Ere I forget thee, Sigurd, as I lie ‘twixt wood and sea

  In the little land of Lymdale and the house that fostered me!”

  Then he set the ring on her finger and once, if ne’er again,

  They kissed and clung together, and their hearts were full and fain.

  * * * * *

  STORY OF SIGURD: BOOK III.

  BRYNHILD.

  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

 

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