But the day when the fair earth blossoms, and the sun is bright above.

Of the daring deeds is it fashioned and the eager hearts of love.

"Be wise, and cherish thine hope in the freshness of the days, And scatter its seed from thine hand in the field of the people's praise; Then fair shall it fall in the furrow, and some the earth shall speed, And the sons of men shall marvel at the blossom of the deed: But some the earth shall speed not: nay rather, the wind of the heaven Shall waft it away from thy longing--and a gift to the G.o.ds hast thou given, And a tree for the roof and the wall in the house of the hope that shall be, Though it seemeth our very sorrow, and the grief of thee and me.

"Strive not with the fools of man-folk: for belike thou shalt overcome; And what then is the gain of thine hunting when thou bearest the quarry home?

Or else shall the fool overcome thee, and what deed thereof shall grow?

Nay, strive with the wise man rather, and increase thy woe and his woe; Yet thereof a gain hast thou gotten; and the half of thine heart hast thou won If thou may'st prevail against him, and his deeds are the deeds thou hast done: Yea, and if thou fall before him, in him shalt thou live again, And thy deeds in his hand shall blossom, and his heart of thine heart shall be fain.

"When thou hearest the fool rejoicing, and he saith, 'It is over and past, And the wrong was better than right, and hate turns into love at the last, And we strove for nothing at all, and the G.o.ds are fallen asleep; For so good is the world a growing that the evil good shall reap:'

Then loosen thy sword in the scabbard and settle the helm on thine head, For men betrayed are mighty, and great are the wrongfully dead

"Wilt thou do the deed and repent it? thou hadst better never been born: Wilt thou do the deed and exalt it? then thy fame shall be outworn: Thou shalt do the deed and abide it, and sit on thy throne on high, And look on today and tomorrow as those that never die.

"Love thou the G.o.ds--and withstand them, lest thy fame should fail in the end, And thou be but their thrall and their bondsmen, who wert born for their very friend: For few things from the G.o.ds are hidden, and the hearts of men they know, And how that none rejoiceth to quail and crouch alow.

"I have spoken the words, beloved, to thy matchless glory and worth; But thy heart to my heart hath been speaking, though my tongue hath set it forth: For I am she that loveth, and I know what thou wouldst teach From the heart of thine unlearned wisdom, and I needs must speak thy speech."

Then words were weary and silent, but oft and o'er again They craved and kissed rejoicing, and their hearts were full and fain.

Then spake the Son of Sigmund: "Fairest, and most of worth, Hast thou seen the ways of man-folk and the regions of the earth?

Then speak yet more of wisdom; for most meet meseems it is That my soul to thy soul be shapen, and that I should know thy bliss."

So she took his right hand meekly, nor any word would say, Not e'en of love or praising, his longing to delay; And they sat on the side of Hindfell, and their fain eyes looked and loved, As she told of the hidden matters whereby the world is moved: And she told of the framing of all things, and the houses of the heaven; And she told of the star-worlds' courses, and how the winds be driven; And she told of the Norns and their names, and the fate that abideth the earth; And she told of the ways of King-folk in their anger and their mirth; And she spake of the love of women, and told of the flame that burns, And the fall of mighty houses, and the friend that falters and turns, And the lurking blinded vengeance, and the wrong that amendeth wrong, And the hand that repenteth its stroke, and the grief that endureth for long: And how man shall bear and forbear, and be master of all that is; And how man shall measure it all, the wrath, and the grief, and the bliss.

"I saw the body of Wisdom, and of shifting guise was she wrought, And I stretched out my hands to hold her, and a mote of the dust they caught; And I prayed her to come for my teaching, and she came in the midnight dream-- And I woke and might not remember, nor betwixt her tangle deem: She spake, and how might I hearken; I heard, and how might I know; I knew, and how might I fashion, or her hidden glory show?

All things I have told thee of Wisdom are but fleeting images Of her hosts that abide in the heavens, and her light that Allfather sees: Yet wise is the sower that sows, and wise is the reaper that reaps, And wise is the smith in his smiting, and wise is the warder that keeps: And wise shalt thou be to deliver, and I shall be wise to desire; --And lo, the tale that is told, and the sword and the wakening fire!

Lo now, I am she that loveth, and hark how Greyfell neighs, And Fafnir's Bed is gleaming, and green go the downward ways, The road to the children of men and the deeds that thou shalt do In the joy of thy life-days' morning, when thine hope is fashioned anew.

Come now, O Bane of the Serpent, for now is the high-noon come, And the sun hangeth over Hindfell and looks on the earth-folk's home; But the soul is so great within thee, and so glorious are thine eyes, And me so love constraineth, and mine heart that was called the wise, That we twain may see men's dwellings and the house where we shall dwell, And the place of our life's beginning, where the tale shall be to tell."

So they climb the burg of Hindfell, and hand in hand they fare, Till all about and above them is nought but the sunlit air, And there close they cling together rejoicing in their mirth; For far away beneath them lie the kingdoms of the earth, And the garths of men-folk's dwellings and the streams that water them, And the rich and plenteous acres, and the silver ocean's hem, And the woodland wastes and the mountains, and all that holdeth all; The house and the ship and the island, the loom and the mine and the stall, The beds of bane and healing, the crafts that slay and save, The temple of G.o.d and the Doom-ring, the cradle and the grave.

Then spake the Victory-Wafter: "O King of the Earthly Age, As a G.o.d thou beholdest the treasure and the joy of thine heritage, And where on the wings of his hope is the spirit of Sigurd borne?

Yet I bid thee hover awhile as a lark alow on the corn; Yet I bid thee look on the land 'twixt the wood and the silver sea In the bight of the swirling river, and the house that cherished me!

There dwelleth mine earthly sister and the king that she hath wed; There morn by morn aforetime I woke on the golden bed; There eve by eve I tarried mid the speech and the lays of kings; There noon by noon I wandered and plucked the blossoming things; The little land of Lymdale by the swirling river's side, Where Brynhild once was I called in the days ere my father died; The little land of Lymdale 'twixt the woodland and the sea, Where on thee mine eyes shall brighten and thine eyes shall beam on me."

"I shall seek thee there," said Sigurd, "when the day-spring is begun, Ere we wend the world together in the season of the sun."

"I shall bide thee there," said Brynhild, "till the fulness of the days, And the time for the glory appointed, and the springing-tide of praise."

From his hand then draweth Sigurd Andvari's ancient Gold; There is nought but the sky above them as the ring together they hold, The shapen ancient token, that hath no change nor end, No change, and no beginning, no flaw for G.o.d to mend: Then Sigurd cries: "O Brynhild, now hearken while I swear, That the sun shall die in the heavens and the day no more be fair, If I seek not love in Lymdale and the house that fostered thee, And the land where thou awakedst 'twixt the woodland and the sea!"

And she cried: "O Sigurd, Sigurd, now hearken while I swear That the day shall die for ever and the sun to blackness wear, Ere I forget thee, Sigurd, as I lie 'twixt wood and sea In the little land of Lymdale and the house that fostered me!"

Then he set the ring on her finger and once, if ne'er again, They kissed and clung together, and their hearts were full and fain.

So the day grew old about them and the joy of their desire, And eve and the sunset came, and faint grew the sunset fire, And the shadowless death of the day was sweet in the golden tide; But the stars shone forth on the world, and the twilight changed and died; And sure if the first of man-folk had been born to that starry night, And had heard no tale of the sunrise, he had never longed for the light: But Earth longed amidst her slumber, as 'neath the night she lay, And fresh and all abundant abode the deeds of Day.

BOOK III.

BRYNHILD.

IN THIS BOOK IS TOLD OF THE DEEDS OF SIGURD, AND OF HIS SOJOURN WITH THE NIBLUNGS, AND IN THE END OF HOW HE DIED.

_Of the Dream of Gudrun the Daughter of Giuki._

And now of the Niblung people the tale beginneth to tell, How they deal with the wind and the weather; in the cloudy drift they dwell When the war is awake in the mountains, and they drive the desert spoil, And their weaponed hosts unwearied through the misty hollows toil; But again in the eager sunshine they scour across the plain, And spear by spear is quivering, and rein is laid by rein, And the dust is about and behind them, and the fear speeds on before, As they shake the flowery meadows with the fleeting flood of war.

Yea, when they come from the battle, and the land lies down in peace, No less in gear of warriors they gather earth's increase, And helmed as the G.o.ds of battle they drive the team afield: These come to the council of elders with sword and spear and shield, And shout to their war-dukes' dooming of their uttermost desire: These never bow the helm-crest before the High-G.o.ds' fire But show their swords to Odin, and cry on Vingi-Thor With the dancing of the ring-mail and the smitten shields of war: Yet though amid their high-tides of the deaths of men they sing, And of swords in the battle broken, and the fall of many a king, Yet they sing it wreathed with the flowers and they praise the gift and the gain Of the war-lord sped to Odin as he rends the battle atwain.

And their days are young and glorious, and in hope exceeding great With sword and harp and beaker on the skirts of the Norns they wait.

Now the King of this folk is Giuki, and he sits in the Niblung hall When the song of men goes roofward and the shields shine out from the wall; And his queen in the high-seat sitteth, the woman overwise, Grimhild the kin of the G.o.d-folk, the wife of the glittering eyes: And his sons on each hand are sitting; there is Gunnar the great and fair, With the lovely face of a king 'twixt the night of his wavy hair: And there is the wise-heart Hogni; and his lips are close and thin, And grey and awful his eyen, and a many sights they win: And there is Guttorm the youngest, of the fierce and wandering glance, And the heart that never resteth till the swords in the war-wind dance: And there is Gudrun his daughter, and light she stands by the board, And fair are her arms in the hall as the beaker's flood is poured: She comes, and the earls keep silence; she smiles, and men rejoice; She speaks, and the harps unsmitten thrill faint to her queenly voice.

So blossom the days of the Niblungs, and great is their hope's increase 'Twixt the merry days of battle and the tide of their guarded peace: There is many a noon of joyance, and many an eve's delight, And many a deed for the doing 'twixt the morning and the night.

Now betimes on a morning of summer that Giuki's daughter arose, Alone went the fair-armed Gudrun to her flowery garden-close; And she went by the bower of women, and her damsels saw her thence, And her nurse went down to meet her as she came by the rose-hung fence, And she saw that her eyes were heavy as she trod with doubtful feet Betwixt the rose and the lily, nor blessed the blossoms sweet: And she spake: "What ails thee, daughter, as one asleep to tread O'er the gra.s.s of the merry summer and the daisies white and red?

And to have no heart for the harp-play, or the needle's mastery, Where the gold and the silk are framing the Swans of the Goths on the sea, And helms and shields of warriors, and Kings on the hazelled isle?

Why hast thou no more joyance on the damsels' glee to smile?

Why biddest thou not to the wild-wood with horse and hawk and hound?

Why biddest thou not to the heathland and the eagle-haunted ground To meet thy n.o.ble brethren as they ride from the mountain-road?

Hast thou deemed the hall of the Niblungs a churlish poor abode?

Wouldst thou wend away from thy kindred, and scorn thy fosterer's praise?

--Or is this the beginning of love and the first of the troublous days?"

Then spake the fair-armed Gudrun: "Nay, nought I know of scorn For the n.o.ble kin of the Niblungs, or the house where I was born; No pain of love hath smit me, and no evil days begin, And I shall be fain tomorrow of the deeds that the maidens win: But if I wend the summer in dull unlovely seeming, It comes of the night, O mother, and the tide of last night's dreaming."

Then spake the ancient woman: "Thy dream to me shalt thou show; Such oft foretell but the weather, and the airts whence the wind shall blow."

Blood-red was waxen Gudrun, and she said: "But little it is: Meseems I sat by the door of the hall of the Niblungs' bliss, And from out of the north came a falcon, and a marvellous bird it was; For his feathers were all of gold, and his eyes as the sunlit gla.s.s, And hither and thither he flew about the kingdoms of Kings, And the fear of men went with him, and the war-blast under his wings: But I feared him never a deal, nay, hope came into my heart, And meseemed in his war-bold ways I also had a part; And my eyes still followed his wings as. .h.i.ther and thither he swept O'er the doors and the dwellings of King-folk; till the heart within me leapt, For over the hall of the Niblungs he hung a little s.p.a.ce, Then stooped to my very knees, and cried out kind in my face: And fain and full was my heart, and I took him to my breast, And fair methought was the world and a home of infinite rest."

Her speech dropped dead as she spake, and her eyes from the nurse she turned, But now and again thereafter the flush in her fair cheek burned, And her eyes were dreamy and great, as of one who looketh afar.

But the nurse laughed out and answered: "Such the dreams of maidens are; And if thou hast told me all 'tis a goodly dream, forsooth: For what should I call this falcon save a glorious kingly youth, Who shall fly full wide o'er the world in fame and victory, Till he hangs o'er the Niblung dwelling and stoops to thy very knee?

And fain and full shall thine heart be, when his cheek shall cherish thy breast, And fair things shalt thou deem of the world as a place of infinite rest."

But cold grew the maiden's visage: "G.o.d wot thou hast plenteous lore In the reading of dreams, my mother; but thou lovest thy fosterling sore, And the good and the evil alike shall turn in thine heart to good; Wise too is my mother Grimhild, but I fear her guileful mood, Lest she love me overmuch, and fashion all dreams to ill.

Now who is the wise of woman, who herein hath measureless skill?

For her forthright would I find, how far soever I fare, Lest I wend like a fool in the world, and rejoice with my feet in the snare."

Quoth the nurse: "Though the dream be goodly and its reading easy and light, It is nought but a little matter if thy golden wain be dight, And thou ride to the land of Lymdale, the little land and green, And come to the hall of Brynhild, the maid and the shielded Queen, The Queen and the wise of women, who sees all haps to come: And 'twill be but light to bid her to seek thy dream-tale home; Though surely shall she arede it in e'en such wise as I; And so shall the day be merry and the summer cloud go by."

"Thou hast spoken well," said Gudrun, "let us tarry now no whit; For wise in the world is the woman, and knoweth the ways of it."

So they make the yoke-beasts ready, and dight the wains for the way, And the maidens gather together, and their bodies they array, And gird the laps of the linen, and do on the dark-blue gear, And bind with the leaves of summer the wandering of their hair: Then they drive by dale and acre, o'er heath and holt they wend, Till they come to the land of the waters, and the lea by the woodland's end; And there is the burg of Brynhild, the white-walled house and long, And the garth her fathers fashioned before the days of wrong.

So fare their feet on the earth by the threshold of the Queen, And Brynhild's damsels abide them, for their goings had been seen; And the mint and the blossomed woodruff they strew before their feet, And their arms of welcome take them, and they kiss them soft and sweet, And they go forth into the feast-hall, the many-pillared house; Most goodly were its hangings and its webs were glorious With tales of ancient fathers, and the Swans of the Goths on the sea, And weaponed Kings on the island, and great deeds yet to be; And the host of Odin's Choosers, and the boughs of the fateful Oak, And the gush of Mimir's Fountain, and the Midworld-Serpent's yoke.

So therein the maidens enter, but Gudrun all out-goes, As over the leaves of the garden shines the many-folded rose: Amidst and alone she standeth; in the hall her arms shine white, And her hair falls down behind her like a cloak of the sweet-breathed night, As she casts her cloak to the earth, and the wind of the flowery tide Runs over her rippling raiment and stirs the gold at her side.