So there the earls of the Goth-folk lay Volsung 'neath the grassOn the last earth he had trodden; but his children bound must pass,When the host is gathered together, amidst of their arrayTo the high-built dwelling of Siggeir; for sooth it is to say,That he came not into the battle, nor faced the Volsung sword.So now as he sat in his high-seat there came his chiefest lord,And he said: "I bear thee tidings of the death of the best of the brave,For thy foes are slain or bondsmen; and have thou Sigmund's glaive,If a token thou desirest; and that shall be surely enough.And I do thee to wit, King Siggeir, that the road was exceeding rough,And that many an earl there stumbled, who shall evermore lie down.And indeed I deem King Volsung for all earthly kingship's crown."Then never a word spake Siggeir, save: "Where be Volsung's sons?"And he said: "Without are they fettered, those battle-glorious ones:And methinks 'twere a deed for a king, and a noble deed for thee,To break their bonds and heal them, and send them back o'er the sea,And abide their wrath and the bloodfeud for this matter of Volsung's slaying:""Witless thou waxest," said Siggeir, "nor heedest the wise man's saying;'Slay thou the wolf by the house-door, lest he slay thee in the wood.'Yet since I am the overcomer, and my days henceforth shall be good,I will quell them with no death-pains; let the young men smite them down,But let me not behold them when my heart is angrier grown."E'en as he uttered the word was Signy at the door,And with hurrying feet she gat her apace to the high-seat floor,As wan as the dawning-hour, though never a tear she had:And she cried: "I pray thee, Siggeir, now thine heart is merry and gladWith the death and the bonds of my kinsmen, to grant me this one prayer,This one time and no other; let them breathe the earthly airFor a day, for a day or twain, ere they wend the way of death,For 'sweet to eye while seen,' the elders' saying saith."Quoth he: "Thou art mad with sorrow; wilt thou work thy friends this woe?When swift and untormented e'en I would let them go:Yet now shalt thou have thine asking, if it verily is thy will:Nor forsooth do I begrudge them a longer tide of ill."She said: "I will it, I will it—O sweet to eye while seen!"Then to his earl spake Siggeir: "There lies a wood-lawn greenIn the first mile of the forest; there fetter these Volsung menTo the mightiest beam of the wild-wood, till Queen Signy come againAnd pray me a boon for her brethren, the end of their latter life."So the Goth-folk led to the woodland those gleanings of the strife,And smote down a great-boled oak-tree, the mightiest they might find,And thereto with bonds of iron the Volsungs did they bind,And left them there on the wood-lawn, mid the yew-trees' compassing,And went back by the light of the moon to the dwelling of the king.But he sent on the morn of the morrow to see how his foemen fared,For now as he thought thereover, o'ermuch he deemed it daredThat he saw not the last of the Volsungs laid dead before his feet,Back came his men ere the noontide, and he deemed their tidings sweet;For they said: "We tell thee, King Siggeir, that Geirmund and Gylfi are gone.And we deem that a beast of the wild-wood this murder grim hath done,For the bones yet lie in the fetters gnawed fleshless now and white;But we deemed the eight abiding sore minished of their might."So wore the morn and the noontide, and the even 'gan to fall,And watchful eyes held Signy at home in bower and hall.And again came the men in the morning, and spake: "The hopples holdThe bare white bones of Helgi, and the bones of Solar the bold:And the six that abide seem feebler than they were awhile ago."Still all the day and the night-tide must Signy nurse her woeAbout the house of King Siggeir, nor any might she send:And again came the tale on the morrow: "Now are two more come to an end.For Hunthiof dead and Gunthiof, their bones lie side by side,And the four that are left, us seemeth, no long while will abide."O woe for the well-watched Signy, how often on that dayMust she send her helpless eyen adown the woodland way!Yet silent in her bosom she held her heart of flame.And again on the morrow morning the tale was still the same:"We tell thee now, King Siggeir, that all will soon be done;For the two last men of the Volsungs, they sit there one by one,And Sigi's head is drooping, but somewhat Sigmund sings;For the man was a mighty warrior, and a beater down of kings.But for Rerir and for Agnar, the last of them is said,Their bones in the bonds are abiding, but their souls and lives are sped."That day from the eyes of the watchers nought Signy strove to depart,But ever she sat in the high-seat and nursed the flame in her heart.In the sight of all people she sat, with unmoved face and wan,And to no man gave she a word, nor looked on any man.Then the dusk and the dark drew over, but stirred she never a whit,And the word of Siggeir's sending, she gave no heed to it.And there on the morrow morning must he sit him down by her side,When unto the council of elders folk came from far and wide.And there came Siggeir's woodmen, and their voice in the hall arose:"There is no man left on the tree-beam: some beast hath devoured thy foes;There is nought left there but the bones, and the bonds that the Volsungs bound."No word spake the earls of the Goth-folk, but the hall rang out with a sound,With the wail and the cry of Signy, as she stood upright on her feet,And thrust all people from her, and fled to her bower as fleetAs the hind when she first is smitten; and her maidens fled away,Fearing her face and her eyen: no less at the death of the dayShe rose up amid the silence, and went her ways alone,And no man watched her or hindered, for they deemed the story done.So she went 'twixt the yellow acres, and the green meads of the sheep,And or ever she reached the wild-wood the night was waxen deepNo man she had to lead her, but the path was trodden wellBy those messengers of murder, the men with the tale to tell;And the beams of the high white moon gave a glimmering day through nightTill she came where that lawn of the woods lay wide in the flood of light.Then she looked, and lo, in its midmost a mighty man there stood,And laboured the earth of the green-sward with a truncheon torn from the wood;And behold, it was Sigmund the Volsung: but she cried and had no fear:"If thou art living, Sigmund, what day's work dost thou hereIn the midnight and the forest? but if thou art nought but a ghost,Then where are those Volsung brethren, of whom thou wert best and most?"Then he turned about unto her, and his raiment was fouled and torn,And his eyen were great and hollow, as a famished man forlorn;But he cried: "Hail, Sister Signy! I looked for thee before,Though what should a woman compass, she one alone and no more,When all we shielded Volsungs did nought in Siggeir's land?O yea, I am living indeed, and this labour of mine handIs to bury the bones of the Volsungs; and lo, it is well-nigh done.So draw near, Volsung's daughter, and pile we many a stoneWhere lie the grey wolf's gleanings of what was once so good."So she set her hand to the labour, and they toiled, they twain in the woodAnd when the work was over, dead night was beginning to fail:Then spake the white-hand Signy: "Now shalt thou tell the taleOf the death of the Volsung brethren ere the wood thy wrath shall hide,Ere I wend me back sick-hearted in the dwelling of kings to abide."He said: "We sat on the tree, and well ye may wot indeedThat we had some hope from thy good-will amidst that bitter need.Now none had 'scaped the sword-edge in the battle utterly,And so hurt were Agnar and Helgi, that, unhelped, they were like to die;Though for that we deemed them happier: but now when the moon shone bright,And when by a doomed man's deeming 'twas the midmost of the night,Lo, forth from yonder thicket were two mighty wood-wolves come,Far huger wrought to my deeming than the beasts I knew at home:Forthright on Gylfi and Geirmund those dogs of the forest fell,And what of men so hoppled should be the tale to tell?They tore them midst the irons, and slew them then and there,And long we heard them snarling o'er that abundant cheer.Night after night, O my sister, the story was the same,And still from the dark and the thicket the wild-wood were-wolves cameAnd slew two men of the Volsungs whom the sword edge might not end.And every day in the dawning did the King's own woodmen wendTo behold those craftsmen's carving and rejoice King Siggeir's heart.And so was come last midnight, when I must play my part:Forsooth when those first were murdered my heart was as blood and fire;And I deemed that my bonds must burst with my uttermost desireTo free my naked hands, that the vengeance might be wrought;But now was I wroth with the Gods, that had made the Volsungs for noughtAnd I said: in the Day of their Doom a man's help shall they miss;I will be as a wolf of the forest, if their kings must come to this;Or if Siggeir indeed be their king, and their envy has brought it aboutThat dead in the dust lies Volsung, while the last of his seed dies out.Therewith from out the thicket the grey wolves drew anigh,And the he-wolf fell on Sigi, but he gave forth never a cry,And I saw his lips that they smiled, and his steady eyes for a space;And therewith was the she-wolf's muzzle thrust into my very face.The Gods helped not, but I helped; and I too grew wolfish then;Yea I, who have borne the sword-hilt high mid the kings of men,I, lord of the golden harness, the flame of the Glittering Heath,Must snarl to the she-wolf's snarling, and snap with greedy teeth,While my hands with the hand-bonds struggled; my teeth took hold the firstAnd amid her mighty writhing the bonds that bound me burst,As with Fenrir's Wolf it shall be: then the beast with the hopples I smote,When my left hand stiff with the bonds had got her by the throat.But I turned when I had slain her, and there lay Sigi dead,And once more to the night of the forest the fretting wolf had fled.In the thicket I hid till the dawning, and thence I saw the men,E'en Siggeir's heart-rejoicers, come back to the place againTo gather the well-loved tidings: I looked and I knew for soothHow hate had grown in my bosom and the death of my days of ruth:Though unslain they departed from me, lest Siggeir come to doubt.But hereafter, yea hereafter, they that turned the world about,And raised Hell's abode o'er God-home, and mocked all men-folk's worth—Shall my hand turn back or falter, while these abide on earth,Because I once was a child, and sat on my father's knees;But long methinks shall Siggeir bide merrily at easeIn the high-built house of the Goths, with his shielded earls around,His warders of day and of night-tide, and his world of peopled ground,While his foe is a swordless outcast, a hunted beast of the wood,A wolf of the holy places, where men-folk gather for good.And didst thou think, my sister, when we sat in our summer blissBeneath the boughs of the Branstock, that the world was like to this?"As the moon and the twilight mingled, she stood with kindling eyes,And answered and said: "My brother, thou art strong, and thou shalt be wise:I am nothing so wroth as thou art with the ways of death and hell,For thereof had I a deeming when all things were seeming well.In sooth overlong it may linger; the children of murder shall thrive,While thy work is a weight for thine heart, and a toil for thy hand to drive;But I wot that the King of the Goth-folk for his deeds shall surely pay,And that I shall live to see it: but thy wrath shall pass away,And long shalt thou live on the earth an exceeding glorious king,And thy words shall be told in the market, and all men of thy deeds shall sing:Fresh shall thy memory be, and thine eyes like mine shall gazeOn the day unborn in the darkness, the last of all earthly days,The last of the days of battle, when the host of the Gods is arrayedAnd there is an end for ever of all who were once afraid.There as thou drawest thy sword, thou shalt think of the days that were,And the foul shall still seem foul, and the fair shall still seem fair;But thy wit shall then be awakened, and thou shalt know indeedWhy the brave man's spear is broken, and his war-shield fails at need;Why the loving is unbelovèd; why the just man falls from his state;Why the liar gains in a day what the soothfast strives for late.Yea, and thy deeds shalt thou know, and great shall thy gladness be;As a picture all of gold thy life-days shalt thou see,And know that thou too wert a God to abide through the hurry and haste;A God in the golden hall, a God on the rain-swept waste,A God in the battle triumphant, a God on the heap of the slain:And thine hope shall arise and blossom, and thy love shall be quickened again:And then shalt thou see before thee the face of all earthly ill;Thou shalt drink of the cup of awakening that thine hand hath holpen to fill;By the side of the sons of Odin shalt thou fashion a tale to be toldIn the hall of the happy Baldur: nor there shall the tale grow oldOf the days before the changing, e'en those that over us pass.So harden thine heart, O brother, and set thy brow as the brass!Thou shalt do, and thy deeds shall be goodly, and the day's work shall be doneThough nought but the wild deer see it. Nor yet shalt thou be aloneFor ever-more in thy waiting; for belike a fearful friendThe long days for thee may fashion, to help thee ere the end.But now shalt thou bide in the wild-wood, and make thee a lair therein:Thou art here in the midst of thy foemen, and from them thou well mayst winWhatso thine heart desireth; yet be thou not too bold,Lest the tale of the wood-abider too oft to the king be told.Ere many days are departed again shall I see thy face,That I may wot full surely of thine abiding-placeTo send thee help and comfort; but when that hour is o'erIt were good, O last of the Volsungs, that I see thy face no more,If so indeed it may be: but the Norns must fashion all,And what the dawn hath fated on the hour of noon shall fall."Then she kissed him and departed, for the day was nigh at hand,And by then she had left the woodways green lay the horse-fed landBeneath the new-born daylight, and as she brushed the dewBetwixt the yellowing acres, all heaven o'erhead was blue.And at last on that dwelling of Kings the golden sunlight lay,And the morn and the noon and the even built up another day.
So there the earls of the Goth-folk lay Volsung 'neath the grassOn the last earth he had trodden; but his children bound must pass,When the host is gathered together, amidst of their arrayTo the high-built dwelling of Siggeir; for sooth it is to say,That he came not into the battle, nor faced the Volsung sword.
So now as he sat in his high-seat there came his chiefest lord,And he said: "I bear thee tidings of the death of the best of the brave,For thy foes are slain or bondsmen; and have thou Sigmund's glaive,If a token thou desirest; and that shall be surely enough.And I do thee to wit, King Siggeir, that the road was exceeding rough,And that many an earl there stumbled, who shall evermore lie down.And indeed I deem King Volsung for all earthly kingship's crown."
Then never a word spake Siggeir, save: "Where be Volsung's sons?"And he said: "Without are they fettered, those battle-glorious ones:And methinks 'twere a deed for a king, and a noble deed for thee,To break their bonds and heal them, and send them back o'er the sea,And abide their wrath and the bloodfeud for this matter of Volsung's slaying:"
"Witless thou waxest," said Siggeir, "nor heedest the wise man's saying;'Slay thou the wolf by the house-door, lest he slay thee in the wood.'Yet since I am the overcomer, and my days henceforth shall be good,I will quell them with no death-pains; let the young men smite them down,But let me not behold them when my heart is angrier grown."
E'en as he uttered the word was Signy at the door,And with hurrying feet she gat her apace to the high-seat floor,As wan as the dawning-hour, though never a tear she had:And she cried: "I pray thee, Siggeir, now thine heart is merry and gladWith the death and the bonds of my kinsmen, to grant me this one prayer,This one time and no other; let them breathe the earthly airFor a day, for a day or twain, ere they wend the way of death,For 'sweet to eye while seen,' the elders' saying saith."
Quoth he: "Thou art mad with sorrow; wilt thou work thy friends this woe?When swift and untormented e'en I would let them go:Yet now shalt thou have thine asking, if it verily is thy will:Nor forsooth do I begrudge them a longer tide of ill."
She said: "I will it, I will it—O sweet to eye while seen!"
Then to his earl spake Siggeir: "There lies a wood-lawn greenIn the first mile of the forest; there fetter these Volsung menTo the mightiest beam of the wild-wood, till Queen Signy come againAnd pray me a boon for her brethren, the end of their latter life."
So the Goth-folk led to the woodland those gleanings of the strife,And smote down a great-boled oak-tree, the mightiest they might find,And thereto with bonds of iron the Volsungs did they bind,And left them there on the wood-lawn, mid the yew-trees' compassing,And went back by the light of the moon to the dwelling of the king.
But he sent on the morn of the morrow to see how his foemen fared,For now as he thought thereover, o'ermuch he deemed it daredThat he saw not the last of the Volsungs laid dead before his feet,Back came his men ere the noontide, and he deemed their tidings sweet;For they said: "We tell thee, King Siggeir, that Geirmund and Gylfi are gone.And we deem that a beast of the wild-wood this murder grim hath done,For the bones yet lie in the fetters gnawed fleshless now and white;But we deemed the eight abiding sore minished of their might."
So wore the morn and the noontide, and the even 'gan to fall,And watchful eyes held Signy at home in bower and hall.
And again came the men in the morning, and spake: "The hopples holdThe bare white bones of Helgi, and the bones of Solar the bold:And the six that abide seem feebler than they were awhile ago."
Still all the day and the night-tide must Signy nurse her woeAbout the house of King Siggeir, nor any might she send:And again came the tale on the morrow: "Now are two more come to an end.For Hunthiof dead and Gunthiof, their bones lie side by side,And the four that are left, us seemeth, no long while will abide."
O woe for the well-watched Signy, how often on that dayMust she send her helpless eyen adown the woodland way!Yet silent in her bosom she held her heart of flame.And again on the morrow morning the tale was still the same:
"We tell thee now, King Siggeir, that all will soon be done;For the two last men of the Volsungs, they sit there one by one,And Sigi's head is drooping, but somewhat Sigmund sings;For the man was a mighty warrior, and a beater down of kings.But for Rerir and for Agnar, the last of them is said,Their bones in the bonds are abiding, but their souls and lives are sped."
That day from the eyes of the watchers nought Signy strove to depart,But ever she sat in the high-seat and nursed the flame in her heart.In the sight of all people she sat, with unmoved face and wan,And to no man gave she a word, nor looked on any man.Then the dusk and the dark drew over, but stirred she never a whit,And the word of Siggeir's sending, she gave no heed to it.And there on the morrow morning must he sit him down by her side,When unto the council of elders folk came from far and wide.And there came Siggeir's woodmen, and their voice in the hall arose:
"There is no man left on the tree-beam: some beast hath devoured thy foes;There is nought left there but the bones, and the bonds that the Volsungs bound."
No word spake the earls of the Goth-folk, but the hall rang out with a sound,With the wail and the cry of Signy, as she stood upright on her feet,And thrust all people from her, and fled to her bower as fleetAs the hind when she first is smitten; and her maidens fled away,Fearing her face and her eyen: no less at the death of the dayShe rose up amid the silence, and went her ways alone,And no man watched her or hindered, for they deemed the story done.So she went 'twixt the yellow acres, and the green meads of the sheep,And or ever she reached the wild-wood the night was waxen deepNo man she had to lead her, but the path was trodden wellBy those messengers of murder, the men with the tale to tell;And the beams of the high white moon gave a glimmering day through nightTill she came where that lawn of the woods lay wide in the flood of light.Then she looked, and lo, in its midmost a mighty man there stood,And laboured the earth of the green-sward with a truncheon torn from the wood;And behold, it was Sigmund the Volsung: but she cried and had no fear:
"If thou art living, Sigmund, what day's work dost thou hereIn the midnight and the forest? but if thou art nought but a ghost,Then where are those Volsung brethren, of whom thou wert best and most?"
Then he turned about unto her, and his raiment was fouled and torn,And his eyen were great and hollow, as a famished man forlorn;
But he cried: "Hail, Sister Signy! I looked for thee before,Though what should a woman compass, she one alone and no more,When all we shielded Volsungs did nought in Siggeir's land?O yea, I am living indeed, and this labour of mine handIs to bury the bones of the Volsungs; and lo, it is well-nigh done.So draw near, Volsung's daughter, and pile we many a stoneWhere lie the grey wolf's gleanings of what was once so good."
So she set her hand to the labour, and they toiled, they twain in the woodAnd when the work was over, dead night was beginning to fail:Then spake the white-hand Signy: "Now shalt thou tell the taleOf the death of the Volsung brethren ere the wood thy wrath shall hide,Ere I wend me back sick-hearted in the dwelling of kings to abide."
He said: "We sat on the tree, and well ye may wot indeedThat we had some hope from thy good-will amidst that bitter need.Now none had 'scaped the sword-edge in the battle utterly,And so hurt were Agnar and Helgi, that, unhelped, they were like to die;Though for that we deemed them happier: but now when the moon shone bright,And when by a doomed man's deeming 'twas the midmost of the night,Lo, forth from yonder thicket were two mighty wood-wolves come,Far huger wrought to my deeming than the beasts I knew at home:Forthright on Gylfi and Geirmund those dogs of the forest fell,And what of men so hoppled should be the tale to tell?They tore them midst the irons, and slew them then and there,And long we heard them snarling o'er that abundant cheer.Night after night, O my sister, the story was the same,And still from the dark and the thicket the wild-wood were-wolves cameAnd slew two men of the Volsungs whom the sword edge might not end.And every day in the dawning did the King's own woodmen wendTo behold those craftsmen's carving and rejoice King Siggeir's heart.And so was come last midnight, when I must play my part:Forsooth when those first were murdered my heart was as blood and fire;And I deemed that my bonds must burst with my uttermost desireTo free my naked hands, that the vengeance might be wrought;But now was I wroth with the Gods, that had made the Volsungs for noughtAnd I said: in the Day of their Doom a man's help shall they miss;I will be as a wolf of the forest, if their kings must come to this;Or if Siggeir indeed be their king, and their envy has brought it aboutThat dead in the dust lies Volsung, while the last of his seed dies out.Therewith from out the thicket the grey wolves drew anigh,And the he-wolf fell on Sigi, but he gave forth never a cry,And I saw his lips that they smiled, and his steady eyes for a space;And therewith was the she-wolf's muzzle thrust into my very face.The Gods helped not, but I helped; and I too grew wolfish then;Yea I, who have borne the sword-hilt high mid the kings of men,I, lord of the golden harness, the flame of the Glittering Heath,Must snarl to the she-wolf's snarling, and snap with greedy teeth,While my hands with the hand-bonds struggled; my teeth took hold the firstAnd amid her mighty writhing the bonds that bound me burst,As with Fenrir's Wolf it shall be: then the beast with the hopples I smote,When my left hand stiff with the bonds had got her by the throat.But I turned when I had slain her, and there lay Sigi dead,And once more to the night of the forest the fretting wolf had fled.In the thicket I hid till the dawning, and thence I saw the men,E'en Siggeir's heart-rejoicers, come back to the place againTo gather the well-loved tidings: I looked and I knew for soothHow hate had grown in my bosom and the death of my days of ruth:Though unslain they departed from me, lest Siggeir come to doubt.But hereafter, yea hereafter, they that turned the world about,And raised Hell's abode o'er God-home, and mocked all men-folk's worth—Shall my hand turn back or falter, while these abide on earth,Because I once was a child, and sat on my father's knees;But long methinks shall Siggeir bide merrily at easeIn the high-built house of the Goths, with his shielded earls around,His warders of day and of night-tide, and his world of peopled ground,While his foe is a swordless outcast, a hunted beast of the wood,A wolf of the holy places, where men-folk gather for good.And didst thou think, my sister, when we sat in our summer blissBeneath the boughs of the Branstock, that the world was like to this?"
As the moon and the twilight mingled, she stood with kindling eyes,And answered and said: "My brother, thou art strong, and thou shalt be wise:I am nothing so wroth as thou art with the ways of death and hell,For thereof had I a deeming when all things were seeming well.In sooth overlong it may linger; the children of murder shall thrive,While thy work is a weight for thine heart, and a toil for thy hand to drive;But I wot that the King of the Goth-folk for his deeds shall surely pay,And that I shall live to see it: but thy wrath shall pass away,And long shalt thou live on the earth an exceeding glorious king,And thy words shall be told in the market, and all men of thy deeds shall sing:Fresh shall thy memory be, and thine eyes like mine shall gazeOn the day unborn in the darkness, the last of all earthly days,The last of the days of battle, when the host of the Gods is arrayedAnd there is an end for ever of all who were once afraid.There as thou drawest thy sword, thou shalt think of the days that were,And the foul shall still seem foul, and the fair shall still seem fair;But thy wit shall then be awakened, and thou shalt know indeedWhy the brave man's spear is broken, and his war-shield fails at need;Why the loving is unbelovèd; why the just man falls from his state;Why the liar gains in a day what the soothfast strives for late.Yea, and thy deeds shalt thou know, and great shall thy gladness be;As a picture all of gold thy life-days shalt thou see,And know that thou too wert a God to abide through the hurry and haste;A God in the golden hall, a God on the rain-swept waste,A God in the battle triumphant, a God on the heap of the slain:And thine hope shall arise and blossom, and thy love shall be quickened again:And then shalt thou see before thee the face of all earthly ill;Thou shalt drink of the cup of awakening that thine hand hath holpen to fill;By the side of the sons of Odin shalt thou fashion a tale to be toldIn the hall of the happy Baldur: nor there shall the tale grow oldOf the days before the changing, e'en those that over us pass.So harden thine heart, O brother, and set thy brow as the brass!Thou shalt do, and thy deeds shall be goodly, and the day's work shall be doneThough nought but the wild deer see it. Nor yet shalt thou be aloneFor ever-more in thy waiting; for belike a fearful friendThe long days for thee may fashion, to help thee ere the end.But now shalt thou bide in the wild-wood, and make thee a lair therein:Thou art here in the midst of thy foemen, and from them thou well mayst winWhatso thine heart desireth; yet be thou not too bold,Lest the tale of the wood-abider too oft to the king be told.Ere many days are departed again shall I see thy face,That I may wot full surely of thine abiding-placeTo send thee help and comfort; but when that hour is o'erIt were good, O last of the Volsungs, that I see thy face no more,If so indeed it may be: but the Norns must fashion all,And what the dawn hath fated on the hour of noon shall fall."
Then she kissed him and departed, for the day was nigh at hand,And by then she had left the woodways green lay the horse-fed landBeneath the new-born daylight, and as she brushed the dewBetwixt the yellowing acres, all heaven o'erhead was blue.And at last on that dwelling of Kings the golden sunlight lay,And the morn and the noon and the even built up another day.
So wrought is the will of King Siggeir, and he weareth Odin's swordAnd it lies on his knees in the council and hath no other lord:And he sendeth earls o'er the sea-flood to take King Volsung's land,And those scattered and shepherdless sheep must come beneath his hand.And he holdeth the milk-white Signy as his handmaid and his wife.And nought but his will she doeth, nor raiseth a word of strife;So his heart is praising his wisdom, and he deems him of most availOf all the lords of the cunning that teacheth how to prevail.Now again in a half-month's wearing goes Signy into the wild,And findeth her way by her wisdom to the dwelling of Volsung's child.It was e'en as a house of the Dwarfs, a rock, and a stony cave.In the heart of the midmost thicket by the hidden river's wave.There Signy found him watching how the white-head waters ran,And she said in her heart as she saw him that once more she had seen a man.His words were few and heavy, for seldom his sorrow slept,Yet ever his love went with them; and men say that Signy weptWhen she left that last of her kindred: yet wept she never moreAmid the earls of Siggeir, and as lovely as beforeWas her face to all men's deeming: nor aught it changed for ruth,Nor for fear nor any longing; and no man said for soothThat she ever laughed thereafter till the day of her death was come.So is Volsung's seed abiding in a rough and narrow home;And wargear he gat him enough from the slaying of earls of men,And gold as much as he would; though indeed but now and againHe fell on the men of the merchants, lest, wax he overbold,The tale of the wood-abider too oft to the king should be told.Alone in the woods he abided, and a master of masters was heIn the craft of the smithying folk; and whiles would the hunter see,Belated amid the thicket, his forge's glimmering light,And the boldest of all the fishers would hear his hammer benight.Then dim waxed the tale of the Volsungs, and the word mid the wood-folk roseThat a King of the Giants had wakened from amidst the stone-hedged close,Where they slept in the heart of the mountains, and had come adown to dwellIn the cave whence the Dwarfs were departed, and they said: It is aught but wellTo come anigh to his house-door, or wander wide in his woods?For a tyrannous lord he is, and a lover of gold and of goods.So win the long years over, and still sitteth Signy thereBeside the King of the Goth-folk, and is waxen no less fair,And men and maids hath she gotten who are ready to work her will,For the worship of her fairness, and remembrance of her ill.So it fell on a morn of springtide, as Sigmund sat on the swardBy that ancient house of the Dwarf-kind and fashioned a golden sword?By the side of the hidden river he saw a damsel stand,And a manchild of ten summers was holding by her hand.And she cried:"O Forest-dweller! harm not the child nor me,For I bear a word of Signy's, and thus she saith to thee:'I send thee a man to foster; if his heart be good at needThen may he help thy workday; but hearken my words and heed;If thou deem that his heart shall avail not, thy work is over-greatThat thou weary thy heart with such-like: let him wend the ways of his fate.'"And no more word spake the maiden, but turned and gat her gone,And there by the side of the river the child abode alone:But Sigmund stood on his feet, and across the river he went.For he knew how the child was Siggeir's, and of Signy's fell intent.So he took the lad on his shoulder, and bade him hold his sword,And waded back to his dwelling across the rushing ford:But the youngling fell a prattling, and asked of this and that,As above the rattle of waters on Sigmund's shoulder he sat!And Sigmund deemed in his heart that the boy would be bold enough.So he fostered him there in the woodland in life full hard and roughFor the space of three months' wearing; and the lad was deft and strong,Yet his sight was a grief to Sigmund because of his father's wrong.On a morn to the son of King Siggeir Sigmund the Volsung said:"I go to the hunting of deer, bide thou and bake our breadAgainst I bring the venison."So forth he fared on his way,And came again with the quarry about the noon of day;Quoth he: "Is the morn's work done?" But the boy said nought for a space,And all white he was and quaking as he looked on Sigmund's face."Tell me, O Son of the Goth-king," quoth Sigmund, "how thou hast fared?Forsooth, is the baking of bread so mighty a thing to be dared?"Quoth the lad: "I went to the meal-sack, and therein was something quick,And it moved, and I feared for the serpent, like a winter ashen stickThat I saw on the stone last even: so I durst not deal with the thing."Loud Sigmund laughed, and answered: "I have heard of that son of a king,Who might not be scared from his bread for all the worms of the land."And therewith he went to the meal-sack and thrust therein his hand,And drew forth an ash-grey adder, and a deadly worm it was:Then he went to the door of the cave and set it down in the grass,While the King's son quaked and quivered: then he drew forth his sword from the sheath,And said:"Now fearest thou this, that men call the serpent of death?"Then said the son of King Siggeir: "I am young as yet for the war,Yet e'en such a blade shall I carry ere many a month be o'er."Then abroad went the King in the wind, and leaned on his naked swordAnd stood there many an hour, and mused on Signy's word.But at last when the moon was arisen, and the undark night begun,He sheathed the sword and cried: "Come forth, King Siggeir's son,Thou shalt wend from out of the wild-wood and no more will I foster thee."Forth came the son of Siggeir, and quaked his face to see,But thereof nought Sigmund noted, but bade him wend with him.So they went through the summer night-tide by many a wood-way dim,Till they came to a certain wood-lawn, and Sigmund lingered there,And spake as his feet brushed o'er it: "The June flowers blossom fair."So they came to the skirts of the forest, and the meadows of the neat,And the earliest wind of dawning blew over them soft and sweet:There stayed Sigmund the Volsung, and said:"King Siggeir's son,Bide here till the birds are singing, and the day is well begun;Then go to the house of the Goth-king, and find thou Signy the Queen,And tell unto no man else the things thou hast heard and seen:But to her shalt thou tell what thou wilt, and say this word withal:'Mother, I come from the wild-wood, and he saith, whatever befalAlone will I abide there, nor have such fosterlings;For the sons of the Gods may help me, but never the sons of Kings.'Go, then, with this word in thy mouth—or do thou after thy fate,And, if thou wilt, betray me!—and repent it early and late."Then he turned his back on the acres, and away to the woodland strode;But the boy scarce bided the sunrise ere he went the homeward road;So he came to the house of the Goth-kings, and spake with Signy the Queen,Nor told he to any other the things he had heard and seen,For the heart of a king's son had he.But Signy hearkened his word;And long she pondered and said: "What is it my heart hath feared?And how shall it be with earth's people if the kin of the Volsungs die,And King Volsung unavenged in his mound by the sea-strand lie?I have given my best and bravest, as my heart's blood I would give,And my heart and my fame and my body, that the name of Volsung might live.Lo the first gift cast aback: and how shall it be with the last,——If I find out the gift for the giving before the hour be passed?"Long while she mused and pondered while day was thrust on day,Till the king and the earls of the strangers seemed shades of the dreamtide greyAnd gone seemed all earth's people, save that woman mid the goldAnd that man in the depths of the forest in the cave of the Dwarfs of old.And once in the dark she murmured: "Where then was the ancient songThat the Gods were but twin-born once, and deemed it nothing wrongTo mingle for the world's sake, whence had the Æsir birth,And the Vanir and the Dwarf-kind, and all the folk of earth?"Now amidst those days that she pondered came a wife of the witch-folk there,A woman young and lovesome, and shaped exceeding fair,And she spake with Signy the Queen, and told her of deeds of her craft,And how the might was with her her soul from her body to waftAnd to take the shape of another and give her fashion in turn.Fierce then in the heart of Signy a sudden flame 'gan burn,And the eyes of her soul saw all things, like the blind, whom the world's last fireHath healed in one passing moment 'twixt his death and his desire.And she thought: "Alone I will bear it; alone I will take the crime;On me alone be the shaming, and the cry of the coming time.Yea, and he for the life is fated and the help of many a folk,And I for the death and the rest, and deliverance from the yoke."Then wan as the midnight moon she answered the woman and spake:"Thou art come to the Goth-queen's dwelling, wilt thou do so much for my sake,And for many a pound of silver and for rings of the ruddy gold,As to change thy body for mine ere the night is waxen old?"Nought the witch-wife fair gainsaid it, and they went to the bower aloftAnd hand in hand and alone they sung the spell-song soft:Till Signy looked on her guest, and lo, the face of a queenWith the steadfast eyes of grey, that so many a grief had seen:But the guest held forth a mirror, and Signy shrank abackFrom the laughing lips and the eyes, and the hair of crispy black,But though she shuddered and sickened, the false face changed no whit;But ruddy and white it blossomed and the smiles played over it;And the hands were ready to cling, and beckoning lamps were the eyes,And the light feet longed for the dance, and the lips for laughter and lies.So that eve in the mid-hall's high-seat was the shape of Signy the Queen,While swiftly the feet of the witch-wife brushed over the moonlit green,But the soul mid the gleam of the torches, her thought was of gain and of gold;And the soul of the wind-driven woman, swift-foot in the moonlight cold,Her thoughts were of men's lives' changing, and the uttermost ending of earth,And the day when death should be dead, and the new sun's nightless birth.Men say that about that midnight King Sigmund wakened and heardThe voice of a soft-speeched woman, shrill-sweet as a dawning bird;So he rose, and a woman indeed he saw by the door of the caveWith her raiment wet to her midmost, as though with the river-wave:And he cried: "What wilt thou, what wilt thou? be thou womankind or fay,Here is no good abiding, wend forth upon thy way!"She said: "I am nought but a woman, a maid of the earl-folk's kin:And I went by the skirts of the woodland to the house of my sister to win,And have strayed from the way benighted: and I fear the wolves and the wildBy the glimmering of thy torchlight from afar was I beguiled.Ah, slay me not on thy threshold, nor send me back againThrough the rattling waves of thy ford, that I crossed in terror and pain;Drive me not to the night and the darkness, for the wolves of the wood to devour.I am weak and thou art mighty: I will go at the dawning hour."So Sigmund looked in her face and saw that she was fair;And he said: "Nay, nought will I harm thee, and thou mayst harbour here,God wot if thou fear'st not me, I have nought to fear thy face:Though this house be the terror of men-folk, thou shalt find it as safe a placeAs though I were nought but thy brother; and then mayst thou tell, if thou wilt,Where dwelleth the dread of the woodland, the bearer of many a guilt,Though meseems for so goodly a woman it were all too ill a deedIn reward for the wood-wight's guesting to betray him in his need."So he took the hand of the woman and straightway led her inWhere days agone the Dwarf-kind would their deeds of smithying win:And he kindled the half-slaked embers, and gave her of his cheerAmid the gold and the silver, and the fight-won raiment dear;And soft was her voice, and she sung him sweet tales of yore agone,Till all his heart was softened; and the man was all alone,And in many wise she wooed him; so they parted not that night,Nor slept till the morrow morning, when the woods were waxen bright:And high above the tree-boughs shone the sister of the moon,And hushed were the water-ouzels with the coming of the noonWhen she stepped from the bed of Sigmund, and left the Dwarf's abode;And turned to the dwellings of men, and the ways where the earl-folk rode.But next morn from the house of the Goth-king the witch-wife went her waysWith gold and goods and silver, such store as a queen might praise.But no long while with Sigmund dwelt remembrance of that night;Amid his kingly longings and his many deeds of mightIt fled like the dove in the forest or the down upon the blast:Yet heavy and sad were the years, that even in suchwise passed,As here it is written aforetime.Thence were ten years worn byWhen unto that hidden river a man-child drew anigh,And he looked and beheld how Sigmund wrought on a helm of goldBy the crag and the stony dwelling where the Dwarf-kin wrought of old.Then the boy cried: "Thou art the wood-wight of whom my mother spake;Now will I come to thy dwelling."So the rough stream did he take,And the welter of the waters rose up to his chin and more;But so stark and strong he waded that he won the further shore:And he came and gazed on Sigmund: but the Volsung laughed, and said:"As fast thou runnest toward me as others in their dreadRun over the land and the water: what wilt thou, son of a king?"But the lad still gazed on Sigmund, and he said: "A wondrous thing!Here is the cave and the river, and all tokens of the place:But my mother Signy told me none might behold that face,And keep his flesh from quaking: but at thee I quake not aught:Sure I must journey further, lest her errand come to nought:Yet I would that my foster-father should be such a man as thou."But Sigmund answered and said: "Thou shalt bide in my dwelling now;And thou mayst wot full surely that thy mother's will is doneBy this token and no other, that thou lookedst on Volsung's sonAnd smiledst fair in his face: but tell me thy name and thy years:And what are the words of Signy that the son of the Goth-king bears?""Sinfiotli they call me," he said, "and ten summers have I seen;And this is the only word that I bear from Signy the Queen,That once more a man she sendeth the work of thine hands to speed,If he be of the Kings or the Gods thyself shalt know in thy need."So Sigmund looked on the youngling and his heart unto him yearned;But he thought: "Shall I pay the hire ere the worth of the work be earned?And what hath my heart to do to cherish Siggeir's son;A brand belike for the burning when the last of its work is done?"But there in the wild and the thicket those twain awhile abode,And on the lad laid Sigmund full many a weary load,And thrust him mid all dangers, and he bore all passing well,Where hardihood might help him; but his heart was fierce and fell;And ever said Sigmund the Volsung: The lad hath plenteous partIn the guile and malice of Siggeir, and in Signy's hardy heart:But why should I cherish and love him, since the end must come at last?Now a summer and winter and spring o'er those men of the wilds had pass'd.And summer was there again, when the Volsung spake on a day:"I will wend to the wood-deer's hunting, but thou at home shalt stay,And deal with the baking of bread against the even come."So he went and came on the hunting and brought the venison home,And the child, as ever his wont was, was glad of his coming back,And said: "Thou hast gotten us venison, and the bread shall nowise lack.""Yea," quoth Sigmund the Volsung, "hast thou kneaded the meal that was yonder?""Yea, and what other?" he said; "though therein forsooth was a wonder:For when I would handle the meal-sack therein was something quick,As if the life of an eel-grig were set in an ashen stick:But the meal must into the oven, since we were lacking bread,And all that is kneaded together, and the wonder is baked and dead."Then Sigmund laughed and answered: "Thou hast kneaded up thereinThe deadliest of all adders that is of the creeping kin:So tonight from the bread refrain thee, lest thy bane should come of it."For here, the tale of the elders doth men a marvel to wit,That such was the shaping of Sigmund among all earthly kings,That unhurt he handled adders and other deadly things,And might drink unscathed of venom: but Sinfiotli so was wrought,That no sting of creeping creatures would harm his body aught.But now full glad was Sigmund, and he let his love ariseFor the huge-limbed son of Signy with the fierce and eager eyes;And all deeds of the sword he learned him, and showed him feats of warWhere sea and forest mingle, and up from the ocean's shoreThe highway leads to the market, and men go up and down,And the spear-hedged wains of the merchants fare oft to the Goth-folk's town.Sweet then Sinfiotli deemed it to look on the bale-fires' light,And the bickering blood-reeds' tangle, and the fallow blades of fight.And in three years' space were his war-deeds far more than the deeds of a man:But dread was his face to behold ere the battle-play began,And grey and dreadful his face when the last of the battle sank.And so the years won over, and the joy of the woods they drank,And they gathered gold and silver, and plenteous outland goods.But they came to a house on a day in the uttermost part of the woodsAnd smote on the door and entered, when a long while no man bade;And lo, a gold-hung hall, and two men on the benches laidIn slumber as deep as the death; and gold rings great and fairThose sleepers bore on their bodies, and broidered southland gear,And over the head of each there hung a wolf-skin grey.Then the drift of a cloudy dream wrapt Sigmund's soul away,And his eyes were set on the wolf-skin, and long he gazed thereat,And remembered the words he uttered when erst on the beam he sat,That the Gods should miss a man in the utmost Day of Doom,And win a wolf in his stead; and unto his heart came homeThat thought, as he gazed on the wolf-skin and the other days waxed dim,And he gathered the thing in his hand, and did it over him;And in likewise did Sinfiotli as he saw his fosterer do.Then lo, a fearful wonder, for as very wolves they grewIn outward shape and semblance, and they howled out wolfish things,Like the grey dogs of the forest; though somewhat the hearts of kingsAbode in their bodies of beasts. Now sooth is the tale to tell,That the men in the fair-wrought raiment were kings' sons bound by a spellTo wend as wolves of the wild-wood, for each nine days of the ten,And to lie all spent for a season when they gat their shapes of men.So Sigmund and his fellow rush forth from the golden place;And though their kings' hearts bade them the backward way to traceUnto their Dwarf-wrought dwelling, and there abide the change,Yet their wolfish habit drave them wide through the wood to range,And draw nigh to the dwellings of men and fly upon the prey.And lo now, a band of hunters on the uttermost woodland way,And they spy those dogs of the forest, and fall on with the spear,Nor deemed that any other but woodland beasts they were,And that easy would be the battle: short is the tale to tell;For every man of the hunters amid the thicket fell.Then onwards fare those were-wolves, and unto the sea they turn,And their ravening hearts are heavy, and sore for the prey they yearn:And lo, in the last of the thicket a score of the chaffering men,And Sinfiotli was wild for the onset, but Sigmund was wearying thenFor the glimmering gold of his Dwarf-house, and he bade refrain from the folk,But wrath burned in the eyes of Sinfiotli, and forth from the thicket he broke;Then rose the axes aloft, and the swords flashed bright in the sun,And but little more it needed that the race of the Volsungs was done,And the folk of the Gods' begetting: but at last they quelled the war,And no man again of the sea-folk should ever sit by the oar.Now Sinfiotli fay weary and faint, but Sigmund howled over the dead,And wrath in his heart there gathered, and a dim thought wearied his headAnd his tangled wolfish wit, that might never understand;As though some God in his dreaming had wasted the work of his hand,And forgotten his craft of creation; then his wrath swelled up amainAnd he turned and fell on Sinfiotli, who had wrought the wrack and the baneAnd across the throat he tore him as his very mortal foeTill a cold dead corpse by the sea-strand his fosterling lay alow:Then wearier yet grew Sigmund, and the dim wit seemed to passFrom his heart grown cold and feeble; when lo, amid the grassThere came two weazles bickering, and one bit his mate by the head,Till she lay there dead before him: then he sorrowed over her dead:But no long while he abode there, but into the thicket he went,And the wolfish heart of Sigmund knew somewhat his intent:So he came again with a herb-leaf and laid it on his mate,And she rose up whole and living and no worser of estateThan ever she was aforetime, and the twain went merry away.Then swiftly rose up Sigmund from where his fosterling lay,And a long while searched the thicket, till that three-leaved herb he found,And he laid it on Sinfiotli, who rose up hale and soundAs ever he was in his life-days. But now in hate they hadThat hapless work of the witch-folk, and the skins that their bodies clad.So they turn their faces homeward and a weary way they go,Till they come to the hidden river, and the glimmering house they know.There now they abide in peace, and wend abroad no moreTill the last of the nine days perished, and the spell for a space was o'er,And they might cast their wolf-shapes: so they stood on their feet uprightGreat men again as aforetime, and they came forth into the lightAnd looked in each other's faces, and belike a change was thereSince they did on the bodies of wolves, and lay in the wood-wolves' lair,And they looked, and sore they wondered, and they both for speech did yearn.First then spake out Sinfiotli: "Sure I had a craft to learn,And thou hadst a lesson to teach, that I left the dwelling of kings,And came to the wood-wolves' dwelling; thou hast taught me many thingsBut the Gods have taught me more, and at last have abased us both,That of nought that lieth before us our hearts and our hands may be loth.Come then, how long shall I tarry till I fashion something great?Come, Master, and make me a master that I do the deeds of fate."Heavy was Sigmund's visage but fierce did his eyen glow,"This is the deed of thy mastery;—we twain shall slay my foe—And how if the foe were thy father?"—Then he telleth him Siggeir's tale:And saith: "Now think upon it; how shall thine heart availTo bear the curse that cometh if thy life endureth long—The man that slew his father and amended wrong with wrong?Yet if the Gods have made thee a man unlike all men,(For thou startest not, nor palest), can I forbear it then,To use the thing they have fashioned lest the Volsung seed should dieAnd unavenged King Volsung in his mound by the sea-strand lie?"Then loud laughed out Sinfiotli, and he said: "I wot indeedThat Signy is my mother, and her will I help at need:Is the fox of the King-folk my father, that adder of the brake,Who gave me never a blessing, and many a cursing spake?Yea, have I in sooth a father, save him that cherished my life,The Lord of the Helm of Terror, the King of the Flame of Strife?Lo now my hand is ready to strike what stroke thou wilt,For I am the sword of the Gods: and thine hand shall hold the hilt."Fierce glowed the eyes of King Sigmund, for he knew the time was comeWhen the curse King Siggeir fashioned at last shall seek him home:And of what shall follow after, be it evil days, or bliss,Or praise, or the cursing of all men,—the Gods shall see to this.
So wrought is the will of King Siggeir, and he weareth Odin's swordAnd it lies on his knees in the council and hath no other lord:And he sendeth earls o'er the sea-flood to take King Volsung's land,And those scattered and shepherdless sheep must come beneath his hand.And he holdeth the milk-white Signy as his handmaid and his wife.And nought but his will she doeth, nor raiseth a word of strife;So his heart is praising his wisdom, and he deems him of most availOf all the lords of the cunning that teacheth how to prevail.
Now again in a half-month's wearing goes Signy into the wild,And findeth her way by her wisdom to the dwelling of Volsung's child.It was e'en as a house of the Dwarfs, a rock, and a stony cave.In the heart of the midmost thicket by the hidden river's wave.There Signy found him watching how the white-head waters ran,And she said in her heart as she saw him that once more she had seen a man.His words were few and heavy, for seldom his sorrow slept,Yet ever his love went with them; and men say that Signy weptWhen she left that last of her kindred: yet wept she never moreAmid the earls of Siggeir, and as lovely as beforeWas her face to all men's deeming: nor aught it changed for ruth,Nor for fear nor any longing; and no man said for soothThat she ever laughed thereafter till the day of her death was come.
So is Volsung's seed abiding in a rough and narrow home;And wargear he gat him enough from the slaying of earls of men,And gold as much as he would; though indeed but now and againHe fell on the men of the merchants, lest, wax he overbold,The tale of the wood-abider too oft to the king should be told.Alone in the woods he abided, and a master of masters was heIn the craft of the smithying folk; and whiles would the hunter see,Belated amid the thicket, his forge's glimmering light,And the boldest of all the fishers would hear his hammer benight.Then dim waxed the tale of the Volsungs, and the word mid the wood-folk roseThat a King of the Giants had wakened from amidst the stone-hedged close,Where they slept in the heart of the mountains, and had come adown to dwellIn the cave whence the Dwarfs were departed, and they said: It is aught but wellTo come anigh to his house-door, or wander wide in his woods?For a tyrannous lord he is, and a lover of gold and of goods.
So win the long years over, and still sitteth Signy thereBeside the King of the Goth-folk, and is waxen no less fair,And men and maids hath she gotten who are ready to work her will,For the worship of her fairness, and remembrance of her ill.
So it fell on a morn of springtide, as Sigmund sat on the swardBy that ancient house of the Dwarf-kind and fashioned a golden sword?By the side of the hidden river he saw a damsel stand,And a manchild of ten summers was holding by her hand.And she cried:"O Forest-dweller! harm not the child nor me,For I bear a word of Signy's, and thus she saith to thee:'I send thee a man to foster; if his heart be good at needThen may he help thy workday; but hearken my words and heed;If thou deem that his heart shall avail not, thy work is over-greatThat thou weary thy heart with such-like: let him wend the ways of his fate.'"
And no more word spake the maiden, but turned and gat her gone,And there by the side of the river the child abode alone:But Sigmund stood on his feet, and across the river he went.For he knew how the child was Siggeir's, and of Signy's fell intent.So he took the lad on his shoulder, and bade him hold his sword,And waded back to his dwelling across the rushing ford:But the youngling fell a prattling, and asked of this and that,As above the rattle of waters on Sigmund's shoulder he sat!And Sigmund deemed in his heart that the boy would be bold enough.So he fostered him there in the woodland in life full hard and roughFor the space of three months' wearing; and the lad was deft and strong,Yet his sight was a grief to Sigmund because of his father's wrong.
On a morn to the son of King Siggeir Sigmund the Volsung said:"I go to the hunting of deer, bide thou and bake our breadAgainst I bring the venison."So forth he fared on his way,And came again with the quarry about the noon of day;Quoth he: "Is the morn's work done?" But the boy said nought for a space,And all white he was and quaking as he looked on Sigmund's face.
"Tell me, O Son of the Goth-king," quoth Sigmund, "how thou hast fared?Forsooth, is the baking of bread so mighty a thing to be dared?"
Quoth the lad: "I went to the meal-sack, and therein was something quick,And it moved, and I feared for the serpent, like a winter ashen stickThat I saw on the stone last even: so I durst not deal with the thing."
Loud Sigmund laughed, and answered: "I have heard of that son of a king,Who might not be scared from his bread for all the worms of the land."And therewith he went to the meal-sack and thrust therein his hand,And drew forth an ash-grey adder, and a deadly worm it was:Then he went to the door of the cave and set it down in the grass,While the King's son quaked and quivered: then he drew forth his sword from the sheath,And said:"Now fearest thou this, that men call the serpent of death?"
Then said the son of King Siggeir: "I am young as yet for the war,Yet e'en such a blade shall I carry ere many a month be o'er."
Then abroad went the King in the wind, and leaned on his naked swordAnd stood there many an hour, and mused on Signy's word.But at last when the moon was arisen, and the undark night begun,He sheathed the sword and cried: "Come forth, King Siggeir's son,Thou shalt wend from out of the wild-wood and no more will I foster thee."
Forth came the son of Siggeir, and quaked his face to see,But thereof nought Sigmund noted, but bade him wend with him.So they went through the summer night-tide by many a wood-way dim,Till they came to a certain wood-lawn, and Sigmund lingered there,And spake as his feet brushed o'er it: "The June flowers blossom fair."So they came to the skirts of the forest, and the meadows of the neat,And the earliest wind of dawning blew over them soft and sweet:There stayed Sigmund the Volsung, and said:"King Siggeir's son,Bide here till the birds are singing, and the day is well begun;Then go to the house of the Goth-king, and find thou Signy the Queen,And tell unto no man else the things thou hast heard and seen:But to her shalt thou tell what thou wilt, and say this word withal:'Mother, I come from the wild-wood, and he saith, whatever befalAlone will I abide there, nor have such fosterlings;For the sons of the Gods may help me, but never the sons of Kings.'Go, then, with this word in thy mouth—or do thou after thy fate,And, if thou wilt, betray me!—and repent it early and late."
Then he turned his back on the acres, and away to the woodland strode;But the boy scarce bided the sunrise ere he went the homeward road;So he came to the house of the Goth-kings, and spake with Signy the Queen,Nor told he to any other the things he had heard and seen,For the heart of a king's son had he.But Signy hearkened his word;And long she pondered and said: "What is it my heart hath feared?And how shall it be with earth's people if the kin of the Volsungs die,And King Volsung unavenged in his mound by the sea-strand lie?I have given my best and bravest, as my heart's blood I would give,And my heart and my fame and my body, that the name of Volsung might live.Lo the first gift cast aback: and how shall it be with the last,——If I find out the gift for the giving before the hour be passed?"
Long while she mused and pondered while day was thrust on day,Till the king and the earls of the strangers seemed shades of the dreamtide greyAnd gone seemed all earth's people, save that woman mid the goldAnd that man in the depths of the forest in the cave of the Dwarfs of old.And once in the dark she murmured: "Where then was the ancient songThat the Gods were but twin-born once, and deemed it nothing wrongTo mingle for the world's sake, whence had the Æsir birth,And the Vanir and the Dwarf-kind, and all the folk of earth?"
Now amidst those days that she pondered came a wife of the witch-folk there,A woman young and lovesome, and shaped exceeding fair,And she spake with Signy the Queen, and told her of deeds of her craft,And how the might was with her her soul from her body to waftAnd to take the shape of another and give her fashion in turn.Fierce then in the heart of Signy a sudden flame 'gan burn,And the eyes of her soul saw all things, like the blind, whom the world's last fireHath healed in one passing moment 'twixt his death and his desire.And she thought: "Alone I will bear it; alone I will take the crime;On me alone be the shaming, and the cry of the coming time.Yea, and he for the life is fated and the help of many a folk,And I for the death and the rest, and deliverance from the yoke."
Then wan as the midnight moon she answered the woman and spake:"Thou art come to the Goth-queen's dwelling, wilt thou do so much for my sake,And for many a pound of silver and for rings of the ruddy gold,As to change thy body for mine ere the night is waxen old?"
Nought the witch-wife fair gainsaid it, and they went to the bower aloftAnd hand in hand and alone they sung the spell-song soft:Till Signy looked on her guest, and lo, the face of a queenWith the steadfast eyes of grey, that so many a grief had seen:But the guest held forth a mirror, and Signy shrank abackFrom the laughing lips and the eyes, and the hair of crispy black,But though she shuddered and sickened, the false face changed no whit;But ruddy and white it blossomed and the smiles played over it;And the hands were ready to cling, and beckoning lamps were the eyes,And the light feet longed for the dance, and the lips for laughter and lies.
So that eve in the mid-hall's high-seat was the shape of Signy the Queen,While swiftly the feet of the witch-wife brushed over the moonlit green,But the soul mid the gleam of the torches, her thought was of gain and of gold;And the soul of the wind-driven woman, swift-foot in the moonlight cold,Her thoughts were of men's lives' changing, and the uttermost ending of earth,And the day when death should be dead, and the new sun's nightless birth.
Men say that about that midnight King Sigmund wakened and heardThe voice of a soft-speeched woman, shrill-sweet as a dawning bird;So he rose, and a woman indeed he saw by the door of the caveWith her raiment wet to her midmost, as though with the river-wave:And he cried: "What wilt thou, what wilt thou? be thou womankind or fay,Here is no good abiding, wend forth upon thy way!"
She said: "I am nought but a woman, a maid of the earl-folk's kin:And I went by the skirts of the woodland to the house of my sister to win,And have strayed from the way benighted: and I fear the wolves and the wildBy the glimmering of thy torchlight from afar was I beguiled.Ah, slay me not on thy threshold, nor send me back againThrough the rattling waves of thy ford, that I crossed in terror and pain;Drive me not to the night and the darkness, for the wolves of the wood to devour.I am weak and thou art mighty: I will go at the dawning hour."
So Sigmund looked in her face and saw that she was fair;And he said: "Nay, nought will I harm thee, and thou mayst harbour here,God wot if thou fear'st not me, I have nought to fear thy face:Though this house be the terror of men-folk, thou shalt find it as safe a placeAs though I were nought but thy brother; and then mayst thou tell, if thou wilt,Where dwelleth the dread of the woodland, the bearer of many a guilt,Though meseems for so goodly a woman it were all too ill a deedIn reward for the wood-wight's guesting to betray him in his need."
So he took the hand of the woman and straightway led her inWhere days agone the Dwarf-kind would their deeds of smithying win:And he kindled the half-slaked embers, and gave her of his cheerAmid the gold and the silver, and the fight-won raiment dear;And soft was her voice, and she sung him sweet tales of yore agone,Till all his heart was softened; and the man was all alone,And in many wise she wooed him; so they parted not that night,Nor slept till the morrow morning, when the woods were waxen bright:And high above the tree-boughs shone the sister of the moon,And hushed were the water-ouzels with the coming of the noonWhen she stepped from the bed of Sigmund, and left the Dwarf's abode;And turned to the dwellings of men, and the ways where the earl-folk rode.But next morn from the house of the Goth-king the witch-wife went her waysWith gold and goods and silver, such store as a queen might praise.
But no long while with Sigmund dwelt remembrance of that night;Amid his kingly longings and his many deeds of mightIt fled like the dove in the forest or the down upon the blast:Yet heavy and sad were the years, that even in suchwise passed,As here it is written aforetime.Thence were ten years worn byWhen unto that hidden river a man-child drew anigh,And he looked and beheld how Sigmund wrought on a helm of goldBy the crag and the stony dwelling where the Dwarf-kin wrought of old.Then the boy cried: "Thou art the wood-wight of whom my mother spake;Now will I come to thy dwelling."So the rough stream did he take,And the welter of the waters rose up to his chin and more;But so stark and strong he waded that he won the further shore:And he came and gazed on Sigmund: but the Volsung laughed, and said:"As fast thou runnest toward me as others in their dreadRun over the land and the water: what wilt thou, son of a king?"
But the lad still gazed on Sigmund, and he said: "A wondrous thing!Here is the cave and the river, and all tokens of the place:But my mother Signy told me none might behold that face,And keep his flesh from quaking: but at thee I quake not aught:Sure I must journey further, lest her errand come to nought:Yet I would that my foster-father should be such a man as thou."
But Sigmund answered and said: "Thou shalt bide in my dwelling now;And thou mayst wot full surely that thy mother's will is doneBy this token and no other, that thou lookedst on Volsung's sonAnd smiledst fair in his face: but tell me thy name and thy years:And what are the words of Signy that the son of the Goth-king bears?"
"Sinfiotli they call me," he said, "and ten summers have I seen;And this is the only word that I bear from Signy the Queen,That once more a man she sendeth the work of thine hands to speed,If he be of the Kings or the Gods thyself shalt know in thy need."
So Sigmund looked on the youngling and his heart unto him yearned;But he thought: "Shall I pay the hire ere the worth of the work be earned?And what hath my heart to do to cherish Siggeir's son;A brand belike for the burning when the last of its work is done?"
But there in the wild and the thicket those twain awhile abode,And on the lad laid Sigmund full many a weary load,And thrust him mid all dangers, and he bore all passing well,Where hardihood might help him; but his heart was fierce and fell;And ever said Sigmund the Volsung: The lad hath plenteous partIn the guile and malice of Siggeir, and in Signy's hardy heart:But why should I cherish and love him, since the end must come at last?
Now a summer and winter and spring o'er those men of the wilds had pass'd.And summer was there again, when the Volsung spake on a day:"I will wend to the wood-deer's hunting, but thou at home shalt stay,And deal with the baking of bread against the even come."
So he went and came on the hunting and brought the venison home,And the child, as ever his wont was, was glad of his coming back,And said: "Thou hast gotten us venison, and the bread shall nowise lack."
"Yea," quoth Sigmund the Volsung, "hast thou kneaded the meal that was yonder?""Yea, and what other?" he said; "though therein forsooth was a wonder:For when I would handle the meal-sack therein was something quick,As if the life of an eel-grig were set in an ashen stick:But the meal must into the oven, since we were lacking bread,And all that is kneaded together, and the wonder is baked and dead."
Then Sigmund laughed and answered: "Thou hast kneaded up thereinThe deadliest of all adders that is of the creeping kin:So tonight from the bread refrain thee, lest thy bane should come of it."
For here, the tale of the elders doth men a marvel to wit,That such was the shaping of Sigmund among all earthly kings,That unhurt he handled adders and other deadly things,And might drink unscathed of venom: but Sinfiotli so was wrought,That no sting of creeping creatures would harm his body aught.
But now full glad was Sigmund, and he let his love ariseFor the huge-limbed son of Signy with the fierce and eager eyes;And all deeds of the sword he learned him, and showed him feats of warWhere sea and forest mingle, and up from the ocean's shoreThe highway leads to the market, and men go up and down,And the spear-hedged wains of the merchants fare oft to the Goth-folk's town.Sweet then Sinfiotli deemed it to look on the bale-fires' light,And the bickering blood-reeds' tangle, and the fallow blades of fight.And in three years' space were his war-deeds far more than the deeds of a man:But dread was his face to behold ere the battle-play began,And grey and dreadful his face when the last of the battle sank.And so the years won over, and the joy of the woods they drank,And they gathered gold and silver, and plenteous outland goods.
But they came to a house on a day in the uttermost part of the woodsAnd smote on the door and entered, when a long while no man bade;And lo, a gold-hung hall, and two men on the benches laidIn slumber as deep as the death; and gold rings great and fairThose sleepers bore on their bodies, and broidered southland gear,And over the head of each there hung a wolf-skin grey.
Then the drift of a cloudy dream wrapt Sigmund's soul away,And his eyes were set on the wolf-skin, and long he gazed thereat,And remembered the words he uttered when erst on the beam he sat,That the Gods should miss a man in the utmost Day of Doom,And win a wolf in his stead; and unto his heart came homeThat thought, as he gazed on the wolf-skin and the other days waxed dim,And he gathered the thing in his hand, and did it over him;And in likewise did Sinfiotli as he saw his fosterer do.Then lo, a fearful wonder, for as very wolves they grewIn outward shape and semblance, and they howled out wolfish things,Like the grey dogs of the forest; though somewhat the hearts of kingsAbode in their bodies of beasts. Now sooth is the tale to tell,That the men in the fair-wrought raiment were kings' sons bound by a spellTo wend as wolves of the wild-wood, for each nine days of the ten,And to lie all spent for a season when they gat their shapes of men.
So Sigmund and his fellow rush forth from the golden place;And though their kings' hearts bade them the backward way to traceUnto their Dwarf-wrought dwelling, and there abide the change,Yet their wolfish habit drave them wide through the wood to range,And draw nigh to the dwellings of men and fly upon the prey.
And lo now, a band of hunters on the uttermost woodland way,And they spy those dogs of the forest, and fall on with the spear,Nor deemed that any other but woodland beasts they were,And that easy would be the battle: short is the tale to tell;For every man of the hunters amid the thicket fell.
Then onwards fare those were-wolves, and unto the sea they turn,And their ravening hearts are heavy, and sore for the prey they yearn:And lo, in the last of the thicket a score of the chaffering men,And Sinfiotli was wild for the onset, but Sigmund was wearying thenFor the glimmering gold of his Dwarf-house, and he bade refrain from the folk,But wrath burned in the eyes of Sinfiotli, and forth from the thicket he broke;Then rose the axes aloft, and the swords flashed bright in the sun,And but little more it needed that the race of the Volsungs was done,And the folk of the Gods' begetting: but at last they quelled the war,And no man again of the sea-folk should ever sit by the oar.
Now Sinfiotli fay weary and faint, but Sigmund howled over the dead,And wrath in his heart there gathered, and a dim thought wearied his headAnd his tangled wolfish wit, that might never understand;As though some God in his dreaming had wasted the work of his hand,And forgotten his craft of creation; then his wrath swelled up amainAnd he turned and fell on Sinfiotli, who had wrought the wrack and the baneAnd across the throat he tore him as his very mortal foeTill a cold dead corpse by the sea-strand his fosterling lay alow:Then wearier yet grew Sigmund, and the dim wit seemed to passFrom his heart grown cold and feeble; when lo, amid the grassThere came two weazles bickering, and one bit his mate by the head,Till she lay there dead before him: then he sorrowed over her dead:But no long while he abode there, but into the thicket he went,And the wolfish heart of Sigmund knew somewhat his intent:So he came again with a herb-leaf and laid it on his mate,And she rose up whole and living and no worser of estateThan ever she was aforetime, and the twain went merry away.
Then swiftly rose up Sigmund from where his fosterling lay,And a long while searched the thicket, till that three-leaved herb he found,And he laid it on Sinfiotli, who rose up hale and soundAs ever he was in his life-days. But now in hate they hadThat hapless work of the witch-folk, and the skins that their bodies clad.So they turn their faces homeward and a weary way they go,Till they come to the hidden river, and the glimmering house they know.
There now they abide in peace, and wend abroad no moreTill the last of the nine days perished, and the spell for a space was o'er,And they might cast their wolf-shapes: so they stood on their feet uprightGreat men again as aforetime, and they came forth into the lightAnd looked in each other's faces, and belike a change was thereSince they did on the bodies of wolves, and lay in the wood-wolves' lair,And they looked, and sore they wondered, and they both for speech did yearn.
First then spake out Sinfiotli: "Sure I had a craft to learn,And thou hadst a lesson to teach, that I left the dwelling of kings,And came to the wood-wolves' dwelling; thou hast taught me many thingsBut the Gods have taught me more, and at last have abased us both,That of nought that lieth before us our hearts and our hands may be loth.Come then, how long shall I tarry till I fashion something great?Come, Master, and make me a master that I do the deeds of fate."
Heavy was Sigmund's visage but fierce did his eyen glow,"This is the deed of thy mastery;—we twain shall slay my foe—And how if the foe were thy father?"—Then he telleth him Siggeir's tale:And saith: "Now think upon it; how shall thine heart availTo bear the curse that cometh if thy life endureth long—The man that slew his father and amended wrong with wrong?Yet if the Gods have made thee a man unlike all men,(For thou startest not, nor palest), can I forbear it then,To use the thing they have fashioned lest the Volsung seed should dieAnd unavenged King Volsung in his mound by the sea-strand lie?"
Then loud laughed out Sinfiotli, and he said: "I wot indeedThat Signy is my mother, and her will I help at need:Is the fox of the King-folk my father, that adder of the brake,Who gave me never a blessing, and many a cursing spake?Yea, have I in sooth a father, save him that cherished my life,The Lord of the Helm of Terror, the King of the Flame of Strife?Lo now my hand is ready to strike what stroke thou wilt,For I am the sword of the Gods: and thine hand shall hold the hilt."
Fierce glowed the eyes of King Sigmund, for he knew the time was comeWhen the curse King Siggeir fashioned at last shall seek him home:And of what shall follow after, be it evil days, or bliss,Or praise, or the cursing of all men,—the Gods shall see to this.