"Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! let the gold shine free and clear!

For what hath the Son of the Volsungs the ancient Curse to fear?"

"Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for thy tale is well begun, And the world shall be good and gladdened by the Gold lit up by the sun."

"Bind the red rings, O Sigurd, and gladden all thine heart!

For the world shall make thee merry ere thou and she depart."

"Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for the ways go green below, Go green to the dwelling of Kings, and the halls that the Queen-folk know."

"Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for what is there bides by the way, Save the joy of folk to awaken, and the dawn of the merry day?"

"Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! for the strife awaits thine hand, And a plenteous war-field's reaping, and the praise of many a land."

"Bind the red rings, O Sigurd! But how shall store-house hold That glory of thy winning and the tidings to be told?"

Now the moon was dead, and the star-worlds were great on the heavenly plain, When the steed was fully laden; then Sigurd taketh the rein And turns to the ruined rock-wall that the lair was built beneath, For there he deemed was the gate and the door of the Glittering Heath, But not a whit moved Greyfell for aught that the King might do; Then Sigurd pondered a while, till the heart of the beast he knew, And clad in all his war-gear he leaped to the saddle-stead, And with pride and mirth neighed Greyfell and tossed aloft his head, And sprang unspurred o'er the waste, and light and swift he went, And breasted the broken rampart, the stony tumbled bent; And over the brow he clomb, and there beyond was the world, A place of many mountains and great crags together hurled.

So down to the west he wendeth, and goeth swift and light, And the stars are beginning to wane, and the day is mingled with night; For full fain was the sun to arise and look on the Gold set free, And the Dwarf-wrought rings of the Treasure and the gifts from the floor of the sea.

_How Sigurd awoke Brynhild upon Hindfell._

By long roads rideth Sigurd amidst that world of stone, And somewhat south he turneth; for he would not be alone, But longs for the dwellings of man-folk, and the kingly people's speech, And the days of the glee and the joyance, where men laugh each to each.

But still the desert endureth, and afar must Greyfell fare From the wrack of the Glittering Heath, and Fafnir's golden lair.

Long Sigurd rideth the waste, when, lo, on a morning of day From out of the tangled crag-walls, amidst the cloud-land grey Comes up a mighty mountain, and it is as though there burns A torch amidst of its cloud-wreath; so thither Sigurd turns, For he deems indeed from its topmost to look on the best of the earth; And Greyfell neigheth beneath him, and his heart is full of mirth.

So he rideth higher and higher, and the light grows great and strange, And forth from the clouds it flickers, till at noon they gather and change, And settle thick on the mountain, and hide its head from sight; But the winds in a while are awakened, and day bettereth ere the night, And, lifted a measureless ma.s.s o'er the desert crag-walls high, Cloudless the mountain riseth against the sunset sky, The sea of the sun grown golden, as it ebbs from the day's desire; And the light that afar was a torch is grown a river of fire, And the mountain is black above it, and below is it dark and dun; And there is the head of Hindfell as an island in the sun.

Night falls, but yet rides Sigurd, and hath no thought of rest, For he longs to climb that rock-world and behold the earth at its best; But now mid the maze of the foot-hills he seeth the light no more, And the stars are lovely and gleaming on the lightless heavenly floor.

So up and up he wendeth till the night is wearing thin; And he rideth a rift of the mountain, and all is dark therein, Till the stars are dimmed by dawning and the wakening world is cold; Then afar in the upper rock-wall a breach doth he behold, And a flood of light poured inward the doubtful dawning blinds: So swift he rideth thither and the mouth of the breach he finds, And sitteth awhile on Greyfell on the marvellous thing to gaze: For lo, the side of Hindfell enwrapped by the fervent blaze, And nought 'twixt earth and heaven save a world of flickering flame, And a hurrying shifting tangle, where the dark rents went and came.

Great groweth the heart of Sigurd with uttermost desire, And he crieth kind to Greyfell, and they hasten up, and nigher, Till he draweth rein in the dawning on the face of Hindfell's steep: But who shall heed the dawning where the tongues of that wildfire leap?

For they weave a wavering wall, that driveth over the heaven The wind that is born within it; nor ever aside is it driven By the mightiest wind of the waste, and the rain-flood amidst it is nought; And no wayfarer's door and no window the hand of its builder hath wrought.

But thereon is the Volsung smiling as its breath uplifteth his hair, And his eyes shine bright with its image, and his mail gleams white and fair, And his war-helm pictures the heavens and the waning stars behind: But his neck is Greyfell stretching to snuff at the flame-wall blind, And his cloudy flank upheaveth, and tinkleth the knitted mail, And the gold of the uttermost waters is waxen wan and pale.

Now Sigurd turns in his saddle, and the hilt of the Wrath he shifts, And draws a girth the tighter; then the gathered reins he lifts, And crieth aloud to Greyfell, and rides at the wildfire's heart; But the white wall wavers before him and the flame-flood rusheth apart, And high o'er his head it riseth, and wide and wild is its roar As it beareth the mighty tidings to the very heavenly floor: But he rideth through its roaring as the warrior rides the rye, When it bows with the wind of the summer and the hid spears draw anigh; The white flame licks his raiment and sweeps through Greyfell's mane, And bathes both hands of Sigurd and the hilts of Fafnir's bane, And winds about his war-helm and mingles with his hair, But nought his raiment dusketh or dims his glittering gear; Then it fails and fades and darkens till all seems left behind, And dawn and the blaze is swallowed in mid-mirk stark and blind.

But forth a little further and a little further on And all is calm about him, and he sees the scorched earth wan Beneath a glimmering twilight, and he turns his conquering eyes, And a ring of pale slaked ashes on the side of Hindfell lies; And the world of the waste is beyond it; and all is hushed and grey, And the new-risen moon is a-paleing, and the stars grow faint with day.

Then Sigurd looked before him and a Shield-burg there he saw, A wall of the tiles of Odin wrought clear without a flaw, The gold by the silver gleaming, and the ruddy by the white; And the blazonings of their glory were done upon them bright, As of dear things wrought for the war-lords new come to Odin's hall.

Piled high aloft to the heavens uprose that battle-wall, And far o'er the topmost shield-rim for a banner of fame there hung A glorious golden buckler; and against the staff it rung As the earliest wind of dawning uprose on Hindfell's face And the light from the yellowing east beamed soft on the shielded place.

But the Wrath cried out in answer as Sigurd leapt adown To the wasted soil of the desert by that rampart of renown; He looked but little beneath it, and the dwelling of G.o.d it seemed, As against its gleaming silence the eager Sigurd gleamed: He draweth not sword from scabbard, as the wall he wendeth around, And it is but the wind and Sigurd that wakeneth any sound: But, lo, to the gate he cometh, and the doors are open wide, And no warder the way withstandeth, and no earls by the threshold abide; So he stands awhile and marvels; then the baleful light of the Wrath Gleams bare in his ready hand as he wendeth the inward path: For he doubteth some guile of the G.o.ds, or perchance some Dwarf-king's snare, Or a mock of the Giant people that shall fade in the morning air: But he getteth him in and gazeth; and a wall doth he behold, And the ruddy set by the white, and the silver by the gold; But within the garth that it girdeth no work of man is set, But the utmost head of Hindfell ariseth higher yet; And below in the very midmost is a Giant-fashioned mound, Piled high as the rims of the Shield-burg above the level ground; And there, on that mound of the Giants, o'er the wilderness forlorn, A pale grey image lieth, and gleameth in the morn.

So there was Sigurd alone; and he went from the shielded door, And aloft in the desert of wonder the Light of the Branstock he bore; And he set his face to the earth-mound, and beheld the image wan, And the dawn was growing about it; and, lo, the shape of a man Set forth to the eyeless desert on the tower-top of the world, High over the cloud-wrought castle whence the windy bolts are hurled.

Now he comes to the mound and climbs it, and will see if the man be dead; Some King of the days forgotten laid there with crowned head, Or the frame of a G.o.d, it may be, that in heaven hath changed his life, Or some glorious heart beloved, G.o.d-rapt from the earthly strife: Now over the body he standeth, and seeth it shapen fair, And clad from head to foot-sole in pale grey-glittering gear, In a hauberk wrought as straitly as though to the flesh it were grown: But a great helm hideth the head and is girt with a glittering crown.

So thereby he stoopeth and kneeleth, for he deems it were good indeed If the breath of life abide there and the speech to help at need; And as sweet as the summer wind from a garden under the sun Cometh forth on the topmost Hindfell the breath of that sleeping-one.

Then he saith he will look on the face, if it bear him love or hate, Or the bonds for his life's constraining, or the sundering doom of fate.

So he draweth the helm from the head, and, lo, the brow snow-white, And the smooth unfurrowed cheeks, and the wise lips breathing light; And the face of a woman it is, and the fairest that ever was born, Shown forth to the empty heavens and the desert world forlorn: But he looketh, and loveth her sore, and he longeth her spirit to move, And awaken her heart to the world, that she may behold him and love.

And he toucheth her breast and her hands, and he loveth her pa.s.sing sore; And he saith: "Awake! I am Sigurd;" but she moveth never the more.

Then he looked on his bare bright blade, and he said: "Thou--what wilt thou do?

For indeed as I came by the war-garth thy voice of desire I knew."

Bright burnt the pale blue edges for the sunrise drew anear, And the rims of the Shield-burg glittered, and the east was exceeding clear: So the eager edges he setteth to the Dwarf-wrought battle-coat Where the hammered ring-knit collar constraineth the woman's throat; But the sharp Wrath biteth and rendeth, and before it fail the rings, And, lo, the gleam of the linen, and the light of golden things: Then he driveth the blue steel onward, and through the skirt, and out, Till nought but the rippling linen is wrapping her about; Then he deems her breath comes quicker and her breast begins to heave, So he turns about the War-Flame and rends down either sleeve, Till her arms lie white in her raiment, and a river of sun-bright hair Flows free o'er bosom and shoulder and floods the desert bare.

Then a flush cometh over her visage and a sigh upheaveth her breast, And her eyelids quiver and open, and she wakeneth into rest; Wide-eyed on the dawning she gazeth, too glad to change or smile, And but little moveth her body, nor speaketh she yet for a while; And yet kneels Sigurd moveless her wakening speech to heed, While soft the waves of the daylight o'er the starless heavens speed, And the gleaming rims of the Shield-burg yet bright and brighter grow, And the thin moon hangeth her horns dead-white in the golden glow.

Then she turned and gazed on Sigurd, and her eyes met the Volsung's eyes.

And mighty and measureless now did the tide of his love arise, For their longing had met and mingled, and he knew of her heart that she loved, As she spake unto nothing but him and her lips with the speech-flood moved:

"O, what is the thing so mighty that my weary sleep hath torn, And rent the fallow bondage, and the wan woe over-worn?"

He said: "The hand of Sigurd and the Sword of Sigmund's son, And the heart that the Volsungs fashioned this deed for thee have done."

But she said: "Where then is Odin that laid me here alow?

Long lasteth the grief of the world, and man-folk's tangled woe!"

"He dwelleth above," said Sigurd, "but I on the earth abide, And I came from the Glittering Heath the waves of thy fire to ride."

But therewith the sun rose upward and lightened all the earth, And the light flashed up to the heavens from the rims of the glorious girth; But they twain arose together, and with both her palms outspread, And bathed in the light returning, she cried aloud and said:

"All hail O Day and thy Sons, and thy kin of the coloured things!

Hail, following Night, and thy Daughter that leadeth thy wavering wings!

Look down with unangry eyes on us to-day alive, And give us the hearts victorious, and the gain for which we strive!

All hail, ye Lords of G.o.d-home, and ye Queens of the House of Gold!

Hail thou dear Earth that bearest, and thou Wealth of field and fold!

Give us, your n.o.ble children, the glory of wisdom and speech, And the hearts and the hands of healing, and the mouths and hands that teach!"

Then they turned and were knit together; and oft and o'er again They craved, and kissed rejoicing, and their hearts were full and fain.

Then Sigurd looketh upon her, and the words from his heart arise: "Thou art the fairest of earth, and the wisest of the wise; O who art thou that lovest? I am Sigurd, e'en as I told; I have slain the Foe of the G.o.ds, and gotten the Ancient Gold; And great were the gain of thy love, and the gift of mine earthly days, If we twain should never sunder as we wend on the changing ways.

O who art thou that lovest, thou fairest of all things born?

And what meaneth thy sleep and thy slumber in the wilderness forlorn?"

She said: "I am she that loveth: I was born of the earthly folk, But of old Allfather took me from the Kings and their wedding yoke: And he called me the Victory-Wafter, and I went and came as he would, And I chose the slain for his war-host, and the days were glorious and good, Till the thoughts of my heart overcame me, and the pride of my wisdom and speech, And I scorned the earth-folk's Framer and the Lord of the world I must teach: For the death-doomed I caught from the sword, and the fated life I slew, And I deemed that my deeds were goodly, and that long I should do and undo.

But Allfather came against me and the G.o.d in his wrath arose; And he cried: 'Thou hast thought in thy folly that the G.o.ds have friends and foes, That they wake, and the world wends onward, that they sleep, and the world slips back, That they laugh, and the world's weal waxeth, that they frown and fashion the wrack: Thou hast cast up the curse against me; it shall fall aback on thine head; Go back to the sons of repentance, with the children of sorrow wed!

For the G.o.ds are great unholpen, and their grief is seldom seen, And the wrong that they will and must be is soon as it hath not been.'

"Yet I thought: 'Shall I wed in the world, shall I gather grief on the earth?

Then the fearless heart shall I wed, and bring the best to birth, And fashion such tales for the telling, that Earth shall be holpen at least, If the G.o.ds think scorn of its fairness, as they sit at the changeless feast.'

"Then somewhat smiled Allfather; and he spake: 'So let it be!

The doom thereof abideth; the doom of me and thee.

Yet long shall the time pa.s.s over ere thy waking-day be born: Fare forth, and forget and be weary 'neath the Sting of the Sleepful Thorn!'