_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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds 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 pa.s.s 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 n.o.ble 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 a.s.sembled 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 n.o.ble 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.d-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 G.o.d mid the Goth-folk, if he dwelt in the world alone.

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

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

On a day sit the Kings in the high-seat when Grimhild saith to her son: "O Gunnar, King beloved, a fair life hast thou won; On the flood, in the field hast thou wrought, and hung the chambers with gold; Far abroad mid many a people are the tidings of thee told: Now do a deed for thy mother and the hallowed Niblung hearth, Lest the house of the mighty perish, and our tale grow wan with dearth.

If thou do the deed that I bid thee, and wed a wife of the Kings, No less shalt thou cleave the war-helms and scatter the ruddy rings."

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

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

Speak thou, O mighty Gunnar!--nay rather, Sigurd my son, Say who but the lord of the Niblungs should wed with this glorious one?"

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

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

So they do on the best of their war-gear, and their steeds are dight for the road, And forth to the sun neigheth Greyfell as he neighed 'neath the Golden Load: But or ever they leap to the saddle, while yet in the door they stand, Thereto cometh Grimhild the wise-wife, and on each head layeth her hand, As she saith: "Be mighty and wise, as the kings that came before!

For they knew of the ways of the G.o.ds, and the craft of the G.o.ds they bore: And they knew how the shapes of man-folk are the very images Of the hearts that abide within them, and they knew of the shaping of these.

Be wise and mighty, O Kings, and look in mine heart and behold The craft that prevaileth o'er semblance, and the treasured wisdom of old!

I hallow you thus for the day, and I hallow you thus for the night, And I hallow you thus for the dawning with my fathers' hidden might.

Go now, for ye bear my will while I sit in the hall and spin; And tonight shall be the weaving, and tomorn the web shall ye win."

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

So they come to the Waste of Lymdale when the afternoon is begun, And afar they see the flame-blink on the grey sky under the sun: And they spur and speak no word, and no man to his fellow will turn; But they see the hills draw upward and the earth beginning to burn: And they ride, and the eve is coming, and the sun hangs low o'er the earth, And the red flame roars up to it from the midst of the desert's dearth.

None turns or speaks to his brother, but the Wrath gleams bare and red, And blood-red is the Helm of Aweing on the golden Sigurd's head, And bare is the blade of Gunnar, and the first of the three he rides, And the wavering wall is before him and the golden sun it hides.

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

So perchance may the mocks be lesser when men tell of the Niblung Kings."

Then Sigurd looked on the twain, and he saw their swart hair wave In the wind of the waste and the flame-blast, and no answer awhile he gave.

But at last he spake: "O brother, on Greyfell shalt thou ride, And do on the Helm of Aweing and gird the Wrath to thy side, And cover thy breast with the war-coat that is throughly woven of gold, That hath not its like in the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told: For this is the raiment of Kings when they ride the Flickering Fire, And so sink the flames before them and the might of their desire."

Then Hogni laughed in his heart, and he said: "This changing were well If so might the deed be accomplished; but perchance there is more to tell: Thou shalt take the war-steed, Gunnar, and enough or nought it shall be: But the coal-blue gear of the Niblungs the golden hall shall see."

Then Sigurd looked on the speaker, as one who would answer again, But his words died out on the waste and the fire-blast made them vain.