Now waxeth the son of Sigmund in might and goodliness,And soft the days win over, and all men his beauty bless.But amidst the summer season was the Isle-queen Hiordis wedTo King Elf the son of the Helper, and fair their life-days sped.Peace lay on the land for ever, and the fields gave good increase,And there was Sigurd waxing mid the plenty and the peace.Now hath the child grown greater, and is keen and eager of witAnd full of understanding, and oft hath he joy to sitAmid talk of weighty matters when the wise men meet for speech;And joyous he is moreover and blithe and kind with each.But Regin the wise craftsmaster heedeth the youngling well,And before the Kings he cometh, and saith such words to tell."I have fostered thy youth, King Elf, and thine O Helper of men,And ye wot that such a master no king shall see again;And now would I foster Sigurd; for, though he be none of thy blood,Mine heart of his days that shall be speaketh abundant good."Then spake the Helper of men-folk: "Yea, do herein thy will:For thou art the Master of Masters, and hast learned me all my skill:But think how bright is this youngling, and thy guile from him withhold;For this craft of thine hath shown me that thy heart is grim and cold,Though three men's lives thrice over thy wisdom might not learn;And I love this son of Sigmund, and mine heart to him doth yearn."Then Regin laughed, and answered: "I doled out cunning to thee;But nought with him will I measure: yet no cold-heart shall he be,Nor grim, nor evil-natured: for whate'er my will might frame,Gone forth is the word of the Norns, that abideth ever the same.And now, despite my cunning, how deem ye I shall die?"And they said he would live as he listed, and at last in peace should lieWhen he listed to live no longer; so mighty and wise he was.But again he laughed and answered: "One day it shall come to pass,That a beardless youth shall slay me: I know the fateful doom;But nought may I withstand it, as it heaves up dim through the gloom."So is Sigurd now with Regin, and he learns him many things;Yea, all save the craft of battle, that men learned the sons of kings:The smithying sword and war-coat; the carving runes aright;The tongues of many countries, and soft speech for men's delight;The dealing with the harp-strings, and the winding ways of song.So wise of heart waxed Sigurd, and of body wondrous strong:And he chased the deer of the forest, and many a wood-wolf slew,And many a bull of the mountains: and the desert dales he knew,And the heaths that the wind sweeps over; and seaward would he fare,Far out from the outer skerries, and alone the sea-wights dare.
Now waxeth the son of Sigmund in might and goodliness,And soft the days win over, and all men his beauty bless.But amidst the summer season was the Isle-queen Hiordis wedTo King Elf the son of the Helper, and fair their life-days sped.Peace lay on the land for ever, and the fields gave good increase,And there was Sigurd waxing mid the plenty and the peace.Now hath the child grown greater, and is keen and eager of witAnd full of understanding, and oft hath he joy to sitAmid talk of weighty matters when the wise men meet for speech;And joyous he is moreover and blithe and kind with each.But Regin the wise craftsmaster heedeth the youngling well,And before the Kings he cometh, and saith such words to tell.
"I have fostered thy youth, King Elf, and thine O Helper of men,And ye wot that such a master no king shall see again;And now would I foster Sigurd; for, though he be none of thy blood,Mine heart of his days that shall be speaketh abundant good."
Then spake the Helper of men-folk: "Yea, do herein thy will:For thou art the Master of Masters, and hast learned me all my skill:But think how bright is this youngling, and thy guile from him withhold;For this craft of thine hath shown me that thy heart is grim and cold,Though three men's lives thrice over thy wisdom might not learn;And I love this son of Sigmund, and mine heart to him doth yearn."
Then Regin laughed, and answered: "I doled out cunning to thee;But nought with him will I measure: yet no cold-heart shall he be,Nor grim, nor evil-natured: for whate'er my will might frame,Gone forth is the word of the Norns, that abideth ever the same.And now, despite my cunning, how deem ye I shall die?"
And they said he would live as he listed, and at last in peace should lieWhen he listed to live no longer; so mighty and wise he was.
But again he laughed and answered: "One day it shall come to pass,That a beardless youth shall slay me: I know the fateful doom;But nought may I withstand it, as it heaves up dim through the gloom."
So is Sigurd now with Regin, and he learns him many things;Yea, all save the craft of battle, that men learned the sons of kings:The smithying sword and war-coat; the carving runes aright;The tongues of many countries, and soft speech for men's delight;The dealing with the harp-strings, and the winding ways of song.So wise of heart waxed Sigurd, and of body wondrous strong:And he chased the deer of the forest, and many a wood-wolf slew,And many a bull of the mountains: and the desert dales he knew,And the heaths that the wind sweeps over; and seaward would he fare,Far out from the outer skerries, and alone the sea-wights dare.
One day did Regin tell Sigurd of deeds done in the past by kings both bold and wise, and the lad longed, too, to do the like, and his bright eyes glowed with desire. And Regin told him that he should follow his Volsung fathers and roam far and wide, leaving the peace-lovers and home-abiders who had cherished his youth.
This roused Sigurd's wrath, for he would have nought said against those who had reared him, but Regin bade him ask for one of the horses of Gripir, and banished his anger by a song of the deeds of the Choosers of the Slain. Before the song was finished Sigurd went to King Elf and asked that he might have authority to seek a horse from King Gripir.
Then smiled King Elf, and answered: "A long way wilt thou ride,To where unpeace and troubles and the griefs of the soul abide,Yea unto the death at the last: yet surely shall thou winThe praise of many a people: so have thy way herein.Forsooth no more may we hold thee than the hazel copse may holdThe sun of the early dawning, that turneth it all unto gold."Then sweetly Sigurd thanked them; and through the night he layMid dreams of many a matter till the dawn was on the way;Then he shook the sleep from off him, and that dwelling of Kings he leftAnd wended his ways unto Gripir. On a crag from the mountain reftWas the house of the old King builded; and a mighty house it was,Though few were the sons of men that over its threshold would pass:But the wild ernes cried about it, and the vultures toward it flew,And the winds from the heart of the mountains searched every chamber through,And about were meads wide-spreading; and many a beast thereon,Yea some that are men-folk's terror, their sport and pasture won.So into the hall went Sigurd; and amidst was Gripir setIn a chair of the sea-beast's tooth; and his sweeping beard nigh metThe floor that was green as the ocean, and his gown was of mountain-gold,And the kingly staff in his hand was knobbed with the crystal cold.Now the first of the twain spake Gripir: "Hail King with the eyen bright!Nought needest thou show the token, for I know of thy life and thy light.And no need to tell of thy message; it was wafted here on the wind,That thou wouldst be coming today a horse in my meadow to find:And strong must he be for the bearing of those deeds of thine that shall be.Now choose thou of all the way-wearers that are running loose in my lea."Then again gat Sigurd outward, and adown the steep he ranAnd unto the horse-fed meadow: but lo, a grey-clad man,One-eyed and seeming ancient, there met him by the way:And he spake: "Thou hastest, Sigurd; yet tarry till I sayA word that shall well bestead thee: for I know of these mountains wellAnd all the lea of Gripir, and the beasts that thereon dwell.""Wouldst thou have red gold for thy tidings? art thou Gripir's horse-herd then?Nay sure, for thy face is shining like the battle-eager menMy master Regin tells of: and I love thy cloud-grey gown,And thy visage gleams above it like a thing my dreams have known.""Nay whiles have I heeded the horse-kind," then spake that elder of days,"And sooth do the sages say, when the beasts of my breeding they praise.There is one thereof in the meadow, and, wouldst thou cull him out,Thou shalt follow an elder's counsel, who hath brought strange things about,Who hath known thy father aforetime, and other kings of thy kin."So Sigurd said, "I am ready; and what is the deed to win?"He said: "We shall drive the horses adown to the water-side,That cometh forth from the mountains, and note what next shall betide."Then the twain sped on together, and they drave the horses onTill they came to a rushing river, a water wide and wan;And the white mews hovered o'er it; but none might hear their cryFor the rush and the rattle of waters, as the downlong flood swept by.So the whole herd took the river and strove the stream to stem,And many a brave steed was there; but the flood o'ermastered them:And some, it swept them down-ward, and some won back to bank,Some, caught by the net of the eddies, in the swirling hubbub sank;But one of all swam over, and they saw his mane of greyToss over the flowery meadows, a bright thing far away:Wide then he wheeled about them, then took the stream againAnd with the waves' white horses mingled his cloudy mane.Then spake the elder of days: "Hearken now, Sigurd, and hear;Time was when I gave thy father a gift thou shalt yet deem dear,And this horse is a gift of my giving:—heed nought where thou mayst ride:For I have seen thy fathers in a shining house abide,And on earth they thought of its threshold, and the gifts I had to give;Nor prayed for a little longer, and a little longer to live."Then forth he strode to the mountains, and fain was Sigurd now.To ask him many a matter: but dim did his bright shape grow,As a man from the litten doorway fades into the dusk of night;And the sun in the high-noon shone, and the world was exceeding bright.So Sigurd turned to the river and stood by the wave-wet strand,And the grey horse swims to his feet and lightly leaps aland,And the youngling looks upon him, and deems none beside him good.And indeed, as tells the story, he was come of Sleipnir's blood,The tireless horse of Odin: cloud-grey he was of hue,And it seemed as Sigurd backed him that Sigmund's son he knew,So glad he went beneath him. Then the youngling's song aroseAs he brushed through the noontide blossoms of Gripir's mighty close,Then he singeth the song of Greyfell, the horse that Odin gave,Who swam through the sweeping river, and back through the toppling wave.
Then smiled King Elf, and answered: "A long way wilt thou ride,To where unpeace and troubles and the griefs of the soul abide,Yea unto the death at the last: yet surely shall thou winThe praise of many a people: so have thy way herein.Forsooth no more may we hold thee than the hazel copse may holdThe sun of the early dawning, that turneth it all unto gold."
Then sweetly Sigurd thanked them; and through the night he layMid dreams of many a matter till the dawn was on the way;Then he shook the sleep from off him, and that dwelling of Kings he leftAnd wended his ways unto Gripir. On a crag from the mountain reftWas the house of the old King builded; and a mighty house it was,Though few were the sons of men that over its threshold would pass:But the wild ernes cried about it, and the vultures toward it flew,And the winds from the heart of the mountains searched every chamber through,And about were meads wide-spreading; and many a beast thereon,Yea some that are men-folk's terror, their sport and pasture won.
So into the hall went Sigurd; and amidst was Gripir setIn a chair of the sea-beast's tooth; and his sweeping beard nigh metThe floor that was green as the ocean, and his gown was of mountain-gold,And the kingly staff in his hand was knobbed with the crystal cold.
Now the first of the twain spake Gripir: "Hail King with the eyen bright!Nought needest thou show the token, for I know of thy life and thy light.And no need to tell of thy message; it was wafted here on the wind,That thou wouldst be coming today a horse in my meadow to find:And strong must he be for the bearing of those deeds of thine that shall be.Now choose thou of all the way-wearers that are running loose in my lea."
Then again gat Sigurd outward, and adown the steep he ranAnd unto the horse-fed meadow: but lo, a grey-clad man,One-eyed and seeming ancient, there met him by the way:And he spake: "Thou hastest, Sigurd; yet tarry till I sayA word that shall well bestead thee: for I know of these mountains wellAnd all the lea of Gripir, and the beasts that thereon dwell."
"Wouldst thou have red gold for thy tidings? art thou Gripir's horse-herd then?Nay sure, for thy face is shining like the battle-eager menMy master Regin tells of: and I love thy cloud-grey gown,And thy visage gleams above it like a thing my dreams have known."
"Nay whiles have I heeded the horse-kind," then spake that elder of days,"And sooth do the sages say, when the beasts of my breeding they praise.There is one thereof in the meadow, and, wouldst thou cull him out,Thou shalt follow an elder's counsel, who hath brought strange things about,Who hath known thy father aforetime, and other kings of thy kin."
So Sigurd said, "I am ready; and what is the deed to win?"He said: "We shall drive the horses adown to the water-side,That cometh forth from the mountains, and note what next shall betide."
Then the twain sped on together, and they drave the horses onTill they came to a rushing river, a water wide and wan;And the white mews hovered o'er it; but none might hear their cryFor the rush and the rattle of waters, as the downlong flood swept by.So the whole herd took the river and strove the stream to stem,And many a brave steed was there; but the flood o'ermastered them:And some, it swept them down-ward, and some won back to bank,Some, caught by the net of the eddies, in the swirling hubbub sank;But one of all swam over, and they saw his mane of greyToss over the flowery meadows, a bright thing far away:Wide then he wheeled about them, then took the stream againAnd with the waves' white horses mingled his cloudy mane.
Then spake the elder of days: "Hearken now, Sigurd, and hear;Time was when I gave thy father a gift thou shalt yet deem dear,And this horse is a gift of my giving:—heed nought where thou mayst ride:For I have seen thy fathers in a shining house abide,And on earth they thought of its threshold, and the gifts I had to give;Nor prayed for a little longer, and a little longer to live."
Then forth he strode to the mountains, and fain was Sigurd now.To ask him many a matter: but dim did his bright shape grow,As a man from the litten doorway fades into the dusk of night;And the sun in the high-noon shone, and the world was exceeding bright.
So Sigurd turned to the river and stood by the wave-wet strand,And the grey horse swims to his feet and lightly leaps aland,And the youngling looks upon him, and deems none beside him good.And indeed, as tells the story, he was come of Sleipnir's blood,The tireless horse of Odin: cloud-grey he was of hue,And it seemed as Sigurd backed him that Sigmund's son he knew,So glad he went beneath him. Then the youngling's song aroseAs he brushed through the noontide blossoms of Gripir's mighty close,Then he singeth the song of Greyfell, the horse that Odin gave,Who swam through the sweeping river, and back through the toppling wave.
Regin telleth Sigurd of his kindred, and of the Gold that was accursed from ancient days.
Now yet the days pass over, and more than words may tellGrows Sigurd strong and lovely, and all children love him well.But oft he looks on the mountains and many a time is fainTo know of what lies beyond them, and learn of the wide world's gain.Now again it happed on a day that he sat in Regin's hallAnd hearkened many tidings of what had chanced to fall,And of kings that sought their kingdoms o'er many a waste and wild,And at last saith the crafty master:"Thou art King Sigmund's child:Wilt thou wait till these kings of the carles shall die in a little land,Or wilt thou serve their sons and carry the cup to their hand;Or abide in vain for the day that never shall come about,When their banners shall dance in the wind and shake to the war-gods' shout?"Then Sigurd answered and said: "Nought such do I look to be.But thou, a deedless man, too much thou eggest me:And these folk are good and trusty, and the land is lovely and sweet,And in rest and in peace it lieth as the floor of Odin's feet:Yet I know that the world is wide, and filled with deeds unwrought;And for e'en such work was I fashioned, lest the songcraft come to nought."Then answered Regin the guileful: "The deed is ready to hand,Yet holding my peace is the best, for well thou lovest the land;And thou lovest thy life moreover, and the peace of thy youthful days,And why should the full-fed feaster his hand to the rye-bread raise?Yet they say that Sigmund begat thee and he looked to fashion a man.Fear nought; he lieth quiet in his mound by the sea-waves wan."So shone the eyes of Sigurd, that the shield against him hungCast back their light as the sunbeams; but his voice to the roof-tree rung:"Tell me, thou Master of Masters, what deed is the deed I shall do?Nor mock thou the son of Sigmund lest the day of his birth thou rue."Then answered the Master of Sleight: "The deed is the righting of wrong,And the quelling a bale and a sorrow that the world hath endured o'erlong,And the winning a treasure untold, that shall make thee more than the kings;Thereof is the Helm of Aweing, the wonder of earthly things,And thereof is its very fellow, the War-Coat all of gold,That has not its like in the heavens, nor has earth of its fellow told."Then answered Sigurd the Volsung: "How long hereof hast thou known?And what unto thee is this treasure, that thou seemest to give as thine own?""Alas!" quoth the smithying master, "it is mine, yet none of mine,Since my heart herein avails not, and my hand is frail and fine—It is long since I first came hither to seek a man for my need;For I saw by a glimmering light that hence would spring the deed,And many a deed of the world: but the generations passed,And the first of the days was as near to the end that I sought as the last;Till I looked on thine eyes in the cradle: and now I deem through thee,That the end of my days of waiting, and the end of my woes shall be."Then Sigurd awhile was silent; but at last he answered and said:"Thou shalt have thy will and the treasure, and shalt take the curse on thine headIf a curse the gold enwrappeth: but the deed will I surely do,For today the dreams of my childhood hath bloomed in my heart anew:And I long to look on the world and the glory of the earthAnd to deal in the dealings of men, and garner the harvest of worth.But tell me, thou Master of Masters, where lieth this measureless wealth;Is it guarded by swords of the earl-folk, or kept by cunning and stealth?Is it over the main sea's darkness, or beyond the mountain wall?Or e'en in these peaceful acres anigh to the hands of all?"Then Regin answered sweetly: "Hereof must a tale be told:Bide sitting, thou son of Sigmund, on the heap of unwrought gold,And hearken of wondrous matters, and of things unheard, unsaid,And deeds of my beholding ere the first of Kings was made."And first ye shall know of a sooth, that I never was born of the raceWhich the masters of God-home have made to cover the fair earth's face;But I come of the Dwarfs departed; and fair was the earth whileomeEre the short-lived thralls of the Gods amidst its dales were come."It was Reidmar the Ancient begat me; and now was he waxen old,And a covetous man and a king; and he bade, and I built him a hall,And a golden glorious house; and thereto his sons did he call,And he bade them be evil and wise, that his will through them might be wrought.Then he gave unto Fafnir my brother the soul that feareth nought,And the brow of the hardened iron, and the hand that may never fail,And the greedy heart of a king, and the ear that hears no wail."But next unto Otter my brother he gave the snare and the net,And the longing to wend through the wild-wood, and wade the highways wet:And the foot that never resteth, while aught be left aliveThat hath cunning to match man's cunning or might with his might to strive."And to me, the least and the youngest, what gift for the slaying of ease?Save the grief that remembers the past, and the fear that the future sees;And the hammer and fashioning-iron, and the living coal of fire;And the craft that createth a semblance, and fails of the heart's desire;And the toil that each dawning quickens and the task that is never done;And the heart that longeth ever, nor will look to the deed that is won."Thus gave my father the gifts that might never be taken again;Far worse were we now than the Gods, and but little better than men.But yet of our ancient might one thing had we left us still:We had craft to change our semblance, and could shift us at our willInto bodies of the beast-kind, or fowl, or fishes cold;"So dwelt we, brethren and father; and Fafnir my brother faredAs the scourge and compeller of all things, and left no wrong undared;But for me, I toiled and I toiled; and fair grew my father's house;But writhen and foul were the hands that had made it glorious;"And myself a little fragment amidst it all I saw,Grim, cold-hearted, and unmighty as the tempest-driven straw.—Let be.—For Otter my brother saw seldom field or fold,And he oftenest used that custom, whereof e'en now I told,And would shift his shape with the wood-beasts and the things of land and sea;And he knew what joy their hearts had, and what they longed to be,And their dim-eyed understanding, and his wood-craft waxed so great,That he seemed the king of the creatures and their very mortal fate."Now as the years won over three folk of the heavenly hallsGrew aweary of sleepless sloth, and the day that nought befalls;And they fain would look on the earth, and their latest handiwork,And turn the fine gold over, lest a flaw therein should lurk.And the three were the heart-wise Odin, the Father of the Slain,And Loki, the World's Begrudger, who maketh all labour vain,And Hœnir, the Utter-Blameless, who wrought the hope of man,And his heart and inmost yearnings, when first the work began;—"
Now yet the days pass over, and more than words may tellGrows Sigurd strong and lovely, and all children love him well.But oft he looks on the mountains and many a time is fainTo know of what lies beyond them, and learn of the wide world's gain.
Now again it happed on a day that he sat in Regin's hallAnd hearkened many tidings of what had chanced to fall,And of kings that sought their kingdoms o'er many a waste and wild,And at last saith the crafty master:"Thou art King Sigmund's child:Wilt thou wait till these kings of the carles shall die in a little land,Or wilt thou serve their sons and carry the cup to their hand;Or abide in vain for the day that never shall come about,When their banners shall dance in the wind and shake to the war-gods' shout?"
Then Sigurd answered and said: "Nought such do I look to be.But thou, a deedless man, too much thou eggest me:And these folk are good and trusty, and the land is lovely and sweet,And in rest and in peace it lieth as the floor of Odin's feet:Yet I know that the world is wide, and filled with deeds unwrought;And for e'en such work was I fashioned, lest the songcraft come to nought."
Then answered Regin the guileful: "The deed is ready to hand,Yet holding my peace is the best, for well thou lovest the land;And thou lovest thy life moreover, and the peace of thy youthful days,And why should the full-fed feaster his hand to the rye-bread raise?Yet they say that Sigmund begat thee and he looked to fashion a man.Fear nought; he lieth quiet in his mound by the sea-waves wan."
So shone the eyes of Sigurd, that the shield against him hungCast back their light as the sunbeams; but his voice to the roof-tree rung:"Tell me, thou Master of Masters, what deed is the deed I shall do?Nor mock thou the son of Sigmund lest the day of his birth thou rue."
Then answered the Master of Sleight: "The deed is the righting of wrong,And the quelling a bale and a sorrow that the world hath endured o'erlong,And the winning a treasure untold, that shall make thee more than the kings;Thereof is the Helm of Aweing, the wonder of earthly things,And thereof is its very fellow, the War-Coat all of gold,That has not its like in the heavens, nor has earth of its fellow told."
Then answered Sigurd the Volsung: "How long hereof hast thou known?And what unto thee is this treasure, that thou seemest to give as thine own?"
"Alas!" quoth the smithying master, "it is mine, yet none of mine,Since my heart herein avails not, and my hand is frail and fine—It is long since I first came hither to seek a man for my need;For I saw by a glimmering light that hence would spring the deed,And many a deed of the world: but the generations passed,And the first of the days was as near to the end that I sought as the last;Till I looked on thine eyes in the cradle: and now I deem through thee,That the end of my days of waiting, and the end of my woes shall be."
Then Sigurd awhile was silent; but at last he answered and said:"Thou shalt have thy will and the treasure, and shalt take the curse on thine headIf a curse the gold enwrappeth: but the deed will I surely do,For today the dreams of my childhood hath bloomed in my heart anew:And I long to look on the world and the glory of the earthAnd to deal in the dealings of men, and garner the harvest of worth.But tell me, thou Master of Masters, where lieth this measureless wealth;Is it guarded by swords of the earl-folk, or kept by cunning and stealth?Is it over the main sea's darkness, or beyond the mountain wall?Or e'en in these peaceful acres anigh to the hands of all?"
Then Regin answered sweetly: "Hereof must a tale be told:Bide sitting, thou son of Sigmund, on the heap of unwrought gold,And hearken of wondrous matters, and of things unheard, unsaid,And deeds of my beholding ere the first of Kings was made.
"And first ye shall know of a sooth, that I never was born of the raceWhich the masters of God-home have made to cover the fair earth's face;But I come of the Dwarfs departed; and fair was the earth whileomeEre the short-lived thralls of the Gods amidst its dales were come.
"It was Reidmar the Ancient begat me; and now was he waxen old,And a covetous man and a king; and he bade, and I built him a hall,And a golden glorious house; and thereto his sons did he call,And he bade them be evil and wise, that his will through them might be wrought.Then he gave unto Fafnir my brother the soul that feareth nought,And the brow of the hardened iron, and the hand that may never fail,And the greedy heart of a king, and the ear that hears no wail.
"But next unto Otter my brother he gave the snare and the net,And the longing to wend through the wild-wood, and wade the highways wet:And the foot that never resteth, while aught be left aliveThat hath cunning to match man's cunning or might with his might to strive.
"And to me, the least and the youngest, what gift for the slaying of ease?Save the grief that remembers the past, and the fear that the future sees;And the hammer and fashioning-iron, and the living coal of fire;And the craft that createth a semblance, and fails of the heart's desire;And the toil that each dawning quickens and the task that is never done;And the heart that longeth ever, nor will look to the deed that is won.
"Thus gave my father the gifts that might never be taken again;Far worse were we now than the Gods, and but little better than men.But yet of our ancient might one thing had we left us still:We had craft to change our semblance, and could shift us at our willInto bodies of the beast-kind, or fowl, or fishes cold;
"So dwelt we, brethren and father; and Fafnir my brother faredAs the scourge and compeller of all things, and left no wrong undared;But for me, I toiled and I toiled; and fair grew my father's house;But writhen and foul were the hands that had made it glorious;
"And myself a little fragment amidst it all I saw,Grim, cold-hearted, and unmighty as the tempest-driven straw.—Let be.—For Otter my brother saw seldom field or fold,And he oftenest used that custom, whereof e'en now I told,And would shift his shape with the wood-beasts and the things of land and sea;And he knew what joy their hearts had, and what they longed to be,And their dim-eyed understanding, and his wood-craft waxed so great,That he seemed the king of the creatures and their very mortal fate.
"Now as the years won over three folk of the heavenly hallsGrew aweary of sleepless sloth, and the day that nought befalls;And they fain would look on the earth, and their latest handiwork,And turn the fine gold over, lest a flaw therein should lurk.And the three were the heart-wise Odin, the Father of the Slain,And Loki, the World's Begrudger, who maketh all labour vain,And Hœnir, the Utter-Blameless, who wrought the hope of man,And his heart and inmost yearnings, when first the work began;—"
The three wandered over the earth till they came to a mighty river, haunted for long by Otter, by reason of its great wealth of fish. There he lay on the bank, and as he watched the fish in the water his shape was changed to that of a true otter, and he began to devour a golden trout. Two of the gods would have passed without stay, but in the otter Loki saw an enemy, and straightway killed him, rejoicing over his dead body.
As night fell the three gods came to a great hall, wondrously wrought and carved, with golden hangings and forests of pillars. In the midst of the hall sat a king on an ivory throne, and his garments were made of purple from the sea. Kind welcome he gave to the wanderers, and there they feasted and delighted in music and song; but even as they drank and made merry they knew they were caught in the snare.
The king's welcome changed to scornful laughter, and thus he spoke: "Truly are ye gods, but ye are come to people who want you not. Before ye were known to us, still was the winter cold,and the summer warm, and still could we find meat and drink. I am Reidmar, and ye come straight from the slaying of Reidmar's son. Shall I not then take the vengeance I will? Unless, indeed, ye give me the treasure I covet, and then shall ye go your way. This is my sentence. Choose ye which ye will."
Then spake the wise Allfather and prayed Reidmar to unsay his word, and cease to desire the gold. But Reidmar the Wise, and Fafnir the Lord, and Regin the Worker cried aloud in their wrath:—
"'O hearken Gods of the Goths! ye shall die, and we shall be Gods,And rule your men belovèd with bitter-heavy rods,And make them beasts beneath us, save today ye do our will,And pay us the ransom of blood, and our hearts with the gold fulfill.'"But Odin spake in answer, and his voice was awful and cold:'Give righteous doom, O Reidmar! say what ye will of the Gold!'"Then Reidmar laughed in his heart, and his wrath and his wisdom fled,And nought but his greed abided; and he spake from his throne and said:"'Now hearken the doom I shall speak! Ye stranger-folk shall be freeWhen ye give me the Flame of the Waters, the gathered Gold of the Sea,That Andvari hideth rejoicing in the wan realm pale as the grave;And the Master of Sleight shall fetch it, and the hand that never gave,And the heart that begrudgeth for ever shall gather and give and rue.—Lo this is the doom of the wise, and no doom shall be spoken anew.'"Then Odin spake: 'It is well; the Curser shall seek for the curse;And the Greedy shall cherish the evil—and the seed of the Great they shall nurse.'"No word spake Reidmar the great, for the eyes of his heart were turnedTo the edge of the outer desert, so sore for the gold he yearned.But Loki I loosed from the toils, and he goeth his way abroad;And the heart of Odin he knoweth, and where he shall seek the Hoard."There is a desert of dread in the uttermost part of the world,Where over a wall of mountains is a mighty water hurled,Whose hidden head none knoweth, nor where it meeteth the sea;And that force is the Force of Andvari, and an Elf of the Dark is he.In the cloud and the desert he dwelleth amid that land alone;And his work is the storing of treasure within his house of stone.Time was when he knew of wisdom, and had many a tale to tellOf the days before the Dwarf-age, and of what in that world befell:And he knew of the stars and the sun, and the worlds that come and goOn the nether rim of heaven, and whence the wind doth blow,And how the sea hangs balanced betwixt the curving lands,And how all drew together for the first Gods' fashioning hands.But now is all gone from him, save the craft of gathering gold,And he heedeth nought of the summer, nor knoweth the winter cold,Nor looks to the sun nor the snowfall, nor ever dreams of the sea,Nor hath heard of the making of men-folk, nor of where the high Gods be;But ever he gripeth and gathereth, and he toileth hour by hour,Nor knoweth the noon from the midnight as he looks on his stony bower,And saith: 'It is short, it is narrow for all I shall gather and get;For the world is but newly fashioned, and long shall its years be yet.'"There Loki fareth, and seeth in a land of nothing good,Far off o'er the empty desert, the reek of the falling floodGo up to the floor of heaven, and thither turn his feetAs he weaveth the unseen meshes and the snare of strong deceit;So he cometh his ways to the water, where the glittering foam-bow glows,And the huge flood leaps the rock-wall and a green arch over it throws.There under the roof of water he treads the quivering floor,And the hush of the desert is felt amid the water's roar,And the bleak sun lighteth the wave-vault, and tells of the fruitless plain,And the showers that nourish nothing, and the summer come in vain."There did the great Guile-master his toils and his tangles set,And as wide as was the water, so wide was woven the net;And as dim as the Elf's remembrance did the meshes of it show;And he had no thought of sorrow, nor spared to come and goOn his errands of griping and getting till he felt himself tangled and caught:Then back to his blinded soul was his ancient wisdom brought,And he saw his fall and his ruin, as a man by the lightning's flameSees the garth all flooded by foemen; and again he remembered his name;And e'en as a book well written the tale of the Gods he knew,And the tale of the making of men, and much of the deeds they should do."Then Andvari groaned and answered: 'I know what thou wouldst have,The wealth mine own hands gathered, the gold that no man gave.'"'Come forth,' said Loki, 'and give it, and dwell in peace henceforth—Or die in the toils if thou listeth, if thy life be nothing worth.'"Full sore the Elf lamented, but he came before the God,And the twain went into the rock-house and on fine gold they trod,And the walls shone bright, and brighter than the sun of the upper air.How great was that treasure of treasures: and the Helm of Dread was there;The world but in dreams had seen it; and there was the hauberk of gold;None other is in the heavens, nor has earth of its fellow told."Then Loki bade the Elf-king bring all to the upper day,And he dight himself with his Godhead to bear the treasure away:So there in the dim grey desert before the God of Guile,Great heaps of the hid-world's treasure the weary Elf must pile,And Loki looked on laughing: but, when it all was done,And the Elf was hurrying homeward, his finger gleamed in the sun:Then Loki cried: 'Thou art guileful: thou hast not learned the taleOf the wisdom that Gods hath gotten and their might of all avail."'Come hither again to thy master, and give the ring to me;For meseems it is Loki's portion, and the Bale of Men shall it be.'"Then the Elf drew off the gold-ring and stood with empty handE'en where the flood fell over 'twixt the water and the land,And he gazed on the great Guile-master, and huge and grim he grew;And his anguish swelled within him, and the word of the Norns he knew;How that gold was the seed of gold to the wise and the shapers of things,The hoarders of hidden treasure, and the unseen glory of rings;But the seed of woe to the world and the foolish wasters of men,And grief to the generations that die and spring again:Then he cried:'There farest thou Loki, and might I load thee worseThan with what thine ill heart beareth, then shouldst thou bear my curse:But for men a curse thou bearest: entangled in my gold,Amid my woe abideth another woe untold.Two brethren and a father, eight kings my grief shall slay;And the hearts of queens shall be broken, and their eyes shall loathe the day.'"But Loki laughed in silence, and swift in Godhead went,To the golden hall of Reidmar and the house of our content.But when that world of treasure was laid within our hall'Twas as if the sun were minded to live 'twixt wall and wall,And all we stood by and panted. Then Odin spake and said:"'O Kings, O folk of the Dwarf-kind, lo, the ransom duly paid!Will ye have this sun of the ocean, and reap the fruitful field,And garner up the harvest that earth therefrom shall yield.'"So he spake; but a little season nought answered Reidmar the wise,But turned his face from the Treasure, and peered with eager eyesEndlong the hall and athwart it, as a man may chase aboutA ray of the sun of the morning that a naked sword throws out;And lo from Loki's right-hand came the flash of the fruitful ring,And at last spake Reidmar scowling:'Ye wait for my yea-sayingThat your feet may go free on the earth, and the fear of my toils may be done;That then ye may say in your laughter: The fools of the time agone!The purblind eyes of the Dwarf-kind! they have gotten the garnered sheafAnd have let their Masters depart with the Seed of Gold and of Grief:O Loki, friend of Allfather, cast down Andvari's ring,Or the world shall yet turn backward and the high heavens lack a king.'"Then Loki drew off the Elf-ring and cast it down on the heap,And forth as the gold met gold did the light of its glory leap:But he spake: 'It rejoiceth my heart that no whit of all ye shall lack.Lest the curse of the Elf-king cleave not, and ye 'scape the utter wrack.'
"'O hearken Gods of the Goths! ye shall die, and we shall be Gods,And rule your men belovèd with bitter-heavy rods,And make them beasts beneath us, save today ye do our will,And pay us the ransom of blood, and our hearts with the gold fulfill.'
"But Odin spake in answer, and his voice was awful and cold:'Give righteous doom, O Reidmar! say what ye will of the Gold!'
"Then Reidmar laughed in his heart, and his wrath and his wisdom fled,And nought but his greed abided; and he spake from his throne and said:
"'Now hearken the doom I shall speak! Ye stranger-folk shall be freeWhen ye give me the Flame of the Waters, the gathered Gold of the Sea,That Andvari hideth rejoicing in the wan realm pale as the grave;And the Master of Sleight shall fetch it, and the hand that never gave,And the heart that begrudgeth for ever shall gather and give and rue.—Lo this is the doom of the wise, and no doom shall be spoken anew.'
"Then Odin spake: 'It is well; the Curser shall seek for the curse;And the Greedy shall cherish the evil—and the seed of the Great they shall nurse.'
"No word spake Reidmar the great, for the eyes of his heart were turnedTo the edge of the outer desert, so sore for the gold he yearned.But Loki I loosed from the toils, and he goeth his way abroad;And the heart of Odin he knoweth, and where he shall seek the Hoard.
"There is a desert of dread in the uttermost part of the world,Where over a wall of mountains is a mighty water hurled,Whose hidden head none knoweth, nor where it meeteth the sea;And that force is the Force of Andvari, and an Elf of the Dark is he.In the cloud and the desert he dwelleth amid that land alone;And his work is the storing of treasure within his house of stone.Time was when he knew of wisdom, and had many a tale to tellOf the days before the Dwarf-age, and of what in that world befell:And he knew of the stars and the sun, and the worlds that come and goOn the nether rim of heaven, and whence the wind doth blow,And how the sea hangs balanced betwixt the curving lands,And how all drew together for the first Gods' fashioning hands.But now is all gone from him, save the craft of gathering gold,And he heedeth nought of the summer, nor knoweth the winter cold,Nor looks to the sun nor the snowfall, nor ever dreams of the sea,Nor hath heard of the making of men-folk, nor of where the high Gods be;But ever he gripeth and gathereth, and he toileth hour by hour,Nor knoweth the noon from the midnight as he looks on his stony bower,And saith: 'It is short, it is narrow for all I shall gather and get;For the world is but newly fashioned, and long shall its years be yet.'
"There Loki fareth, and seeth in a land of nothing good,Far off o'er the empty desert, the reek of the falling floodGo up to the floor of heaven, and thither turn his feetAs he weaveth the unseen meshes and the snare of strong deceit;So he cometh his ways to the water, where the glittering foam-bow glows,And the huge flood leaps the rock-wall and a green arch over it throws.There under the roof of water he treads the quivering floor,And the hush of the desert is felt amid the water's roar,And the bleak sun lighteth the wave-vault, and tells of the fruitless plain,And the showers that nourish nothing, and the summer come in vain.
"There did the great Guile-master his toils and his tangles set,And as wide as was the water, so wide was woven the net;And as dim as the Elf's remembrance did the meshes of it show;And he had no thought of sorrow, nor spared to come and goOn his errands of griping and getting till he felt himself tangled and caught:Then back to his blinded soul was his ancient wisdom brought,And he saw his fall and his ruin, as a man by the lightning's flameSees the garth all flooded by foemen; and again he remembered his name;And e'en as a book well written the tale of the Gods he knew,And the tale of the making of men, and much of the deeds they should do.
"Then Andvari groaned and answered: 'I know what thou wouldst have,The wealth mine own hands gathered, the gold that no man gave.'
"'Come forth,' said Loki, 'and give it, and dwell in peace henceforth—Or die in the toils if thou listeth, if thy life be nothing worth.'
"Full sore the Elf lamented, but he came before the God,And the twain went into the rock-house and on fine gold they trod,And the walls shone bright, and brighter than the sun of the upper air.How great was that treasure of treasures: and the Helm of Dread was there;The world but in dreams had seen it; and there was the hauberk of gold;None other is in the heavens, nor has earth of its fellow told.
"Then Loki bade the Elf-king bring all to the upper day,And he dight himself with his Godhead to bear the treasure away:So there in the dim grey desert before the God of Guile,Great heaps of the hid-world's treasure the weary Elf must pile,And Loki looked on laughing: but, when it all was done,And the Elf was hurrying homeward, his finger gleamed in the sun:Then Loki cried: 'Thou art guileful: thou hast not learned the taleOf the wisdom that Gods hath gotten and their might of all avail.
"'Come hither again to thy master, and give the ring to me;For meseems it is Loki's portion, and the Bale of Men shall it be.'
"Then the Elf drew off the gold-ring and stood with empty handE'en where the flood fell over 'twixt the water and the land,And he gazed on the great Guile-master, and huge and grim he grew;And his anguish swelled within him, and the word of the Norns he knew;How that gold was the seed of gold to the wise and the shapers of things,The hoarders of hidden treasure, and the unseen glory of rings;But the seed of woe to the world and the foolish wasters of men,And grief to the generations that die and spring again:Then he cried:'There farest thou Loki, and might I load thee worseThan with what thine ill heart beareth, then shouldst thou bear my curse:But for men a curse thou bearest: entangled in my gold,Amid my woe abideth another woe untold.Two brethren and a father, eight kings my grief shall slay;And the hearts of queens shall be broken, and their eyes shall loathe the day.'
"But Loki laughed in silence, and swift in Godhead went,To the golden hall of Reidmar and the house of our content.But when that world of treasure was laid within our hall'Twas as if the sun were minded to live 'twixt wall and wall,And all we stood by and panted. Then Odin spake and said:
"'O Kings, O folk of the Dwarf-kind, lo, the ransom duly paid!Will ye have this sun of the ocean, and reap the fruitful field,And garner up the harvest that earth therefrom shall yield.'
"So he spake; but a little season nought answered Reidmar the wise,But turned his face from the Treasure, and peered with eager eyesEndlong the hall and athwart it, as a man may chase aboutA ray of the sun of the morning that a naked sword throws out;And lo from Loki's right-hand came the flash of the fruitful ring,And at last spake Reidmar scowling:'Ye wait for my yea-sayingThat your feet may go free on the earth, and the fear of my toils may be done;That then ye may say in your laughter: The fools of the time agone!The purblind eyes of the Dwarf-kind! they have gotten the garnered sheafAnd have let their Masters depart with the Seed of Gold and of Grief:O Loki, friend of Allfather, cast down Andvari's ring,Or the world shall yet turn backward and the high heavens lack a king.'
"Then Loki drew off the Elf-ring and cast it down on the heap,And forth as the gold met gold did the light of its glory leap:But he spake: 'It rejoiceth my heart that no whit of all ye shall lack.Lest the curse of the Elf-king cleave not, and ye 'scape the utter wrack.'
Then Regin loosed the shackles of the gods and they departed into the night, but Odin stayed in the doorway and thus he spake: "Why do ye thus desire treasure and take sorrow to yourselves? Know ye not that I was before your fathers' fathers, and that I can foresee your fate, and the end of the gold ye covet? I am the Wise One who ordereth all."
Then they went, but Regin afterwards often recalled Odin's words and the evening filled with the gleam of the gold, but little cared he then, so well he loved the gold. And he prayed his father to keep the treasure, but give a little unto him and Fafnir for the help they had given him that day.
His father in no wise heeded his words, but sat ever on his ivory throne, staring moodily at the gold. But Fafnir grew fierce and grim as he watched him.
"The night waned into the morning, and still above the HoardSat Reidmar clad in purple; but Fafnir took his sword,And I took my smithying-hammer, and apart in the world we went;But I came aback in the even, and my heart was heavy and spent;And I longed, but fear was upon me and I durst not go to the Gold;So I lay in the house of my toil mid the things I had fashioned of old;And methought as I lay in my bed 'twixt waking and slumber of nightThat I heard the tinkling metal and beheld the hall alight,But I slept and dreamed of the Gods, and the things that never have slept,Till I woke to a cry and a clashing and forth from the bed I leapt,And there by the heaped-up Elf-gold my brother Fafnir stood,And there at his feet lay Reidmar and reddened the Treasure with blood;And e'en as I looked on his eyen they glazed and whitened with death,And forth on the torch-litten hall he shed his latest breath."But I looked on Fafnir and trembled for he wore the Helm of Dread,And his sword was bare in his hand, and the sword and the hand were redWith the blood of our father Reidmar, and his body was wrapped in gold,With the ruddy-gleaming mailcoat of whose fellow hath nought been told,And it seemed as I looked upon him that he grew beneath mine eyes:And then in the mid-hall's silence did his dreadful voice arise:"'I have slain my father Reidmar, that I alone might keepThe Gold of the darksome places, the Candle of the Deep.I am such as the Gods have made me, lest the Dwarf-kind people the earth,Or mingle their ancient wisdom with its short-lived latest birth.I shall dwell alone henceforward, and the Gold and its waxing curse,I shall brood on them both together, let my life grow better or worse.And I am a King henceforward and long shall be my life,And the Gold shall grow with my longing, for I shall hide it from strife,'And hoard up the Ring of Andvari in the house thine hand hath built.O thou, wilt thou tarry and tarry, till I cast thy blood on the guilt?Lo, I am a King for ever, and alone on the Gold shall I dwellAnd do no deed to repent of and leave no tale to tell.'"More awful grew his visage as he spake the word of dread,And no more durst I behold him, but with heart a-cold I fled;I fled from the glorious house my hands had made so fair,As poor as the new-born baby with nought of raiment or gear:I fled from the heaps of gold, and my goods were the eager will,And the heart that remembereth all, and the hand that may never be still."Then unto this land I came, and that was long ago.As men-folk count the years; and I taught them to reap and to sow,"And I grew the master of masters—Think thou how strange it isThat the sword in the hands of a stripling shall one day end all this!"Yet oft mid all my wisdom did I long for my brother's part,And Fafnir's mighty kingship weighed heavy on my heartWhen the Kings of the earthly kingdoms would give me golden giftsFrom out of their scanty treasures, due pay for my cunning shifts.And once—didst thou number the years thou wouldst think it long ago—I wandered away to the country from whence our stem did grow."Then I went to the pillared hall-stead, and lo, huge heaps of gold,And to and fro amidst them a mighty Serpent rolled:Then my heart grew chill with terror, for I thought on the wont of our race,And I, who had lost their cunning, was a man in a deadly place,A feeble man and a swordless in the lone destroyer's fold;For I knew that the Worm was Fafnir, the Wallower on the Gold."So I gathered my strength and fled, and hid my shame againMid the foolish sons of men-folk; and the more my hope was vain,The more I longed for the Treasure, and deliv'rance from the yoke:And yet passed the generations, and I dwelt with the short-lived folk."Long years, and long years after, the tale of men-folk toldHow up on the Glittering Heath was the house and the dwelling of gold,And within that house was the Serpent, and the Lord of the Fearful Face:Then I wondered sore of the desert; for I thought of the golden placeMy hands of old had builded; for I knew by many a signThat the Fearful Face was my brother, that the blood of the Worm was mine.This was ages long ago, and yet in that desert he dwells,Betwixt him and men death lieth, and no man of his semblance tells;But the tale of the great Gold-wallower is never the more outworn.Then came thy kin, O Sigurd, and thy father's father was born,And I fell to the dreaming of dreams, and I saw thine eyes therein,And I looked and beheld thy glory and all that thy sword should win;And I thought that thou shouldst be he, who should bring my heart its rest,That of all the gifts of the Kings thy sword should give me the best."Ah, I fell to the dreaming of dreams; and oft the gold I saw,And the golden-fashioned Hauberk, clean-wrought without a flaw,And the Helm that aweth the world; and I knew of Fafnir's heartThat his wisdom was greater than mine, because he had held him apart,Nor spilt on the sons of men-folk our knowledge of ancient days,Nor bartered one whit for their love, nor craved for the people's praise."And some day I shall have it all, his gold and his craft and his heartAnd the gathered and garnered wisdom he guards in the mountains apart."And he spake: "Hast thou hearkened, Sigurd, wilt thou help a man that is oldTo avenge him for his father? Wilt thou win that Treasure of GoldAnd be more than the Kings of the earth? Wilt thou rid the earth of a wrongAnd heal the woe and the sorrow my heart hath endured o'erlong?"Then Sigurd looked upon him with steadfast eyes and clear,And Regin drooped and trembled as he stood the doom to hear:But the bright child spake as aforetime, and answered the Master and said:"Thou shalt have thy will, and the Treasure, and take the curse on thine head."
"The night waned into the morning, and still above the HoardSat Reidmar clad in purple; but Fafnir took his sword,And I took my smithying-hammer, and apart in the world we went;But I came aback in the even, and my heart was heavy and spent;And I longed, but fear was upon me and I durst not go to the Gold;So I lay in the house of my toil mid the things I had fashioned of old;And methought as I lay in my bed 'twixt waking and slumber of nightThat I heard the tinkling metal and beheld the hall alight,But I slept and dreamed of the Gods, and the things that never have slept,Till I woke to a cry and a clashing and forth from the bed I leapt,And there by the heaped-up Elf-gold my brother Fafnir stood,And there at his feet lay Reidmar and reddened the Treasure with blood;And e'en as I looked on his eyen they glazed and whitened with death,And forth on the torch-litten hall he shed his latest breath.
"But I looked on Fafnir and trembled for he wore the Helm of Dread,And his sword was bare in his hand, and the sword and the hand were redWith the blood of our father Reidmar, and his body was wrapped in gold,With the ruddy-gleaming mailcoat of whose fellow hath nought been told,And it seemed as I looked upon him that he grew beneath mine eyes:And then in the mid-hall's silence did his dreadful voice arise:
"'I have slain my father Reidmar, that I alone might keepThe Gold of the darksome places, the Candle of the Deep.I am such as the Gods have made me, lest the Dwarf-kind people the earth,Or mingle their ancient wisdom with its short-lived latest birth.I shall dwell alone henceforward, and the Gold and its waxing curse,I shall brood on them both together, let my life grow better or worse.And I am a King henceforward and long shall be my life,And the Gold shall grow with my longing, for I shall hide it from strife,'And hoard up the Ring of Andvari in the house thine hand hath built.O thou, wilt thou tarry and tarry, till I cast thy blood on the guilt?Lo, I am a King for ever, and alone on the Gold shall I dwellAnd do no deed to repent of and leave no tale to tell.'
"More awful grew his visage as he spake the word of dread,And no more durst I behold him, but with heart a-cold I fled;I fled from the glorious house my hands had made so fair,As poor as the new-born baby with nought of raiment or gear:I fled from the heaps of gold, and my goods were the eager will,And the heart that remembereth all, and the hand that may never be still.
"Then unto this land I came, and that was long ago.As men-folk count the years; and I taught them to reap and to sow,
"And I grew the master of masters—Think thou how strange it isThat the sword in the hands of a stripling shall one day end all this!
"Yet oft mid all my wisdom did I long for my brother's part,And Fafnir's mighty kingship weighed heavy on my heartWhen the Kings of the earthly kingdoms would give me golden giftsFrom out of their scanty treasures, due pay for my cunning shifts.And once—didst thou number the years thou wouldst think it long ago—I wandered away to the country from whence our stem did grow.
"Then I went to the pillared hall-stead, and lo, huge heaps of gold,And to and fro amidst them a mighty Serpent rolled:Then my heart grew chill with terror, for I thought on the wont of our race,And I, who had lost their cunning, was a man in a deadly place,A feeble man and a swordless in the lone destroyer's fold;For I knew that the Worm was Fafnir, the Wallower on the Gold.
"So I gathered my strength and fled, and hid my shame againMid the foolish sons of men-folk; and the more my hope was vain,The more I longed for the Treasure, and deliv'rance from the yoke:And yet passed the generations, and I dwelt with the short-lived folk.
"Long years, and long years after, the tale of men-folk toldHow up on the Glittering Heath was the house and the dwelling of gold,And within that house was the Serpent, and the Lord of the Fearful Face:Then I wondered sore of the desert; for I thought of the golden placeMy hands of old had builded; for I knew by many a signThat the Fearful Face was my brother, that the blood of the Worm was mine.This was ages long ago, and yet in that desert he dwells,Betwixt him and men death lieth, and no man of his semblance tells;But the tale of the great Gold-wallower is never the more outworn.Then came thy kin, O Sigurd, and thy father's father was born,And I fell to the dreaming of dreams, and I saw thine eyes therein,And I looked and beheld thy glory and all that thy sword should win;And I thought that thou shouldst be he, who should bring my heart its rest,That of all the gifts of the Kings thy sword should give me the best.
"Ah, I fell to the dreaming of dreams; and oft the gold I saw,And the golden-fashioned Hauberk, clean-wrought without a flaw,And the Helm that aweth the world; and I knew of Fafnir's heartThat his wisdom was greater than mine, because he had held him apart,Nor spilt on the sons of men-folk our knowledge of ancient days,Nor bartered one whit for their love, nor craved for the people's praise.
"And some day I shall have it all, his gold and his craft and his heartAnd the gathered and garnered wisdom he guards in the mountains apart."
And he spake: "Hast thou hearkened, Sigurd, wilt thou help a man that is oldTo avenge him for his father? Wilt thou win that Treasure of GoldAnd be more than the Kings of the earth? Wilt thou rid the earth of a wrongAnd heal the woe and the sorrow my heart hath endured o'erlong?"
Then Sigurd looked upon him with steadfast eyes and clear,And Regin drooped and trembled as he stood the doom to hear:But the bright child spake as aforetime, and answered the Master and said:"Thou shalt have thy will, and the Treasure, and take the curse on thine head."
Of the forging of the Sword that is called The Wrath of Sigurd.
But when the morrow was come he went to his mother and spake:"The shards, the shards of the sword, that thou gleanedst for my sakeIn the night on the field of slaughter, in the tide when my father fell,Hast thou kept them through sorrow and joyance? hast thou warded them trusty and well?Where hast thou laid them, my mother?"Then she looked upon him and said:"Art thou wroth, O Sigurd my son, that such eyes are in thine head?And wilt thou be wroth with thy mother? do I withstand thee at all?""Nay," said he, "nought am I wrathful, but the days rise up like a wallBetwixt my soul and the deeds, and I strive to rend them through."Now give me the sword, my mother, that Sigmund gave thee to keep."She said: "I shall give it thee gladly, for fain shall I be of thy praiseWhen thou knowest my careful keeping of that hope of the earlier days."So she took his hand in her hand, and they went their ways, they twain;Till they came to the treasure of queen-folk, the guarded chamber of gain:They were all alone with its riches, and she turned the key in the gold,And lifted the sea-born purple, and the silken web unrolled,And lo, 'twixt her hands and her bosom the shards of Sigmund's sword;No rust-fleck stained its edges, and the gems of the ocean's hoardWere as bright in the hilts and glorious, as when in the Volsungs' hallIt shone in the eyes of the earl-folk and flashed from the shielded wall.But Sigurd smiled upon it, and he said: "O Mother of Kings,Well hast thou warded the war-glaive for a mirror of many things,And a hope of much fulfilment: well hast thou given to meThe message of my fathers, and the word of thing to be:Trusty hath been thy warding, but its hour is over now:These shards shall be knit together, and shall hear the war-wind blow."Then she felt his hands about her as he took the fateful sword,And he kissed her soft and sweetly; but she answered never a word:But swift on his ways went Sigurd, and to Regin's house he came,Where the Master stood in the doorway and behind him leapt the flame,And dark he looked and little: no more his speech was sweet,No words on his lip were gathered the Volsung child to greet,Till he took the sword from Sigurd and the shards of the days of old;Then he spake:"Will nothing serve thee save this blue steel and cold,The bane of thy father's father, the fate of all his kin,The baleful blade I fashioned, the Wrath that the Gods would win?"Then answered the eye-bright Sigurd: "If thou thy craft wilt do,Nought save these battle-gleanings shall be my helper true:"
But when the morrow was come he went to his mother and spake:"The shards, the shards of the sword, that thou gleanedst for my sakeIn the night on the field of slaughter, in the tide when my father fell,Hast thou kept them through sorrow and joyance? hast thou warded them trusty and well?Where hast thou laid them, my mother?"Then she looked upon him and said:"Art thou wroth, O Sigurd my son, that such eyes are in thine head?And wilt thou be wroth with thy mother? do I withstand thee at all?"
"Nay," said he, "nought am I wrathful, but the days rise up like a wallBetwixt my soul and the deeds, and I strive to rend them through.
"Now give me the sword, my mother, that Sigmund gave thee to keep."
She said: "I shall give it thee gladly, for fain shall I be of thy praiseWhen thou knowest my careful keeping of that hope of the earlier days."
So she took his hand in her hand, and they went their ways, they twain;Till they came to the treasure of queen-folk, the guarded chamber of gain:They were all alone with its riches, and she turned the key in the gold,And lifted the sea-born purple, and the silken web unrolled,And lo, 'twixt her hands and her bosom the shards of Sigmund's sword;No rust-fleck stained its edges, and the gems of the ocean's hoardWere as bright in the hilts and glorious, as when in the Volsungs' hallIt shone in the eyes of the earl-folk and flashed from the shielded wall.
But Sigurd smiled upon it, and he said: "O Mother of Kings,Well hast thou warded the war-glaive for a mirror of many things,And a hope of much fulfilment: well hast thou given to meThe message of my fathers, and the word of thing to be:Trusty hath been thy warding, but its hour is over now:These shards shall be knit together, and shall hear the war-wind blow."
Then she felt his hands about her as he took the fateful sword,And he kissed her soft and sweetly; but she answered never a word:
But swift on his ways went Sigurd, and to Regin's house he came,Where the Master stood in the doorway and behind him leapt the flame,And dark he looked and little: no more his speech was sweet,No words on his lip were gathered the Volsung child to greet,Till he took the sword from Sigurd and the shards of the days of old;Then he spake:"Will nothing serve thee save this blue steel and cold,The bane of thy father's father, the fate of all his kin,The baleful blade I fashioned, the Wrath that the Gods would win?"
Then answered the eye-bright Sigurd: "If thou thy craft wilt do,Nought save these battle-gleanings shall be my helper true:"
So Regin welded together the shards of Sigmund's sword, and wrought the Wrath of Sigurd, whose hilts were great and along whose edge ran a living flame so that men thought it like sunlight and lightning mingled. Then on Greyfell, with the Wrath girt by his side, Sigurd rode to the hall of Gripir, who told him of deeds to be and of the fate that would befall him. In no wise was Sigurd troubled, but smiled as a happy child, and together they talked of the deeds of the kings of the Earth, of the wonders of Heaven, and of the Queen of the Sea.
And Sigurd told Gripir that he indeed was wise above all men, but for himself had the Wrath been fashioned, and he was ready to ride to the Glittering Heath. So they took leave of one another, and as the sky grew blood-red in the West, and the birds were flying homeward, Sigurd drew near to Regin's dwelling.
Sigurd rideth to the Glittering Heath.
Again on the morrow morning doth Sigurd the Volsung ride,And Regin, the Master of Masters, is faring by his side,And they leave the dwelling of kings and ride the summer land,Until at the eve of the day the hills are on either hand;Then they wend up higher and higher, and over the heaths they fareTill the moon shines broad on the midnight, and they sleep 'neath the heavens bare;And they waken and look behind them, and lo, the dawning of dayAnd the little land of the Helper and its valleys far away;But the mountains rise before them, a wall exceeding great.Then spake the Master of Masters: "We have come to the garth and the gate;There is youth and rest behind thee and many a thing to do,There is many a fond desire, and each day born anew;And the land of the Volsungs to conquer, and many a people's praise:And for me there is rest it may be, and the peaceful end of days.We have come to the garth and the gate; to the hall-door now shall we win,Shall we go to look on the high-seat and see what sitteth therein?""Yea, and what else?" said Sigurd, "was thy tale but mockeries,And have I been drifted hither on a wind of empty lies?""It was sooth, it was sooth," said Regin, "and more might I have toldHad I heart and space to remember the deeds of the days of old."Day-long they fared through the mountains, and that highway's fashioner,Forsooth, was a fearful craftsman, and his hands the waters were,And the heaped-up ice was his mattock, and the fire-blast was his man,And never a whit he heeded though his walls were waste and wan,And the guest-halls of that wayside great heaps of the ashes spent.But, each as a man alone, through the sun-bright day they went,And they rode till the moon rose upward, and the stars were small and fair,Then they slept on the long-slaked ashes beneath the heavens bare;And the cold dawn came and they wakened, and the King of the Dwarf-kind seemedAs a thing of that wan land fashioned; but Sigurd glowed and gleamedAmid a shadowless twilight by Greyfell's cloudy flank,As a little space they abided while the latest star-world shrank;On the backward road looked Regin and heard how Sigurd drewThe girths of Greyfell's saddle, and the voice of his sword he knew,And his war-gear clanged and tinkled as he leapt to the saddle-stead:And the sun rose up at their backs and the grey world changed to red,And away to the west went Sigurd by the glory wreathed about,But little and black was Regin as a fire that dieth out.Day-long they rode the mountains by the crags exceeding old,And the ash that the first of the Dwarf-kind found dull and quenched and cold.Then the moon in the mid-sky swam, and the stars were fair and pale,And beneath the naked heaven they slept in an ash-grey dale;And again at the dawn-dusk's ending they stood upon their feet,And Sigurd donned his war-gear nor his eyes would Regin meet.A clear streak widened in heaven low down above the earth;And above it lay the cloud-flecks, and the sun, anigh its birth,Unseen, their hosts was staining with the very hue of blood,And ruddy by Greyfell's shoulder the Son of Sigmund stood.Then spake the Master of Masters: "What is thine hope this mornThat thou dightest thee, O Sigurd, to ride this world forlorn?""What needeth hope," said Sigurd, "when the heart of the Volsungs turnsTo the light of the Glittering Heath, and the house where the Waster burns?I shall slay the Foe of the Gods, as thou badst me a while agone,And then with the Gold and its wisdom shalt thou be left alone.""O Child," said the King of the Dwarf-kind, "when the day at last comes roundFor the dread and the Dusk of the Gods, and the kin of the Wolf is unbound,When thy sword shall hew the fire, and the wildfire beateth thy shield,Shalt thou praise the wages of hope and the Gods that pitched the field?""O Foe of the Gods," said Sigurd, "wouldst thou hide the evil thing,And the curse that is greater than thou, lest death end thy labouring,Lest the night should come upon thee amidst thy toil for nought?It is me, it is me that thou fearest, if indeed I know thy thought;Yea me, who would utterly light the face of all good and ill,If not with the fruitful beams that the summer shall fulfill,Then at least with the world a-blazing, and the glare of the grinded sword."I have hearkened not nor heeded the words of thy fear and thy ruth:Thou hast told thy tale and thy longing, and thereto I hearkened well:—Let it lead thee up to heaven, let it lead thee down to hell,The deed shall be done tomorrow: thou shalt have that measureless Gold,And devour the garnered wisdom that blessed thy realm of old,That hath lain unspent and begrudged in the very heart of hate:With the blood and the might of thy brother thine hunger shalt thou sate;And this deed shall be mine and thine; but take heed for what followeth then!Let each do after his kind! I shall do the deeds of men;I shall harvest the field of their sowing, in the bed of their strewing shall sleep;To them shall I give my life-days, to the Gods my glory to keep.But them with the wealth and the wisdom that the best of the Gods might praise,If thou shall indeed excel them and become the hope of the days,Then me in turn hast thou conquered, and I shall be in turnThy fashioned brand of the battle through good and evil to burn,Or the flame that sleeps in thy stithy for the gathered winds to blow,When thou listest to do and undo and thine uttermost cunning to show.But indeed I wot full surely that thou shalt follow thy kind;And for all that cometh after, the Norns shall loose and bind."Then his bridle-reins rang sweetly, and the warding-walls of death,And Regin drew up to him, and the Wrath sang loud in the sheath,And forth from that trench in the mountains by the westward way they ride;And little and black goes Regin by the golden Volsung's side;So ever they wended upward, and the midnight hour was o'er,And the stars grew pale and paler, and failed from the heaven's floor,And the moon was a long while dead, but where was the promise of day?No change came over the darkness, no streak of the dawning grey;No sound of the wind's uprising adown the night there ran:It was blind as the Gaping Gulf ere the first of the worlds began.Then athwart and athwart rode Sigurd and sought the walls of the pass,But found no wall before him; and the road rang hard as brassBeneath the hoofs of Greyfell, as up and up he trod:—Was it the daylight of Hell, or the night of the doorway of God?But lo, at the last a glimmer, and a light from the west there came,And another and another, like points of far-off flame;And they grew and brightened and gathered; and whiles together they ranLike the moonwake over the waters; and whiles they were scant and wan,Some greater and some lesser, like the boats of fishers laidAbout the sea of midnight; and a dusky dawn they made,A faint and glimmering twilight: So Sigurd strains his eyes,And he sees how a land deserted all round about him liesMore changeless than mid-ocean, as fruitless as its floor:Then the heart leaps up within him, for he knows that his journey is o'er,And there he draweth bridle on the first of the Glittering Heath:And the Wrath is waxen merry and sings in the golden sheathAs he leaps adown from Greyfell, and stands upon his feet,And wends his ways through the twilight the Foe of the Gods to meet.
Again on the morrow morning doth Sigurd the Volsung ride,And Regin, the Master of Masters, is faring by his side,And they leave the dwelling of kings and ride the summer land,Until at the eve of the day the hills are on either hand;Then they wend up higher and higher, and over the heaths they fareTill the moon shines broad on the midnight, and they sleep 'neath the heavens bare;And they waken and look behind them, and lo, the dawning of dayAnd the little land of the Helper and its valleys far away;But the mountains rise before them, a wall exceeding great.
Then spake the Master of Masters: "We have come to the garth and the gate;There is youth and rest behind thee and many a thing to do,There is many a fond desire, and each day born anew;And the land of the Volsungs to conquer, and many a people's praise:And for me there is rest it may be, and the peaceful end of days.We have come to the garth and the gate; to the hall-door now shall we win,Shall we go to look on the high-seat and see what sitteth therein?"
"Yea, and what else?" said Sigurd, "was thy tale but mockeries,And have I been drifted hither on a wind of empty lies?"
"It was sooth, it was sooth," said Regin, "and more might I have toldHad I heart and space to remember the deeds of the days of old."
Day-long they fared through the mountains, and that highway's fashioner,Forsooth, was a fearful craftsman, and his hands the waters were,And the heaped-up ice was his mattock, and the fire-blast was his man,And never a whit he heeded though his walls were waste and wan,And the guest-halls of that wayside great heaps of the ashes spent.But, each as a man alone, through the sun-bright day they went,And they rode till the moon rose upward, and the stars were small and fair,Then they slept on the long-slaked ashes beneath the heavens bare;And the cold dawn came and they wakened, and the King of the Dwarf-kind seemedAs a thing of that wan land fashioned; but Sigurd glowed and gleamedAmid a shadowless twilight by Greyfell's cloudy flank,As a little space they abided while the latest star-world shrank;On the backward road looked Regin and heard how Sigurd drewThe girths of Greyfell's saddle, and the voice of his sword he knew,
And his war-gear clanged and tinkled as he leapt to the saddle-stead:And the sun rose up at their backs and the grey world changed to red,And away to the west went Sigurd by the glory wreathed about,But little and black was Regin as a fire that dieth out.Day-long they rode the mountains by the crags exceeding old,And the ash that the first of the Dwarf-kind found dull and quenched and cold.Then the moon in the mid-sky swam, and the stars were fair and pale,And beneath the naked heaven they slept in an ash-grey dale;And again at the dawn-dusk's ending they stood upon their feet,And Sigurd donned his war-gear nor his eyes would Regin meet.
A clear streak widened in heaven low down above the earth;And above it lay the cloud-flecks, and the sun, anigh its birth,Unseen, their hosts was staining with the very hue of blood,And ruddy by Greyfell's shoulder the Son of Sigmund stood.
Then spake the Master of Masters: "What is thine hope this mornThat thou dightest thee, O Sigurd, to ride this world forlorn?"
"What needeth hope," said Sigurd, "when the heart of the Volsungs turnsTo the light of the Glittering Heath, and the house where the Waster burns?I shall slay the Foe of the Gods, as thou badst me a while agone,And then with the Gold and its wisdom shalt thou be left alone."
"O Child," said the King of the Dwarf-kind, "when the day at last comes roundFor the dread and the Dusk of the Gods, and the kin of the Wolf is unbound,When thy sword shall hew the fire, and the wildfire beateth thy shield,Shalt thou praise the wages of hope and the Gods that pitched the field?"
"O Foe of the Gods," said Sigurd, "wouldst thou hide the evil thing,And the curse that is greater than thou, lest death end thy labouring,Lest the night should come upon thee amidst thy toil for nought?It is me, it is me that thou fearest, if indeed I know thy thought;Yea me, who would utterly light the face of all good and ill,If not with the fruitful beams that the summer shall fulfill,Then at least with the world a-blazing, and the glare of the grinded sword.
"I have hearkened not nor heeded the words of thy fear and thy ruth:Thou hast told thy tale and thy longing, and thereto I hearkened well:—Let it lead thee up to heaven, let it lead thee down to hell,The deed shall be done tomorrow: thou shalt have that measureless Gold,And devour the garnered wisdom that blessed thy realm of old,That hath lain unspent and begrudged in the very heart of hate:With the blood and the might of thy brother thine hunger shalt thou sate;And this deed shall be mine and thine; but take heed for what followeth then!Let each do after his kind! I shall do the deeds of men;I shall harvest the field of their sowing, in the bed of their strewing shall sleep;To them shall I give my life-days, to the Gods my glory to keep.But them with the wealth and the wisdom that the best of the Gods might praise,If thou shall indeed excel them and become the hope of the days,Then me in turn hast thou conquered, and I shall be in turnThy fashioned brand of the battle through good and evil to burn,Or the flame that sleeps in thy stithy for the gathered winds to blow,When thou listest to do and undo and thine uttermost cunning to show.But indeed I wot full surely that thou shalt follow thy kind;And for all that cometh after, the Norns shall loose and bind."
Then his bridle-reins rang sweetly, and the warding-walls of death,And Regin drew up to him, and the Wrath sang loud in the sheath,And forth from that trench in the mountains by the westward way they ride;And little and black goes Regin by the golden Volsung's side;
So ever they wended upward, and the midnight hour was o'er,And the stars grew pale and paler, and failed from the heaven's floor,And the moon was a long while dead, but where was the promise of day?No change came over the darkness, no streak of the dawning grey;No sound of the wind's uprising adown the night there ran:It was blind as the Gaping Gulf ere the first of the worlds began.
Then athwart and athwart rode Sigurd and sought the walls of the pass,But found no wall before him; and the road rang hard as brassBeneath the hoofs of Greyfell, as up and up he trod:—Was it the daylight of Hell, or the night of the doorway of God?But lo, at the last a glimmer, and a light from the west there came,And another and another, like points of far-off flame;And they grew and brightened and gathered; and whiles together they ranLike the moonwake over the waters; and whiles they were scant and wan,Some greater and some lesser, like the boats of fishers laidAbout the sea of midnight; and a dusky dawn they made,A faint and glimmering twilight: So Sigurd strains his eyes,And he sees how a land deserted all round about him liesMore changeless than mid-ocean, as fruitless as its floor:Then the heart leaps up within him, for he knows that his journey is o'er,And there he draweth bridle on the first of the Glittering Heath:And the Wrath is waxen merry and sings in the golden sheathAs he leaps adown from Greyfell, and stands upon his feet,And wends his ways through the twilight the Foe of the Gods to meet.