning when their fairest shall depart?They hear the steeds in the forecourt; from the rampart of the wallComes the cry and noise of the warders as man to man doth call;For the young give place to the old, and the strong carles labour to showThe last-learned craft of battle to their fathers ere they go.There is mocking and mirth and laughter as men tell to the ancient siresOf the four-sheared shaft of the gathering, and the horn, and the beaconing fires.Woe's me! but the women laugh not: do they hope that the sun may be stayed,And the journey of the Niblungs a little while delayed?Or is not their hope the rather, that they do but dream in the night,And that they shall awake in a little with the land's life faring aright?Ah, fair and fresh is the morning as ever a season hath been,And the nourishing sun shines glorious on the toil of carle and quean,And the wealth of the land desired, and all things are alive and awake;Let them wait till the even bringeth sweet rest for hearts that ache.
Lo now, a stir by the doorway, and men see how great and grandCome the Kings of Giuki begotten, all-armed, and hand in hand:Where then shall the world behold them, such champions clad in steel,Such hearts so free and bounteous, so wise for the people's weal?Where then shall the world see such-like, if these must die as the mean,And fall as lowly people, and their days be no more seen?They go forth fair and softly as they wend to the seat of the Kings,And they smile in their loving-kindness as they talk of bygone things.Are they not as the children of Giuki, that fared afield erewhileIn hope without contention, mid the youth that knew no guile?Their wedded wives are beside them with faces proud and fair,That smile, if the lips smile only, for the Eastland liar is there.Fain the women are of those Brethren, and they seem so gay and kind,That again the hope upspringeth of their lords abiding behind.
But Hogni spake to his brother, and they looked on the liar's son,And clear ran King Gunnar's laughter as the summer waters run;Then the Queens' hearts fainted within them, and with pain they drew their breath;For they knew that the King was merry and laughed in the face of death.
Fair now on the ancient high-seat, and the heart of the Niblung pride,Stand those lovely lords of Giuki with their wedded wives beside.And Gunnar cries: "O maidens, let the cup be in every hand,For this morn for a little season we leave our fathers' land,And love we leave behind us, and love abroad we bear,And these twain shall meet in a little, and their meeting-tide be fair:Rejoice, O Niblung children, be glad o'er the parting cup!For meseems if the heavens were falling, our spears should hold them up."
Then he leaped adown from the high-seat and amidst his men he stood,And the very joy of God-folk ran through the Niblung blood,And the glee of them that die not: there they drink in their mighty hall,And glad on the ancient fathers, and the sons of God they call:The hope of their hearts goes upward in the last most awful voice,And once more the quivering timbers of the Niblung home rejoice.
But exceeding proud sits Grimhild, and so wondrous is her stateThat men deem they have never seen her so glorious and so great,And she speaks, when again in the feast-hall is there silence save of the mailAnd the whispered voice of women, as they tell their latest tale:
"Go forth, O Kings, to dominion, and the crown of all your might,And the tale from of old foreordered ere the day was begotten of night.For all this is the work of the Norns, though ye leave a woman behindWho hath toiled and toiled in the darkness, the road of fate to find:Go glad, O children of Giuki; though scarce ye wot indeedOf the labour of your mother to win your glory's meed.Farewell, farewell, O children, till ye get you back againTo her that bore you in darkness, and brought you forth in pain!Cast wide the doors for the King-folk, ring out O harpstrings now!For the best e'er born of woman go forth with cloudless brow.Be glad O ancient lintel, O threshold of the door,For such another parting shall earth behold no more!"
She ceased, and no voice gave answer save the voice of smitten harps,As the hands of the music-weavers went o'er their golden warps;Then high o'er the warriors towering, as the king-leek o'er the grass,Out into the world of sunlight through the door those Brethren pass,And all the host of the warriors, the women's silent woe,The steel and the feet soft-falling o'er the ancient threshold go,While all alone on the high-seat the god-born Grimhild sits:There hearkeneth she steeds' neighing, and the champing of the bits,And the clash of steel-clad champions, as at last they leap aloft,And cries and women's weeping 'mid the music breathing soft;Then the clattering of the horse-hoofs, and the echo of the gateWith the wakened sword-song singing o'er departure of the great,Till the many mingled voices are swallowed up and stilled,And all the air by seeming with an awful sound is filled,The cry of the Niblung trumpet, as men reach the unwalled space:So whiles in a mighty city, and a many-peopled place,When the rain falls down 'mid the babble, nor ceaseth rattle of wheels,And with din of wedding joy-bells the minster steeple reels,Lo, God sends down his thunder, and all else is hushed as then,And it is as the world's beginning, and before the birth of men.
Long sitteth the god-born Grimhild till all is silent there,For afar down the meadows with the host all people fare;Then bitter groweth her visage, in the hush she crieth and saith:
"O ye—whom then shall I cry on, ye that hunt my sons unto death,And overthrow our glory, and bring our labour to nought—Ye Gods, ye had fashioned the greatest, and to make them greater I wrought,And to strengthen your hands for the battle, and uplift your hearts for the end:But ye, ye have fashioned confusion, and the great with the little ye blend,Till no more on the earth shall be living the mighty that mock at your death,Till like the leaves men tremble, like the dry leaves quake at a breath.I have wrought for your lives and your glory, and for this have I strengthened my guile,That the earth your hands uplifted might endure, nor pass in a whileLike the clouds of latter morning that melt in the first of the night."
She rose up great and dreadful, and stood on the floor upright,And cast up her hands to the roof-tree, and cried aloud and said:
"Woe to you that have made me for nothing! for the house of the Niblungs is dead,Empty and dead as the desert, where the sun is idle and vainAnd no hope hath the dew to cherish, and no deed abideth the rain!"
She falleth aback in the high seat, and the eagles cry from aloof,While Grimhild's eyes wide-open stare up at the Niblung roof:But they see not, nought are they doing to feed her fear or desire;And her heart, the forge of sorrow, dead, cold, is its baneful fire;And her cunning hand is helpless, for her hopeless soul is gone;Far off belike it drifteth from the waste her labour won.
Fair now through midmost ocean King Gunnar's dragons run,And the green hills round about them gleam glorious with the sun;The keels roll down the sea-dale, and welter up the steep,And o'er the brow hang quivering ere again they take the leap;For the west wind pipes behind them, and no land is on their lea,As the mightiest of earth's peoples sails down the summer sea:And as eager as the west-wind, no duller than the foamThey spread all sails to the breezes, and seek their glory home:Six days they sail the sea-flood, and the seventh dawn of dayUp-heaveth a new country, a land far-off and grey;Then Knefrud biddeth heed it, and he saith: "Lo, the Eastland shore,And the land few ships have sailed to, by the mirk-wood covered o'er."
Then riseth the cry and the shouting as the golden beaks they turn,For all hearts for the land of cities, and the hall of Atli yearn:But a little after the noontide is the Niblung host embayed,And betwixt the sheltering nesses the ocean-wind is laid:No whit they brook delaying: but their noblest and their bestToss up the shaven oar-blades, and toil and mock at rest:Full swift they skim the swan-mead till the tall masts quake and reel,And the oaken sea-burgs quiver from bulwark unto keel.It is Gunnar goes the foremost with the tiller in his hand,And beside him standeth Knefrud and laughs on Atli's land:And so fair are the dragons driven, that by ending of the dayOn the beach by the ebb left naked the sea-beat keels they lay:Then they look aloft from the foreshore, and lo, King Atli's steedsOn the brow of the mirk-wood standing, well dight for the warriors' needs,The red and the roan together, and the dapple-grey and the black;Nor bits nor silken bridles, nor golden cloths they lack,And the horse-lads of King Atli with that horse-array are blent,And their shout of salutation o'er the oozy sand is sent:Then no more will the Niblungs tarry when they see that ready bandBut they leap adown from the long-ships, and waist-deep they wade the strand,And they in their armour of onset, beshielded, and sword by the side,E'en as men returning homeward to their loves and their friends that abide.The first of all goeth Gunnar, and Hogni the wise cometh after,And wringeth the sea from his kirtle; and all men hearken his laughter,As his feet on the earth stand firm, and the sun in the west goeth down,And the Niblungs stand on the foreshore 'twixt the sea and the mirk-wood brown.
For no meat there they linger, and they tarry for no sleep,But aloft to the golden saddles those Giuki's children leap,And forth from the side of the sea-flood they ride the mirk-wood's ways,Loud then is the voice of King Hogni and he sets forth Atli's praise,As they ride through the night of the tree-boughs till the earthly night prevails,And along the desert sea-strand the wind of ocean wails.
There none hath tethered the dragons, or inboard handled the oars,And the tide of the sea cometh creeping along the stranger-shores,Till those golden dragons are floated, and their unmanned oars awashIn the sandy waves of the shallows, from stem to tiller clash:Then setteth a wind from the shore, and the night is waxen a-cold,And seaward drift the long-ships with their raiment and vessels of gold,And their Gods with mastery carven: and who knoweth the story to tell,If their wrack came ever to shoreward in some place where fishers dwell,Or sank in midmost ocean, and lay on the sea-floor wanWhere the pale sea-goddess singeth o'er the bane of many a man?