Through ages of all ages may the wide world praise thy name!

Yea, oft may the word be spoken when low we lie at rest; 'It befell in the days of Gunnar, the happiest and the best!'

All this may the high G.o.ds give thee, and thereto a gift I give, The body of Queen Brynhild so long as both we live."

With unmoved face, unfaltering, the blessing-words she said, But the joy sprang up in Gunnar and increased his goodlihead, And he cast his arms about her and kissed her on the mouth, And he said: "The gift is greater than all treasure of the south; As glad as my heart this moment, so glad may be thy life, And the world be never weary of the joy of Gunnar's wife!"

She spake no word, and smiled not, but she held his hand henceforth.

And he said; "Now take the greetings of my men, the most of worth."

Then she turned her face to the war-dukes, and hearkened to their praise, And she spake in few words sweetly, and blessed their coming days.

Then again spake Gunnar and said: "Lo, Hogni my brother is this; But Guttorm is far on the East-seas, and seeketh the warrior's bliss; A third there is of my brethren, and my house holds none so great; In the hall by the side of my sister thy face doth he await."

Then Brynhild gave fair greeting to Hogni, but anon she turned and questioned Gunnar of his words concerning that brother who awaited her in the hall. "I deemed the sons of Giuki had been but three," said Brynhild. "This fourth, this hall-abider the mighty,--is he akin to thee?"

And Gunnar answered: "He is nought of our blood, But the G.o.ds have sent him to usward to work us measureless good: It is even Sigurd the Volsung, the best man ever born, The man that the G.o.ds withstand not, my friend, and my brother sworn."

She heard the name, and she changed not, but her feet went forth as he led, And under the cloudy roof-tree Queen Brynhild bowed her head.

Then, were there a man so ancient as had lived beyond his peers On the earth, that beareth all things, a twice-told tale of years, He had heard no sound so mighty as the shout that shook the wall When Brynhild's feet unhearkened first trod the Niblung hall.

No whit the clamour stirred her; but her G.o.dlike eyes she raised And betwixt the hedge of the earl-folk on the golden high-seat gazed, And the man that sat by Gudrun: but e'en as the rainless cloud Ere the first of the tempest ariseth the latter sun doth shroud, And men look round and shudder, so Grimhild came between The silent golden Sigurd and the eyes of the mighty Queen, And again heard Brynhild greeting, and again she spake and said:

"O Mother of the Niblungs, such hap be on thine head, As thy love for me, the stranger, was past the pain of words!

Mayst thou see thy son's sons glorious in the meeting of the swords!

Mayst thou sleep and doubt thee nothing of the fortunes of thy race!

Mayst thou hear folk call yon high-seat the earth's most happy place!"

Then the Wise-wife hushed before her, and a little fell aside, And nought from the eyes of Brynhild the high-seat now did hide; And the face so long desired, unchanged from time agone, In the house of the Cloudy People from the Niblung high-seat shone: She stood with her hand in Gunnar's, and all about and around Were the unfamiliar faces, and the folk that day had found; But her heart ran back through the years, and yet her lips did move With the words she spake on Hindfell, when they plighted troth of love.

Lo, Sigurd fair on the high-seat by the white-armed Gudrun's side, In the midst of the Cloudy People, in the dwelling of their pride!

His face is exceeding glorious and awful to behold; For of all his sorrow he knoweth and his hope smit dead and cold: The will of the Norns is accomplished, and, lo, they wend on their ways, And leave the mighty Sigurd to deal with the latter days: The G.o.ds look down from heaven, and the lonely King they see, And sorrow over his sorrow, and rejoice in his majesty.

For the will of the Norns is accomplished, and outworn is Grimhild's spell, And nought now shall blind or help him, and the tale shall be to tell: He hath seen the face of Brynhild, and he knows why she hath come, And that his is the hand that hath drawn her to the Cloudy People's home: He knows of the net of the days, and the deeds that the G.o.ds have bid, And no whit of the sorrow that shall be from his wakened soul is hid: And his glory his heart restraineth, and restraineth the hand of the strong From the hope of the fools of desire and the wrong that amendeth wrong.

And Brynhild's face drew near him with eyes grown stern and strange.

Now she stands on the floor of the high-seat, and for e'en so little a s.p.a.ce As men may note delaying, she looketh on Sigurd's face, Ere she saith: "I have greeted many in the Niblungs' house today, And for thee is the last of my greetings ere the feast shall wear away: Hail, Sigurd, son of the Volsungs! hail, lord of Odin's storm!

Hail, rider of the wasteland and slayer of the Worm!

If aught thy soul shall desire while yet thou livest on earth, I pray that thou mayst win it, nor forget its might and worth."

All grief, sharp scorn, sore longing, stark death in her voice he knew, But gone forth is the doom of the Norns, and what shall he answer thereto, While the death that amendeth lingers? and they twain shall dwell for awhile In the Niblung house together by the hearth that forged the guile.

So he spake as a King of the people in whom all fear is dead, And his anguish no man noted, as the greeting-words he said: "Hail, fairest of all things fashioned! hail, thou desire of eyes!

Hail, chooser of the mightiest, and teacher of the wise!

Hail, wife of my brother Gunnar! in might may thy days endure, And in peace without a trouble that the world's weal may be sure!"

But the song sprang up in the hall, and the eagles cried from above And forth to the freshness of May went the joyance of the feast: And Sigurd sat with the Niblungs, and gave ear to most and to least.

And showed no sign to the people of the grief that on him lay; Nor seemeth he worser to any than he was on the yesterday.

_Of the Contention betwixt the Queens._

So now must Sigurd and Brynhild abide together in the Burg of the Niblungs, yet each must bear the burden of sorrow alone. Brynhild held close converse with Gudrun, and behaved humbly towards her lest strife should arise between them. But Gudrun, filled with pride that she was the wife of so great a man as Sigurd, deemed it a little matter that all others should give her honour, and knowing how Sigurd had ridden the fire, she cherished great scorn of Gunnar and Brynhild in her heart, and her pride waxed daily greater.

Of the heart-wise Hogni men tell how he grew wiser day by day and more learned in the craft of his mother Grimhild.

As for Gunnar, he lived with Brynhild in great honour and praise from all men, but the thought of how Sigurd had ridden the fire in his semblance lay heavy upon him. He brooded thereon in bitterness and envy, and the lie shadowed his life-days so that he had but small joy in his wife.

And Grimhild, marking his heavy mood, wrought upon him with cunning words and he gave ear to her. For ever she spake of kings' supplanters who bear away the praise from their lords after great deeds are done, and often her talk was of the mighty power that he holdeth who knoweth the shame of a king. So Gunnar hearkened and ill thoughts grew within him.

But fair-faced, calm as a G.o.d who hath none to call his foes, Betwixt the Kings and the people the golden Sigurd goes; No knowledge of man he lacketh, and the lore he gained of old From the ancient heart of the Serpent and the Wallower on the Gold Springs fresh in the soul of Sigurd; the heart of Hogni he sees, And the heart of his brother Gunnar, and he grieveth sore for these.

It was most in these latter days that his fame went far abroad, The helper, the overcomer, the righteous sundering sword; The loveliest King of the King-folk, the man of sweetest speech, Whose ear is dull to no man that his helping shall beseech; The eye-bright seer of all things, that wasteth every wrong, The straightener of the crooked, the hammer of the strong: Lo, such was the Son of Sigmund in the days whereof I tell, The dread of the doom and the battle; and all children loved him well.

Now Gudrun's scorn of Brynhild waxed greater as she thought on the knowledge that she held, and it needed but a little that she should speak out the whole tale.

Such was her mind when it befell her to go with Brynhild to bathe in the Niblung river. There it chanced that they fell to talk of their husbands, and Gudrun named Sigurd the best of the world. Thereat Brynhild, stung by her love for Sigurd and the memory of his broken troth,--for so she deemed it,--cried out, saying: "Thy lord is but Gunnar's serving man to do his bidding, but my mate is the King of King-folk, who rode the Wavering Fire and hath dared very death to win me."

Then Gudrun held out her hand and a golden gleam shone on her finger, at the sight whereof Brynhild waxed wan as a dead woman. "Lo," said Gudrun, "I had Andvari's ring of Sigurd, and indeed thou sayest truly, that he did Gunnar's bidding, for he took the King's semblance and hid his own shape in Gunnar's. Thus he wooed the bride for Gunnar and for Gunnar rode the fire, and now by this token mayest thou know whether thy husband is truly the best of Kings." And Brynhild spake no word in answer, but clad herself in haste and fled from the river, and Gudrun followed her in triumph of heart.

Yet as the day wore on she repented of her words and feared the deeds that Brynhild might do, and at even she sought her alone and craved pardon. Then spake Brynhild the Queen: "I repent me of my bitter words this day, yet one thing I beseech thee,--do thou say that thou hadst the ring of Gunnar and not of Sigurd, lest I be shamed before all men." "What?" said Gudrun; "hast thou heard that the wives of the Niblungs lie? Nay, Sigurd it was who set this ring on my finger and therewith he told me the shame of my brother Gunnar,--how his glory was turned to a scoff."

And Brynhild seeing that the tale of the deceiving wrought against her might not be hidden, lifted her voice and cursed the house of the Niblungs wherein she had suffered such woe. So the queens parted in great wrath and bitterness.

_Of the exceeding great grief and mourning of Brynhild._

Now on the morrow it was known that Brynhild was sick, nor would she reveal the cause to any. Then Gunnar besought her to be comforted and to show what ailed her, but for a long while he might win no word in answer. Thereat the evil thoughts that Grimhild had sown in his heart grew strong, and he cried in bitter anger: "Lo, Brynhild, I deem thou art sick for love of my foe, the supplanter of Kings, he who hath shone like a serpent this long while past amidst the honour of our kin."

Then at last was Brynhild moved to look on him, and she besought him, saying: "Swear to me, Gunnar, that I may live, and say that thou gavest Andvari's ring to Gudrun--thou, and not thy captain of war."

Thereby Gunnar understood that all his falsehood was known to her, so that never again might they two have any joy together. He had no answering word, but turned from her and departed, for bitter shame was come on him and hatred of Sigurd burnt in his soul like fire.

Then as evening drew on, boding of evil fell on Gudrun, and she sought her brothers that they might plead with Brynhild to pardon her and forget her bitter taunts.

But Gunnar she found seated alone arrayed in his war-gear and on his knees lay his sword, neither would he hear any word of further pleading with Brynhild.

Then sought she Hogni, and behold, he was in the like guise, and sat as one that waits for a foe. So she sped to Sigurd, but chill fear fell on her beholding him, for he was dight in the Helm of Aweing and his golden hauberk, and the Wrath lay on his knees, neither would he then speak to Brynhild.

So that heavy night pa.s.sed away and there was but little sleep in the abode of the Niblungs. And with the dawn Sigurd arose and sought Brynhild's chamber where she lay as one dead. Like a pillar of light he stood in the sunshine and the Wrath rattled by his side. And Brynhild looked on him and said: "Art thou come to behold me?

Thou--the mightiest and the worst of my betrayers." Then for very grief the breast of Sigurd heaved so that the rings of his byrny burst asunder and he cried: "O live, Brynhild beloved! For hereafter shalt thou know of the snare and the lie that entrapped us and the measureless grief of my soul." "It is o'erlate," said Brynhild, "for I may live no longer and the G.o.ds have forgotten the earth." And in such despair must he leave her.

_Of the slaying of Sigurd the Volsung._