So spake the guileful Knefrud mid the silence of the wise, Nor once his cold voice faltered, nor once he sank his eyes: Then spake the glorious Gunnar: "We hear King Atli's voice.

And the heart is glad within us that he biddeth us rejoice: Yet the thing shall be seen but seldom that a Niblung fares from his land With eyes by the gold-l.u.s.t blinded, with the greedy griping hand.

When thou farest aback unto Atli, thou shalt tell him how thou hast been In the house of the Westland Gunnar, and what things thine eyes have seen: Thou shalt tell of the seven store-houses with swords filled through and through, Gold-hilted, deftly smithied, in the Southland wave made blue: Thou shalt tell of the house of the treasures and the Gold that lay erewhile On the Glittering Heath of murder 'neath the heart of the Serpent's guile: Thou shalt note our glittering hauberk, thou shalt strive to bend our bow, Thou shalt look on the shield of Gunnar that its white face thou mayst know: Thou shalt back the Niblung war-steed when the west wind blows its most, And see if it over-run thee; thou shalt gaze on the Niblung host And be glad of the friends of Atli; thou shalt fare through stable and stall, And tell over the tale of the beast-kind, if the night forbear to fall; Through the horse-mead shalt thou wander, through the meadows of the sheep, But forbear to count their thousands lest thou weary for thy sleep; Thou shalt look if the barns be empty, though the wheat-field whiteneth now, In the midmost of the summer in the fields men cared to plough; Thou shalt dwell with men that lack not, and the tillers fair and fain; Thou shalt see, and long, and wonder, and tell thy King of his gain; For in all that here thou beholdest hath he portion even as we; Sweet bloometh his love in our midmost, and the fair time yet may be, When we twain shall meet and be merry; and sure when our lives are done No more shall men sunder our glory than the G.o.ds have rent the sun.

Sit, mighty man, and be joyous: and then shalt thou cast us a word And say how fareth our sister mid the glory of her lord."

Then Knefrud looked upon Gunnar, and spake, nor sank his eyes: "Each morn at the day's beginning when the sun hath hope to arise She looketh from Atli's tower toward the west part and the grey, To see the Niblung spear-heads gleam down the lonely way: Each eve at the day's departing on the topmost tower she stands, And looketh toward the mirk-wood and the sea of the western lands: There long in the wind she standeth, and the even grown acold, To see the Niblung war-shields come forth from out the wold."

Then Gunnar turneth to Hogni, and he saith: "O glorious lord, What saith thine heart to the bidding, and Atli's loving word?"

"I have done many deeds," said Hogni, "I have worn the smooth and the rough, While the G.o.ds looked on from heaven, and belike I have done enough, And no deed for me abideth, but rather the sleep and the rest But thou, O Son of King Giuki, art our eldest and our best, And fair lie the fields before thee wherein thine hand shall work: By the wayside of the greedy doth many a peril lurk; Full wise is the great one meseemeth who bideth his ending at home When the winds and the waves may be dealing with hate that hath far to come."

"I hearken thy word," said Gunnar, "and I know in very deed That long-lived and happy are most men that hearken Hogni's rede.

Hear thou, O Eastland War-G.o.d, and bear this answer aback, That nought may the earth of my people King Giuki's children lack, And that here in the land am I biding till the Norns my life shall change; Howbeit, if here were Atli, his face were scarce more strange Than that daughter of my father whom sore I long to see: Let him come, and sit with the Niblungs, and be called their king with me."

Then spake the guileful Knefrud, and his word was exceeding proud: "It is little the wont of Atli to sit at meat with a crowd; Yet know, O Westland Warrior, that thy message shall be done.

Since the Cloudy Folk make ready new lodging for the sun."

He laughed, and the wise kept silence, and Gunnar heeded him nought: On the daughter of his people was set the Niblung's thought, So sore he longed to behold her; for his life seemed wearing away, And the wealth and the fame he had gathered seemed nought by the earlier day, The day of love departed, and of hope forgotten long.

But Hogni laughs with the stranger, and cries out for harp and song, And the glee rises up as a river when the mountain-tops grow clear, When seaward drift the rain-clouds, and the end of day is near; As of birds in the green groves singing is the Niblung manhood's voice, And the Earls without foreboding in their mighty life rejoice.

Glad then grows the King of the people, and the sweetness filleth his heart, And he turneth about a little, and speaketh to Knefrud apart: "What sayest thou, lord of the Eastland, how with Gudrun's heart it fares?

Is she sunk in the day of dominion and the burden that it bears, Or remembereth she her brethren and her father and her folk?"

Then Knefrud looked upon Gunnar, and forth from the teeth he spoke: "It is e'en as I said, King Gunnar: all eves she stands by the gate The coming of her kindred through the dusky tide to wait: Each day in the dawn she ariseth, and saith the time is at hand When the feet of the Niblung War-Kings shall tread King Atli's land: Then she praiseth the wings of the dove, and the wings of the wayfaring crane 'Gainst whom the wind prevails not, and the tempest driveth in vain; And she praiseth the waves of the ocean, how they toil and toil and blend, Till they break on the strand beloved, and the Niblung earth in the end."

He spake, and the song rose upward and the wine of Kings was poured, And Gunnar heard in the wall-nook how the wind went forth abroad, And he dreamed, and beheld the ocean, and all kingdoms of the earth, And the world lay fair before him and his worship and his worth.

Then again spake the Eastland liar: "O King, I may not hide That great things in the land of Atli thy mighty soul abide; For the King is spent and war-weak, nor rejoiceth more in strife; And his sons, the children of Gudrun, now look their first on life: For this end meseems is his bidding, that no worser men than ye May sit in the throne of Atli and the place where he wont to be."

In the tuneful hall of the Niblungs that Eastland liar spake, And he heard the song of the mighty o'er Gunnar's musing break, And his cold heart gladdened within him as man cried out to man, And fair 'twixt horn and beaker the red wine bubbled and ran.

At last spake Gunnar the Niblung as his hand on the cup he laid: "A great king craveth our coming, and no more shall he be gainsayed: We will go to look on Atli, though the G.o.ds and the Goths forbid; Nought worse than death meseemeth on the Niblungs' path is hid, And this shall the high G.o.ds see to, but I to the Niblung name, And the day of deeds to accomplish, and the gathering-in of fame."

Up he stood with the bowl in his right-hand, and mighty and great he was, And he cried: "Now let the beakers adown the benches pa.s.s; Let us drink dear draughts and glorious, though the last farewell it be, And this draught that I drink have sundered my father's house and me."

He drank, and all men drank with him, and the hearts of the Earls arose, As of them that s.n.a.t.c.h forth glory from the deadly wall of foes: With the joy of life were they drunken and no man knew for why, And the voice of their exultation rose up in an awful cry; --It is joy in the mouths that utter, it is hope in the hearts that crave, And think of no gainsaying, and remember nought to save; But without the women hearken, and the hearts within them sink; And they say: What then betideth that our lords forbear to drink, And wail and weep in the night-tide and cry the G.o.ds to aid?

Why then are the Kings tormented, and the warriors' hearts afraid?

Then the deadened sound sweeps landward, and the hearts of the field-folk fail, And they say: Is there death in the Burg, that thence goeth the cry and the wail?

Lo, lo, the feast-hall's windows! blood-red through the dark they shine: Why is weeping the song of the Niblungs, and blood the warrior's wine?

But therein are the torches tossing, and the shields of men upborne, And the death-blades yet unbloodied cast up 'twixt bowl and horn, And all rest of heart is departed as men speak of the mirk-wood's ways, And the fame of outland countries, and the green sea's troublous days.

But Gunnar arose o'er the people, as a mighty King he spake: "O ye of the house of Giuki that are joyous for my sake, What then shall be left to the Niblungs if we return no more?

Then let the wolves be warders of the Niblungs' gathered store!

On the hearth let the worm creep over where the fire now flares aloft!

And the adder coil in the chambers where the Niblung wives sleep soft!

Let the master of the pine-wood roll huge in the Niblung porch, And the moon through the broken rafters be the Niblungs' feastful torch!"

Glad they cried on the glorious Gunnar; for they saw the love in his eyes, And with joy and wine were they drunken, and his words pa.s.sed over the wise, As oft o'er the garden lilies goes the rising thunder-wind, And they know no other summer, and no spring that was they mind.

But Hogni speaketh to Knefrud: "Lo, Gunnar's word is said: How fares it, lord, with Gudrun? remembereth she the dead?"

Then the liar laughed out and answered: "Ye shall go tomorrow morn; The man to turn back Gunnar shall never now be born: Each day-spring the white Gudrun on Sigurd's glory cries, All eves she wails on Sigurd when the fair sun sinks and dies!"

"Thou sayest sooth," said Hogni, "one day we twain shall wend To the gate of the Eastland Atli, that our tale may have an end.

Long time have I looked for the journey, and marvelled at the day, With what eyes I shall look on Sigurd, what words his mouth shall say."

Then he raiseth the cup for Gunnar, and men see his glad face shine As he crieth hail and glory o'er the bubbles of the wine; And they drink to the lives of the brethren, and men of the latter earth May not think of the height of their hall-glee, or measure out their mirth: So they feast in the undark even to the midmost of the night.

Till at last, with sleep unwearied, they weary with delight, And pa.s.s forth to the beds blue-covered, and leave the hearth acold: They sleep; in the hall grown silent scarce glimmereth now the gold: For the moon from the world is departed, and grey clouds draw across, To hide the dawn's first promise and deepen earthly loss.

The lone night draws to its death, and never another shall fall On those sons of the feastful warriors in the Niblungs' holy hall.

_How the Niblungs fare to the Land of King Atli._

Now when the house was silent, and all men in slumber lay, And yet two hours were lacking of the dawning-tide of day, The sons of his foster-mother doth the heart-wise Hogni find; In the dead night, speaking softly, he showeth them his mind, And they wake and hearken and heed him, and arise from the bolster blue, Nor aught do their stout hearts falter at the deed he bids them do.

So he and they go softly while all men slumber and sleep, And they enter the treasure-houses, and come to their midmost heap; But so rich in the night it glimmers that the brethren hold their breath, While Hogni laugheth upon it:--long it lay on the Glittering Heath, Long it lay in the house of Reidmar, long it lay 'neath the waters wan; But no long while hath it tarried in the houses and dwellings of man.

Nor long these linger before it; they set their hands to the toil, And uplift the Bed of the Serpent, the Seed of murder and broil; No word they speak in their labour, but bear out load on load To great wains that out in the fore-court for the coming Gold abode: Most huge were the men, far mightier than the mightiest fashioned now, But the salt sweat dimmed their eyesight and flooded cheek and brow Ere half the work was accomplished; and by then the laden wains Came groaning forth from the gateway, dawn drew on o'er the plains; And the ramparts of the people, those walls high-built of old, Stood grey as the bones of a battle in a dale few folk behold: But in haste they goad the yoke-beasts, and press on and make no speech, Though the hearts are proud within them and their eyes laugh each at each.

No great way down from the burg-gate, anigh to the hallowed field, There lieth a lake in the river as round as Odin's shield, A black pool huge and awful: ten long-ships of the most Therein might wager battle, and the sunken should be lost Beyond all hope of diver, yea, beyond the plunging lead; On either side its rock-walls rise up to a mighty head, But by green slopes from the meadows 'tis easy drawing near To the brow whence the dark-grey rampart to the water goeth sheer: 'Tis as if the Niblung River had cleft the grave-mound through Of the mightiest of all Giants ere the G.o.ds' work was to do; And indeed men well might deem it, that fearful sights lie hid Beneath the unfathomed waters, the place to all forbid; No stream the black deep showeth, few winds may search its face, And the silver-scaled sea-farers love nought its barren s.p.a.ce.

There now the Niblung War-king and the foster-brethren twain Lead up their golden harvest and stay it wain by wain, Till they hang o'er the rim scarce balanced: no glance they cast below To the black and awful waters well known from long ago, But they cut the yoke-beasts' traces, and drive them down the slopes, Who rush through the widening daylight, and bellow forth their hopes Of the straw-stall and the barley: but the Niblungs turn once more, Hard toil the warrior cart-carles for the garnering of their store, And shoulder on the wain-wheels o'er the edge of the grimly wall, And stand upright to behold it, how the waggons plunge and fall.

Down then and whirling outward the ruddy Gold fell forth, As a flame in the dim grey morning, flashed out a kingdom's worth, Then the waters, roared above it, the wan water and the foam Flew up o'er the face of the rock-wall as the tinkling Gold fell home, Unheard, unseen for ever, a wonder and a tale, Till the last of earthly singers from, the sons of men shall fail: Then the face of the further waters a widening ripple rent And forth from hollow places strange sounds as of talking went, And loud laughed Hogni in answer; but not so long he stayed As that half the oily ripple in long sleepy coils was laid, Or the lapping fallen silent in the water-beaten caves; Scarce streamward yet were drifting the foam-heaps o'er the waves.

When betwixt the foster-brethren down the slopes King Hogni strode Toward the ancient Burg of his fathers, as a man that casteth a load: No word those fellows had spoken since he whispered low and light O'er the beds of the foster-brethren in the dead hour of the night, But his face was proud and glorious as he strode the war-gate through, And went up to his kingly chamber, and the golden bed he knew, And lay down and slept by his help-mate as a play-spent child might sleep In some franklin's wealthy homestead, in the room the nurses keep.

Nought the sun on that morn delayeth, but light o'er the world's face flies.

And awake by the side of King Hogni the wedded woman lies, And her bosom is weary with sighing, and her eyes with dream-born tears.

And a sound as of all confusion is ever in her ears: Then she turneth and crieth to Hogni, as she layeth a hand on his breast; "Wake, wake, thou son of Giuki! save thy speech-friend all unrest!"

Then he waketh up as a child that hath slept in the summer gra.s.s, And he saith: "What tidings, O Bera, what tidings come to pa.s.s?"

She saith, "Wilt thou wend with Gunnar to Atli over the main?"

Said Hogni: "Hast thou not heard it, how rich we shall come again?"

"Ye shall never come back," said Bera, "ye shall die by the inner sea."

"Yea, here or there," said Hogni, "my death no doubt shall be."

"O Hogni," she said, "forbear it, that snare of the Eastland wrong!

In the health and the wealth of the sunlight at home mayst thou tarry for long: For waking or sleeping I dreamed, and dreaming, the tokens I saw."

"Oft," he said, "in the hands of the house-wife comes the crock by its fatal flaw: An hundred earls shall slay me, or the fleeing night-thief's shaft, The sickness that wasteth cities, or the unstrained summer draught: Now as mighty shall be King Atli and the gathered Eastland force As the fly in the wine desired, or the weary stumbling horse."

She said: "Wilt thou stay in the land, lest the n.o.ble faint and fail, And the G.o.ds have nought to tell of in the ending of the tale?

O King, save thou thine hand-maid, lest the bloom of Kings decay!"