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;

 

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