Literature · Fantasy

The Story of Sigurd the Volsung 4

Brynhild

MorrisEnglish

Of Sigurd's riding to the Niblungs.

Now Brynhild and Sigurd left Hindfell, and Brynhild went to dwell in her sister's house, but Sigurd abode not long in the land of Lymdale, for his love urged him to great adventures wherein he might win glory befitting the man who should wed so noble a woman as Brynhild.

So it befell one day in summer that he dight himself in the Helm of Aweing and the Mail-coat all of gold, and girded the Wrath to his side to ride forth again. And on his saddle he bound the red rings of Fafnir's Treasure.

Then he kissed the ancient King Heimir, and hailed the folk of the land who came to give him god-speed.

And he gathered the reins together, and set his face to the road, And the glad steed neighed beneath him as they fared from the King's abode. And out past the dewy closes; but the shouts went up to the sky, Though some for very sorrow forbore the farewell cry, Nor was any man but heavy that the godlike guest should go; And they craved for that glad heart guileless, and that face without a foe.

But forth by dale and lealand doth the Son of Sigmund wend, Till far away lies Lymdale and the folk of the forest's end; And he rides a heath unpeopled and holds the westward way, Till a long way off before him come up the mountains grey; Grey, huge beyond all telling, and the host of the heaped clouds, The black and the white together, on that rock-wall's coping crowds.

So up and down he rideth, till at even of the day A hill's brow he o'ertoppeth that had hid the mountains grey; Huge, blacker they showed than aforetime, white hung the cloud-flecks there, But red was the cloudy crown, for the sun was sinking fair: A wide plain lay beneath him, and a river through it wound Betwixt the lea and the acres, and the misty orchard ground; But forth from the feet of the mountains a ridged hill there ran That upreared at its hithermost ending a builded burg of man; And Sigurd deemed in his heart as he looked on the burg from afar, That the high Gods scarce might win it, if thereon they fell with war; So many and great were the walls, so bore the towers on high The threat of guarded battle, and the tale of victory.

For as waves on the iron river of the days whereof nothing is told Stood up the many towers, so stark and sharp and cold; But dark-red and worn and ancient as the midmost mountain-sides Is the wall that goeth about them; and its mighty compass hides Full many a dwelling of man whence the reek now goeth aloft, And the voice of the house-abiders, the sharp sounds blent with the soft: But one house in the midst is unhidden and high up o'er the wall it goes; Aloft in the wind of the mountains its golden roof-ridge glows, And down mid its buttressed feet is the wind's voice never still; And the day and the night pass o'er it and it changes to their will, And whiles is it glassy and dark, and whiles is it white and dead, And whiles is it grey as the sea-mead, and whiles is it angry red; And it shimmers under the sunshine and grows black to the threat of the storm, And dusk its gold roof glimmers when the rain-clouds over it swarm, And bright in the first of the morning its flame doth it uplift, When the light clouds rend before it and along its furrows drift.

Then Sigurd's heart was glad as he beheld the city, and after a while he came to a gate-way set in the northern wall, and the gate was long and dark as a sea-cave. But no man stayed him as he rode through the dusk to the inner court-yard, and saw the lofty roof of the hall before him, cold now and grey like a very cloud, for the sun was fully set. But in the towers watch-men were calling one to another. To them he cried, saying:--

"Ho, men of this mighty burg, to what folk of the world am I come? And who is the King of battles who dwells in this lordly home? Or perchance are ye of the Elf-kin? are ye guest-fain, kind at the board, Or murder-churls and destroyers to gain and die by the sword?" Then the spears in the forecourt glittered and the swords shone over the wall, But the song of smitten harp-strings came faint from the cloudy hall. And he hearkened a voice and a crying: "The house of Giuki the King, And the Burg of the Niblung people and the heart of their warfaring." There were many men about him, and the wind in the wall-nook sang, And the spears of the Niblungs glittered, and the swords in the forecourt rang. But they looked on his face in the even, and they hushed their voices and gazed, For fear and great desire the hearts of men amazed.

Now cometh an earl to King Giuki as he sits in godlike wise With his sons, the Kings of battle, and his wife of the glittering eyes, And the King cries out at his coming to tell why the watch-horns blew; But the earl saith: "Lord of the people, choose now what thou wilt do; For here is a strange new-comer, and he saith, to thee alone Will he tell of his name and his kindred, and the deeds that his hand hath done."

Then uprose the King of the Niblungs, and was clad in purple and pall, And his sheathed sword lay in his hand, as he gat him adown the hall, And abroad through the Niblung doorway; and a mighty man he was, And wise and ancient of days: so there by the earls doth he pass, And beholdeth the King on the war-steed and looketh up in his face: But Sigurd smileth upon him in the Niblungs' fenced place, As the King saith: "Gold-bestrider, who into our garth wouldst ride, Wilt thou tell thy name to a King, who biddeth thee here abide And have all good at our hands? for unto the Niblungs' home And the heart of a war-fain people from the weary road are ye come; And I am Giuki the King: so now if thou nam'st thee a God, Look not to see me tremble; for I know of such that have trod Unfeared in the Burg of the Niblungs; nor worser, nor better at all May fare the folk of the Gods than the Kings in Giuki's hall; So I bid thee abide in my house, and when many days are o'er, Thou shalt tell us at last of thine errand, if thou bear us peace or war."

Then all rejoiced at his word till the swords on the bucklers rang, And adown from the red-gold Treasure the Son of Sigmund sprang, And he took the hand of Giuki, and kissed him soft and sweet, And spake: "Hail, ancient of days! for thou biddest me things most meet, And thou knowest the good from the evil: few days are over and gone Since my father was old in the world ere the deed of my making was won; But Sigmund the Volsung he was, full ripe of years and of fame; And I, who have never beheld him, am Sigurd called of name; Too young in the world am I waxen that a tale thereof should be told, And yet have I slain the Serpent, and gotten the Ancient Gold, And broken the bonds of the weary, and ridden the Wavering Fire. But short is mine errand to tell, and the end of my desire: For peace I bear unto thee, and to all the kings of the earth, Who bear the sword aright, and are crowned with the crown of worth; But unpeace to the lords of evil, and the battle and the death; And the edge of the sword to the traitor, and the flame to the slanderous breath: And I would that the loving were loved, and I would that the weary should sleep, And that man should hearken to man, and that he that soweth should reap. Now wide in the world would I fare, to seek the dwellings of Kings, For with them would I do and undo, and be heart of their warfarings; So I thank thee, lord, for thy bidding, and here in thine house will I bide, And learn of thine ancient wisdom till forth to the field we ride."

Glad then was the murmur of folk, for the tidings had gone forth, And its breath had been borne to the Niblungs, and the tale of Sigurd's worth.

But the King said: "Welcome, Sigurd, full fair of deed and of word! And here mayst thou win thee fellows for the days of the peace and the sword; For not lone in the world have I lived, but sons from my loins have sprung, Whose deeds with the rhyme are mingled, and their names with the people's tongue."

Then he took his hand in his hand, and into the hall they passed, And great shouts of salutation to the cloudy roof were cast; And they rang from the glassy pillars, and the Gods on the hangings stirred, And afar the clustering eagles on the golden roof-ridge heard, And cried out on the Sword of the Branstock as they cried in the other days: Then the harps rang out in the hall, and men sang in Sigurd's praise

But now on the dais he meeteth the kin of Giuki the wise: Lo, here is the crowned Grimhild, the queen of the glittering eyes; Lo, here is the goodly Gunnar with the face of a king's desire; Lo, here is Hogni that holdeth the wisdom tried in the fire; Lo, here is Guttorm the youngest, who longs for the meeting swords; Lo, here, as a rose in the oak-boughs, amid the Niblung lords Is the Maid of the Niblungs standing, the white-armed Giuki's child; And all these looked long on Sigurd and their hearts upon him smiled.

Then all gave him greeting as one who should be their fellow in mighty deeds, and the fair-armed Gudrun, Giuki's daughter, brought him a cup of welcome, and that night the Niblungs feasted in gladness of heart.

Of Sigurd's warfaring in the company of the Niblungs, and of his great fame and glory.

So Sigurd abode with the Niblungs all through summer and harvest time till with the stark midwinter came tidings of war. Then the earls of Giuki donned dusky hauberks and led forth their bands from the fortress, and the fair face and golden gear of Sigurd shone among those swart-haired warriors.

They fell on the cities of the plains, but none might resist the valour of Sigurd, and the Niblungs turned in triumph from the war, bringing rich spoil. So all that winter Sigurd fared to war with them and grew greater in glory and more beloved of all men, but ever the thoughts of his heart turned to Lymdale and to Brynhild who awaited him there.

Now sheathed is the Wrath of Sigurd; for as wax withstands the flame, So the Kings of the land withstood him and the glory of his fame. And before the grass is growing, or the kine have fared from the stall, The song of the fair-speech-masters goes up in the Niblung hall, And they sing of the golden Sigurd and the face without a foe, And the lowly man exalted and the mighty brought alow: And they say, when the sun of summer shall come aback to the land, It shall shine on the fields of the tiller that fears no heavy hand; That the sheaf shall be for the plougher, and the loaf for him that sowed, Through every furrowed acre where the son of Sigmund rode.

Full dear was Sigurd the Volsung to all men most and least, And now, as the spring drew onward, 'twas deemed a goodly feast For the acre-biders' children by the Niblung Burg to wait, If perchance the Son of Sigmund should ride abroad by the gate: For whosoever feared him, no little-one, forsooth, Would shrink from the shining eyes and the hand that clave out truth From the heart of the wrack and the battle: it was then, as his gold gear burned O'er the balks of the bridge and the river, that oft the mother turned, And spake to the laughing baby: "O little son, and dear, When I from the world am departed, and whiles a-nights ye hear The best of man-folk longing for the least of Sigurd's days, Thou shalt hearken to their story, till they tell forth all his praise, And become beloved and a wonder, as thou sayest when all is sung, 'And I too once beheld him in the days when I was young.'"

Yea, they sing the song of Sigurd and the face without a foe, And they sing of the prison's rending and the tyrant laid alow, And the golden thieves' abasement, and the stilling of the churl, And the mocking of the dastard where the chasing edges whirl; And they sing of the outland maidens that thronged round Sigurd's hand, And sung in the streets of the foemen of the war-delivered land; And they tell how the ships of the merchants come free and go at their will, And how wives in peace and safety may crop the vine-clad hill; How the maiden sits in her bower, and the weaver sings at his loom, And forget the kings of grasping and the greedy days of gloom; For by sea and hill and township hath the Son of Sigmund been, And looked on the folk unheeded, and the lowly people seen.

But he stood in the sight of the people, and sweet he was to see, And no foe and no betrayer, and no envier now hath he: But Gunnar the bright in the battle deems him his earthly friend, And Hogni is fain of his fellow, howso the day's work end, And Guttorm the young is joyous of the help and gifts he hath; And all these would shine beside him in the glory of his path; There is none to hate or hinder, or mar the golden day, And the light of love flows plenteous, as the sun-beams hide the way.

Of the Cup of evil drink that Grimhild the Wise-wife gave to Sigurd.

Now Gudrun the daughter of Giuki beheld Sigurd's glory and knew the kindness of his heart, and set her love on him, not knowing that all his thoughts were given to Brynhild. So Sigurd, seeing her sad and in no wise guessing the cause of her grief, strove to comfort her with kindly words, but her mood was still unchanged.

Then Grimhild the Queen, who was a witch-wife and a woman of crafty mind, marked the love of Gudrun for Sigurd, and marked moreover how his power and honour in the land would soon be greater than that of her own sons. Therefore she cast about for some shift that might bind Sigurd to serve with the Niblungs all his life-days.

Now it befell one night that Sigurd had returned from warring and sat on the high-seat to sup with the Niblung kings. His heart was merry with victory and ever he thought of Hindfell and of Lymdale and the love of Brynhild. The people waxed joyful, and the hangings whereon glowed figures of the gods were stirred with their song and shouting till Giuki called on Sigurd to take the harp and sing of deeds agone. Then all men hearkened, hushed and happy, while Sigurd struck the strings and sang of his mighty kin, of Volsung, of Signy, and of Sigmund, their deeds and noble deaths. At last the tale was ended and he fell silent thinking still of Brynhild.

Now came Grimhild bearing him a cup of wine and speaking fair words of praise, but in the wine she had mingled a fatal witch-drink. So she stood by Sigurd and said:--

"There is none of the kings of kingdoms that may match thy goodlihead: Lo now, thou hast sung of thy fathers; but men shall sing of thee, And therewith shall our house be remembered, and great shall our glory be. I beseech thee hearken a little to a faithful word of mine, When thou of this cup hast drunken; for my love is blent with the wine."

He laughed and took the cup: But therein with the blood of the earth Earth's hidden might was mingled, and deeds of the cold sea's birth, And things that the high Gods turn from, and a tangle of strange love, Deep guile and strong compelling, that whoso drank thereof Should remember not his longing, should cast his love away, Remembering dead desire but as night remembereth day.

So Sigurd looked on the horn, and he saw how fair it was scored With the cunning of the Dwarf-kind and the masters of the sword; And he drank and smiled on Grimhild above the beaker's rim, And she looked and laughed at his laughter; and the soul was changed in him. Men gazed and their hearts sank in them, and they knew not why it was, Why the fair-lit hall was darkling, nor what had come to pass: For they saw the sorrow of Sigurd, who had seen but his deeds erewhile, And the face of the mighty darkened, who had known but the light of its smile.

But Grimhild looked and was merry: and she deemed her life was great, And her hand a wonder of wonders to withstand the deeds of Fate: For she saw by the face of Sigurd and the token of his eyes That her will had abased the valiant, and filled the faithful with lies.

But the heart was changed in Sigurd; as though it ne'er had been His love of Brynhild perished as he gazed on the Niblung Queen: Brynhild's beloved body was e'en as a wasted hearth, No more for bale or blessing, for plenty or for dearth. --O ye that shall look hereafter, when the day of Sigurd is done, And the last of his deeds is accomplished, and his eyes are shut in the sun, When ye look and long for Sigurd, and the image of Sigurd behold, And his white sword still as the moon, and his strong hand heavy and cold, Then perchance shall ye think of this even, then perchance shall ye wonder and cry, "Twice over, King, are we smitten, and twice have we seen thee die."

Men say that a little after the evil of that night All waste is the burg of Brynhild, and there springeth a marvellous light On the desert hard by Lymdale, and few men know for why; But there are, who say that a wildfire thence roareth up to the sky Round a glorious golden dwelling, wherein there sitteth a Queen In remembrance of the wakening, and the slumber that hath been; Wherein a Maid there sitteth, who knows not hope nor rest For remembrance of the Mighty, and the Best come forth from the Best.

Now after Sigurd took the witch-drink came a great hush upon the feast-hall for a space. But Grimhild was fain of that hour and cried to the scalds for music, and they hastened to strike the harp, but no joy mingled with the sounds and no man was moved to singing.

No word spake Sigurd till the feast was over; then he strode out alone from the hall and the folk fell back before him. So he took a steed and all that night he rode alone in the deedless dark, and all the morrow, very heavy at heart yet knowing no cause for grief, and remembering all things save Brynhild.

At last he came again at sunset to the Niblung gates, and there came forth Giuki and Grimhild and the Niblung brethren with fair words of greeting, but in the doorway Gudrun stood and wept. So Sigurd entered with them, yet he knew that a flood of sorrow had come on his life-days and that no more might he feel the joy he had known aforetime in the Niblung hall. Howbeit, when he looked on the people and saw them in fear at his trouble, the kindness of his heart was kindled, and thrusting the heavy sorrow aside, he lifted his head and spake wise words of good cheer so that the folk looking on him were comforted.

Of the Wedding of Sigurd the Volsung.

But Gudrun knew Sigurd's heart and was sorrowful because of his grief and her great love for him, and when Grimhild bade her carry him wine, she arose and took the cup but could find no word to speak for anguish. And Sigurd looking on her face saw there a kindness and a sorrow like his own, and seeing it he knew that she loved him. Then pity and love for her rose in his heart and comforted him, and he took the cup from her and spake, saying:--

"Here are glad men about us, and a joyous folk of war, And they that have loved thee for long, and they that have cherished mine heart; But we twain alone are woeful, as sad folk sitting apart. Ah, if I thy soul might gladden! if thy lips might give me peace! Then belike were we gladdest of all; for I love thee more than these. The cup of goodwill that thou bearest, and the greeting thou wouldst say, Turn these to the cup of thy love, and the words of the troth-plighting day; The love that endureth for ever, and the never-dying troth, To face the Norns' undoing, and the Gods amid their wrath."

And his clear voice saith: "O Gudrun, now hearken while I swear That the sun shall die for ever and the day no more be fair, Ere I forget thy pity and thine inmost heart of love! Yea, though the Kings be mighty, and the Gods be great above, I will wade the flood and the fire, and the waste of war forlorn, To look on the Niblung dwelling, and the house where thou wert born."

Strange seemed the words to Sigurd that his gathering love compelled, And sweet and strange desire o'er his tangled trouble welled.

But bright flashed the eyes of Gudrun, and she said: "King, as for me, If thou sawest the heart in my bosom, what oath might better thee? Yet my words thy words shall cherish, as thy lips my lips have done. --Herewith I swear, O Sigurd, that the earth shall hate the sun, And the year desire but darkness, and the blossoms shrink from day, Ere my love shall fail, beloved, or my longing pass away!"

So they twain went hand in hand to stand before Giuki and Grimhild and the swart-haired Niblung brethren, and all these were glad-hearted when they marked their joy and goodlihead. Then Sigurd spake noble words of thanks to Giuki for all past kindness, and bade Giuki call him son because he had that day bidden Gudrun to wife, and he sware also to toil for her exalting and for the weal of all the Niblung kin. Thereto Giuki answered glad-hearted, "Hail, Sigurd, son of mine eld!" and called upon Grimhild the Queen to bless him.

Thus was Sigurd troth-plight to the white-armed Gudrun, and all men were fain of their love and spake nought but praise of him.

Hark now, on the morrow morning how the blast of the mighty horn From the builded Burg of the Niblungs goes over the acres shorn, And the roads are gay with the riders, and the bull in the stall is left, And the plough is alone in the furrow, and the wedge in the hole half-cleft; And late shall the ewes be folded, and the kine come home to the pail, And late shall the fires be litten in the outmost treeless dale: For men fare to the gate of Giuki and the ancient cloudy hall, And therein are the earls assembled and the kings wear purple and pall, And the flowers are spread beneath them, and the bench-cloths beaten with gold; And the walls are strange and wondrous with the noble stories told: For new-hung is the ancient dwelling with the golden spoils of the south, And men seem merry for ever, and the praise is in each man's mouth, And the name of Sigurd the Volsung, the King and the Serpent's Bane, Who exalteth the high this morning and blesseth the masters of gain: For men drink the bridal of Sigurd and the white-armed Niblung maid, And the best with the best shall be mingled, and the gold with the gold o'erlaid.

So, fair in the hall is the feasting and men's hearts are uplifted on high, And they deem that the best of their life-days are surely drawing anigh, As now, one after other, uprise the scalds renowned, And their well-beloved voices awake the hoped-for sound, In the midmost of the high-tide, and the joy of feasting lords. Then cometh a hush and a waiting, and the light of many swords Flows into the hall of Giuki by the doorway of the King, And amid those flames of battle the war-clad warriors bring The Cup of daring Promise and the hallowed Boar of Son, And men's hearts grow big with longing and great is the hope-tide grown; For bright the Son of Sigmund ariseth by the board And unwinds the knitted peace-strings that hamper Regin's Sword: Then fierce is the light on the high-seat as men set down the Cup Anigh the hand of Sigurd, and the edges blue rise up, And fall on the hallowed Wood-beast: as a trump of the woeful war Rings the voice of the mighty Volsung as he speaks the words of yore:

"By the Earth that groweth and giveth, and by all the Earth's increase That is spent for Gods and man-folk; by the sun that shines on these; By the Salt-Sea-Flood that beareth the life and death of men; By the Heavens and Stars that change not, though earth die out again; By the wild things of the mountain, and the houseless waste and lone; By the prey of the Goths in the thicket and the holy Beast of Son, I hallow me to Odin for a leader of his host, To do the deeds of the Highest, and never count the cost: And I swear, that whatso great-one shall show the day and the deed, I shall ask not why nor wherefore, but the sword's desire shall speed: And I swear to seek no quarrel, nor to swerve aside for aught, Though the right and the left be blooming, and the straight way wend to nought: And I swear to abide and hearken the prayer of any thrall, Though the war-torch be on the threshold and the foemen's feet in the hall: And I swear to sit on my throne in the guise of the kings of the earth, Though the anguish past amending, and the unheard woe have birth: And I swear to wend in my sorrow that none shall curse mine eyes For the scowl that quelleth beseeching, and the hate that scorneth the wise. So help me Earth and Heavens, and the Under-sky and Seas, And the Stars in their ordered houses, and the Norns that order these!"

And he drank of the Cup of the Promise, and fair as a star he shone, And all men rejoiced and wondered, and deemed Earth's glory won.

Then came the girded maidens, and the slim earls' daughters poured, And uprose the dark-haired Gunnar and bare was the Niblung sword; Blue it gleamed in the hand of the folk-king as he laid it low on the Beast, And took oath as the Goths of aforetime in the hush of the people's feast: "I will work for the craving of Kings, and accomplish the will of the great, Nor ask what God withstandeth, nor hearken the tales of fate; When a King my life hath exalted, and wrought for my hope and my gain, For every deed he hath done me, thereto shall I fashion twain. I shall bear forth the fame of the Niblungs through all that hindereth; In my life shall I win great glory, and be merry in my death."

So sweareth the lovely war-king and drinketh of the Cup, And the joy of the people waxeth and their glad cry goeth up. But again came the girded maidens: earls' daughters pour the wine, And bare is the blade of Hogni in the feast-hall over the Swine; Then he cries o'er the hallowed Wood-beast: "Earth, hearken, how I swear, To beseech no man for his helping, and to vex no God with prayer; And to seek out the will of the Norns, and look in the eyes of the curse; And to laugh while the love aboundeth, lest the glad world grow into worse; Then if in the murder I laugh not, O Earth, remember my name, And oft tell it aloud to the people for the Niblungs' fated shame!"

Then he drank of the Cup of the Promise, and all men hearkened and deemed That his speech was great and valiant, and as one of the wise he seemed.

Then the linen-folded maidens of the earl-folk lift the gold, But the earls look each on the other, and Guttorm's place behold, And empty it lieth before them; for the child hath wearied of peace, And he sits by the oars in the East-seas, and winneth fame's increase. Nor then, nor ever after, o'er the Holy Beast he spake, When mighty hearts were exalted for the golden Sigurd's sake.

Sigurd rideth with the Niblungs, and wooeth Brynhild for King Gunnar.

Now it fell on a day of the spring-tide that followed on these things, That Sigurd fares to the meadows with Gunnar and Hogni the Kings; For afar is Guttorm the youngest, and he sails the Eastern Seas, And fares with war-shield hoisted to win him fame's increase.

There stay those Kings of the people alone in weed of war, And they cut a strip of the greensward on the meadow's daisied floor, And loosen it clean in the midst, while its ends in the earth abide; Then they heave its midmost aloft, and set on either side An ancient spear of battle writ round with words of worth; And these are the posts of the door, whose threshold is of the earth, And the skin of the earth is its lintel: but with war-glaives gleaming bare The Niblung Kings and Sigurd beneath the earth-yoke fare; Then each an arm-vein openeth, and their blended blood falls down On Earth the fruitful Mother where they rent her turfy gown: And then, when the blood of the Volsungs hath run with the Niblung blood, They kneel with their hands upon it and swear the brotherhood: Each man at his brother's bidding to come with the blade in his hand, Though the fire and the flood should sunder, and the very Gods withstand: Each man to love and cherish his brother's hope and will; Each man to avenge his brother when the Norns his fate fulfill: And now are they foster-brethren, and in such wise have they sworn As the God-born Goths of aforetime, when the world was newly born. But among the folk of the Niblungs goes forth the tale of the same, And men deem the tidings a glory and the garland of their fame.

So is Sigurd yet with the Niblungs, and he loveth Gudrun his wife, And wendeth afield with the brethren to the days of the dooming of life; And nought his glory waneth, nor falleth the flood of praise: To every man he hearkeneth, nor gainsayeth any grace, And glad is the poor in the Doom-ring when he seeth his face mid the Kings, For the tangle straighteneth before him, and the maze of crooked things. But the smile is departed from him, and the laugh of Sigurd the young, And of few words now is he waxen, and his songs are seldom sung. Howbeit of all the sad-faced was Sigurd loved the best; And men say: Is the king's heart mighty beyond all hope of rest? Lo, how he beareth the people! how heavy their woes are grown! So oft were a God mid the Goth-folk, if he dwelt in the world alone.

Now Giuki the king was long grown old, and he died and was buried beneath a great earth-mound high on the mountains.

So there lieth Giuki the King, mid steel and the glimmer of gold, As the sound of the feastful Niblungs round his misty house is rolled: But Gunnar is King of the people, and the chief of the Niblung land; A man beloved for his mercy, and his might and his open hand; A glorious king in the battle, a hearkener at the doom, A singer to sing the sun up from the heart of the midnight gloom.

On a day sit the Kings in the high-seat when Grimhild saith to her son: "O Gunnar, King beloved, a fair life hast thou won; On the flood, in the field hast thou wrought, and hung the chambers with gold; Far abroad mid many a people are the tidings of thee told: Now do a deed for thy mother and the hallowed Niblung hearth, Lest the house of the mighty perish, and our tale grow wan with dearth. If thou do the deed that I bid thee, and wed a wife of the Kings, No less shalt thou cleave the war-helms and scatter the ruddy rings."

He said: "Meseemeth, mother, thou speakest not in haste, But hast sought and found beforehand, lest thy fair words fall to waste."

She said: "Thou sayest the sooth; I have found the thing I sought: A Maid for thee is shapen, and a Queen for thee is wrought: In the waste land hard by Lymdale a marvellous hall is built, With its roof of the red gold beaten, and its wall-stones over-gilt: Afar o'er the heath men see it, but no man draweth nigher, For the garth that goeth about it is nought but the roaring fire, A white wall waving aloft; and no window nor wicket is there, Whereby the shielded earl-folk or the sons of the merchants may fare: But few things from me are hidden, and I know in that hall of gold Sits Brynhild, white as a wild-swan where the foamless seas are rolled; And the daughter of Kings of the world, and the sister of Queens is she, And wise, and Odin's Chooser, and the Breath of Victory: But for this cause sitteth she thus in the ring of the Wavering Flame, That no son of the Kings will she wed save the mightiest master of fame, And the man who knoweth not fear, and the man foredoomed of fate To ride through her Wavering Fire to the door of her golden gate: And for him she sitteth and waiteth, and him shall she cherish and love, Though the Kings of the world should withstand it, and the Gods that sit above. Speak thou, O mighty Gunnar!--nay rather, Sigurd my son, Say who but the lord of the Niblungs should wed with this glorious one?"

Long Sigurd gazeth upon her, and slow he sayeth again: "I know thy will, my mother; of all the sons of men, Of all the Kings unwedded, and the kindred of the great, It is meet that my brother Gunnar should ride to her golden gate."

In the May-morn riseth Gunnar with fair face and gleaming eyes, And he calleth on Sigurd his brother, and he calleth on Hogni the wise: "Today shall we fare to the wooing, for so doth our mother bid; We shall go to gaze on marvels, and things from the King-folk hid."

So they do on the best of their war-gear, and their steeds are dight for the road, And forth to the sun neigheth Greyfell as he neighed 'neath the Golden Load: But or ever they leap to the saddle, while yet in the door they stand, Thereto cometh Grimhild the wise-wife, and on each head layeth her hand, As she saith: "Be mighty and wise, as the kings that came before! For they knew of the ways of the Gods, and the craft of the Gods they bore: And they knew how the shapes of man-folk are the very images Of the hearts that abide within them, and they knew of the shaping of these. Be wise and mighty, O Kings, and look in mine heart and behold The craft that prevaileth o'er semblance, and the treasured wisdom of old! I hallow you thus for the day, and I hallow you thus for the night, And I hallow you thus for the dawning with my fathers' hidden might. Go now, for ye bear my will while I sit in the hall and spin; And tonight shall be the weaving, and tomorn the web shall ye win."

So they leap to the saddles aloft, and they ride and speak no word, But the hills and the dales are awakened by the clink of the sheathed sword: None looks in the face of the other, but the earth and the heavens gaze, And behold those kings of battle ride down the dusty ways.

So they come to the Waste of Lymdale when the afternoon is begun, And afar they see the flame-blink on the grey sky under the sun: And they spur and speak no word, and no man to his fellow will turn; But they see the hills draw upward and the earth beginning to burn: And they ride, and the eve is coming, and the sun hangs low o'er the earth, And the red flame roars up to it from the midst of the desert's dearth. None turns or speaks to his brother, but the Wrath gleams bare and red, And blood-red is the Helm of Aweing on the golden Sigurd's head, And bare is the blade of Gunnar, and the first of the three he rides, And the wavering wall is before him and the golden sun it hides.

Then the heart of a king's son failed not, but he tossed his sword on high And laughed as he spurred for the fire, and cried the Niblung cry; But the mare's son saw and imagined, and the battle-eager steed, That so oft had pierced the spear-hedge and never failed at need, Shrank back, and shrieked in his terror, and spite of spur and rein Fled fast as the foals unbitted on Odin's pasturing plain; Wide then he wheeled with Gunnar, but with hand and knee he dealt, And the voice of a lord beloved, till the steed his master felt, And bore him back to the brethren; by Greyfell Sigurd stood, And stared at the heart of the fire, and his helm was red as blood; But Hogni sat in his saddle, and watched the flames up-roll; And he said: "Thy steed has failed thee that was once the noblest foal In the pastures of King Giuki; but since thine heart fails not, And thou wouldst not get thee backward and say, The fire was hot, And the voices pent within it were singing nought but death, Let Sigurd lend thee his steed that wore the Glittering Heath, And carried the Bed of the Serpent, and the ancient ruddy rings. So perchance may the mocks be lesser when men tell of the Niblung Kings."

Then Sigurd looked on the twain, and he saw their swart hair wave In the wind of the waste and the flame-blast, and no answer awhile he gave. But at last he spake: "O brother, on Greyfell shalt thou ride, And do on the Helm of Aweing and gird the Wrath to thy side, And cover thy breast with the war-coat that is throughly woven of gold, That hath not its like in the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told: For this is the raiment of Kings when they ride the Flickering Fire, And so sink the flames before them and the might of their desire."

Then Hogni laughed in his heart, and he said: "This changing were well If so might the deed be accomplished; but perchance there is more to tell: Thou shalt take the war-steed, Gunnar, and enough or nought it shall be: But the coal-blue gear of the Niblungs the golden hall shall see." Then Sigurd looked on the speaker, as one who would answer again, But his words died out on the waste and the fire-blast made them vain. Then he casteth the reins to his brother, and Gunnar praiseth his gift, And springeth aloft to the saddle as the fair sun fails from the lift; And Sigurd looks on the burden that Greyfell doth uprear, The huge king towering upward in the dusky Niblung gear: There sits the eager Gunnar, and his heart desires the deed, And of nought he recketh and thinketh, but a fame-stirred warrior's need; But Greyfell trembleth nothing and nought of the fire doth reck: Then the spurs in his flank are smitten, and the reins lie loose on his neck, And the sharp cry springeth from Gunnar--no handbreadth stirred the beast; The dusk drew on and over and the light of the fire increased, And still as a shard on the mountain in the sandy dale alone Was the shape of the cloudy Greyfell, nor moved he more than the stone; But right through the heart of the fire for ever Sigurd stared, As he stood in the gold red-litten with the Wrath's thin edges bared.

No word for a while spake any, till Gunnar leaped to the earth, And the anger wrought within him, and the fierce words came to birth: "Who mocketh the King of the Niblungs in the desert land forlorn? Is it thou, O Sigurd the Stranger? is it thou, O younger-born? Dost thou laugh in the hall, O Mother? dost thou spin, and laugh at the tale That has drawn thy son and thine eldest to the sword and the blaze of the bale? Or thou, O God of the Goths, wilt thou hide and laugh thy fill, While the hands of the foster-brethren the blood of brothers spill?"

But the awful voice of Sigurd across the wild went forth: "How changed are the words of Gunnar! where wend his ways of worth? I mock thee not in the desert, as I mocked thee not in the mead, When I swore beneath the turf-yoke to help thy fondest need: Nay, strengthen thine heart for the work, for the gift that thy manhood awaits; For I give thee a gift, O Niblung, that shall overload the Fates, And how may a King sustain it? but forbear with the dark to strive; For thy mother spinneth and worketh, and her craft is awake and alive."

Then Hogni spake from the saddle: "The time, and the time is come To gather the might of our mother, and of her that spinneth at home. Forbear all words, O Gunnar, and anigh to Sigurd stand, And face to face behold him, and take his hand in thine hand: Then be thy will as his will, that his heart may mingle with thine, And the love that he sware 'neath the earth-yoke with thine hope may intertwine."

Then the wrath from the Niblung slippeth and the shame that anger hath bred, And the heavy wings of the dreamtide flit over Gunnar's head: But he doth by his brother's bidding, and Sigurd's hand he takes, And he looks in the eyes of the Volsung, though scarce in the desert he wakes. There Hogni sits in the saddle aloof from the King's desire, And little his lips are moving, as he stares on the rolling fire, And mutters the spells of his mother, and the words she bade him say: But the craft of the kings of aforetime on those Kings of the battle lay; Dark night was spread behind them, and the fire flared up before, And unheard was the wind of the wasteland mid the white flame's wavering roar.

Long Sigurd gazeth on Gunnar, till he sees, as through a cloud, The long black locks of the Niblung, and the King's face set and proud: Then the face is alone on the dark, and the dusky Niblung mail Is nought but the night before him: then whiles will the visage fail, And grow again as he gazeth, black hair and gleaming eyes, And fade again into nothing, as for more of vision he tries: Then all is nought but the night, yea the waste of an emptier thing, And the fire-wall Sigurd forgetteth, nor feeleth the hand of the King: Nay, what is it now he remembereth? it is nought that aforetime he knew, And no world is there left him to live in, and no deed to rejoice in or rue; But frail and alone he fareth, and as one in the sphere-stream's drift, By the starless empty places that lie beyond the lift: Then at last is he stayed in his drifting, and he saith, It is blind and dark; Yet he feeleth the earth at his feet, and there cometh a change and a spark, And away in an instant of time is the mirk of the dreamland rolled, And there is the fire-lit midnight, and before him an image of gold, A man in the raiment of Gods, nor fashioned worser than they: Full sad he gazeth on Sigurd from the great wide eyes and grey; And the Helm that Aweth the people is set on the golden hair, And the Mail of Gold enwraps him, and the Wrath in his hand is bare.

Then Sigurd looks on his arm and his hand in his brother's hand, And thereon is the dark grey mail-gear well forged in the southern land; Then he looks on the sword that he beareth, and, lo, the eager blade That leaps in the hand of Gunnar when the kings are waxen afraid; And he turns his face o'er his shoulder, and the raven-locks hang down From the dark-blue helm of the Dwarf-folk, and the rings of the Niblung crown.

Then a red flush riseth against him in the face ne'er seen before, Save dimly in the mirror or the burnished targe of war, And the foster-brethren sunder, and the clasped hands fall apart; But a change cometh over Sigurd, and the fierce pride leaps in his heart; He knoweth the soul of Gunnar, and the shaping of his mind; He seeketh the words of Sigurd, and Gunnar's voice doth he find, As he cries: "I know thy bidding; let the world be lief or loth, The child is unborn that shall hearken how Sigurd rued his oath! Well fare thou brother Gunnar! what deed shall I do this eve That I shall never repent of, that thine heart shall never grieve? What deed shall I do this even that none else may bring to the birth, Nay, not the King of the Niblungs, and the lord of the best of the earth?"

The flames rolled up to the heavens, and the stars behind were bright, Dark Hogni sat on his war-steed, and stared out into the night, And there stood Gunnar the King in Sigurd's semblance wrapped, --As Sigurd walking in slumber, for in Grimhild's guile was he lapped, That his heart forgat his glory, and the ways of Odin's lords, And the thought was frozen within him, and the might of spoken words.

But Sigurd leapeth on Greyfell, and the sword in his hand is bare, And the gold spurs flame on his heels, and the fire-blast lifteth his hair; Forth Greyfell bounds rejoicing, and they see the grey wax red, As unheard the war-gear clasheth, and the flames meet over his head, Yet a while they see him riding, as through the rye men ride, When the word goes forth in the summer of the kings by the ocean-side; But the fires were slaked before him and the wild-fire burned no more Than the ford of the summer waters when the rainy time is o'er.

Not once turned Sigurd aback, nor looked o'er the ashy ring, To the midnight wilderness drear and the spell-drenched Niblung King: But he stayed and looked before him, and lo, a house high-built With its roof of the red gold beaten, and its wall-stones over-gilt: So he leapt adown from Greyfell, and came to that fair abode, And dark in the gear of the Niblungs through the gleaming door he strode: All light within was that dwelling, and a marvellous hall it was, But of gold were its hangings woven, and its pillars gleaming as glass, And Sigurd said in his heart, it was wrought erewhile for a God: But he looked athwart and endlong as alone its floor he trod, And lo, on the height of the dais is upreared a graven throne, And thereon a woman sitting in the golden place alone; Her face is fair and awful, and a gold crown girdeth her head; And a sword of the kings she beareth, and her sun-bright hair is shed O'er the laps of the snow-white linen that ripples adown to her feet: As a swan on the billow unbroken ere the firth and the ocean meet, On the dark-blue cloths she sitteth, in the height of the golden place, Nor breaketh the hush of the hall, though her eyes be set on his face.

Now he sees this is even the woman of whom the tale hath been told, E'en she that was wrought for the Niblungs, the bride ordained from of old, And hushed in the hall he standeth, and a long while looks in her eyes, And the word he hath shapen for Gunnar to his lips may never arise.

The man in Gunnar's semblance looked long and knew no deed; And she looked, and her eyes were dreadful, and none would help her need. Then the image of Gunnar trembled, and the flesh of the War-King shrank; For he heard her voice on the silence, and his heart of her anguish drank:

"King, King, who art thou that comest, thou lord of the cloudy gear? What deed for the weary-hearted shall thy strange hands fashion here?"

The speech of her lips pierced through him like the point of the bitter sword, And he deemed that death were better than another spoken word; But he clencheth his hand on the war-blade, and setteth his face as the brass, And the voice of his brother Gunnar from out his lips doth pass: "When thou lookest on me, O Goddess, thou seest Gunnar the King, The King and the lord of the Niblungs, and the chief of their warfaring. But art thou indeed that Brynhild of whom is the rumour and fame, That she bideth the coming of kings to ride her Wavering Flame, Lest she wed the little-hearted, and the world grow evil and vile? For if thou be none other I will speak again in a while."

She said: "Art thou Gunnar the Stranger! O art thou the man that I see? Yea, verily I am Brynhild; what other is like unto me? O men of the Earth behold me! hast thou seen, O labouring Earth, Such sorrow as my sorrow, or such evil as my birth?"

Then spake the Wildfire's Trampler that Gunnar's image bore: "O Brynhild, mighty of women, be thou glorious evermore! Thou seest Gunnar the Niblung, as he sits mid the Niblung lords, And rides with the gods of battle in the fore-front of the swords."

Hard rang his voice in the hall, and a while she spake no word, And there stood the Image of Gunnar, and leaned on his bright blue sword: But at last she cried from the high-seat: "If I yet am alive and awake, I know no words for the speaking, nor what answer I may make." She ceased and he answered nothing; and a hush on the hall there lay And the moon slipped over the windows as he clomb the heavenly way; And no whit stirred the raiment of Brynhild: till she hearkened the Wooer's voice, As he said: "Thou art none of the women that swear and forswear and rejoice, Forgetting the sorrow of kings and the Gods and the labouring earth. Thou shall wed with King Gunnar the Niblung and increase his worth with thy worth."

So spake he in semblance of Gunnar, and from off his hand he drew A ring of the spoils of the Southland, a marvel seen but of few, And he set the ring on her finger, and she turned to her lord and spake: "I thank thee, King, for thy goodwill, and thy pledge of love I take. Depart with my troth to thy people: but ere full ten days are o'er I shall come to the Sons of the Niblungs, and then shall we part no more Till the day of the change of our life-days, when Odin and Freyia shall call. Lo, here, my gift of the morning! 'twas my dearest treasure of all; But thou art become its master, and for thee was it fore-ordained, Since thou art the man of mine oath and the best that the earth hath gained."

And lo, 'twas the Grief of Andvari, and the lack that made him loth, The last of the God-folk's ransom, the Ring of Hindfell's oath; Now on Sigurd's hand it shineth, and long he looketh thereon, But it gave him back no memories of the days that were bygone.

So forth from the hall goes the Wooer, and slow and slow he goes, As a conquered king from his city fares forth to meet his foes; And he taketh the reins of Greyfell, nor yet will back him there, But afoot through the cold slaked ashes of yester-eve doth fare, With his eyes cast down to the earth; till he heareth the wind, and a cry, And raiseth a face brow-knitted and beholdeth men anigh, And beholdeth Hogni the King set grey on his coal-black steed, And beholdeth the image of Sigurd, the King in the golden weed: Then he stayeth and stareth astonished and setteth his hand to his sword; Till Hogni cries from his saddle, and his word is a kindly word:

"Hail, brother, the King of the people! hail, helper of my kin! Again from the death and the trouble great gifts hast thou set thee to win For thy friends and the Niblung children, and hast crowned thine earthly fame, And increased thine exceeding glory and the sound of thy loved name."

Nought Sigurd spake in answer but looked straight forth with a frown, And stretched out his hand to Gunnar, as one that claimeth his own. Then no word speaketh Gunnar, but taketh his hand in his hand, And they look in the eyes of each other, and a while in the desert they stand Till the might of Grimhild prevaileth, and the twain are as yester-morn; But sad was the golden Sigurd, though his eyes knew nought of scorn; And he spake: "It is finished, O Gunnar! and I will that our brotherhood May endure through the good and the evil as it sprang in the days of the good: But I bid thee look to the ending, that the deed I did yest'reve Bear nought for me to repent of, for thine heart of hearts to grieve. Thou art troth-plight, O King of the Niblungs, to Brynhild Queen of the earth, She hath sworn thine heart to cherish and increase thy worth with her worth: She shall come to the house of Gunnar ere ten days are past and o'er; And thenceforth the life of Brynhild shall part from thy life no more, Till the doom of our kind shall speed you, and Odin and Freyia shall call, And ye bide the Day of the Battle, and the uttermost changing of all."

The praise and thanks they gave him! the words of love they spake! The tale that the world should hear of, deeds done for Sigurd's sake! They were lovely might you hear them: but they lack; for in very deed Their sound was clean forgotten in the day of Sigurd's need.

So that night in the hall of the ancient they hold high-tide again, And the Gods on the Southland hangings smile out full fair and fain, And the song goes up of Sigurd, and the praise of his fame fulfilled, But his speech in the dead sleep lieth, and the words of his wisdom are chilled: And men say, the King is careful, for he thinks of the people's weal, And his heart is afraid for our trouble, lest the Gods our joyance steal.

But that night, when the feast was over, to Gudrun Sigurd came, And she noted the ring on his finger, and she knew it was nowise the same As the ring he was wont to carry; so she bade him tell thereof: Then he turned unto her kindly, and his words were words of love; Nor his life nor his death he heeded, but told her last night's tale: Yea, he drew forth the sword for his slaying, and whetted the edges of bale; For he took that Gold of Andvari, that Curse of the uttermost land, And he spake as a king that loveth, and set it on her hand; But her heart was exceeding joyous, as he kissed her sweet and soft, And bade her bear it for ever, that she might remember him oft When his hand from the world was departed and he sat in Odin's home.

How Brynhild was wedded to Gunnar the Niblung.

So ten days wore over, and on the morrow-morn the folk were all astir in the Niblung house, till the watchers on the towers cried to them tidings of a goodly company drawing nigh upon the road. Then the Niblungs got them to horse in glittering-gay raiment and went forth to meet the people of Brynhild.

First rode bands of maidens arrayed in fine linen and blue-broidered cloaks, and after them came a golden wain with horses of snowy white and bench-cloths of blue, and therein sat Brynhild alone, clad in swan-white raiment and crowned with gold. Then they hailed her sweet and goodly, and so she entered the darksome gate-way and came within the Niblung Burg.

So fair in the sun of the forecourt doth Brynhild's wain shine bright, And the huge hall riseth before her, and the ernes cry out from its height, And there by the door of the Niblungs she sees huge warriors stand, Dark-clad, by the shoulders greater than the best of any land, And she knoweth the chiefs of the Niblungs, the dreaded dukes of war: But one in cloudy raiment stands a very midst the door, And ruddy and bright is his visage, and his black locks wave in the wind, And she knoweth the King of the Niblungs and the man she came to find: Then nought she lingered nor loitered, but stepped to the earth adown With right-hand reached to the War-God, the wearer of the crown; And she said: "I behold thee, Gunnar, the King of War that rode Through the waves of the Flickering Fire to the door of mine abode,

"And for this I needs must deem thee the best of all men born, The highest-hearted, the greatest, the staunchest of thy love: And that such the world yet holdeth, my heart is fain thereof: And for thee I deem was I fashioned, and for thee the oath I swore In the days of my glory and wisdom, ere the days of youth were o'er.

"May the fire ne'er stay thy glory, nor the ocean-flood thy fame! Through ages of all ages may the wide world praise thy name! Yea, oft may the word be spoken when low we lie at rest; 'It befell in the days of Gunnar, the happiest and the best!' All this may the high Gods give thee, and thereto a gift I give, The body of Queen Brynhild so long as both we live."

With unmoved face, unfaltering, the blessing-words she said, But the joy sprang up in Gunnar and increased his goodlihead, And he cast his arms about her and kissed her on the mouth, And he said: "The gift is greater than all treasure of the south; As glad as my heart this moment, so glad may be thy life, And the world be never weary of the joy of Gunnar's wife!"

She spake no word, and smiled not, but she held his hand henceforth. And he said; "Now take the greetings of my men, the most of worth."

Then she turned her face to the war-dukes, and hearkened to their praise, And she spake in few words sweetly, and blessed their coming days. Then again spake Gunnar and said: "Lo, Hogni my brother is this; But Guttorm is far on the East-seas, and seeketh the warrior's bliss; A third there is of my brethren, and my house holds none so great; In the hall by the side of my sister thy face doth he await."

Then Brynhild gave fair greeting to Hogni, but anon she turned and questioned Gunnar of his words concerning that brother who awaited her in the hall. "I deemed the sons of Giuki had been but three," said Brynhild. "This fourth, this hall-abider the mighty,--is he akin to thee?"

And Gunnar answered: "He is nought of our blood, But the Gods have sent him to usward to work us measureless good: It is even Sigurd the Volsung, the best man ever born, The man that the Gods withstand not, my friend, and my brother sworn."

She heard the name, and she changed not, but her feet went forth as he led, And under the cloudy roof-tree Queen Brynhild bowed her head. Then, were there a man so ancient as had lived beyond his peers On the earth, that beareth all things, a twice-told tale of years, He had heard no sound so mighty as the shout that shook the wall When Brynhild's feet unhearkened first trod the Niblung hall. No whit the clamour stirred her; but her godlike eyes she raised And betwixt the hedge of the earl-folk on the golden high-seat gazed, And the man that sat by Gudrun: but e'en as the rainless cloud Ere the first of the tempest ariseth the latter sun doth shroud, And men look round and shudder, so Grimhild came between The silent golden Sigurd and the eyes of the mighty Queen, And again heard Brynhild greeting, and again she spake and said:

"O Mother of the Niblungs, such hap be on thine head, As thy love for me, the stranger, was past the pain of words! Mayst thou see thy son's sons glorious in the meeting of the swords! Mayst thou sleep and doubt thee nothing of the fortunes of thy race! Mayst thou hear folk call yon high-seat the earth's most happy place!"

Then the Wise-wife hushed before her, and a little fell aside, And nought from the eyes of Brynhild the high-seat now did hide; And the face so long desired, unchanged from time agone, In the house of the Cloudy People from the Niblung high-seat shone: She stood with her hand in Gunnar's, and all about and around Were the unfamiliar faces, and the folk that day had found; But her heart ran back through the years, and yet her lips did move With the words she spake on Hindfell, when they plighted troth of love.

Lo, Sigurd fair on the high-seat by the white-armed Gudrun's side, In the midst of the Cloudy People, in the dwelling of their pride! His face is exceeding glorious and awful to behold; For of all his sorrow he knoweth and his hope smit dead and cold: The will of the Norns is accomplished, and, lo, they wend on their ways, And leave the mighty Sigurd to deal with the latter days: The Gods look down from heaven, and the lonely King they see, And sorrow over his sorrow, and rejoice in his majesty. For the will of the Norns is accomplished, and outworn is Grimhild's spell, And nought now shall blind or help him, and the tale shall be to tell: He hath seen the face of Brynhild, and he knows why she hath come, And that his is the hand that hath drawn her to the Cloudy People's home: He knows of the net of the days, and the deeds that the Gods have bid, And no whit of the sorrow that shall be from his wakened soul is hid: And his glory his heart restraineth, and restraineth the hand of the strong From the hope of the fools of desire and the wrong that amendeth wrong.

And Brynhild's face drew near him with eyes grown stern and strange.

Now she stands on the floor of the high-seat, and for e'en so little a space As men may note delaying, she looketh on Sigurd's face, Ere she saith: "I have greeted many in the Niblungs' house today, And for thee is the last of my greetings ere the feast shall wear away: Hail, Sigurd, son of the Volsungs! hail, lord of Odin's storm! Hail, rider of the wasteland and slayer of the Worm! If aught thy soul shall desire while yet thou livest on earth, I pray that thou mayst win it, nor forget its might and worth."

All grief, sharp scorn, sore longing, stark death in her voice he knew, But gone forth is the doom of the Norns, and what shall he answer thereto, While the death that amendeth lingers? and they twain shall dwell for awhile In the Niblung house together by the hearth that forged the guile.

So he spake as a King of the people in whom all fear is dead, And his anguish no man noted, as the greeting-words he said: "Hail, fairest of all things fashioned! hail, thou desire of eyes! Hail, chooser of the mightiest, and teacher of the wise! Hail, wife of my brother Gunnar! in might may thy days endure, And in peace without a trouble that the world's weal may be sure!"

But the song sprang up in the hall, and the eagles cried from above And forth to the freshness of May went the joyance of the feast: And Sigurd sat with the Niblungs, and gave ear to most and to least. And showed no sign to the people of the grief that on him lay; Nor seemeth he worser to any than he was on the yesterday.

Of the Contention betwixt the Queens.

So now must Sigurd and Brynhild abide together in the Burg of the Niblungs, yet each must bear the burden of sorrow alone. Brynhild held close converse with Gudrun, and behaved humbly towards her lest strife should arise between them. But Gudrun, filled with pride that she was the wife of so great a man as Sigurd, deemed it a little matter that all others should give her honour, and knowing how Sigurd had ridden the fire, she cherished great scorn of Gunnar and Brynhild in her heart, and her pride waxed daily greater.

Of the heart-wise Hogni men tell how he grew wiser day by day and more learned in the craft of his mother Grimhild.

As for Gunnar, he lived with Brynhild in great honour and praise from all men, but the thought of how Sigurd had ridden the fire in his semblance lay heavy upon him. He brooded thereon in bitterness and envy, and the lie shadowed his life-days so that he had but small joy in his wife.

And Grimhild, marking his heavy mood, wrought upon him with cunning words and he gave ear to her. For ever she spake of kings' supplanters who bear away the praise from their lords after great deeds are done, and often her talk was of the mighty power that he holdeth who knoweth the shame of a king. So Gunnar hearkened and ill thoughts grew within him.

But fair-faced, calm as a God who hath none to call his foes, Betwixt the Kings and the people the golden Sigurd goes; No knowledge of man he lacketh, and the lore he gained of old From the ancient heart of the Serpent and the Wallower on the Gold Springs fresh in the soul of Sigurd; the heart of Hogni he sees, And the heart of his brother Gunnar, and he grieveth sore for these.

It was most in these latter days that his fame went far abroad, The helper, the overcomer, the righteous sundering sword; The loveliest King of the King-folk, the man of sweetest speech, Whose ear is dull to no man that his helping shall beseech; The eye-bright seer of all things, that wasteth every wrong, The straightener of the crooked, the hammer of the strong: Lo, such was the Son of Sigmund in the days whereof I tell, The dread of the doom and the battle; and all children loved him well.

Now Gudrun's scorn of Brynhild waxed greater as she thought on the knowledge that she held, and it needed but a little that she should speak out the whole tale.

Such was her mind when it befell her to go with Brynhild to bathe in the Niblung river. There it chanced that they fell to talk of their husbands, and Gudrun named Sigurd the best of the world. Thereat Brynhild, stung by her love for Sigurd and the memory of his broken troth,--for so she deemed it,--cried out, saying: "Thy lord is but Gunnar's serving man to do his bidding, but my mate is the King of King-folk, who rode the Wavering Fire and hath dared very death to win me."

Then Gudrun held out her hand and a golden gleam shone on her finger, at the sight whereof Brynhild waxed wan as a dead woman. "Lo," said Gudrun, "I had Andvari's ring of Sigurd, and indeed thou sayest truly, that he did Gunnar's bidding, for he took the King's semblance and hid his own shape in Gunnar's. Thus he wooed the bride for Gunnar and for Gunnar rode the fire, and now by this token mayest thou know whether thy husband is truly the best of Kings." And Brynhild spake no word in answer, but clad herself in haste and fled from the river, and Gudrun followed her in triumph of heart.

Yet as the day wore on she repented of her words and feared the deeds that Brynhild might do, and at even she sought her alone and craved pardon. Then spake Brynhild the Queen: "I repent me of my bitter words this day, yet one thing I beseech thee,--do thou say that thou hadst the ring of Gunnar and not of Sigurd, lest I be shamed before all men." "What?" said Gudrun; "hast thou heard that the wives of the Niblungs lie? Nay, Sigurd it was who set this ring on my finger and therewith he told me the shame of my brother Gunnar,--how his glory was turned to a scoff."

And Brynhild seeing that the tale of the deceiving wrought against her might not be hidden, lifted her voice and cursed the house of the Niblungs wherein she had suffered such woe. So the queens parted in great wrath and bitterness.

Of the exceeding great grief and mourning of Brynhild.

Now on the morrow it was known that Brynhild was sick, nor would she reveal the cause to any. Then Gunnar besought her to be comforted and to show what ailed her, but for a long while he might win no word in answer. Thereat the evil thoughts that Grimhild had sown in his heart grew strong, and he cried in bitter anger: "Lo, Brynhild, I deem thou art sick for love of my foe, the supplanter of Kings, he who hath shone like a serpent this long while past amidst the honour of our kin."

Then at last was Brynhild moved to look on him, and she besought him, saying: "Swear to me, Gunnar, that I may live, and say that thou gavest Andvari's ring to Gudrun--thou, and not thy captain of war." Thereby Gunnar understood that all his falsehood was known to her, so that never again might they two have any joy together. He had no answering word, but turned from her and departed, for bitter shame was come on him and hatred of Sigurd burnt in his soul like fire.

Then as evening drew on, boding of evil fell on Gudrun, and she sought her brothers that they might plead with Brynhild to pardon her and forget her bitter taunts.

But Gunnar she found seated alone arrayed in his war-gear and on his knees lay his sword, neither would he hear any word of further pleading with Brynhild.

Then sought she Hogni, and behold, he was in the like guise, and sat as one that waits for a foe. So she sped to Sigurd, but chill fear fell on her beholding him, for he was dight in the Helm of Aweing and his golden hauberk, and the Wrath lay on his knees, neither would he then speak to Brynhild.

So that heavy night passed away and there was but little sleep in the abode of the Niblungs. And with the dawn Sigurd arose and sought Brynhild's chamber where she lay as one dead. Like a pillar of light he stood in the sunshine and the Wrath rattled by his side. And Brynhild looked on him and said: "Art thou come to behold me? Thou--the mightiest and the worst of my betrayers." Then for very grief the breast of Sigurd heaved so that the rings of his byrny burst asunder and he cried: "O live, Brynhild beloved! For hereafter shalt thou know of the snare and the lie that entrapped us and the measureless grief of my soul." "It is o'erlate," said Brynhild, "for I may live no longer and the gods have forgotten the earth." And in such despair must he leave her.

Of the slaying of Sigurd the Volsung.

Then at high noon Brynhild sent for Gunnar and sought to whet him to the slaying of Sigurd, for to such hatred was her love turned.

"I look upon thee," said Brynhild, "I know thy race and thy name, Yet meseems the deed thou sparest, to amend thine evil and shame."

"Nought, nought," he said, "may amend it, save the hungry eyeless sword, And the war without hope or honour, and the strife without reward."

"Thou hast spoken the word," said Brynhild, "if the word is enough, it is well. Let us eat and drink and be merry, that all men of our words may tell!"

"O all-wise woman," said Gunnar, "what deed lieth under the tongue? What day for the dearth of the people, when the seed of thy sowing hath sprung?"

She said: "Our garment is Shame, and nought the web shall rend, Save the day without repentance, and the deed that nought may amend."

"Speak, mighty of women," said Gunnar, "and cry out the name and the deed That the ends of the Earth may hearken, and the Niblungs' grievous Need." "To slay," she said, "is the deed, to slay a King ere the morn, And the name is Sigurd the Volsung, my love and thy brother sworn."

She turned and departed from him, and he knew not whither she went; But he took his sword from the girdle and the peace-strings round it rent, And into the house he gat him, and the sunlit fair abode, But his heart in the mid-mirk waded, as through the halls he strode, Till he came to a chamber apart; and Grimhild his mother was there, And there was his brother Hogni in the cloudy Niblung gear: Him-seemed there was silence between them as of them that have spoken, and wait Till the words of their mouths be accomplished by slow unholpen Fate: But they turned to the door, and beheld him, and he took his sheathed sword And cast it adown betwixt them, and it clashed half bare on the board, And Grimhild spake as it clattered: "For whom are the peace-strings rent? For whom is the blood-point whetted and the edge of thine intent?" He said: "For the heart of Sigurd; and thus all is rent away Betwixt this word and his slaying, save a little hour of day."

Again spake Grimhild the wise-wife: "Where then is Guttorm the brave? For he blent not his blood with the Volsung's, nor his oath to Sigurd gave, Nor called on Earth to witness, nor went beneath the yoke; And now is he Sigurd's foeman; and who may curse his stroke?"

Then Hogni laughed and answered: "His feet on the threshold stand: Forged is thy sword, O Mother, and its hilts are come to hand.

"Ho, Guttorm, enter, and hearken to the counsel of the wise!" Then in through the door strode Guttorm fair-clad in hunter's guise, With no steel save his wood-knife girded; but his war-fain eyes stared wild, As he spake: "What words are ye hiding from the youngest Niblung child? What work is to win, my brethren, that ye sit in warrior's weed, And tell me nought of the glory, and cover up the deed?"

Then uprose Grimhild the wise-wife, and took the cup again; Night-long had she brewed that witch-drink and laboured not in vain. For therein was the creeping venom, and hearts of things that prey On the hidden lives of ocean, and never look on day; And the heart of the ravening wood-wolf and the hunger-blinded beast And the spent slaked heart of the wild-fire the guileful cup increased: But huge words of ancient evil about its rim were scored, The curse and the eyeless craving of the first that fashioned sword.

So the cup in her hand was gleaming, as she turned unto Guttorm and spake: "Be merry, King of the War-fain! we hold counsel for thy sake: The work is a God's son's slaying, and thine is the hand that shall smite, That thy name may be set in, glory and thy deeds live on in light."

Forth flashed the flame from his eyen, and he cried: "Where then is the foe, This dread of mine house and my brethren, that my hand may lay him alow?"

"Drink, son," she said, "and be merry! and I shall tell his name, Whose death shall crown thy life-days, and increase thy fame with his fame."

He drinketh and craveth for battle, and his hand for a sword doth seek, And he looketh about on his brethren, but his lips no word may speak; They speak the name, and he hears not, and again he drinks of the cup And knows not friend nor kindred, and the wrath in his heart wells up, That no God may bear unmingled, and he cries a wordless cry, As the last of the day is departing and the dusk time drawing anigh.

Then Grimhild goes from the chamber, and bringeth his harness of war, And therewith they array his body, and he drinketh the cup once more, And his heart is set on the murder, and now may he understand What soul is dight for the slaying, and what quarry is for his hand. For again they tell him of Sigurd, and the man he remembereth, And praiseth his mighty name and his deeds that laughed on death.

Now dusk and dark draw over, and through the glimmering house They go to the place of the Niblungs, the high hall and glorious; For hard by is the chamber of Sigurd: there dight in their harness of war In their thrones sit Gunnar and Hogni, but Guttorm stands on the floor With his blue blade naked before them: the torches flare from the wall And the woven God-folk waver, but the hush is deep in the hall, And those Niblung faces change not, though the slow moon slips from her height And earth is acold ere dawning, and new winds shake the night.

Now it was in the earliest dawn-dusk that Guttorm stirred in his place, And the mail-rings tinkled upon him, as he turned his helm-hid face, And went forth from the hall and the high-seat; but the Kings sat still in their pride And hearkened the clash of his going and heeded how it died.

Slow, all alone goeth Guttorm to Sigurd's chamber door, And all is open before him, and the white moon lies on the floor And the bed where Sigurd lieth with Gudrun on his breast, And light comes her breath from her bosom in the joy of infinite rest. Then Guttorm stands on the threshold, and his heart of the murder is fain, And he thinks of the deeds of Sigurd, and praiseth his greatness and gain; Bright blue is his blade in the moonlight--but lo, how Sigurd lies, As the carven dead that die not, with fair wide-open eyes; And their glory gleameth on Guttorm, and the hate in his heart is chilled, And he shrinketh aback from the threshold and knoweth not what he willed.

Thereon he turned him again to the hall, and the Kings beheld his unstained sword in the torch-light, but they cast him never a word. Then shame and wrath urged him and he wended the second time to Sigurd's chamber, but yet again the dread eyes of the Volsung were open and he fled from their light to his biding brethren.

Now dieth moon and candle, and though the day be nigh The roof of the hall fair-builded seems far aloof as the sky, But a glimmer grows on the pavement and the ernes on the roof-ridge stir: Then the brethren hist and hearken, for a sound of feet they hear, And into the hall of the Niblungs a white thing cometh apace: But the sword of Guttorm upriseth, and he wendeth from his place, And the clash of steel goes with him; yet loud as it may sound Still more they hear those footsteps light-falling on the ground, And the hearts of the Niblungs waver, and their pride is smitten acold, For they look on that latest comer, and Brynhild they behold: But she sits by their side in silence, and heeds them nothing more Than the grey soft-footed morning heeds yester-even's war.

But Guttorm clashed in the cloisters and through the silence strode And scarce on the threshold of Sigurd a little while abode; There the moon from the floor hath departed and heaven without is grey, And afar in the eastern quarter faint glimmer streaks of day. Close over the head of Sigurd the Wrath gleams wan and bare, And the Niblung woman stirreth, and her brow is knit with fear; But the King's closed eyes are hidden, loose lie his empty hands, There is nought 'twixt the sword of the slayer and the Wonder of all Lands. Then Guttorm laughed in his war-rage, and his sword leapt up on high, As he sprang to the bed from the threshold and cried a wordless cry, And with all the might of the Niblungs through Sigurd's body thrust, And turned and fled from the chamber, and fell amid the dust, Within the door and without it, the slayer slain by the slain; For the cast of the sword of Sigurd had smitten his body atwain While yet his cry of onset through the echoing chambers went.

Woe's me! how the house of the Niblungs by another cry was rent, The wakening wail of Gudrun, as she shrank in the river of blood From the breast of the mighty Sigurd: he heard it and understood, And rose up on the sword of Guttorm, and turned from the country of death, And spake words of loving-kindness as he strove for life and breath:

"Wail not, O child of the Niblungs! I am smitten, but thou shall live, In remembrance of our glory, mid the gifts the Gods shall give!"

She stayed her cry to hearken, and her heart well nigh stood still: But he spake: "Mourn not, O Gudrun, this stroke is the last of ill; Fear leaveth the House of the Niblungs on this breaking of the morn; Mayst thou live, O woman beloved, unforsaken, unforlorn!"

Then he sank aback on the sword, and down to his lips she bent If some sound therefrom she might hearken; for his breath was well-nigh spent: "It is Brynhild's deed," he murmured, "and the woman that loves me well; Nought now is left to repent of, and the tale abides to tell. I have done many deeds in my life-days, and all these, and my love, they lie In the hollow hand of Odin till the day of the world go by. I have done and I may not undo, I have given and I take not again: Art thou other than I, Allfather, wilt thou gather my glory in vain?"

There was silence then in the chamber, as the dawn spread wide and grey, And hushed was the hall of the Niblungs at the entering-in of day. Long Gudrun hung o'er the Volsung and waited the coming word; Then she stretched out her hand to Sigurd and touched her love and her lord, And the broad day fell on his visage, and she knew she was there alone, And her heart was wrung with anguish and she uttered a weary moan: Then Brynhild laughed in the hall, and the first of men's voices was that Since when on yester-even the kings in the high-seat had sat.

In the house rose rumour and stir, and men stood up in the morn, And their hearts with doubt were shaken, as if with the Uttermost Horn: The cry and the calling spread, and shields clashed down from the wall, And swords in the chamber glittered, and men ran apace to the hall. Nor knew what man to question, nor who had tidings to give, Nor what were the days thenceforward wherein the folk should live. But ever the word is amongst them that Sigurd the Volsung is slain, And the spears in the hall were tossing as the rye in the windy plain. But they look aloft to the high-seat and they see the gleam of the gold: And Gunnar the King of battle, and Hogni wise and cold, And Brynhild the wonder of women; and her face is deadly pale, And the Kings are clad in their war-gear, and bared are the edges of bale. Then cold fear falleth upon them, but the noise and the clamour abate, And they look on the war-wise Gunnar and awhile for his word they wait; But e'en as he riseth above them, doth a shriek through the tumult ring;

"Awake, O House of the Niblungs, for slain is Sigurd the King!"

Then nothing faltered Gunnar, but he stood o'er the Niblung folk, And over the hall woe-stricken the words of pride he spoke:

"Mourn now, O Niblung people, for gone is Sigurd our guest, And Guttorm the King is departed, and this is our day of unrest; But all this of the Norns was fore-ordered, and herein is Odin's hand; Cast down are the mighty of men-folk, but the Niblung house shall stand: Mourn then today and tomorrow, but the third day waken and live, For the Gods died not this morning, and great gifts they have to give."

He spake and awhile was silence, and then did the cry outbreak, And many there were of the Earl-folk that wept for Sigurd's sake; And they wept for their little children, and they wept for those unborn, Who should know the earth without him and the world of his worth forlorn.

So rent is the joy of the Niblungs; and their simple days and fain From that ancient house are departed, and who shall buy them again? For he, the redeemer, the helper, the crown of all their worth, They looked upon him and wondered, they loved, and they thrust him forth.

Of the mighty Grief of Gudrun over Sigurd dead.

But as for the grief of Gudrun over Sigurd no man may tell it. Long she lay on his body and spent herself in weeping, but at last she arose and cursed Brynhild and Gunnar and all the Niblung house, saying:

"O hearken, hearken Gunnar! May the dear Gold drag thee adown, And Greyfell's ruddy Burden, and the Treasure of renown, And the rings that ye swore the oath on! yea, if all avengers die, May Earth, that ye bade remember, on the blood of Sigurd cry! Be this land as waste as the troth-plight that the lips of fools have sworn! May it rain through this broken hall-roof, and snow on the hearth forlorn! And may no man draw anigh it to tell of the ruin and the wrack! Yea, may I be a mock for the idle if my feet come ever aback, If my heart think kind of the chambers, if mine eyes shall yearn to behold The fair-built house of my fathers, the house beloved of old!"

And therewith Gudrun fled forever from the Burg of the Niblungs, and none dared hinder or follow her, and none knew whither she turned for refuge.

Of the passing away of Brynhild.

Once more on the morrow-morning fair shineth the glorious sun, And the Niblung children labour on a deed that shall be done. For out in the people's meadows they raise a bale on high, The oak and the ash together, and thereon shall the Mighty lie; Nor gold nor steel shall be lacking, nor savour of sweet spice, Nor cloths in the Southlands woven, nor webs of untold price; The work grows, toil is as nothing; long blasts of the mighty horn From the topmost tower out-wailing o'er the woeful world are borne.

But Brynhild cried to her maidens: "Now open ark and chest, And draw forth queenly raiment of the loveliest and the best, Red rings that the Dwarf-lords fashioned, fair cloths that queens have sewed, To array the bride for the mighty, and the traveller for the road."

They wept as they wrought her bidding and did on her goodliest gear; But she laughed mid the dainty linen, and the gold-rings fashioned fair: She arose from the bed of the Niblungs, and her face no more was wan; As a star in the dawn-tide heavens, mid the dusky house she shone: And they that stood about her, their hearts were raised aloft Amid their fear and wonder: then she spake them kind and soft:

"Now give me the sword, O maidens, wherewith I sheared the wind When the Kings of Earth were gathered to know the Chooser's mind."

All sheathed the maidens brought it, and feared the hidden blade, But the naked blue-white edges across her knees she laid, And spake: "The heaped-up riches, the gear my fathers left, All dear-bought woven wonders, all rings from battle reft, All goods of men desired, now strew them on the floor, And so share among you, maidens, the gifts of Brynhild's store."

Then upright by the bed of the Niblungs for a moment doth she stand, And the blade flasheth bright in the chamber, but no more they hinder her hand Than if a God were smiting to rend the world in two: Then dulled are the glittering edges, and the bitter point cleaves through The breast of the all-wise Brynhild, and her feet from the pavement fail, And the sigh of her heart is hearkened mid the hush of the maidens' wail. Chill, deep is the fear upon them, but they bring her aback to the bed, And her hand is yet on the hilts, and sidelong droopeth her head.

Then there cometh a cry from withoutward, and Gunnar's hurrying feet Are swift on the kingly threshold, and Brynhild's blood they meet. Low down o'er the bed he hangeth and hearkeneth for her word, And her heavy lids are opened to look on the Niblung lord, And she saith: "I pray thee a prayer, the last word in the world I speak, That ye bear me forth to Sigurd, and the hand my hand would seek; The bale for the dead is builded, it is wrought full wide on the plain, It is raised for Earth's best Helper, and thereon is room for twain: Ye have hung the shields about it, and the Southland hangings spread, There lay me adown by Sigurd and my head beside his head."

Then they took the body of Brynhild in the raiment that she wore, And out through the gate of the Niblungs the holy corpse they bore, And thence forth to the mead of the people, and the high-built shielded bale; Then afresh in the open meadows breaks forth the women's wail When they see the bed of Sigurd and the glittering of his gear; And fresh is the wail of the people as Brynhild draweth anear, And the tidings go before her that for twain the bale is built, That for twain is the oak-wood shielded and the pleasant odours spilt.

There is peace on the bale of Sigurd, and the Gods look down from on high, And they see the lids of the Volsung close shut against the sky, As he lies with his shield beside him in the Hauberk all of gold, That has not its like in the heavens, nor has earth of its fellow told; And forth from the Helm of Aweing are the sunbeams flashing wide, And the sheathed Wrath of Sigurd lies still by his mighty side. Then cometh an elder of days, a man of the ancient times, Who is long past sorrow and joy, and the steep of the bale he climbs; And he kneeleth down by Sigurd, and bareth the Wrath to the sun That the beams are gathered about it, and from hilt to blood-point run, And wide o'er the plain of the Niblungs doth the Light of the Branstock glare, Till the wondering mountain-shepherds on that star of noontide stare, And fear for many an evil; but the ancient man stands still With the war-flame on his shoulder, nor thinks of good or of ill, Till the feet of Brynhild's bearers on the topmost bale are laid, And her bed is dight by Sigurd's; then he sinks the pale white blade And lays it 'twixt the sleepers, and leaves them there alone-- He, the last that shall ever behold them,--and his days are well nigh done.

Then is silence over the plain; in the noon shine the torches pale As the best of the Niblung Earl-folk bear fire to the builded bale: Then a wind in the west ariseth, and the white flames leap on high, And with one voice crieth the people a great and mighty cry, And men cast up hands to the Heavens, and pray without a word, As they that have seen God's visage, and the voice of the Father have heard.

They are gone--the lovely, the mighty, the hope of the ancient Earth: It shall labour and bear the burden as before that day of their birth.

Ye have heard of Sigurd aforetime, how the foes of God he slew; How forth from the darksome desert the Gold of the Waters he drew; How he wakened Love on the Mountain, and wakened Brynhild the Bright, And dwelt upon Earth for a season and shone in all men's sight. Ye have heard of the Cloudy People, and the dimming of the day, And the latter world's confusion, and Sigurd gone away.

THE END

GLOSSARY

ABBREVIATIONS:--n., noun; n., verb; cf., compare; e.g., for example; p.t., past tense; p.p. past participle.

Abasement, casting down, defeat.

Acre-biders, peaceful workers in the fields as distinguished from warriors who left their homes to go to war.

Amber, a yellow substance found on the shores of the Baltic Sea and used from very early days as an ornament. The "southern men," or traders from the shores of the Mediterranean, came north to buy it.

Ark, a box for treasures.

Atwain, in two pieces, e.g. "The sword ... had smitten his body atwain."

Avail, n. power; n. to have power, to succeed.

Bale, disaster, destruction, death; a great pile of wood for burning.

Balks, pieces of timber used to make a bridge.

Bane, destruction or a cause of destruction; often used to mean an enemy or slayer, e.g. Sigurd's sword is called "Fafnir's bane," and in the old saga Sigurd himself had the title Fafnir's-Bane.

Barter, to give in exchange for something else.

Bast, wrappings made of the soft inner bark of trees.

Bath of the swan, the sea.

Battle-acre, field of battle.

Beaker, a drinking cup.

Befall, happen.

Begrudge, to feel unwillingness in giving, to be displeased at another's success. Loki is called the World's Begrudger, because he liked to cause failure and unhappiness, and hated success in others.

Bench-cloths, coverings for seats.

Bent, a piece of high ground.

Betide, p.t. betided; p.p. betid; to happen, come to pass, e.g. "What hath betid?"

Bickering, stormy, struggling.

Bide or abide, p.t. abode; p.p. abode; to remain, dwell

Bight, a bend or curve in a coast or river bank.

Bill, an axe with a long handle.

Blazoning, painting, especially the painting of coats of arms or of records of valiant deeds.

Boar of Son. It was customary when making any solemn vows to lay the hand or sword on a sacred boar called the Boar of Son or the Boar of Atonement. The ceremony seems to have been also accompanied by drinking a draught, called in this poem the Cup of Daring Promise, in honour of one of the gods.

Boding, a misgiving, a feeling that evil is to come.

Bole, a tree-trunk.

Bows the acre's face, bends the growing grain in a harvest-field.

Brand, a sword.

Bucklers, shields.

Burg, a town, a fortress.

Byrny, a coat of armour for back and breast, made of linked iron rings.

Carles, peasants; a contemptuous word used for a man who is not a warrior.

Change his life, die and pass from the life on earth to that in Valhalla or Niflheim.

Chooser. One of the titles of Brynhild, as she was one of the Valkyries or maidens whom Odin sent into battles to single out for death the men he had chosen to be slain. Victory-Wafter is another title of Brynhild, since she brought victory to those for whom it was appointed and death to others.

Churl, a grudging, ungracious man.

Clave, p.p. of cleave, to pierce, hew, cut through.

Cloisters, a roofed passage running round a court-yard and open on the side towards the court-yard.

Close, a field.

Cloud-wreath, the cloud that often gathers about the top of a high mountain.

Compass, to contrive, accomplish.

Constrain, to force, to control and guide.

Coping, the topmost row of bricks in a wall, the top of a wall.

Craft, skill, knowledge of some particular art, a trade or occupation, e.g. song-craft.

Cull, to choose, pick out.

Cup of Daring Promise, see Boar of Son.

Dais, a raised part of the floor at one end of a banquet hall, where the principal persons sat.

Dastard, a coward.

Dawn-dusk, the twilight at dawn before the sun is fully risen.

Day of the Battle, Ragnarok, when the spirits of dead warriors should join in the battle of the gods. "Day of Doom" has the same meaning.

Dearth, want, famine, scarcity.

Deft, skilful, e.g. deft in every cunning.

Dight, made ready, prepared, e.g. war-dight, prepared for war.

Dole, n. a gift dealt out as charity; n. to measure out in small portions, e.g. I doled out wisdom to thee.

Doom, n. a sentence, verdict, e.g. give righteous doom; n. to condemn, to sentence. Doom-ring, a circle of stones or hazel poles where kings heard complaints from their people and gave judgment.

Do on, put on; often shortened into "don"; cf. doff, which is shortened from do off.

Door-wards, porters, door-keepers.

Dragons, the war-ships of the northern nations, which often had their prows carved into a dragon's head.

Dwindle, to grow less.

Edges of bale, the sword edges, which bring bale or destruction.

Egg, to urge on, to persuade to some deed, e.g. "Too much thou eggest me."

Eld, old age.

Endlong, length-ways, along. Endlong and athwart, along and across.

Erewhile, some time ago, formerly.

Erne, an eagle.

Eyen, eyes; old plural of eye.

Fain, glad, willing, full of desire. Sometimes used as an adverb meaning "willingly," e.g. "They fain would go aland."

Fair-speech-masters, men skilled in poetry. There were professional singers and poets called skalds among the northern people, and the power to make verses and to sing was cultivated among the mass of the people and was fairly common.

Fallow, lying quiet, inactive, not bearing crops. The expression, "fallow bondage," means a bondage of sleep and idleness.

Fare, to travel. Sometimes when joined to adverbs it means to prosper, e.g. to fare ill, to fare well, how does he fare?

Fashion, to make, to arrange. Regin hoped to be the world's "fashioning lord," that is, the supreme king and orderer of all things.

Fell-abiding folk, men who worked at home instead of going out to battle.

Flame-blink, the flash of light from the fire round Brynhild's home.

Flaw, defect, fault, e.g. "the hauberk ... clean wrought without a flaw;" "the ring ... that hath ... no flaw for God to mend." If used of rain, it means a slight shower, e.g. "a flaw of summer rain,"

Fleck, spot, mark.

Foam-bow, the small rainbow seen in the spray from a waterfall.

Foil, n. defeat, failure; n. to defeat, to baffle.

Fold, a place for shutting up sheep. It is often used meaning any dwelling-place, e.g. Fafnir's abode is called "the lone destroyer's fold."

Folk, people. It is often joined with other words, e.g. man-folk, Goth-folk. Folk of the-war-wands forgers, are the race of dwarfs who had great skill in the making of weapons.

Fond, used in Old English to mean "foolish," or sometimes only to give emphasis, as in the expression "thy fondest need," meaning "thy greatest need."

Foot-hills, the lower hills round the base of a very high mountain.

Fore-ordained, settled by the will of the gods in early times.

Foster, to rear, to bring up a child, to care for, to shelter, e.g. "Now would I foster Sigurd;" "the house that fostered me."

Franklin, a well-to-do farmer, one who is not merely a hired servant.

Freyia, the wife of Odin and chief of the goddesses.

Gainsay, to resist, to refuse a request.

Gaping Gap, a name given to the state of things that existed before the world was made. There was supposed to have been an empty space till Odin created the world of gods and men.

Garner, to gather up, to store up; sometimes, to reap.

Garth, an enclosure, a place from which things may be garnered, e.g. "within the garth that it (the wall) girdeth."

Gear, a word used with many meanings, as, dress, arms, possessions, anything that a person has or uses, e.g. war-gear, all a man's armour and weapons; mail-gear, a man's armour.

Gird, to tie round, to be all round, e.g. "The Wrath to his side is girded;" "a wall doth he behold ... but within the garth that it girdeth no work of man is set."

Glaive, a sword.

God-home, Asgard.

Gold-bestrider, the name given to Sigurd by Giuki because he rode with the treasure of gold upon his saddle. To bestride is to stand over anything with one foot on each side.

Good-heart, kindly strength.

Goodlihead, a word of praise which is generally used to mean bodily beauty, but sometimes to mean beauty of character.

Grovel, to crouch low on the ground.

Guest-fain, hospitable, ready to welcome guests.

Guile, cunning, cleverness used for an evil purpose.

Guise, appearance, kind, dress, e.g. "such was the guise of his raiment;" "fair-clad in hunter's guise."

Halers of the hawsers, pullers of the ropes, i.e. seamen.

Hallow, to set apart for a solemn purpose, to make holy, e.g. I hallow me to Odin for a leader of his host.

Hangings, tapestry, woven stuff on which pictures or figures of gods and heroes were embroidered, used to decorate the walls of houses, e.g. "The walls were strange and wondrous with noble stories told;" "the gods on the hangings stirred."

Harness, armour.

Hauberk, a breast-plate.

Heave, to rise and fall, sometimes merely to rise, e.g. "The doom ... heaves up dim through the gloom."

High-seat, the dais or chief seat where the master of a house and his principal guests sat.

High-tide, time of festival.

Hindfell, the word means "deer-mountain," since "fell" means any hill, and "hind" is the word we still use for a deer.

Hireling, a servant.

Hist, to give attention, to listen.

Hithermost, nearest.

Hoard, a store. Generally used of a treasure which the owner keeps selfishly, e.g. Fafnir's wisdom is called "grudged and hoarded wisdom," and his gold the "heavy hoard."

Hoenir, one of Odin's sons; a wise and blameless god who, the others believed, would return to reign over a new heaven and a new earth when Ragnarok was past.

Holt, a woodland.

Hoppled, fettered.

Horse-fed, cropped by horses.

Horse-herd, keeper of horses. "Herd" means any keeper of animals, and is generally joined with other words, e.g. shepherd, swine-herd.

Huddled, twisted together in a small space.

Intent, intention, purpose. In the passage, "For whom is the blood-point whetted and the edge of thine intent?" the meaning is, "Against whom is thy sword sharpened, and against whom is thy purpose so keen?"

Kin, family, relations. Kin of the Wolf, Loki and his children, one of whom was a monstrous wolf which was to fight against the gods at Ragnarok.

Kine, cattle.

Kirtle, a long cloak.

Lack, loss, e.g. "He knew there was ruin and lack." "The lack that made him loth" is used to describe the ring of Andvari which he was unwilling to give up with the rest of his treasure to Loki. n. "To be without," or, "to be found wanting."

Lay, a song.

Lea, a meadow.

Leeches, doctors.

Lief, willing.

Lift, the arch of the sky overhead, the highest part of the sky.

Linden, the lime-tree.

Linked mail, armour made of rings linked together.

Lintel, the top of a doorway.

List, to wish, to choose.

Litten, lighted up; cf. red-litten, torch-litten.

Long-ships, ships of war.

Lore, learning, knowledge.

Loth, unwilling, grieved.

Mar, to spoil, disfigure.

Mark, boundary, borderland.

Masters of God-home, the gods of Asgard against whom the giants and all foul monsters were constantly at war.

Mattock, a pick-axe.

Mead, a meadow.

Mew, a sea-gull.

Mid-mirk, thick darkness. Mirk, darkness.

Midward, prime, best days.

Midworld, the earth; the home of men as distinguished from Asgard, the home of the gods, and Niflheim, the home of the dead.

Minish, to grow less.

Moon-wake, the long straight path of light made by the moon on water.

Murder-churls, fierce and suspicious men ready to slay a guest.

Mute, dumb, silent.

Nether, lower.

Niggard, grudging, miserly, unproductive, e.g. the Glittering Heath is called "niggard ground."

Norns, the three maidens who decided the fates of gods and men. Their names were Urd, Verdandi and Skuld, or Past, Present, and Future, and they were more powerful than the gods themselves, e.g. "Gone, forth is the will of the Norns, that abideth ever the same."

Odin's door, a warrior's shield.

Odin's Hall, Valhalla, to which went the souls of warriors slain in battle.

Pall, a cloak of state; most commonly used in the expression "purple and pall."

Passing, very; used to give emphasis, e.g. "He loveth her passing sore," where both words are simply emphatic.

Peace-strings, the strings which tied a sword into its sheath when it was not in use.

Peers, equals in age and rank.

People's Praise. Odin, chief of the gods. "The death of the People's Praise" is Ragnarok, the time when Odin and all his fellow gods were to be destroyed.

Purblind, dim-sighted. The syllable "pur" is a form of the word pure, and gives emphasis to blind.

Purple, cloth dyed with a purple dye made from the murex, a shell-fish found in the Mediterranean. The secret of making it was known only to the "southern men" or Phoenician traders of Tyre and Sidon.

Quarry, game, prey, the animal chased by a hunter.

Quell, to stop, make to cease.

Quicken, to rouse, bring to life.

Ravening, devouring, eager for prey; often used of wild animals.

Reck, to notice, care about.

Reek, smoke rising from a fire, or spray and mist from a waterfall, e.g. "the reek of the falling flood;" "the heart of Fafnir ... sang among the reek."

Renown, fame, honour.

Rock-wall, mountain cliff.

Roof-tree, the topmost beam which forms the ridge of a roof.

Rue, to regret, to find a cause of woe.

Rumour, report, gossiping tale.

Rune, letter. The letters used in old Icelandic and similar languages are called runic characters. When written letters were first known in the north of Europe they were supposed to have magic powers, and gradually the word "rune" came to mean any spell, or even any wisdom which was beyond the ordinary knowledge of men.

Ruth, pity, regret, e.g. "Ruth arose in his heart;" "I have hearkened not nor heeded the words of thy fear and thy ruth."

Salutation, greeting.

Sate, satisfy to the full.

Scalds, the poets who recited poems or stories at feasts.

Scoff, an object of mockery.

Scored, carved, marked by lines cut deeply into a surface.

Sea-beast's tooth, the tusks of the walrus.

Sea-mead, the wide surface of the sea. The word means sea-meadow.

Seethe, to bubble and move like boiling water.

Semblance, an appearance, outward show where there is no reality.

Serry, to crowd closely together.

Shards, broken fragments, e.g. "the shards of a glaive of battle."

Shield-burg, a fortress built of shields. Burg means either a town, a castle, or a fortress.

Shield-wall, the defence made by fighting men holding their shields close together as they stand at bay.

Shift, n. a trick, cunning plan, e.g. "my cunning shifts;" n. to contrive, be able, e.g. "the man whose heart and hand may shift, To pluck it from the oak-wood."

Shimmer, to gleam and change colour as the light alters.

Skerry, a rocky island near the coast.

Slaked, cooled, put out; used of anything that has been burning and is now grown cold.

Sleight, cunning, trickery. Loki is called "the Master of Sleight" because of his skill in deceit.

Sleipnir, Odin's horse. It was grey, had eight feet, and could carry him over sea and land, and could also fly through the air.

Slot, the track left by a wild animal.

Sloth, idleness.

Smithy, to do the work of a smith, forge weapons.

Sooth, truth.

Sore, very much. It is generally used about things which are evil or painful, but sometimes only to give emphasis, e.g. "amber that the southern men love sore."

Spear-hedge, the bristling spears of an army in battle; cf. battle-wood, spear-wood.

Spell-drenched, stupefied or overwhelmed by magic.

Sphere-stream, the space beyond the air of this world, in which the planets or spheres move on their courses.

Stark, stiff, hard, severe.

Staunch, steadfast, unchanging.

Stead, n. a place; it is often joined to other words, e.g. hall-stead, a hall or the place where a hall has been, as in the sentence, "I went to the pillared hall-stead;" n. stead or bestead, to serve, to aid, e.g. "to stead me in the fight."

Steadfast, unchanging, faithful, unmoved.

Stithy, a blacksmith's forge.

Strait, narrow, cramped.

Stripling, a young man just grown up; cf. youngling.

Sunder, to separate, e.g. "We wend on the sundering ways."

Sun-dog, a bright spot like a faint image of the sun, seen near it in cloudy weather.

Swaddling, anything that wraps or enfolds, e.g. the coils of Fafnir passing over Sigurd in the pit are called "the swaddling of death."

Swart-haired, dark-haired.

Swathe, the long line of mown corn behind a reaper; cf. "swathes of the sword," i.e. heaps of dead in battle.

Targe, a shield.

Tarry, to wait, to linger, e.g. "Tarry till I say a word."

Thrall, a slave, "short-lived thralls of the gods," mortal men, not dwarfs or giants.

Tide, time, e.g. "the tide when my father fell;" "the night-tide."

Tiles of Odin, war shields, so called because Odin was god of war.

Tiller, the handle of the rudder which steers a ship.

Toils, snares, fetters.

To-morn, tomorrow morning.

Train, to entice, bring by trickery.

Tree-hole, tree-trunk.

Troth, a promise, generally a promise of marriage.

Troth-plight, promised in marriage.

Trow, to believe.

Twi-bill, an axe with a double-edged blade. It was the weapon which Odin carried when he appeared to men.

Unbitted, never taught to obey the bit, not broken in.

Unholpen, unhelped. Holpen is the old form of the p.p. helped.

Unstable, changeable, not lasting.

Uttermost horn, the signal for Ragnarok. It was believed that Heimdall, one of the gods who guarded a bridge called Bifrost between Asgard and the earth, would blow a blast on his horn which would be the sign for the beginning of the great battle between the gods and the powers of evil.

Venom, poison.

Wall-nook, an opening or bend in a wall.

Wallow, to roll about upon the ground, e.g. "Fafnir, the wallower on the gold."

Wan, pale, pinched with suffering.

Wane, to fade away, grow dim.

Warding-walls, guarding-walls. "Warding walls of death," man's armour that keeps death from him.

Wards, keepers, e.g. door-wards; cf. warden. Fafnir is called "the gold-warden."

War-wand, a sword.

Wary, careful, ever on the watch.

Waste, to destroy, to sweep away, e.g. Sigurd is said to "waste every wrong."

Waxen, grown, become.

Weal, happiness, good-fortune.

Wedge-array, an arrangement of fighting men in which they stood close together in the form of a triangle.

Weed, dress.

Well up, to rise as a spring bubbles out of the ground; used of feelings with the meaning "to arise and grow strong," e.g. "Wrath in his heart wells up."

Welter, the toss and ripple of the sea-waves.

Wend, to go.

Whetted, stirred up, made sharp or eager, e.g. "the whetted Wrath."

Whileome, in the past, once upon a time.

Whiles, from time to time.

Whit, a very small particle, a trifle, e.g. never a whit, no whit.

Wight, a man, a creature, e.g. sea-wights, great sea-monsters.

Wise, way, manner, after the fashion of.

Witch-wife, witch. Wife here means woman.

Wold, a hill; often used to mean open country.

Wood-craft, knowledge of the woods and of all creatures in them, e.g. "His wood-craft waxed so great, that he seemed the king of the creatures."

Wot, to know.

Wrack, strife, destruction, ruins. Wrack of a mighty battle, the dead left on the field.

Wrights, workmen, makers.

Writhen, bent, twisted out of shape, e.g. "Writhen and foul were the hands that made it glorious."

Written spear, a spear carved with letters or words.

Yearn, to long, to feel tenderness towards, e.g. "My heart to him doth yearn."

Yore, long ago; generally used in the expression "of yore," formerly, once upon a time.

LONGMANS' CLASS-BOOKS OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

Each Volume contains an Introduction and Notes.

Alcott's Little Women.

Allen's Heroes of Indian History and Stories of their Times. With Maps and Illustrations.

Anderson's English Letters selected for Reading in Schools.

Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum, and Balder Dead.

Ballantyne's The Coral Island. (Abridged).

Carroll's Alice in Wonderland.

Cook's (Captain) Voyages.

Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. (Abridged). With Illustrations.

Dickens' A Christmas Carol.

Dickens, Selections from. With Illustrations.

Doyle's Micah Clarke. (Abridged). With 20 Illustrations.

Doyle's The Refugees. (Abridged). With Illustrations.

Doyle's The White Company. (Abridged). With 12 Illustrations.

Fronde's Short Studies on Great Subjects. Selections. With Illustrations.

Haggard's Eric Bright eyes. (Abridged).

Haggard's Lysbeth. (Abridged).

Hawthorne's A Wonder Book.

Hawthorne's Tanglewood Tales.

Hughes' Tom Brown's School Days. (Abridged) With Frontispiece.

Jefferies (Richard), Selections from.

Kingsley's The Heroes. With Illustrations.

Kingsley's Hereward the Wake. (Abridged).

Kingsley's Westward Ho!

Lambs' Tales from Shakespeare. (Abridged.)

Lang's Tales of the Greek Seas. With Illustrations.

Lang's Tales of Troy. With Illustrations and a Map.

Macaulay's History of England. Chap I.

Macaulay's History of England. Chap III.

Macaulay's History of England, Selections from.

Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome, &c.

Marryat's Settlers in Canada.

Milton's Paradise Lost. Books I, II, III, IV, and V.

Milton's Comus, Il Penseroso, L'Allegro and Lycidas.

Morris's Atalanta's Race, and The Proud King.

Morris's The Man Born to be King.

Morris's The Story of the Glittering Plain.

Morris's The Story of Sigurd the Volsung.

Newman, Literary Selections from.

Reade's The Cloister and the Hearth.

Ruskin's King of the Golden River.

Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel.

Scott's Marmion.

Scott's The Lady of the Lake.

Scott's The Talisman. (Abridged).

Scott's A Legend of Montrose. (Abridged).

Scott's Ivanhoe. (Abridged).

Scott's Quentin Durward. (Abridged).

Southey's The Life of Nelson.

Stevenson's Book of Selections.

Stevenson's A Child's Garden of Verse. With a Portrait.

Tales of King Arthur and the Round Table. With Illustrations.

Thackeray, Selections from.

Thornton's Selection of Poetry.

Weyman's The House of the Wolf.

Zimmern's Gods and Heroes of the North. With Illustrations.

Spotted a mistake or have an idea?

The Story of Sigurd the Volsung 4Brynhild

The Story of Sigurd the Volsung 4