"Is it so?" said Sigurd the Volsung, "Ah, I sore mis...o...b.. me then, That thereof shall we hear great tidings that shall be for the ruin of men."

"Why grieveth she so," said Gudrun, "a queen so mighty and wise, The Chooser of the war-host, the desire of many eyes, The Queen of the glorious Gunnar, the wife of the man she chose?

And she sits by his side on the high-seat, as the lily blooms by the rose."

"Where then in the world was Brynhild," said he, "when she spake that word, And said that her beloved was her very earthly lord?"

Then was Sigurd silent a little, and Gudrun spake no more; For despite the heart of the Niblungs, and her love exceeding sore, With fear her soul was smitten for the word that Sigurd spake, And yet more for his following silence; and the stark death seemed to awake And stride through the Niblung dwelling, and the sunny morn grew dim: Till, lo, the voice of the Volsung, and the speech came forth from him:

"Hearken, Gudrun my wife; the season is nigh at hand, Yea, the day is now on the threshold, when thou alone in the land Shalt answer for Sigurd departed, and shalt say that I loved thee well; And yet if thou hear'st men say it, then true is the tale to tell, That Brynhild was my beloved in the tide and the season of youth; And as great as is thy true-love, e'en so was her love and her truth.

But for this cause thus have I spoken, that the tale of the night hast thou told, And cast the word unto Brynhild, and shown her the token of gold.

--A deed for the slaying of many, and the ending of my life, Since I betrayed her unwitting.--Yet grieve not, Gudrun my wife!

For cloudy of late were the heavens with many a woven lie, And now is the clear of the twilight, when the slumber draweth anigh.

But call up the soul of the Niblungs, and harden thine heart to bear, For wert thou not sprung from the mighty, today were thy portion of fear: Yea, thou wottest it even as I; but I see thine heart arise, And the soul of the mighty Niblungs, and fair is the love in thine eyes."

Then forth went the King from the chamber to the council of the Kings, And he sat with the wise in the Doom-ring for the sifting of troublous things, And rejoiced the heart of the people: and the Wrath kept watch by his side.

And his eyen were nothing dimmer than on many a joyous tide.

But abed lay Brynhild the Queen, as a woman dead she lay, And no word for better or worse to the best of her folk would she say: So they bore the tidings to Gunnar, and said: "Queen Brynhild ails With a sickness whereof none knoweth, and death o'er her life prevails."

Then uprose Gunnar the Niblung, and he went to Brynhild his wife, And prayed her to strengthen her heart for the glory of his life: But she gave not a word in answer, nor turned to where he stood, And there rose up a fear in his heart, and he looked for little of good: There he bode for a long while silent, and the thought within him stirred Of wise speech of his mother Grimhild, and many a warning word: But he spake: "Art thou smitten of G.o.d, unto whom shall we cast the prayer?

Art thou wronged by one of the King-folk, for whom shall the blades be bare?"

Belike she never heard him; she lay in her misery, And the slow tears gushed from her eyen and nought of the world would she see.

But ill thoughts arose in Gunnar, and remembrance of the speech Erst spoken low by Grimhild; yet he turned his heart to beseech, And he spake again: "O Brynhild, if I ever made thee glad, If the glory of the great-ones of my gift thine heart hath had.

As mine heart hath been faithful to thee, as I longed for thy life-days' gain, Tell now of thy toil and thy trouble that we each of each may be fain!"

Nought spake she, nothing she moved, and the tears were dried on her cheek; But the very words of Grimhild did Gunnar's memory seek; He sought and he found and considered; and mighty he was and young, And he thought of the deeds of his fathers and the tales of the Niblungs sung; How they bore no G.o.d's constraining, and rode through the wrong and the right That the storm of their wrath might quicken, and their tempest carry the light.

The words of his mother he gathered and the wrath-flood over him rolled, And with it came many a longing, that his heart had never told, Nay, scarce to himself in the night-tide, for the gain of the ruddy rings, And the fame of the earth unquestioned and the mastery over kings, And he sole King in the world-throne, unequalled, unconstrained; And with wordless wrath he fretted at the bonds that his glory had chained, And the bitter anger stirred him, and at last he spake and cried:

"How long, O all-wise Brynhild, like the dead wilt thou abide, Nor speak to thy lord and thy husband and the man that rode thy Fire, And mocked at the bane of King-folk to accomplish thy desire?

I deem thou sickenest, Brynhild, with the love of a mighty-one, The foe, the King's supplanter, he that so long hath shone Mid the honour of our fathers, and the lovely Niblung house, Like a serpent amidst of the treasure that the day makes glorious."

Yet never a word she answered, nor unto the great King turned, Till through all the patience of King-folk the flame of his anger burned, And his voice was the rattling thunder, as he cried across the bed:

"O who art thou, fearful woman? art thou one of the first of the dead?

Hast thou long ago seen and hated the tide of the Niblung praise, And clad thee in flesh twice over for the bane of our happy days?

Art thou come from the far-off country that none may live and behold For the bane of the King of the Niblungs, and of Sigurd lord of the Gold?"

Then she raised herself on her elbow and turned her eyes on the King: "O tell me, Gunnar," she said, "that thou gavest Andvari's Ring To thy sister the white-armed Gudrun!--thou, not thy captain of war, The son of the G.o.d-born Volsungs, the Lord of the Treasure of yore!

O swear it that I may live! that I may be glad in thine hall, And weave with the wisdom of women, and broider the purple and pall, And look in thy face at the chess-play, and drink of thy carven cup, And whisper a word in season when the voice of the wise goes up, And speak thee the speech of kindness by the hallowed Niblung hearth.

O swear it, King of the Niblungs, lest thine honour die of the dearth!

O swear it, lord I have wedded, lest mine honour come to nought, And I be but a wretch and a bondmaid for a year's embracing bought!"

Till his heart hath heard her meaning at the golden bed he stares, And the last of the words she speaketh flit empty past his ears; For he knows that the tale of the night-tide hath been told and understood, And now of her shame was he deeming e'en worse than Brynhild would.

So he turns from her face and the chamber with his glory so undone, That he saith the G.o.ds did evil when the mighty work they won, And wrought the Burg of the Niblungs, and fashioned his fathers' days, And led them on to the harvest of the deeds and the people's praise.

And nought he sees to amend it, save the hungry eyeless sword, And the war without hope or honour, and the strife without reward.

So alone he goeth his ways, and the morn to the noontide falls, And the sun goeth down in the heavens, and fades from the Niblung walls, And the dusk and the dark draw over, and no man the King may see.

But Sigurd sits in the hall mid the war-dukes' company: Alone of the Kings in the Doom-ring, and the council of the wise, By the street and the wharf and the burg-gate he shines in the people's eyes; Stately and lovely to look on he heareth of good and of ill, And he knitteth up and divideth, with life and death at his will.

_Of the exceeding great grief and mourning of Brynhild._

Now the sun cometh up in the morning and shines o'er holt and heath, And the wall of the mighty mountains, and the sheep-fed slopes beneath, And the horse-fed plain and the river, and the acres of the wheat, And the herbs of bane and of healing, and the garden hedges sweet; It shines on the sea and the shepherd, and the husbandman's desire; On the Niblung Burg it shineth and smiteth the vanes afire; And in Gudrun's bower it shineth, and seeth small joy therein, For hushed the fair-clad maidens the work of women win; Then Gudrun looketh about her, and she saith: "Why sit ye so, That I hearken but creak of the loom-stock and the battens' homeward blow?

Why is your joy departed and your sweet speech fallen dumb?

Are the Niblungs fled from the battle, is their war-host overcome?

Have the Norns given forth their shaming? have they fallen in the fight?

Yet the sun shines notwithstanding, and the world around is bright."

Then answered a n.o.ble woman, and the wise of maids was she: "Thou knowest, O lovely lady, that nought of this may be; Yet with woe that the world shall hearken the glorious house is filled, On the hearth of all men hallowed the cup of joy is spilled.

--A dread, an untimely hour, an exceeding evil day!"

Then the wife of Sigurd answered: "Arise and go thy way To the chamber of Queen Brynhild, and bid her wake at last, For that long have we slept and slumbered, and the deedless night is pa.s.sed: Bid her wake to the deeds of queen-folk, and be glad as the world-queens are When they look on the people that loves them, and thrust all trouble afar.

Let her foster her greatness and glory, and the fame no ages forget, That tomorn may as yesterday blossom, yea more abundantly yet."

Then arose the light-foot maiden: but she stayed and spake by the door: "O Gudrun, I durst not behold her, for the days of her joyance are o'er, And the days of her life are numbered, and her might is waxen weak, And she lieth as one forsaken, and no word her lips will speak, Nay, not to her lord that loveth: but all we deem, O Queen, That the wrath of the G.o.ds is upon her for ancient deeds unseen."

Nought answered the white-armed Gudrun, but the fear in her soul arose, For she thought of the golden Sigurd, and the compa.s.sing of foes, And great grew the dread of her maidens as they gazed upon her face: But she rose and looked not backward as she hastened from her place, And sought the King of the Niblungs by hall and chamber and stair, And bright was the pure mid-morning and the wind was fresh and fair.

So she came on her brother Gunnar, as he sat apart and alone, Arrayed in the Niblung war-gear, nor moved he more than the stone In the jaws of the barren valley and the man-deserted dale; On his knees was the breadth of the sunshine, and thereon lay the edges pale, The war-flame of the Niblungs, the sword that his right hand knew:

White was the fear on her lips, and hard at her heart it drew.

As she spake: "I have found thee, O brother! O Gunnar, go to her and say That my heart is grieved with her grief and I mourn for her evil day."

Then Gunnar answered her word, but his words were heavy and slow: "Thou know'st not the words thou speakest--and wherefore should I go, Since I am forbidden to share it, the woe or the weal of her heart?

Look thou on the King of the Niblungs, how he sitteth alone and apart, Fast bound in the wiles of women, and the web that a traitor hath spun, And no deed for his hand he knoweth, or to do or to leave undone."

Wan-faced from before him she fled, and she went with hurrying feet, And no child of man in her going would she look upon or greet, Till she came unto Hogni the Wise; and he sat in his war-array, The coal-blue gear of the Niblungs, and the sword o'er his knees there lay:

She sickened, and said: "What dost thou? what then is the day and the deed, That the sword on thy knees is naked, and thou clad in the warrior's weed?

Go in, go in to Brynhild, and tell her how I mourn For the grief whereof none wotteth that hath made her days forlorn."

"It is good, my sister," said Hogni, "to abide in the harness of war When the days and the days are changing, and the Norns' feet stand by the door.

I will nowise go in unto Brynhild, lest the evil tide grow worse.

For what woman will bear the sorrow and burden her soul with a curse If she may escape it unbidden? and there are words that wound Far worse than the bitter edges, though wise in the air they sound.

Bide thou and behold things fated! Hast thou learned how men may teach The stars in their ordered courses, or lead the Norns with speech?"

She stood and trembled before him, nor durst she long behold The silent face of Hogni and the far-seeing eyes and cold.

So she gat her forth from before him, and Sigurd her husband she sought, And the speech on her lips was ready, till the chill fear made it nought; For apart and alone was he sitting in all his war-gear clad, And Fafnir's Helm of Aweing, and Regin's Wrath he had, And over the breast of Sigurd was the Hauberk all of gold That hath not the like in the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told.

But he set her down beside him and said: "What fearest thou then?

What terror strideth in daylight mid the peace of the Niblung men?"

She cried: "The Helm and the Sword, and the golden guard of thy breast!"

"So oft, O wife," said Sigurd, "is a war-king clad the best When the peril quickens before him, and on either hand is doubt; Thus men wreathe round the beaker whence the wine shall be soon poured out.

But hope thou not overmuch, for the end is not today; And fear thou little indeed, for not long shall the sword delay: But speak, O daughter of Giuki, for thy lips scarce held the word Ere thou sawest the gleam of my hauberk and the edge of the ancient Sword, The Light that hath lain in the Branstock, the hope of the Volsung tree, The Sunderer, the Deliverer, the torch of days to be."