But she stands and may scarce move forward, and a red flush lighteth her face As her eyes seek out Queen Brynhild in the height of the golden place.

But lo, as a swan on the sea spreads out her wings to arise From the face of the darksome ocean when the isle before her lies, So Brynhild arose from her throne and the fashioned cloths of blue When she saw the Maid of the Niblungs, and the face of Gudrun knew; And she gathers the laps of the linen, and they meet in the hall, they twain, And she taketh her hands in her hands and kisseth her sweet and fain: And she saith: "Hail, sister and queen! for we deem thy coming kind: Though forsooth the hall of Brynhild is no weary way to find: How fare the kin of the Niblungs? is thy mother happy and hale, And the ancient of days, thy father, the King of all avail?"

"It is well with my house," said Gudrun, "and my brethren's days are fair, And my mother's morns are joyous, and her eves have done with care; And my father's heart is happy, and the Niblung glory grows, And the land in peace is lying 'neath the lily and the rose: But love and the mirth of summer have moved my heart to come To look on thy measureless beauty, and seek thy glory home."

"O be thou welcome!" said Brynhild; "it is good when queen-folk meet.

Come now, O goodly sister, and sit in my golden seat: There are lovely hours before us, and the half of the summer day; And what is the night of summer that eve should drive thee away?"

So they sat, they twain, in the high-seat; and the maidens bore them wine, And they handled Dwarf-wrought treasures with their fingers fair and fine, And lovely they were together, and they marvelled each at each: Yet oft was Gudrun silent, and she faltered in her speech, As they matched great Kings and their war-deeds, and told of times that were, And their fathers' fathers' doings, and the deaths of war-lords dear.

And at last the twain sat silent, and spake no word at all, And the western sky waxed ruddy, for the sun drew near its fall; And the speech of the murmuring maidens, and the voice of the toil of folk, Died out in the hall of Brynhild as the garden-song awoke.

Then Brynhild took up the word, and her voice was soft as she said: "We have told of the best of King-folk, the living and the dead; But hast thou heard, my sister, how the world grows fair with the word Of a King from the mountains coming, a great and marvellous lord, Who hath slain the Foe of the G.o.ds, and the King that was wise from of old; Who hath slain the great Gold-wallower, and gotten the ancient Gold; And the hand of victory hath he, and the overcoming speech, And the heart and the eyes triumphant, and the lips that win and teach?"

Then met the eyes of the women, and Brynhild's word died out, And bright flushed Gudrun's visage, and her lips were moved with doubt.

But again spake Brynhild the wise: "He is come of a marvellous kin, And of men that never faltered, and goodly days shall he win: Yea now to this land is he coming, and great shall be his fame; He is born of the Volsung King-folk, and Sigurd is his name."

Then all the heart laughed in her, but the speech of her lips died out, And red and pale waxed Gudrun, and her lips were moved with doubt, Till she spake as a Queen of the Earth: "Sister, the day grows late, And meseemeth the watch of the earl-folk looks oft from the Niblung gate For the gleam of our golden wains and the dust-cloud thin and soft; But nought shall they now behold them till the moon-lamp blazeth aloft.

Farewell, and have thanks for thy welcome and thy glory that I have seen, And I bid thee come to the Niblungs while the summer-ways are green, That we thine heart may gladden as thou gladdenedst ours today."

And she rose and kissed her sweetly as one that wendeth away: But Brynhild looked upon her and said: "Wilt thou depart, And leave the word unspoken that lieth on thine heart?"

Then Gudrun faltered and spake: "Yea, hither I came in sooth, With a dream for thine eyes of wisdom, and a prayer for thine heart of ruth: But young in the world am I waxen, and the scorn of folk I fear When I speak to the ears of the wise, and a maiden's dream they hear."

"I shall mock thee nought," said Brynhild; "yet who shall say indeed But my heart shall fear thee rather, nor help thee in thy need?"

Then spake the daughter of Giuki: "Lo, this was the dream I dreamed: For without by the door of the Niblungs I sat in the morn, as meseemed; Then I saw a falcon aloft, and a glorious bird he was, And his feathers glowed as the gold, and his eyes as the sunlit gla.s.s: Hither and thither he flew about the kingdoms of Kings, And fear was borne before him, and death went under his wings: Yet I feared him not, but loved him, and mine eyes must follow his ways, And the joy came into my heart, and hope of the happy days: Then over the hall of the Niblungs he hung a little s.p.a.ce And 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 I cherished him soft and warm, for I deemed I had gotten the best."

So speaketh the Maid of the Niblungs, and speech her lips doth fail, And she gazeth on Brynhild's visage, and seeth her waxen pale, As she saith: "'Tis a dream full goodly, and nought hast thou to fear; Some glory of Kings shall love thee and thine heart shall hold him dear."

Again spake the daughter of Giuki: "Not yet hast thou hearkened all: For meseemed my breast was reddened, as oft by the purple and pall, But my heart was heavy within it, and I laid my hand thereon, And the purple of blood enwrapped me, and the falcon I loved was gone."

Yet pale was the visage of Brynhild, and she said: "Is it then so strange That the wedding-lords of the Niblungs their lives in the battle should change?

Thou shalt wed a King and be merry, and then shall come the sword, And the edges of hate shall be whetted and shall slay thy love and thy lord, And dead on thy breast shall he fall: and where then is the measureless moan?

From the first to the last shalt thou have him, and scarce shall he die alone.

Rejoice, O daughter of Giuki! there is worse in the world than this: He shall die, and thou shalt remember the days of his glory and bliss."

"I woke, and I wept," said Gudrun, "for the dear thing I had loved: Then I slept, and again as aforetime were the gates of the dream-hall moved, And I went in the land of shadows; and lo I was crowned as a queen, And I sat in the summer-season amidst my garden green; And there came a hart from the forest, and in n.o.ble wise he went, And bold he was to look on, and of fashion excellent Before all beasts of the wild-wood; and fair gleamed that glorious-one, And upreared his shining antlers against the very sun.

So he came unto me and I loved him, and his head lay kind on my knees, And fair methought the summer, and a time of utter peace.

Then darkened all the heavens and dreary grew the tide, And medreamed that a queen I knew not was sitting by my side, And from out of the din and the darkness, a hand and an arm there came, And a golden sleeve was upon it, and red rings of the Queen-folk's fame: And the hand was the hand of a woman: and there came a sword and a thrust And the blood of the lovely wood-deer went wide about the dust.

Then I cried aloud in my sorrow, and lo, in the wood I was, And all around and about me did the kin of the wild-wolves pa.s.s.

And I called them friends and kindred, and upreared a battle-brand, And cried out in a tongue that I knew not, and red and wet was my hand.

Lo now, the dream I have told thee, and nought have I held aback.

O Brynhild, what wilt thou tell me of treason and murder and wrack?"

Long Brynhild stood and pondered and weary-wise was her face, And she gazed as one who sleepeth, till thus she spake in a s.p.a.ce: "One dream in twain hast thou told, and I see what I saw e'en now, But beyond is nought but the darkness and the measureless midnight's flow: Thy dream is all areded; I may tell thee nothing more: Thou shalt live and love and lose, and mingle in murder and war.

Is it strange, O child of the Niblungs, that thy glory and thy pain Must be blent with the battle's darkness and the unseen hurrying bane?

Do ye, of all folk on the earth, pray G.o.d for the changeless peace, And not for the battle triumphant and the fruit of fame's increase?

For the rest, thou mayst not be lonely in thy welfare or thy woe, But hearts with thine heart shall be tangled: but the queen and the hand thou shalt know.

When we twain are wise together; thou shalt know of the sword and the wood, Thou shalt know of the wild-wolves' howling and thy right-hand wet with blood, When the day of the smith is ended, and the st.i.thy's fire dies out, And the work of the master of masters through the feast-hall goeth about."

They stand apart by the high-seat, and each on each they gaze As though they forgat the summer, and the tide of the pa.s.sing days, And abode the deeds unborn and the Kings' deaths yet to be, As the merchant bideth deedless the gold in his ships on the sea.

At last spake the wise-heart Brynhild: "O glorious Niblung child!

The dreams and the word we have hearkened, and the dreams and the word have been wild.

Thou hast thy life and thy summer, and the love is drawing anear; Take these to thine heart to cherish, and deem them good and dear, Lest the Norns should mock our knowledge and cast our fame aside, And our doom be empty of glory as the hopeless that have died.

Farewell, O Niblung Maiden! for day on day shall come Whilst thou shalt live rejoicing mid the blossom of thine home.

Now have thou thanks for thy greeting and thy glory that I have seen; And come thou again to Lymdale while the summer-ways are green."

So the hall-dusk deepens upon them till the candles come arow, And they drink the wine of departing and gird themselves to go; And they dight the dark-blue raiment and climb to the wains aloft While the horned moon hangs in the heaven and the summer wind blows soft.

Then the yoke-beasts strained at the collar, and the dust in the moon arose, And they brushed the side of the acre and the blooming dewy close; Till at last, when the moon was sinking and the night was waxen late, The warders of the earl-folk looked forth from the Niblung gate, And saw the gold pale-gleaming, and heard the wain-wheels crush The weary dust of the summer amidst the midnight hush.

So came the daughter of Giuki from the hall of Brynhild the queen When the days of the Niblungs blossomed and their hope was springing green.

_How the folk of Lymdale met Sigurd the Volsung in the woodland._

Full fair was the land of Lymdale, and great were the men thereof, And Heimir the King of the people was held in marvellous love; And his wife was the sister of Brynhild, and the Queen of Queens was she; And his sons were n.o.ble striplings, and his daughters sweet to see; And all these lived on in joyance through the good days and the ill, Nor would shun the war's awaking; but now that the war was still They looked to the wethers' fleeces and what the ewes would yield, And led their bulls from the straw-stall, and drave their kine afield; And they dealt with mere and river and all waters of their land, And cast the glittering angle, and drew the net to the strand, And searched the rattling shallows, and many a rock-walled well, Where the silver-scaled sea-farers, and the crook-lipped bull-trout dwell.

But most when their hearts were merry 'twas the joy of carle and quean To ride in the deeps of the oak-wood, and the th.o.r.n.y thicket green: Forth go their hearts before them to the blast of the strenuous horn, Where the level sun comes dancing down the oaks in the early morn: There they strain and strive for the quarry, when the wind hath fallen dead In the odorous dusk of the pine-wood, and the noon is high o'erhead: There oft with horns triumphant their rout by the lone tree turns, When over the bison's lea-land the last of sunset burns; Or by night and cloud all eager with shaft on string they fare, When the wind from the elk-mead setteth, or the wood-boar's tangled lair: For the wood is their barn and their storehouse, and their bower and feasting-hall, And many an one of their warriors in the woodland war shall fall.

So now in the sweet spring season, on a morn of the sunny tide Abroad are the Lymdale people to the wood-deers' house to ride: And they wend towards the sun's uprising, and over the boughs he comes, And the merry wind is with him, and stirs the woodland homes; But their horns to his face cast clamour, and their hooves shake down the glades, And the hearts of their hounds are eager, and oft they redden blades; Till at last in the noon they tarry in a daisied wood-lawn green, And good and gay is their raiment, and their spears are sharp and sheen, And they crown themselves with the oak-leaves, and sit, both most and least, And there on the forest venison and the ancient wine they feast; Then they wattle the twigs of the thicket to bear their spoil away, And the toughness of the beech-boughs with the woodbine overlay: With the voice of their merry labour the hall of the oakwood rings, For fair they are and joyous as the first G.o.d-fashioned Kings.

Now they gather their steeds together, that ere the moon is born The candles of King Heimir may shine on harp and horn: But as they stand by the stirrup and hand on rein is laid, All eyes are turned to beholding the eastward-lying glade, For thereby comes something glorious, as though an earthly sun Were lit by the orb departing, lest the day should be wholly done; Lo now, as they stand astonied, a wonder they behold, For a warrior cometh riding, and his gear is all of gold; And grey is the steed and mighty beneath that lord of war, And a treasure of gold he beareth, and the gems of the ocean's floor: Now they deem the war-steed wondrous and the treasure strange they deem, But so exceeding glorious doth the harnessed rider seem, That men's hearts are all exalted as he draweth nigh and nigher, And there are they abiding in fear and great desire: For they look on the might of his limbs, and his waving locks they see, And his glad eyes clear as the heavens, and the wreath of the summer tree That girdeth the dread of his war-helm, and they wonder at his sword, And the tinkling rings of his hauberk, and the rings of the ancient h.o.a.rd: And they say: Are the G.o.ds on the earth? did the world change yesternight?

Are the sons of Odin coming, and the days of Baldur the bright?

But forth stood Heimir the ancient, and of G.o.ds and men was he chief Of all who have handled the harp; and he stood betwixt blossom and leaf, And thrust his spear in the earth and cast abroad his hands: "Hail, thou that ridest hither from the North and the desert lands!

Now thy face is turned to our hall-door and thereby must be thy way; And, unless the time so presseth that thou ridest night and day, It were good that thou lie in my house, and hearken the clink of the horn, Whether peace in thy hand thou bear us, or war on thy saddle be borne; Whether wealth thou seek, or friends, or kin, or a maiden lost, Or hast heart for the building of cities nor wilt hold thee aback for the cost; If fame thou wilt have among King-folk, to the land of the Kings art thou come, Or wouldst thou adown to the sea-flood, thou must pa.s.s by the garth of our home.

Yea art thou a G.o.d from the heavens, who wilt deem me little of worth, And art come for the wrack of my realm and wilt cast King Heimir forth, Thou knowest I fear thee nothing, and no worse shall thy welcome be: Or art thou a wolf of the hearth, none here shall meddle with thee:-- Yet lo, as I look on thine eyen, and behold thy hope and thy mirth, Meseems thou art better than these, some son of the Kings of the Earth."

Then spake the treasure-bestrider,--for his horse e'en now had he reined By the King and the earls of the people where the boughs of the thicket waned:-- "Yea I am a son of the Kings; but my kin have pa.s.sed away, And once were they called the Volsungs, and the sons of G.o.d were they: I am young, but have learned me wisdom; I am lone, but deeds have I done; I have slain the Foe of the G.o.ds, and the Bed of the Worm have I won.

But meseems that the earth is lovely, and that each day springeth anew And beareth the blossom of hope, and the fruit of deeds to do.

And herein thou sayest the sooth, that I seek the fame of Kings, And with them would I do and undo and be heart of their warfarings: And for this o'er the Glittering Heath to the kingdoms of earth am I come, And over the head of Hindfell, and I seek the earl-folk's home That is called the lea of Lymdale 'twixt the wood and the water-side; For men call it the gate of the world where the Kings of Men abide: Nor the least of G.o.d-folk am I, nor the wolf of the Kings accursed, But Sigurd the son of Sigmund in the land of the Helper nursed: And I thank thee, lord, for thy bidding, and tonight will I bide in thine hall, And fare on the morrow to Lymdale and the deeds thenceforward to fall."

Then Sigurd leapt from Greyfell, and men were marvelling there At the sound of his sweet-mouthed wisdom, and his body shapen fair.

But Heimir laughed and answered: "Now soon shall the deeds befall, And tonight shalt thou ride to Lymdale and tonight shalt thou bide in my hall: For I am the ancient Heimir, and my cunning is of the harp, Though erst have I dealt in the sword-play while the edge of war was sharp."

Then Sigurd joyed to behold him, for a G.o.d-like King he was, And amid the men of Lymdale did the Son of Sigmund pa.s.s; And their hearts are high uplifted, for across the air there came A breath of his tale half-spoken and the tidings of his fame; And their eyes are all unsatiate of gazing on his face, For his like have they never looked on for goodliness and grace.

So they bear him the wine of welcome, and then to the saddle they leap And get them forth from the wood-ways to the lea-land of the sheep, And the bull-fed Lymdale meadows; and thereover Sigurd sees The long white walls of Heimir amidst the blossomed trees: Then the slim moon rises in heaven, and the stars in the tree-tops shine, But the golden roof of Heimir looks down on the torch-lit wine, And the song of men goes roofward in praise of Sigmund's Son, And a joy to the Lymdale people is his glory new-begun.

_How Sigurd met Brynhild in Lymdale._

So there abideth Sigurd with the Lymdale forest-lords In mighty honour holden, and in love beyond all words, And thence abroad through the people there goeth a rumour and breath Of the great Gold-wallower's slaying, and the tale of the Glittering Heath, And a word of the ancient Treasure and Greyfell's gleaming Load; And the hearts of men grew eager, and the coming deeds abode.

But warily dealeth Sigurd, and he wends in the woodland fray As one whose heart is ready and abides a better day: In the woodland fray he fareth, and oft on a day doth ride Where the mighty forest wild-bulls and the lonely wolves abide; For as then no other warfare do the lords of Lymdale know, And the axe-age and the sword-age seem dead a while ago, And the age of the cleaving of shields, and of brother by brother slain, And the bitter days of the wh.o.r.edom, and the hardened l.u.s.t of gain; But man to man may hearken, and he that soweth reaps, And hushed is the heart of Fenrir in the wolf-den of the deeps.

Now is it the summer-season, and Sigurd rideth the land, And his hound runs light before him, and his hawk sits light on his hand, And all alone on a morning he rides the flowery sward Betwixt the woodland dwellings and the house of Lymdale's lord; And he hearkens Greyfell's going as he wends adown the lea, And his heart for love is craving, and the deeds he deems shall be; And he hears the Wrath's sheath tinkling as he rides the daisies down And he thinks of his love laid safely in the arms of his renown.

But lo, as he rides the meadows, before him now he sees A builded burg arising amid the leafy trees, And a white-walled house on its topmost with a golden roof-ridge done, And thereon the cl.u.s.tering dove-kind in the brightness of the sun.

So Sigurd stayed to behold it, for the heart within him laughed, But e'en then, as the arrow speedeth from the mighty archer's draught, Forth fled the falcon unhooded from the hand of Sigurd the King, And up, and over the tree-boughs he shot with steady wing: Then the Volsung followed his flight, for he looked to see him fall On the fluttering folk of the doves, and he cried the backward call Full oft and over again; but the falcon heeded it nought, Nor turned to his kingly wrist-perch, nor the folk of the pigeons sought, But flew up to a high-built tower, and sat in the window a s.p.a.ce, Crying out like the fowl of Odin when the first of the morning they face, And then pa.s.sed through the open cas.e.m.e.nt as an erne to his eyrie goes.