Then she spake: "Where now is Gunnar, that I may speak with him?

For new things are mine eyes beholding and the Niblung house grows dim, And new sounds gather about me, that may hinder me to speak When the breath is near to flitting, and the voice is waxen weak."

Then upright by the bed of the Niblungs for a moment doth she stand, And the blade flasheth bright in the chamber, but no more they hinder her hand Than if a G.o.d were smiting to rend the world in two: Then dulled are the glittering edges, and the bitter point cleaves through The breast of the all-wise Brynhild, and her feet from the pavement fail, And the sigh of her heart is hearkened mid the hush of the maidens'

wail.

Chill, deep is the fear upon them, but they bring her aback to the bed, And her hand is yet on the hilts, and sidelong droopeth her head.

Then there cometh a cry from withoutward, and Gunnar's hurrying feet Are swift on the kingly threshold, and Brynhild's blood they meet.

Low down o'er the bed he hangeth and hearkeneth for her word, And her heavy lids are opened to look on the Niblung lord, And she saith: "I pray thee a prayer, the last word in the world I speak, That ye bear me forth to Sigurd, and the hand my hand would seek; The bale for the dead is builded, it is wrought full wide on the plain, It is raised for Earth's best Helper, and thereon is room for twain: Ye have hung the shields about it, and the Southland hangings spread, There lay me adown by Sigurd and my head beside his head: But ere ye leave us sleeping, draw his Wrath from out the sheath, And lay that Light of the Branstock, and the blade that frighted deaths Betwixt my side and Sigurd's, as it lay that while agone, When once in one bed together we twain were laid alone: How then when the flames flare upward may I be left behind?

How then may the road he wendeth be hard for my feet to find?

How then in the gates of Valhall may the door of the gleaming ring Clash to on the heel of Sigurd, as I follow on my king?"

Then she raised herself on her elbow, but again her eyelids sank, And the wound by the sword-edge whispered, as her heart from the iron shrank, And she moaned: "O lives of man-folk, for unrest all overlong By the Father were ye fashioned; and what hope amendeth a wrong?

Now at last, O my beloved, all is gone; none else is near, Through the ages of all ages, never sundered, shall we wear."

Scarce more than a sigh was the word, as back on the bed she fell, Nor was there need in the chamber of the pa.s.sing of Brynhild to tell; And no more their lamentation might the maidens hold aback, But the sound of their bitter mourning was as if red-handed wrack Ran wild in the Burg of the Niblungs, and the fire were master of all.

Then the voice of Gunnar the war-king cried out o'er the weeping hall: "Wail on, O women forsaken, for the mightiest woman born!

Now the hearth is cold and joyless, and the waste bed lieth forlorn.

Wail on, but amid your weeping lay hand to the glorious dead, That not alone for an hour may lie Queen Brynhild's head: For here have been heavy tidings, and the Mightiest under shield Is laid on the bale high-builded in the Niblungs' hallowed field.

Fare forth! for he abideth, and we do Allfather wrong, If the shining Valhall's pavement await their feet o'erlong."

Then they took the body of Brynhild in the raiment that she wore, And out through the gate of the Niblungs the holy corpse they bore, And thence forth to the mead of the people, and the high-built shielded bale; Then afresh in the open meadows breaks forth the women's wail When they see the bed of Sigurd and the glittering of his gear; And fresh is the wail of the people as Brynhild draweth anear, And the tidings go before her that for twain the bale is built, That for twain is the oak-wood shielded and the pleasant odours spilt.

There is peace on the bale of Sigurd, and the G.o.ds look down from on high, And they see the lids of the Volsung close shut against the sky, As he lies with his shield beside him in the Hauberk all of gold, That has not its like in the heavens, nor has earth of its fellow told; And forth from the Helm of Aweing are the sunbeams flashing wide, And the sheathed Wrath of Sigurd lies still by his mighty side.

Then cometh an elder of days, a man of the ancient times, Who is long past sorrow and joy, and the steep of the bale he climbs; And he kneeleth down by Sigurd, and bareth the Wrath to the sun That the beams are gathered about it, and from hilt to blood-point run, And wide o'er the plain of the Niblungs doth the Light of the Branstock glare, Till the wondering mountain-shepherds on that star of noontide stare, And fear for many an evil; but the ancient man stands still With the war-flame on his shoulder, nor thinks of good or of ill, Till the feet of Brynhild's bearers on the topmost bale are laid, And her bed is dight by Sigurd's; then he sinks the pale white blade And lays it 'twixt the sleepers, and leaves them there alone-- He, the last that shall ever behold them,--and his days are well nigh done.

Then is silence over the plain; in the noon shine the torches pale As the best of the Niblung Earl-folk bear fire to the builded bale: Then a wind in the west ariseth, and the white flames leap on highs And with one voice crieth the people a great and mighty cry, And men cast up hands to the Heavens, and pray without a word, As they that have seen G.o.d's visage, and the face of the Father have heard.

They are gone--the lovely, the mighty, the hope of the ancient Earth: It shall labour and bear the burden as before that day of their birth: It shall groan in its blind abiding for the day that Sigurd hath sped, And the hour that Brynhild hath hastened, and the dawn that waketh the dead: It shall yearn, and be oft-times holpen, and forget their deeds no more, Till the new sun beams on Baldur, and the happy sealess sh.o.r.e.

BOOK IV.

GUDRUN.

HEREIN IS TOLD OF THE DAYS OF THE NIBLUNGS AFTER THEY SLEW SIGURD, AND OF THEIR WOEFUL NEED AND FALL IN THE HOUSE OF KING ATLI.

_King Atli wooeth and weddeth Gudrun._

Hear now of those Niblung war-kings, how in glorious state they dwell; They do and undo at their pleasure and wear their life-days well; They deal out doom to the people, and their hosts of war array, Nor storm nor wind nor winter their eager swords shall stay: They ride the lealand highways, they ride the desert plain, They cry out kind to the Sea-G.o.d and loose the wave-steed's rein: They climb the unmeasured mountains, and gleam on the world beneath, And their swords are the blinding lightning, and their shields are the shadow of death: When men tell of the lords of the Goth-folk, of the Niblungs is their word, All folk in the round world's compa.s.s of their mighty fame have heard: They are lords of the Ransom of Odin, the uncounted sea-born Gold, The Grief of the wise Andvari, the Death of the Dwarfs of old, The gleaming Load of Greyfell, the ancient Serpent's Bed, The store of the days forgotten, by the dead heaped up for the dead.

Lo, such are the Kings of the Niblungs, but yet they crave and desire Lest the world hold greater than they, lest the G.o.ds and their kindred be higher.

Fair, bright is their hall in the even; still up to the cloudy roof There goeth the glee and the singing while the eagles chatter aloof, And the G.o.ds on the hangings waver in the doubtful wind of night; Still fair are the linen-clad damsels, still are the war-dukes bright; Men come and go in the even; men come and go in the morn; Good tidings with the daybreak, fair fame with the glooming is born: --But no tidings of Sigurd and Brynhild, and whoso remembereth their days Turns back to the toil or the laughter from his words of lamenting or praise, Turns back to the glorious Gunnar, casts hope on the Niblung name, Doeth deeds from the morn to the even, and beareth no burden of shame.

Well wedded is Gunnar the King, and Hogni hath wedded a wife; Fair queens are those wives of the Niblungs, good helpmates in peace and in strife Sweet they sit on the golden high-seat, and Grimhild sitteth beside, And the years have made her glorious, and the days have swollen her pride; She looketh down on the people, from on high she looketh down, And her days have become a wonder, and her redes are wisdom's crown.

She saith: Where then are the G.o.ds? what things have they shapen and made More of might than the days I have shapen? of whom shall our hearts be afraid?

Now there was a King of the outlands, and Atli was his name, The lord of a mighty people, a man of marvellous fame, Who craved the utmost increase of all that kings desire; Who would reach his hand to the gold as it ran in the ruddy fire, Or go down to the ocean-pavement to harry the people beneath, Or cast up his sword at the G.o.ds, or bid the friendship of death.

By hap was the man unwedded, and wide in the world he sought For a queen to increase his glory lest his name should come to nought; And no kin like the kin of the Niblungs he found in all the earth.

No treasure like their treasure, no glory like their worth; So he sendeth an ancient war-duke with a goodly company, And three days they ride the mirk-wood and ten days they sail the sea, And three days they ride the highways till they come to Gunnar's land; And there on an even of summer in Gunnar's hall they stand, And the spears of Welshland glitter, and the Southland garments gleam, For those folk are fair apparelled as the people of a dream.

But the glorious Son of Giuki from amidst the high-seat spoke: "Why stand ye mid men sitting, or fast mid feasting folk?

No meat nor drink there lacketh, and the hall is long and wide.

Three days in the peace of the Niblungs unquestioned shall ye bide, Then timely do your message, and bid us peace or war."

But spake the Earl of Atli yet standing on the floor: "All hail, O glorious Gunnar, O mighty King of men!

O'er-short is the life of man-folk, the three-score years and ten, Long, long is the craft for the learning, and sore doth the right hand waste: Lo, lord, our spurs are b.l.o.o.d.y, and our brows besweat with haste; Our gear is stained by the sea-spray and rent by bitter gales, For we struck no mast to the tempest, and the East was in our sails; By the thorns is our raiment rended, for we rode the mirk-wood through, And our steeds were the G.o.d-bred coursers, nor day from night-tide knew: Lo, we are the men of Atli, and his will and his spoken word Lies not beneath our pillow, nor hangs above the board; Nay, how shall it fail but slay us if three days we hold it hid?

--I will speak to-night, O Niblung, save thy very mouth forbid: But lo now, look on the tokens, and the rune-staff of the King."

Then spake the Son of Giuki: "Give forth the word and the thing.

Since thy faithfulness constraineth: but I know thy tokens true, And thy rune-staff hath the letters that in days agone I knew."

"Then this is the word," said the elder, "that Atli set in my mouth: 'I have known thee of old, King Gunnar, when we twain drew sword in the south In the days of thy father Giuki, and great was the fame of thee then: But now it rejoiceth my heart that thou growest the greatest of men, And anew I crave thy friendship, and I crave a gift at thy hands, That thou give me the white-armed Gudrun, the queen and the darling of lands, To be my wife and my helpmate, my glory in hall and afield; That mine ancient house may blossom and fresh fruit of the King-tree yield.

I send thee gifts moreover, though little things be these.

But such is the fashion of great-ones when they speak across the seas.'"

Then cried out that earl of the strangers, and men brought the gifts and the gold; White steeds from the Eastland horse-plain, fine webs of price untold, Huge pearls of the nether ocean, strange masteries subtly wrought By the hands of craftsmen perished and people come to nought.

But Gunnar laughed and answered: "King Atli speaketh well; Across the sea, peradventure, I too a tale may tell: Now born is thy burden of speech; so rejoice at the Niblung board, For here art thou sweetly welcome for thyself and thy mighty lord: And maybe by this time tomorrow, or maybe in a longer s.p.a.ce, Shall ye have an answer for Atli, and a word to gladden his face."

So the strangers sit and are merry, and the Wonder of the East And the glory of the Westland kissed lips in the Niblung feast.

But again on the morrow-morning speaks Gunnar with Grimhild and saith: "Where then in the world is Gudrun, and is she delivered from death?

For nought hereof hast thou told me: but the wisest of women art thou, And I deem that all things thou knowest, and thy cunning is timely now; For King Atli wooeth my sister; and as wise as thou mayst be, What thing mayst thou think of greater 'twixt the ice and the uttermost sea Than the might of the Niblung people, if this wedding come to pa.s.s?"

Then answered the mighty Grimhild, and glad of heart she was: "It is sooth that Gudrun liveth; for that daughter of thy folk Fled forth from the Burg of the Niblungs when the Volsung's might ye broke: She fled from all holy dwellings to the houses of the deer, And the feet of the mountains deserted that few folk come anear: There the wolves were about and around her, and no mind she had to live; Dull sleep she deemed was better than with turmoiled thought to strive: But there rode a wife in the wood, a queen of the daughters of men, And she came where Gudrun abided, whose might was minished as then, Till she was as a child forgotten; nor that queen might she gainsay; Who took the white-armed Gudrun, and bore my daughter away To her burg o'er the hither mountains; there she cherished her soft and sweet, Till she rose, from death delivered, and went upon her feet: She awoke and beheld those strangers, a trusty folk and a kind, A goodly and simple people, that few lords of war shall find: Glorious and mighty they deemed her, as an outcast wandering G.o.d, And she loved their loving-kindness, and the fields of the tiller she trod, And went 'twixt the rose and the lily, and sat in the chamber of wool, And smiled at the laughing maidens, and sang over shuttle and spool.

Seven seasons there hath she bided, and this have I wotted for long; But I knew that her heart is as mine to remember the grief and the wrong, So the days of thy sister I told not, in her life would I have no part, Lest a foe for thy life I should fashion, and sharpen a sword for thine heart: But now is the day of our deeds, and no longer durst I refrain, Lest I put the G.o.ds' hands from me, and make their gifts but vain.

Yea, the woman is of the Niblungs, and often I knew her of old, How her heart would burn within her when the tale of their glory was told.

With wisdom and craft shall I work, with the gifts that Odin hath given, Wherewith my fathers of old, and the ancient mothers have striven."

"Thy word is good," quoth Gunnar, "a happy word indeed: Lo, how shall I fear a woman, who have played with kings in my need?

Yea, how may I speak of my sister, save well remembering How goodly she was aforetime, how fair in everything, How kind in the days pa.s.sed over, how all fulfilled of love For the glory of the Niblungs, and the might that the world shall move?

She shall see my face and Hogni's, she shall yearn to do our will, And the latter days of her brethren with glory shall fulfil."

Then Grimhild laughed and answered: "Today then shalt thou ride To the dwelling of Thora the Queen, for there doth thy sister abide."

As she spake came the wise-heart Hogni, and that speech of his mother he heard, And he said: "How then are ye saying a new and wonderful word, That ye meddle with Gudrun's sorrow, and her grief of heart awake?

Will ye draw out a dove from her nest, and a worm to your hall-hearth take?"

"What then," said his brother Gunnar, "shall we thrust by Atli's word?

Shall we strive, while the world is mocking, with the might of the Eastland sword, While the wise are mocking to see it, how the great devour the great?"

"O wise-heart Hogni," said Grimhild, "wilt thou strive with the hand of fate, And thrust back the hand of Odin that the Niblung glory will crown?

Wert thou born in a cot-carle's chamber, or the bed of a King's renown?"