May the fire ne'er stay thy glory, nor the ocean-flood thy fame!

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 turned unto Hogni, and he greeted her fair and well, And she prayed all blessings upon him, and a tale that the world should tell: Then again she spake unto Gunnar: "I had deemed ye had been but three Who sprang from the loins of Giuki; is this fourth akin unto thee, This hall-abider the mighty?"

He said: "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 he seeth the ways of the burden till the last of the uttermost end.

But for all the measureless anguish, and the woe that nought may amend, His heart speeds back to Hindfell, and the dawn of the wakening day; And the hours betwixt are as nothing, and their deeds are fallen away As he looks on the face of Brynhild; and nought is the Niblung folk, But they two are again together, and he speaketh the words he spoke, When he swore the love that endureth, and the truth that knoweth not change; And Brynhild's face drew near him with eyes grown stern and strange.

--Lo, such is the high G.o.ds' sorrow, and men know nought thereof, Who cry out o'er their undoing, and wail o'er broken love.

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; Yet amid the good and the guileless, and the love that thought no wrong, Shall they fashion the deeds to remember, and the fame that endureth for long: And oft shall he look on Brynhild, and oft her words shall he hear, And no hope and no beseeching in his inmost heart shall stir.

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!"

She heard and turned unto Gunnar as a queen that seeketh her place, But to Gudrun she gave no greeting, nor beheld the Niblung's face.

Then up stood the wife of Sigurd and strove with the greeting-word, But the cold fear rose in her heart, and the hate within her stirred, And the greeting died on her lips, and she gazed for a moment or twain On the lovely face of Brynhild, and so sat in the high-seat again, And turned to her lord beside her with many a word of love.

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 there are all these abiding in the Burg of the ancient folk Mid the troth-plight sworn and broken, and the oaths of the earthly yoke.

Then Guttorm comes from his sea-fare, and is waxen fierce and strong, A man in the wars delighting, blind-eyed through right and wrong: Still Sigurd rides with the Brethren, as oft in the other days, And never a whit abateth the sound of the people's praise; They drink in the hall together, they doom in the people's strife, And do every deed of the King-folk, that the world may rejoice in their life.

There now is Brynhild abiding as a Queen in the house of the Kings, And hither and thither she wendeth through the day of queenly things; And no man knoweth her sorrow; though whiles is the Niblung bed Too hot and weary a dwelling for the temples of her head, And she wends, as her wont was aforetime, when the moon is riding high, And the night on the earth is deepest; and she deemeth it good to lie In the trench of the windy mountains, and the track of the wandering sheep, While soft in the arms of Sigurd Queen Gudrun lieth asleep: There she cries on the lovely Sigurd, and she cries on the love and the oath, And she cries on the change and the vengeance, and the death to deliver them both.

But her crying none shall hearken, and her sorrow nought shall know, Save the heart of the golden Sigurd, and the man fast bound in woe: So she wendeth her back in the dawning, toward the deeds and the dwellings of men, And she sits in the Niblung high-seat, and is fair and queenly again.

Close now is her converse with Gudrun, and sore therein she strives Lest the barren stark contention should mingle in their lives; And she humbles her oft before her, as before the Queen of the earth, The mistress, the overcomer, the winner of all that is worth: And Gudrun beareth it all, and deemeth it little enow Though the wife of Sigurd be worshipped: and the scorn in her heart doth grow, Of every soul save Sigurd: for that tale of the night she bears Scarce hid 'twixt the lips and the bosom; and with evil eye she hears Songs sung of the deeds of Gunnar, and the rider of the fire, Who mocked at the bane of King-folk to win his heart's desire: But Sigurd's will constraineth, and with seeming words of peace She deals with the converse of Brynhild, and the days her load increase.

Men tell how the heart-wise Hogni grew wiser day by day; He knows of the craft of Grimhild, and how she looketh to sway The very council of G.o.d-home and the Norns' unchanging mind; And he saith that well-learned is his mother, but that e'en her feet are blind Down the path that she cannot escape from: nay oft is she nothing, he saith, Save a staff for the foredoomed staying, and a sword for the ordered death; And that he will be wiser than this, nor thrust his desire aside, Nor smother the flame of his hatred; but the steed of the Norns will he ride, Till he see great marvels and wonders, and leave great tales to be told: And measureless pride is in him, a stern heart, stubborn and cold.

But of Gunnar the Niblung they say it, that the bloom of his youth is o'er, And many are manhood's troubles, and they burden him oft and sore.

He dwells with Brynhild his wife, with Grimhild his mother he dwells, And n.o.ble things of his greatness, of his joy, the rumour tells; Yet oft and oft of an even he thinks of that tale of the night, And the shame springs fresh in his heart at his brother Sigurd's might; And the wonder riseth within him, what deed did Sigurd there, What gift to the King hath he given: and he looks on Brynhild the fair, The fair face never smiling, and the eyes that know no change, And he deems in the bed of the Niblungs she is but cold and strange; And the Lie is laid between them, as the sword lay while agone.

He hearkens to Grimhild moreover, and he deems she is driving him on, He knoweth not whither nor wherefore: but she tells of the measureless Gold, And the Flame of the uttermost Waters, and the h.o.a.rd of the kings of old: And she tells of kings' supplanters, and the leaders of the war, Who take the crown of song-craft, and the tale when all is o'er: She tells of kings' supplanters, and saith: Perchance 'twere well, Might some tongue of the wise of the earth of those deeds of the night-tide tell: She tells of kings' supplanters: I am wise, and the wise I know, And for nought is the sword-edge whetted, save the smiting of the blow: Old friends are last to sever, and twain are strong indeed, When one the King's shame knoweth, and the other knoweth his need.

So Gunnar hearkens and hearkens, and he saith, It is idle and worse: If the oath of my brother be broken, let the earth then see to the curse!

But again he hearkens and hearkens, and when none may hear his thought He saith in the silent night-tide: Shall my brother bring me to nought?

Must my stroke be a stroke of the guilty, though on sackless folk it fall?

Shall a king sit joy-forsaken mid the riches of his hall?

And measureless pride is in Gunnar, and it blends with doubt and shame, And the unseen blossom is envy and desire without a name.

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.

But he seeth the heart of Brynhild, and knoweth her lonely cry When the waste is all about her, and none but the G.o.ds are anigh: And he knoweth her tale of the night-tide, when desire, that day doth dull, Is stirred by hope undying, and fills her bosom full Of the sighs she may not utter, and the prayers that none may heed; Though the G.o.ds were once so mighty the smiling world to speed.

And he knows of the day of her burden, and the measure of her toil, And the peerless pride of her heart, and her scorn of the fall and the foil.

And the shadowy wings of the Lie, that with hand unwitting he led To the Burg of the ancient people, brood over board and bed; And the hand of the hero faileth, and seared is the sight of the wise, And good is at one with evil till the new-born death shall arise.

In the hall sitteth Sigurd by Brynhild, in the council of the Kings, And he hearkeneth her spoken wisdom, and her word of lovely things: In the field they meet, and the wild-wood; on the acre and the heath; And scarce may he tell if the meeting be worse than the coward's death, Or better than life of the righteous: but his love is a flaming fire, That hath burnt up all before it of the things that feed desire.

The heart of Gudrun he seeth, her heart of burning love, That knoweth of nought but Sigurd on the earth, in the heavens above, Save the foes that encompa.s.s his life, and the woman that wasteth away 'Neath the toil of a love like her love, and the unrewarded day: For hate her eyes hath quickened, and no more is Gudrun blind, And sure, though dim it may be, she seeth the days behind: And the shadowy wings of the Lie, that the hand unwitting led To the love and the heart of Gudrun, brood over board and bed; And for all the hand of the hero and the foresight of the wise, From the heart of a loving woman shall the death of men arise.

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 it happed on a summer season mid the blossom of the year, When the clouds were high and little, and the sun exceeding clear, That Queen Brynhild arose in the morning, and longed for the eddying pool, And the Water of the Niblungs her summer sleep to cool: So she set her face to the river, where the hawthorn and the rose Hide the face of the sunlit water from the yellow-blossomed close And the house-built Burg of the Niblungs; for there by a gra.s.sy strand The shallow water floweth o'er white and stoneless sand And deepeneth up and outward; and the bank on the further side Goes high and shear and rocky the water's face to hide From the plain and the horse-fed meadow: there the wives of the Niblungs oft Would play in the wide-spread water when the summer days were soft; And thither now goes Brynhild, and the flowery screen doth pa.s.s, When lo, fair linen raiment falls before her on the gra.s.s, And she looks, and there is Gudrun, the white-armed Niblung child, All bare for the sunny river and the water undefiled.

Round she turned with her face yet dreamy with the love of yesternight, Till the flush of anger changed it: but Brynhild's face grew white, Though soft she spake and queenly: "Hail, sister of my lord!

Thou art fair in the summer morning 'twixt the river and the sward!"

Then she disarrayed her shoulders and cast her golden girth, And she said: "Thou art sister of Gunnar, and the kin of the best of the earth; So shalt thou go before me to meet the water cold."

Then, smiling nowise kindly, doth Gudrun her behold, And she saith: "Thou art wrong, Queen Brynhild, to give the place to me, For she that is wife of the greatest more than sister-kin shall be.

--Nay, if here were the sister of Sigurd ne'er before me should she go, Though sister were she surely of the best that the earth-folk know: Yet I linger not, since thou biddest, for the courteous of women thou art; And the love of the night and the morning is heavy at my heart; For the best of the world was beside me, while thou layest with Gunnar the King."

She laughs and leaps, and about her the glittering waters spring: But Brynhild laugheth in answer, and her face is white and wan As swift she taketh the water; and the bed-gear of the swan Wreathes long folds round about her as she wadeth straight and swift Where the white-scaled slender fishes make head against the drift: Then she turned to the white-armed Gudrun, who stood far down the stream In the lapping of the west-wind and the rippling shallows' gleam, And her laugh went down the waters, as the war-horn on the wind, When the kings of war are seeking, and their foes are fain to find.

But Gudrun cried upon her, and said: "Why wadest thou so In the deeps and the upper waters, and wilt leave me here below?"

Then e'en as one transfigured loud Brynhild cried, and said: "So oft shall it be between us at hall and board and bed; E'en so in Freyia's garden shall the lilies cover me, While thou on the barren footways thy gown-hem folk shall see: E'en so shall the gold cloths lap me, when we sit in Odin's hall, While thou shiverest, little hidden, by thy lord, the Helper's thrall, By the serving-man of Gunnar, who all his bidding doth, And waits by the door of the bower while his master plighteth the troth: But my mate is the King of the King-folk who rode the Wavering Fire, And mocked at the ruddy death to win his heart's desire.

Lo now, it is meet and righteous that ye of the happy days Should bow the heads and wonder at the wedding all men praise.

O, is it not goodly and sweet with the best of the earth to dwell, And the man that all shall worship when the tale grows old to tell!

For the woe and the anguish endure not, but the tale and the fame endure, And as wavering wind is the joyance, but the G.o.ds' renown shall be sure: It is well, O ye troth-breakers! there was found a man to ride Through the waves of my Flickering Fire to lie by Brynhild's side."