Chapter XIV: Book III: Brynhild (5)

But abed lay Brynhild the Queen, as a woman dead she lay,
And no word for better or worse to the best of her folk would she say:
So they bore the tidings to Gunnar, and said: "Queen Brynhild ails
With a sickness whereof none knoweth, and death o'er her life
prevails."

Then uprose Gunnar the Niblung, and he went to Brynhild his wife,
And prayed her to strengthen her heart for the glory of his life:
But she gave not a word in answer, nor turned to where he stood,
And there rose up a fear in his heart, and he looked for little of
good:
There he bode for a long while silent, and the thought within him
stirred
Of wise speech of his mother Grimhild, and many a warning word:
But he spake:
"Art thou smitten of God, unto whom shall we cast the prayer?
Art thou wronged by one of the King-folk, for whom shall the blades be
bare?"

Belike she never heard him; she lay in her misery,
And the slow tears gushed from her eyen and nought of the world would
she see.
But ill thoughts arose in Gunnar, and remembrance of the speech
Erst spoken low by Grimhild; yet he turned his heart to beseech,
And he spake again:
"O Brynhild, if I ever made thee glad,
If the glory of the great-ones of my gift thine heart hath had.
As mine heart hath been faithful to thee, as I longed for thy
life-days' gain,
Tell now of thy toil and thy trouble that we each of each may be fain!"

Nought spake she, nothing she moved, and the tears were dried on her
cheek;
But the very words of Grimhild did Gunnar's memory seek;
He sought and he found and considered; and mighty he was and young,
And he thought of the deeds of his fathers and the tales of the
Niblungs sung;
How they bore no God's constraining, and rode through the wrong and
the right
That the storm of their wrath might quicken, and their tempest carry
the light.
The words of his mother he gathered and the wrath-flood over him
rolled,
And with it came many a longing, that his heart had never told,
Nay, scarce to himself in the night-tide, for the gain of the ruddy
rings,
And the fame of the earth unquestioned and the mastery over kings,
And he sole King in the world-throne, unequalled, unconstrained;
And with wordless wrath he fretted at the bonds that his glory had
chained,
And the bitter anger stirred him, and at last he spake and cried:

"How long, O all-wise Brynhild, like the dead wilt thou abide,
Nor speak to thy lord and thy husband and the man that rode thy Fire,
And mocked at the bane of King-folk to accomplish thy desire?
I deem thou sickenest, Brynhild, with the love of a mighty-one,
The foe, the King's supplanter, he that so long hath shone
Mid the honour of our fathers, and the lovely Niblung house,
Like a serpent amidst of the treasure that the day makes glorious."

Yet never a word she answered, nor unto the great King turned,
Till through all the patience of King-folk the flame of his anger
burned,
And his voice was the rattling thunder, as he cried across the bed:

"O who art thou, fearful woman? art thou one of the first of the dead?
Hast thou long ago seen and hated the tide of the Niblung praise,
And clad thee in flesh twice over for the bane of our happy days?
Art thou come from the far-off country that none may live and behold
For the bane of the King of the Niblungs, and of Sigurd lord of the
Gold?"

Then she raised herself on her elbow and turned her eyes on the King:
"O tell me, Gunnar," she said, "that thou gavest Andvari's Ring
To thy sister the white-armed Gudrun!--thou, not thy captain of war,
The son of the God-born Volsungs, the Lord of the Treasure of yore!
O swear it that I may live! that I may be glad in thine hall,
And weave with the wisdom of women, and broider the purple and pall,
And look in thy face at the chess-play, and drink of thy carven cup,
And whisper a word in season when the voice of the wise goes up,
And speak thee the speech of kindness by the hallowed Niblung hearth.
O swear it, King of the Niblungs, lest thine honour die of the dearth!
O swear it, lord I have wedded, lest mine honour come to nought,
And I be but a wretch and a bondmaid for a year's embracing bought!"

Till his heart hath heard her meaning at the golden bed he stares,
And the last of the words she speaketh flit empty past his ears;
For he knows that the tale of the night-tide hath been told and
understood,
And now of her shame was he deeming e'en worse than Brynhild would.
So he turns from her face and the chamber with his glory so undone,
That he saith the Gods did evil when the mighty work they won,
And wrought the Burg of the Niblungs, and fashioned his fathers' days,
And led them on to the harvest of the deeds and the people's praise.
And nought he sees to amend it, save the hungry eyeless sword,
And the war without hope or honour, and the strife without reward.

So alone he goeth his ways, and the morn to the noontide falls,
And the sun goeth down in the heavens, and fades from the Niblung
walls,
And the dusk and the dark draw over, and no man the King may see.
But Sigurd sits in the hall mid the war-dukes' company:
Alone of the Kings in the Doom-ring, and the council of the wise,
By the street and the wharf and the burg-gate he shines in the
people's eyes;
Stately and lovely to look on he heareth of good and of ill,
And he knitteth up and divideth, with life and death at his will.

_Of the exceeding great grief and mourning of Brynhild._

Now the sun cometh up in the morning and shines o'er holt and heath,
And the wall of the mighty mountains, and the sheep-fed slopes beneath,
And the horse-fed plain and the river, and the acres of the wheat,
And the herbs of bane and of healing, and the garden hedges sweet;
It shines on the sea and the shepherd, and the husbandman's desire;
On the Niblung Burg it shineth and smiteth the vanes afire;
And in Gudrun's bower it shineth, and seeth small joy therein,
For hushed the fair-clad maidens the work of women win;
Then Gudrun looketh about her, and she saith:
"Why sit ye so,
That I hearken but creak of the loom-stock and the battens' homeward
blow?
Why is your joy departed and your sweet speech fallen dumb?
Are the Niblungs fled from the battle, is their war-host overcome?
Have the Norns given forth their shaming? have they fallen in the
fight?
Yet the sun shines notwithstanding, and the world around is bright."

Then answered a noble woman, and the wise of maids was she:
"Thou knowest, O lovely lady, that nought of this may be;
Yet with woe that the world shall hearken the glorious house is filled,
On the hearth of all men hallowed the cup of joy is spilled.
--A dread, an untimely hour, an exceeding evil day!"

Then the wife of Sigurd answered: "Arise and go thy way
To the chamber of Queen Brynhild, and bid her wake at last,
For that long have we slept and slumbered, and the deedless night is
passed:
Bid her wake to the deeds of queen-folk, and be glad as the
world-queens are
When they look on the people that loves them, and thrust all trouble
afar.
Let her foster her greatness and glory, and the fame no ages forget,
That tomorn may as yesterday blossom, yea more abundantly yet."

Then arose the light-foot maiden: but she stayed and spake by the door:
"O Gudrun, I durst not behold her, for the days of her joyance are
o'er,
And the days of her life are numbered, and her might is waxen weak,
And she lieth as one forsaken, and no word her lips will speak,
Nay, not to her lord that loveth: but all we deem, O Queen,
That the wrath of the Gods is upon her for ancient deeds unseen."

Nought answered the white-armed Gudrun, but the fear in her soul arose,
For she thought of the golden Sigurd, and the compassing of foes,
And great grew the dread of her maidens as they gazed upon her face:
But she rose and looked not backward as she hastened from her place,
And sought the King of the Niblungs by hall and chamber and stair,
And bright was the pure mid-morning and the wind was fresh and fair.

So she came on her brother Gunnar, as he sat apart and alone,
Arrayed in the Niblung war-gear, nor moved he more than the stone
In the jaws of the barren valley and the man-deserted dale;
On his knees was the breadth of the sunshine, and thereon lay the
edges pale,
The war-flame of the Niblungs, the sword that his right hand knew:

White was the fear on her lips, and hard at her heart it drew.
As she spake:
"I have found thee, O brother! O Gunnar, go to her and say
That my heart is grieved with her grief and I mourn for her evil day."

Then Gunnar answered her word, but his words were heavy and slow:
"Thou know'st not the words thou speakest--and wherefore should I go,
Since I am forbidden to share it, the woe or the weal of her heart?
Look thou on the King of the Niblungs, how he sitteth alone and apart,
Fast bound in the wiles of women, and the web that a traitor hath spun,
And no deed for his hand he knoweth, or to do or to leave undone."

Wan-faced from before him she fled, and she went with hurrying feet,
And no child of man in her going would she look upon or greet,
Till she came unto Hogni the Wise; and he sat in his war-array,
The coal-blue gear of the Niblungs, and the sword o'er his knees there
lay:

She sickened, and said: "What dost thou? what then is the day and the
deed,
That the sword on thy knees is naked, and thou clad in the warrior's
weed?
Go in, go in to Brynhild, and tell her how I mourn
For the grief whereof none wotteth that hath made her days forlorn."

"It is good, my sister," said Hogni, "to abide in the harness of war
When the days and the days are changing, and the Norns' feet stand by
the door.
I will nowise go in unto Brynhild, lest the evil tide grow worse.
For what woman will bear the sorrow and burden her soul with a curse
If she may escape it unbidden? and there are words that wound
Far worse than the bitter edges, though wise in the air they sound.
Bide thou and behold things fated! Hast thou learned how men may teach
The stars in their ordered courses, or lead the Norns with speech?"

She stood and trembled before him, nor durst she long behold
The silent face of Hogni and the far-seeing eyes and cold.
So she gat her forth from before him, and Sigurd her husband she
sought,
And the speech on her lips was ready, till the chill fear made it
nought;
For apart and alone was he sitting in all his war-gear clad,
And Fafnir's Helm of Aweing, and Regin's Wrath he had,
And over the breast of Sigurd was the Hauberk all of gold
That hath not the like in the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told.

But he set her down beside him and said: "What fearest thou then?
What terror strideth in daylight mid the peace of the Niblung men?"

She cried: "The Helm and the Sword, and the golden guard of thy
breast!"

"So oft, O wife," said Sigurd, "is a war-king clad the best
When the peril quickens before him, and on either hand is doubt;
Thus men wreathe round the beaker whence the wine shall be soon
poured out.
But hope thou not overmuch, for the end is not today;
And fear thou little indeed, for not long shall the sword delay:
But speak, O daughter of Giuki, for thy lips scarce held the word
Ere thou sawest the gleam of my hauberk and the edge of the ancient
Sword,
The Light that hath lain in the Branstock, the hope of the Volsung
tree,
The Sunderer, the Deliverer, the torch of days to be."

She sighed; for her heart was heavy for the days but a while agone,
When the death was little dreamed of, and the joy was lightly won;
And her soul was bitter with anger for the day that Brynhild had led
To the heart of the Niblung glory: but fear thrust on, and she said:
"O my lord, O Sigurd the mighty, an evil day is this,
A chill, an untimely hour for the blooming of our bliss!
Go in to my sister Brynhild, and tell her of very sooth
That my heart for her sorrow sorrows, and is sick for woe and ruth."

"The hour draws nigh," said Sigurd, "for I know of the speech and the
word
That is kind in the air to hearken, and is worse than the whetted
sword.
Now is Brynhild sore encompassed by a tide of measureless woe,
And amidst and anear, as I see it, she seeth the death-star grow.
Yet belike it is, O Gudrun, that thy will herein shall be done;
But now depart, I pray thee, and leave thy lord alone:
Heavy and hard shall it be, for a season shall it endure,
But the grief and the sorrow shall perish, and the fame of the Gods
is sure."

Yet she sat by his side and spake not, and a while at his glory she
gazed,
For his face o'erpassed the brightness that so long the folk had
praised,
And she durst not question or touch him, and at last she rose from
his side,
And gat her away soft-footed, and wandered far and wide
Through the house and the Burg of the Niblungs; yet durst she never
more
Go look on the Niblung Brethren as they sat in their harness of war.

But the morn to the noon hath fallen, and the afternoon to the eve,
And the beams of the westering sun the Niblung wall-stones leave,
And yet sitteth Sigurd alone; then the sun sinketh down into night,
And the moon ariseth in heaven, and the earth is pale with her light:
And there sitteth Sigurd the Volsung in the gold and the harness of war
That was won from the heart-wise Fafnir and the guarded Treasure of
yore,
But pale is the Helm of Aweing, and wan are the ruddy rings:
So whiles in a city forsaken ye see the shapes of kings,
And the lips that the carvers wrought, while their words were
remembered and known,
And the brows men trembled to look on in the long-enduring stone,
And their hands once unforgotten, and their breasts, the walls of war;
But now are they hidden marvels to the wise and the master of lore,
And he nameth them not, nor knoweth, and their fear is faded away.

E'en so sat Sigurd the Volsung till the night waxed moonless and grey,
Till the chill dawn spread o'er the lowland, and the purple fells grew
clear
In the cloudless summer dawn-dusk, and the sun was drawing anear:
Then reddened the Burg of the Niblungs, and the walls of the ancient
folk,
And a wind came down from the mountains and the living things awoke
And cried out for need and rejoicing; till, lo, the rim of the sun
Showed over the eastern ridges, and the new day was begun;
And the beams rose higher and higher, and white grew the Niblung wall,
And the spears on the ramparts glistered and the windows blazed withal,
And the sunlight flooded the courts, and throughout the chambers
streamed:
Then bright as the flames of the heaven the Helm of Aweing gleamed,
Then clashed the red rings of the Treasure, as Sigurd stood on his
feet,
And went through the echoing chambers, as the winds in the wall-nook
beat;
And there in the earliest morning while the lords of the Niblungs lie
'Twixt light sleep and awakening they hear the clash go by,
And their dreams are of happy battle, and the songs that follow fame,
And the hope of the Gods accomplished, and the tales of the ancient
name,
Ere Sigurd came to the Niblungs and faced their gathered foes.
But on to the chamber of Brynhild alone in the morning he goes,
And the sun lieth broad across it, and the door is open wide
As the last of the women had left it; then he lifted his voice and
cried:

"Awake, arise, O Brynhild! for the house is smitten through
With the light of the sun awakened, and the hope of deeds to do."

She spake: "Art thou come to behold me? thou, the mightiest and the
worst
Of the pitiless betrayers, that the hope of my life hath nursed."

He said: "It is I that awake thee, and I give thee the life and the
days
For fulfilling the deedful measure, and the cup of the people's
praise."

She cried: "O the gifts of Sigurd!--Ah why didst thou cast me aside,
That we twain should be dwelling, the strangers, in the house of the
Niblung pride?
What life is the death in life? what deeds--where the shame cometh up
Betwixt the speech of the wise-ones and the draught of the welcoming
cup;
And the shame and repentance awaketh when the song in the harp is
awake?
Where we rise in the morning for nothing, and lie down for no love's
sake?
Where thou ridest forth to the battle and the dead hope dulleth thy
light,
And with shame thy hand is cumbered when the sword is uplifted to
smite?
O Sigurd, what hast thou done, that the gifts are cast aback?
--O nay, no life of repentance!--but the bitter sword and the wrack!"

"O Brynhild, live!" said the Volsung, "for what shall the world be then
When thou from the earth art departed, and the hallowed hearths of
men?"

She said: "Woe worth the while for the word that hath come from thy
mouth!
As the bitter weltering ocean to the shipman dying of drouth,
E'en so is the life thou biddest, since thou pitiedst not thine own,
Nor thy love, nor the hope of thy life-days, but must dwell as a glory
alone!"

"It is truer to tell," said Sigurd, "that mine heart in thy love was
enwrapped
Till the evil hour of the darkening, and the eyeless tangle had happed:
And thereof shalt thou know, O Brynhild, on one day better than I,
When the stroke of the sword hath been smitten, and the night hath
seen me die:
Then belike in thy fresh-springing wisdom thou shalt know of the dark
and the deed,
And the snare for our feet fore-ordered from whence they shall never
be freed.
But for me, in the net I awakened and the toils that unwitting I wove,
And no tongue may tell of the sorrow that I had for thy wedded love:
But I dwelt in the dwelling of kings; so I thrust its seeming apart
And I laboured the field of Odin: and e'en this was a joy to my heart,
That we dwelt in one house together, though a stranger's house it
were."

"O late, and o'erlate!" cried Brynhild--"may the dead folk hearken
and hear?
All was and today it is not--And the Oath unto Gunnar is sworn,
Shall I live the days twice over, and the life thou hast made forlorn?"

And she heard the words of Hindfell and the oath of the earlier day,
Till the daylight darkened before her, and all memory passed away,
And she cried: "I may live no longer, for the Gods have forgotten the
earth,
And my heart is the forge of sorrow, and my life is a wasting dearth."

Then once again spake Sigurd, once only and no more:
A pillar of light all golden he stood on the sunlit floor;
And his eyes were the eyes of Odin, and his face was the hope of the
world,
And his voice was the thunder of even when the bolt o'er the mountains
is hurled:
The fairest of all things fashioned he stood 'twixt life and death,
And the Wrath of Regin rattled, and the rings of the Glittering Heath,
As he cried:
"I am Sigurd the Volsung, and belike the tale shall be true
That no hand on the earth may hinder what my hand would fashion and do:
And what God or what man shall gainsay it if our love be greater than
these,
The pride and the glory of Sigurd, and the latter days' increase?
O live, live, Brynhild belovèd! and thee on the earth will I wed,
And put away Gudrun the Niblung--and all those shall be as the dead."

But so swelled the heart within him as he cast the speech abroad,
That the golden wall of the battle, the fence unrent by the sword.
The red rings of the uttermost ocean on the breast of Sigurd brake:
And he saw the eyes of Brynhild, and turned from the word she spake:

"I will not wed thee, Sigurd, nor any man alive."

Then Sigurd goes out from before her; and the winds in the wall-nook
strive,
And the craving of fowl and the beast-kind with the speech of men is
blent,
And the voice of the sons of the Niblungs; and their day's first hour
is spent
As he goes through the hall of the War-dukes, and many an earl is
astir,
But none durst question Sigurd lest of evil days he hear:
So he comes to his kingly chamber, and there sitteth Gudrun alone,
And the fear in her soul is minished, but the love and the hatred are
grown:
She is wan as the moonlit midnight; but her heart is cold and proud,
And she asketh him nought of Brynhild, and nought he speaketh aloud.

_Of the slaying of Sigurd the Volsung._

Ere the noon ariseth Brynhild, and forth abroad she goes,
And sits by the wall of her bower 'twixt the lily and the rose;
Great dread and sickness is on her, as it shall be once on the morn
When the uttermost sun is arisen 'neath the blast of the world-shaking
horn:
Her maidens come and go, but none dares cast her a word;
From the wall the warders behold her, and turn round to the spear and
the sword;
Yea, few dare speak of Brynhild as morning fadeth in noon
In the Burg of the ancient people mid the stir and the glory of June.

Then cometh forth speech from Brynhild, and she calls to her maidens
and saith:
"Go tell ye the King of the Niblungs that I am arisen from death,
And come forth from the uttermost sickness, and with him I needs must
speak:
That we look into weighty matters and due deeds for king-folk seek."

So they went and returned not again, and it was but a little space
Ere she looked, and behold, it was Gunnar that stood before her face,
And his war-gear darkened the noon-tide and the grey helm gleamed from
his head,
But his eyes were fearful beneath it: then she gazed on the heavens
and said:

"Thou art come, O King of the Niblungs; what mighty deed is to frame
That thou wearest the cloudy harness, and the arms of the Niblung
name?"

He spake: "O woman, thou mockest! what King of the people is here?
Are not all kings confounded, and all peoples' shame laid bare?
Shall the Gods grow little to help, or men grow great to amend?
Nay, the hunt is up in the world and the Gods to the forest will wend,
And their hearts are exceeding merry as they ride and drive the prey:
But what if the bear grin on them, and the wood-beast turn to bay?
What now if the whelp of their breeding a wolf of the world be grown,
To cry out in the face of their brightness and mar their glad renown?"

She heeded him not, nor hearkened: but he said: "Thou wert wise of old;
And hither I come at thy bidding: let the thought of thine heart be
told."

She said: "What aileth thee, Gunnar? time was thou wert great and glad.
And that was yester-morning: how then is the good turned bad?"

He said: "I was glad in my dreams, and I woke and my glory was dead."

"Hath a God then wrought thee evil, or one of the King-folk?" she said.

He said: "In the snare am I taken, in the web that a traitor hath spun;
And no deed knoweth my right-hand to do or to leave undone."

"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 sheathèd
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."

Then spake Hogni and answered: "All lands beneath the sun
Shall know and hearken and wonder that such a deed must be done."

"Speak, brother of Kings," said Gunnar, "dost thou know deeds better
or worse
That shall wash us clean from shaming, and redeem our lives from the
curse?"

"I am none of the Norns," said Hogni, "nor the heart of Odin the Goth,
To avenge the foster-brethren, or broken love and troth:
Thy will is the story fated, nor shall I look on the deed
With uncursed hands unreddened, and edges dulled at need."

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,
And look that thou whet it duly; for the Norns are departed now;
From the blood of our foster-brother no branch of bale shall grow;
Hoodwinked are the Gods of heaven, their sleep-dazed eyes are blind;
They shall peer and grope through the darkness, and nought therein
shall find,
Save the red right hand of Guttorm, and his lips that never swore;
At the young man's deed shall they wonder, and all shall be covered
o'er:
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.

But his brethren heed and hearken, and they hear the clash draw nigh,
But they stir no whit in their pride, though the lord of all creatures
should die.
Then they see where cometh Guttorm, but they cast him never a word,
For white 'neath the flickering torches they see his unstained sword;
But he gazed on those Kings of the kindred, and the beast of war awoke;
And his heart was exceeding wrathful with the tarrying of the stroke:
And he strode to the chamber of Sigurd, and again they heeded well
How the clash, in the cloister awakened, by the threshold died and
fell.

But Guttorm gazed from the threshold, and the moon was fading away
From the golden bed of Sigurd, and the Niblung woman lay
On the bosom of the Volsung, and her hand lay light on her lord;
But dread were his eyes wide-open, and they gleamed against the sword,
And Guttorm shrank from before them, and back to the hall he came:
There the biding brethren behold him flash wild in the torches' flame,
Nor stir their lips to question; but their swords on their knees are
laid;
The torches faint in the dawning, and they see his unstained blade.

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 shalt 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 belovèd, 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.

But the wrath of Gunnar was kindled and the words of the king
out-brake,
"Woe's me, thou wonder of women! thou art glad for no man's sake,
Nay not for thine own, meseemeth, for thou bidest here as the dead,
As the pale ones stricken deedless, whose tale of life is sped."

She hearkened him not nor answered; and day came on apace,
And they heard the anguish of Gudrun and her voice in the ancient
place.

"Awake, O House of the Niblungs! for my kin hath slain my lord.
Awake, awake, to the murder, and the edges of the sword!
Awake, go forth and be merry! and yet shall the day betide,
When ye stand in the garth of the foemen, and death is on every side,
And ye look about and around you, and right and left ye look
For the least of the hours of Sigurd, and his hand that the battle
shook:
Then be your hope as mine is, then face ye death and shame
As I face the desolation, and the days without a name!"

And she shrieked as the woe gathered on her, and the sun rose over her
head:
"Wake, wake, O men of this house, for Sigurd the Volsung is dead!"

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.
But wild is the wailing of women as they fare to the place of the dead,
Where cold is Gudrun sitting mid the waste of Sigurd's bed.
Then they take the man belovèd, and bear him forth to the hall,
And spread the linen above him, and cloth of purple and pall;
And meekly Gudrun followeth, and she sitteth down thereby,
But mute is her mouth henceforward, and she giveth forth no cry,
And no word of lamentation, though far abroad they weep
For the gift of the Gods departed, and the golden Sigurd's sleep.

Meanwhile elsewhere the women and the wives of the Niblungs wail
O'er the body of King Guttorm and array him for the bale,
And Grimhild opens her treasure and bears forth plenteous gold
And goodly things for his journey, and the land of Death acold.

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._

Of old in the days past over was Gudrun blent with the dead,
As she sat in measureless sorrow o'er Sigurd's wasted bed,
But no sigh came from her bosom, nor smote she hand in hand,
Nor wailed with the other women, and the daughters of the land;
Then the wise of the Earls beheld her, smit cold with her dread intent,
And they rose one after other, and before the Queen they went;
Men ancient, men mighty in battle, men sweet of speech were there,
And they loved her, and entreated, and spake good words to hear:
But no tears and no lamenting in Gudrun's heart would strive
With the deadly chill of sorrow that none may bear and live.

Now there were the King-folk's daughters, and wives of the Earls of
war,
The fair, and the noble-hearted, the wise in ancient lore;
And they rose one after other, and stood before the Queen
To tell of their woes past over, and the worst their eyes had seen:
There was Giaflaug, Giuki's sister, she was old and stark to see,
And she said:
"O heavyhearted; they slew my King from me:
Look up, O child of the Niblungs, and hearken mournful things
Of the woes of living man-folk and the daughters of the Kings!
Dead now is the last of my brethren; to the dead my sister went;
My son and my little daughter in the earliest days were spent:
On the earth am I living loveless, long past are the happy days,
They lie with things departed and vain and foolish praise,
And the hopes of hapless people: yet I sit with the people's lords
When men are hushed to hearken the least of all my words.
What else is the wont of the Niblungs? why else by the Gods were they
wrought,
Save to wear down lamentation, and make all sorrow nought?"

No word of woe gat Gudrun, nor had she will to weep,
Such weight of woe was on her for the golden Sigurd's sleep:
Her heart was cold and dreadful; nor good from ill she knew
For the love they had taken from her, and the day with nought to do.

Then troth-plight maids forsaken, and never-wedded ones,
And they that mourned dead husbands and the hope of unborn sons,
These told of their bitterest trouble and the worst their eyes had
seen;
"Yet all we live to love thee, and the glory of the Queen.
Look up, look up, O Gudrun! what rest for them that wail
If the Queens of men shall tremble, and the God-kin faint and fail?"

No voice gat Gudrun's sorrow, no care she had to weep;
For the deeds of the day she knew not, nor the dreams of Sigurd's
sleep:
Her heart was cold and dreadful; nor good from ill she knew,
Because of her love departed, and the day with nought to do.

Then spake a Queen of Welshland, and Herborg hight was she:
"O frozen heart of sorrow, the Norns dealt worse with me:
Of old, in the days departed, were my brave ones under shield,
Seven sons, and the eighth, my husband, and they fell in the Southland
field:
Yet lived my father and mother, yet lived my brethren four,
And I bided their returning by the sea-washed bitter shore:
But the winds and death played with them, o'er the wide sea swept the
wave,
The billows beat on the bulwarks and took what the battle gave:
Alone I sang above them, alone I dight their gear
For the uttermost journey of all men, in the harvest of the year:
Nor wakened spring from winter ere I left those early dead;
With bound hands and shameful body I went as the sea-thieves led:
Now I sit by the hearth of a stranger; nor have I weal nor woe,
Save the hope of the Niblung masters and the sorrow of a foe."

No wailing word gat Gudrun, no thought she had to weep
O'er the sundering tide of Sigurd, and the loved lord's lonely sleep:
Her heart was cold and dreadful; nor good from ill she knew,
Since her love was taken from her and the day of deeds to do.

Then arose a maid of the Niblungs, and Gullrond was her name,
And betwixt that Queen of Welshland and Gudrun's grief she came:
And she said: "O foster-mother, O wise in the wisdom of old,
Hast thou spoken a word to the dead, and known them hear and behold?
E'en so is this word thou speakest, and the counsel of thy face."

All heed gave the maids and the warriors, and hushed was the
spear-thronged place,
As she stretched out her hand to Sigurd, and swept the linen away
From the lips that had holpen the people, and the eyes that had
gladdened the day;
She set her hand unto Sigurd, and turned the face of the dead
To the moveless knees of Gudrun, and again she spake and said:

"O Gudrun, look on thy loved-one; yea, as if he were living yet
Let his face by thy face be cherished, and thy lips on his lips be
set!"

Then Gudrun's eyes fell on it, and she saw the bright-one's hair
All wet with the deadly dew-fall, and she saw the great eyes stare
At that cloudy roof of the Niblungs without a smile or frown;
And she saw the breast of the mighty and the heart's wall rent adown:
She gazed and the woe gathered on her, so exceeding far away
Seemed all she once had cherished from that which near her lay;
She gazed, and it craved no pity, and therein was nothing sad,
Therein was clean forgotten the hope that Sigurd had:
Then she looked around and about her, as though her friend to find,
And met those woeful faces but as grey reeds in the wind,
And she turned to the King beneath her and raised her hands on high,
And fell on the body of Sigurd with a great and bitter cry;
All else in the house kept silence, and she as one alone
Spared not in that kingly dwelling to wail aloud and moan;
And the sound of her lamentation the peace of the Niblungs rent,
While the restless birds in the wall-nook their song to the green
leaves sent;
And the geese in the home-mead wandering clanged out beneath the sun;
For now was the day's best hour, and its loveliest tide begun.

Long Gudrun lay on Sigurd, and her tears fell fast on the floor
As the rain in midmost April when the winter-tide is o'er,
Till she heard a wail anigh her and how Gullrond wept beside,
Then she knew the voice of her pity, and rose upright and cried:

"O ye, e'en such was my Sigurd among these Giuki's sons,
As the hart with the horns day-brightened mid the forest-creeping ones;
As the spear-leek fraught with wisdom mid the lowly garden grass;
As the gem on the gold band's midmost when the council cometh to pass,
And the King is lit with its glory, and the people wonder and praise.
--O people, Ah thy craving for the least of my Sigurd's days!
O wisdom of my Sigurd! how oft I sat with thee
Thou striver, thou deliverer, thou hope of things to be!
O might of my love, my Sigurd! how oft I sat by thy side,
And was praised for the loftiest woman and the best of Odin's pride!
But now am I as little as the leaf on the lone tree left,
When the winter wood is shaken and the sky by the North is cleft."

Then her speech grew wordless wailing, and no man her meaning knew;
Till she hushed her swift and turned her; for a laugh her wail pierced
through,
As a whistling shaft the night-wind in some foe-encompassed wood;
And lo, by the nearest pillar the wife of Gunnar stood;
There stood the allwise Brynhild 'gainst the golden carving pressed,
As she stared at the wound of Sigurd and that rending of his breast:
But she felt the place fallen silent, and the speechless anger set
On her own chill, bitter sorrow; and the eyes of the women met,
And they stood in the hall together, as they stood that while ago,
When they twain in Brynhild's dwelling of days to come would know:
But every soul kept silence, and all hearts were chill as stone
As Brynhild spake:
"Thou woman, shall thine eyes be wet alone?
Shalt thou weep and speak in thy glory, when I may weep no more,
When I speak, and my speech is as silence to the man that loved me
sore?"

Then folk heard the woe of Gudrun, and the bitterness of hate:
"Day cursed o'er every other! when they opened wide the gate,
And Kings in gold arrayed them, and all men the joy might hear,
As Greyfell neighed in the forecourt the world's delight to bear,
And my brethren shook the world-ways as they rode to Brynhild's bower,
--An ill day--an evil woman--a most untimely hour!"

But she wailed: "The seat is empty, and empty is the bed,
And earth is hushed henceforward of the words my speech-friend said!
Lo, the deeds of the sons of Giuki, and my brethren of one womb!
Lo, the deeds of the sons of Giuki for the latter days of doom!
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 trothplight 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!"