Then troth-plight maids forsaken, and never-wedded ones, And they that mourned dead husbands and the hope of unborn sons, These told of their bitterest trouble and the worst their eyes had seen; "Yet all we live to love thee, and the glory of the Queen.

Look up, look up, O Gudrun! what rest for them that wail If the Queens of men shall tremble, and the G.o.d-kin faint and fail?"

No voice gat Gudrun's sorrow, no care she had to weep; For the deeds of the day she knew not, nor the dreams of Sigurd's sleep: Her heart was cold and dreadful; nor good from ill she knew, Because of her love departed, and the day with nought to do.

Then spake a Queen of Welshland, and Herborg hight was she: "O frozen heart of sorrow, the Norns dealt worse with me: Of old, in the days departed, were my brave ones under shield, Seven sons, and the eighth, my husband, and they fell in the Southland field: Yet lived my father and mother, yet lived my brethren four, And I bided their returning by the sea-washed bitter sh.o.r.e: But the winds and death played with them, o'er the wide sea swept the wave, The billows beat on the bulwarks and took what the battle gave: Alone I sang above them, alone I dight their gear For the uttermost journey of all men, in the harvest of the year: Nor wakened spring from winter ere I left those early dead; With bound hands and shameful body I went as the sea-thieves led: Now I sit by the hearth of a stranger; nor have I weal nor woe, Save the hope of the Niblung masters and the sorrow of a foe."

No wailing word gat Gudrun, no thought she had to weep O'er the sundering tide of Sigurd, and the loved lord's lonely sleep: Her heart was cold and dreadful; nor good from ill she knew, Since her love was taken from her and the day of deeds to do.

Then arose a maid of the Niblungs, and Gullrond was her name, And betwixt that Queen of Welshland and Gudrun's grief she came: And she said: "O foster-mother, O wise in the wisdom of old, Hast thou spoken a word to the dead, and known them hear and behold?

E'en so is this word thou speakest, and the counsel of thy face."

All heed gave the maids and the warriors, and hushed was the spear-thronged place, As she stretched out her hand to Sigurd, and swept the linen away From the lips that had holpen the people, and the eyes that had gladdened the day; She set her hand unto Sigurd, and turned the face of the dead To the moveless knees of Gudrun, and again she spake and said:

"O Gudrun, look on thy loved-one; yea, as if he were living yet Let his face by thy face be cherished, and thy lips on his lips be set!"

Then Gudrun's eyes fell on it, and she saw the bright-one's hair All wet with the deadly dew-fall, and she saw the great eyes stare At that cloudy roof of the Niblungs without a smile or frown; And she saw the breast of the mighty and the heart's wall rent adown: She gazed and the woe gathered on her, so exceeding far away Seemed all she once had cherished from that which near her lay; She gazed, and it craved no pity, and therein was nothing sad, Therein was clean forgotten the hope that Sigurd had: Then she looked around and about her, as though her friend to find, And met those woeful faces but as grey reeds in the wind, And she turned to the King beneath her and raised her hands on high, And fell on the body of Sigurd with a great and bitter cry; All else in the house kept silence, and she as one alone Spared not in that kingly dwelling to wail aloud and moan; And the sound of her lamentation the peace of the Niblungs rent, While the restless birds in the wall-nook their song to the green leaves sent; And the geese in the home-mead wandering clanged out beneath the sun; For now was the day's best hour, and its loveliest tide begun.

Long Gudrun lay on Sigurd, and her tears fell fast on the floor As the rain in midmost April when the winter-tide is o'er, Till she heard a wail anigh her and how Gullrond wept beside, Then she knew the voice of her pity, and rose upright and cried:

"O ye, e'en such was my Sigurd among these Giuki's sons, As the hart with the horns day-brightened mid the forest-creeping ones; As the spear-leek fraught with wisdom mid the lowly garden gra.s.s; As the gem on the gold band's midmost when the council cometh to pa.s.s, And the King is lit with its glory, and the people wonder and praise.

--O people, Ah thy craving for the least of my Sigurd's days!

O wisdom of my Sigurd! how oft I sat with thee Thou striver, thou deliverer, thou hope of things to be!

O might of my love, my Sigurd! how oft I sat by thy side, And was praised for the loftiest woman and the best of Odin's pride!

But now am I as little as the leaf on the lone tree left, When the winter wood is shaken and the sky by the North is cleft."

Then her speech grew wordless wailing, and no man her meaning knew; Till she hushed her swift and turned her; for a laugh her wail pierced through, As a whistling shaft the night-wind in some foe-encompa.s.sed wood; And lo, by the nearest pillar the wife of Gunnar stood; There stood the allwise Brynhild 'gainst the golden carving pressed, As she stared at the wound of Sigurd and that rending of his breast: But she felt the place fallen silent, and the speechless anger set On her own chill, bitter sorrow; and the eyes of the women met, And they stood in the hall together, as they stood that while ago, When they twain in Brynhild's dwelling of days to come would know: But every soul kept silence, and all hearts were chill as stone As Brynhild spake: "Thou woman, shall thine eyes be wet alone?

Shalt thou weep and speak in thy glory, when I may weep no more, When I speak, and my speech is as silence to the man that loved me sore?"

Then folk heard the woe of Gudrun, and the bitterness of hate: "Day cursed o'er every other! when they opened wide the gate, And Kings in gold arrayed them, and all men the joy might hear, As Greyfell neighed in the forecourt the world's delight to bear, And my brethren shook the world-ways as they rode to Brynhild's bower, --An ill day--an evil woman--a most untimely hour!"

But she wailed: "The seat is empty, and empty is the bed, And earth is hushed henceforward of the words my speech-friend said!

Lo, the deeds of the sons of Giuki, and my brethren of one womb!

Lo, the deeds of the sons of Giuki for the latter days of doom!

O hearken, hearken Gunnar! May the dear Gold drag thee adown, And Greyfell's ruddy Burden, and the Treasure of renown, And the rings that ye swore the oath on! yea, if all avengers die, May Earth, that ye bade remember, on the blood of Sigurd cry!

Be this land as waste as the trothplight that the lips of fools have sworn!

May it rain through this broken hall-roof, and snow on the hearth forlorn!

And may no man draw anigh it to tell of the ruin and the wrack!

Yea, may I be a mock for the idle if my feet come ever aback, If my heart think kind of the chambers, if mine eyes shall yearn to behold The fair-built house of my fathers, the house beloved of old!"

Then she waileth out before them, and hideth her face from the day, And she casteth her down from the high-seat and fleeth fast away; And forth from the Hall of the Niblungs, and forth from the Burg is she gone, And forth from the holy dwellings, and a long way forth alone, Till she comes to the lonely wood-waste, the desert of the deer By the feet of the lonely mountains, that no man draweth anear; But the wolves are about and around her, and death seems better than life, And folding the hands and forgetting a merrier thing than strife; And for long and long thereafter no man of Gudrun knows, Nor who are the friends of her life-days, nor whom she calleth her foes.

But how great in the hall of the Niblungs is the voice of weeping and wail!

Men bide on the noon's departing, men bide till the eve shall fail, Then they wend one after other to the sleep that all men win, Till few are the hall-abiders, and the moon is white therein, And no sound in the house may ye hearken save the ernes that stir o'erhead, And the far-off wail o'er Guttorm and the wakeners o'er the dead: But still by the carven pillar doth the all-wise Brynhild stand A-gaze on the wound of Sigurd, nor moveth foot nor hand, Nor speaketh word to any, of them that come or go Round the evil deed of the Niblungs and the corner-stone of woe.

_Of the pa.s.sing away of Brynhild._

Once more on the morrow-morning fair shineth the glorious suns And the Niblung children labour on a deed that shall be done.

For out in the people's meadows they raise a bale on high, The oak and the ash together, and thereon shall the Mighty lie; Nor gold nor steel shall be lacking, nor savour of sweet spice, Nor cloths in the Southlands woven, nor webs of untold price: The work grows, toil is as nothing; long blasts of the mighty horn From the topmost tower out-wailing o'er the woeful world are borne.

But Brynhild lay in her chamber, and her women went and came, And they feared and trembled before her, and none spake Sigurd's name; But whiles they deemed her weeping, and whiles they deemed indeed That she spake, if they might but hearken, but no words their ears might heed; Till at last she spake out clearly: "I know not what ye would; For ye come and go in my chamber, and ye seem of wavering mood To thrust me on, or to stay me; to help my heart in woe, Or to bid my days of sorrow midst nameless folly go."

None answered the word of Brynhild, none knew of her intent; But she spake: "Bid hither Gunnar, lest the sun sink o'er the bent, And leave the words unspoken I yet have will to speak."

Then her maidens go from before her, and that lord of war they seek, And he stands by the bed of Brynhild and strives to entreat and beseech, But her eyes gaze awfully on him, and his lips may learn no speech.

And she saith: "I slept in the morning, or I dreamed in the waking-hour, And my dream was of thee, O Gunnar, and the bed in thy kingly bower, And the house that I blessed in my sorrow, and cursed in my sorrow and shame, The gates of an ancient people, the towers of a mighty name: King, cold was the hall I have dwelt in, and no brand burned on the hearth; Dead-cold was thy bed, O Gunnar, and thy land was parched with dearth: But I saw a great King riding, and a master of the harp, And he rode amidst of the foemen, and the swords were bitter-sharp, But his hand in the hand-gyves smote not, and his feet in the fetters were fast, While many a word of mocking at his speechless face was cast.

Then I heard a voice in the world: 'O woe for the broken troth, And the heavy Need of the Niblungs, and the Sorrow of Odin the Goth!

Then I saw the halls of the strangers, and the hills, and the dark-blue sea, Nor knew of their names and their nations, for earth was afar from me, But brother rose up against brother, and blood swam over the board, And women smote and spared not, and the fire was master and lord.

Then, then was the moonless mid-mirk, and I woke to the day and the deed, The deed that earth shall name not, the day of its bitterest need.

Many words have I said in my life-days, and little more shall I say: Ye have heard the dream of a woman, deal with it as ye may: For meseems the world-ways sunder, and the dusk and the dark is mine, Till I come to the hall of Freyia, where the deeds of the mighty shall shine.'"

So hearkened Gunnar the Niblung, that her words he understood, And he knew she was set on the death-stroke, and he deemed it nothing good: But he said: "I have hearkened, and heeded thy death and mine in thy words: I have done the deed and abide it, and my face shall laugh on the swords; But thee, woman, I bid thee abide here till thy grief of soul abate; Meseems nought lowly nor shameful shall be the Niblung fate; And here shalt thou rule and be mighty, and be queen of the measureless Gold, And abase the kings and upraise them; and anew shall thy fame be told, And as fair shall thy glory blossom as the fresh fields under the spring."

Then he casteth his arms about her, and hot is the heart of the King For the glory of Queen Brynhild and the hope of her days of gain, And he clean forgetteth Sigurd and the foster-brother slain: But she shrank aback from before him, and cried: "Woe worth the while For the thoughts ye drive back on me, and the memory of your guile!

The Kings of earth were gathered, the wise of men were met; On the death of a woman's pleasure their glorious hearts were set, And I was alone amidst them--Ah, hold thy peace hereof!

Lest the thought of the bitterest hours this little hour should move."

He rose abashed from before her, and yet he lingered there; Then she said: "O King of the Niblungs, what noise do I hearken and hear?

Why ring the axes and hammers, while feet of men go past, And shields from the wall are shaken, and swords on the pavement cast, And the door of the treasure is opened; and the horn cries loud and long, And the feet of the Niblung children to the people's meadows throng?"

His face was troubled before her, and again she spake and said: "Meseemeth this is the hour when men array the dead; Wilt thou tell me tidings, Gunnar, that the children of thy folk Pile up the bale for Guttorm, and the hand that smote the stroke?"

He said: "It is not so, Brynhild; for that Giuki's son was burned When the moon of the middle heaven last night toward dawning turned."

They looked on each other and spake not; but Gunnar gat him gone, And came to his brother Hogni, the wise-heart Giuki's son, And spake: "Thou art wise, O Hogni; go in to Brynhild the queen, And stay her swift departing; or the last of her days hath she seen."

"It is nought, thy word," said Hogni; "wilt thou bring dead men aback, Or the souls of kings departed midst the battle and the wrack?

Yet this shall be easier to thee than the turning Brynhild's heart; She came to dwell among us, but in us she had no part; Let her go her ways from the Niblungs with her hand in Sigurd's hand.

Will the gra.s.s grow up henceforward where her feet have trodden the land?"

"O evil day," said Gunnar, "when my queen must perish and die!"

"Such oft betide," saith Hogni, "as the lives of men flit by; But the evil day is a day, and on each day groweth a deed, And a thing that never dieth; and the fateful tale shall speed.

Lo now, let us harden our hearts and set our brows as the bra.s.s, Lest men say it, 'They loathed the evil and they brought the evil to pa.s.s.'"

So they spake, and their hearts were heavy, and they longed for the morrow morn, And the morrow of tomorrow, and the new day yet to be born.

But Brynhild cried to her maidens: "Now open ark and chest, And draw forth queenly raiment of the loveliest and the best, Red rings that the Dwarf-lords fashioned, fair cloths that queens have sewed, To array the bride for the mighty, and the traveller for the road."

They wept as they wrought her bidding and did on her goodliest gear; But she laughed mid the dainty linen, and the gold-rings fashioned fair: She arose from the bed of the Niblungs, and her face no more was wan; As a star in the dawn-tide heavens, mid the dusky house she shone: And they that stood about her, their hearts were raised aloft Amid their fear and wonder: then she spake them kind and soft:

"Now give me the sword, O maidens, wherewith I sheared the wind When the Kings of Earth were gathered to know the Chooser's mind."

All sheathed the maidens brought it, and feared the hidden blade, But the naked blue-white edges across her knees she laid, And spake: "The heaped-up riches, the gear my fathers left, All dear-bought woven wonders, all rings from battle reft, All goods of men desired, now strew them on the floor, And so share among you, maidens, the gifts of Brynhild's store."

They brought them mid their weeping, but none put forth a hand To take that wealth desired, the spoils of many a land: There they stand and weep before her, and some are moved to speech, And they cast their arms about her and strive with her, and beseech That she look on her loved-ones' sorrow and the glory of the day.

It was nought; she scarce might see them, and she put their hands away And she said: "Peace, ye that love me! and take the gifts and the gold In remembrance of my fathers and the faithful deeds of old."