He said: "Good yet were the earth, though all we should die in a day: But so fares it with you, ye women: when your husband or brother shall die, Ye deem that the world shall perish, and the race of man go by."

"Sure then is thy death," she answered, "for I saw the Eastland flood Break over the Burg of the Niblungs, and fill the hall with blood."

He said: "Shall we wade the meadows to the feast of Atli the King?

Then the blood-red blossoming sorrel about our legs shall cling."

Said Bera: "I saw thee coming with the face of other days; But the flame was in thy raiment, and thy kingly cloak was ablaze."

"How else," said he, "O woman, wouldst thou have a Niblung stride, Save in ruddy gold sun-lighted, through the house of Atli's pride?"

She said: "I beheld King Atli midst the place of sacrifice And the holy grove of the Eastland in a king's most hallowed guise: Then I looked, as with laughter triumphant he laid his gift in the fire, And lo, 'twas the heart of Hogni, and the heart of my desire; But he turned and looked upon me as I sickened with fear and with love, And I saw the guile of the greedy, and with speechless sleep I strove, And had cried out curses against him, but my gaping throat was hushed, Till the light of a deedless dawning o'er dream and terror rushed; And there wert thou lying beside me, though but little joy it seemed, For thou wert but an image unstable of the days before I dreamed."

Quoth Hogni, "Shall I arede it? Seems it not meet to thee That the heart and the love of the Niblungs in Atli's hand should be, When he stands by the high G.o.ds' altars, and uplifts his heart for the tide When the kings of the world-great people to the Eastland house shall ride?

Nay, Bera, wilt thou be weeping? but parting-fear is this; Doubt not we shall come back happy from the house of Atli's bliss: At least, when a king's hand offers all honour and great weal, Wouldst thou have me strive to unclasp it to show the hidden steel?

With evil will I meet evil when it draweth exceeding near; But oft have I heard of evil, whose father was but fear, And his mother l.u.s.t of living, and nought will I deal with it, Lest the past, and those deeds of my doing be as straw when the fire is lit.

Lo now, O Daughter of Kings, let us rise in the face of the day, And be glad in the summer morning when the kindred ride on their way; For tears beseem not king-folk, nor a heart made dull with dreams, But to hope, if thou mayst, for ever, and to fear nought, well beseems."

There the talk falls down between them, and they rise in the morn, they twain, And bright-faced wend through the dwelling of the Niblungs' glory and gain.

Meanwhile awakeneth Gunnar, and looks on the wife by his side, And saith: "Why weepest thou, Glaumvor, what evil now shall betide?"

She said: "I was waking and dreamed, or I slept and saw the truth; The Norns are hooded and angry, and the G.o.ds have forgotten their ruth."

"Speak, sweet-mouthed woman," said Gunnar, "if the Norns are hard, I am kind; Though even the King of the Niblungs may loose not where they bind."

She said: "Wilt thou go unto Atli and enter the Burg of the East?

Wilt thou leave the house of the faithful, and turn to the murderer's feast?"

"It is e'en as certain," said Gunnar, "as though I knocked at his gate, If the winds and waters stay not, or death, or the dealings of Fate."

"Woe worth the while!" said Glaumvor, "then I talk with the dead indeed: And why must I tarry behind thee afar from the Niblungs' Need?"

He said: "Thou wert heavy-hearted last night for the parting-tide; And alone in the dreamy country thy soul would needs abide, And see not the King that loves thee, nor remember the might of his hand; So thou falledst a prey unholpen to the lies of the dreamy land."

"Ah, would they were lies," said Glaumvor, "for not the worst was this: There thou wert in the holy high-seat mid the heart of the Niblung bliss, And a sword was borne into our midmost, and its point and its edge were red, And at either end the wood-wolves howled out in the day of dread; With that sword wert thou smitten, O Gunnar, and the sharp point pierced thee through.

And the kin were all departed, and no face of man I knew: Then I strove to flee and might not; for day grew dark and strange, And no moonrise and no morning the eyeless mirk would change."

"Such are dreams of the night," said Gunnar, "that lovers oft perplex, When the sundering hour is coming with the cares that entangle and vex.

Yet if there be more, fair woman, when a king speaks loving words, May I cast back words of anger, and the threat of grinded swords?"

"O yet wouldst thou tarry," said Glaumvor, "in the fair sun-lighted day!

Nor give thy wife to another, nor cast thy kingdom away."

"Of what king of the people," said Gunnar, "hast thou known it written or told, That the word was born in the even which the morrow should withhold?"

"Alas, alas!" said Glaumvor, "then all is over and done!

For I dreamed of the hall of the Niblungs at the setting of the sun, How dead women came in thither no worse than queens arrayed, Who pa.s.sed by the earls of the Niblungs, and their hands on thy gown-skirt laid, And hailed thee fair for their fellow, and bade thee come to their hall.

O bethink thee, King of the Niblungs, what tidings shall befall!"

"Yea, shall they befall?" said Gunnar, "then who am I to strive Against the change of my life-days, while the G.o.ds on high are alive?

I shall ride as my heart would have me; let the G.o.ds bestir them then, And raise up another people in the stead of the Niblung men: But at home shalt thou sit, King's Daughter, in the keeping of the Fates, And be blithe with the men of thy people and the guest within thy gates, Till thou know of our glad returning to the holy house and dear Or the fall of Giuki's children, and a tale that all shall hear.

Arise and do on gladness, lest the clouds roll on and lower O'er the heavy hearts of the people in the Niblungs' parting hour."

So he spake, and his love rejoiced her, and they rose in the face of the day, And no seeming shadow of evil on those bright-eyed King-folk lay.

Thus stirreth the house of the Niblungs, and awakeneth unto life; And were there any envy, or doubt that breedeth strife, 'Twixt friends or kin or brethren, 'twas healed that self-same morn, And peace and loving-kindness o'er all the house was borne,

Now arrayed are the earls and the warriors, and into the hall they come When the morning sun is shining through the heart of their ancient home; And lo, how the allwise Grimhild is set in the golden seat, The first of the way-fain warriors, and the first of the wives to greet; In the raiment of old she sitteth, aloft in the kingly place, And all men marvel to see her and the glory of her face.

So all is dight for departing and the helms of the Niblung lords Shine close as a river of fire o'er the hilts of hidden swords: About and around are the women; and who e'er hath been heavy of heart, If their hearts are light this morning when their fairest shall depart?

They hear the steeds in the forecourt; from the rampart of the wall Comes the cry and noise of the warders as man to man doth call; For the young give place to the old, and the strong carles labour to show The last-learned craft of battle to their fathers ere they go.

There is mocking and mirth and laughter as men tell to the ancient sires Of the four-sheared shaft of the gathering, and the horn, and the beaconing fires.

Woe's me! but the women laugh not: do they hope that the sun may be stayed, And the journey of the Niblungs a little while delayed?

Or is not their hope the rather, that they do but dream in the night, And that they shall awake in a little with the land's life faring aright?

Ah, fair and fresh is the morning as ever a season hath been, And the nourishing sun shines glorious on the toil of carle and quean, And the wealth of the land desired, and all things are alive and awake; Let them wait till the even bringeth sweet rest for hearts that ache.

Lo now, a stir by the doorway, and men see how great and grand Come the Kings of Giuki begotten, all-armed, and hand in hand: Where then shall the world behold them, such champions clad in steel, Such hearts so free and bounteous, so wise for the people's weal?

Where then shall the world see such-like, if these must die as the mean, And fall as lowly people, and their days be no more seen?

They go forth fair and softly as they wend to the seat of the Kings, And they smile in their loving-kindness as they talk of bygone things.

Are they not as the children of Giuki, that fared afield erewhile In hope without contention, mid the youth that knew no guile?

Their wedded wives are beside them with faces proud and fair, That smile, if the lips smile only, for the Eastland liar is there.

Fain the women are of those Brethren, and they seem so gay and kind, That again the hope upspringeth of their lords abiding behind.

But Hogni spake to his brother, and they looked on the liar's son, And clear ran King Gunnar's laughter as the summer waters run; Then the Queens' hearts fainted within them, and with pain they drew their breath; For they knew that the King was merry and laughed in the face of death.

Fair now on the ancient high-seat, and the heart of the Niblung pride, Stand those lovely lords of Giuki with their wedded wives beside.

And Gunnar cries: "O maidens, let the cup be in every hand, For this morn for a little season we leave our fathers' land, And love we leave behind us, and love abroad we bear, And these twain shall meet in a little, and their meeting-tide be fair: Rejoice, O Niblung children, be glad o'er the parting cup!

For meseems if the heavens were falling, our spears should hold them up."

Then he leaped adown from the high-seat and amidst his men he stood, And the very joy of G.o.d-folk ran through the Niblung blood, And the glee of them that die not: there they drink in their mighty hall, And glad on the ancient fathers, and the sons of G.o.d they call: The hope of their hearts goes upward in the last most awful voice, And once more the quivering timbers of the Niblung home rejoice.

But exceeding proud sits Grimhild, and so wondrous is her state That men deem they have never seen her so glorious and so great, And she speaks, when again in the feast-hall is there silence save of the mail And the whispered voice of women, as they tell their latest tale:

"Go forth, O Kings, to dominion, and the crown of all your might, And the tale from of old foreordered ere the day was begotten of night.

For all this is the work of the Norns, though ye leave a woman behind Who hath toiled and toiled in the darkness, the road of fate to find: Go glad, O children of Giuki; though scarce ye wot indeed Of the labour of your mother to win your glory's meed.

Farewell, farewell, O children, till ye get you back again To her that bore you in darkness, and brought you forth in pain!

Cast wide the doors for the King-folk, ring out O harpstrings now!

For the best e'er born of woman go forth with cloudless brow.

Be glad O ancient lintel, O threshold of the door, For such another parting shall earth behold no more!"

She ceased, and no voice gave answer save the voice of smitten harps, As the hands of the music-weavers went o'er their golden warps; Then high o'er the warriors towering, as the king-leek o'er the gra.s.s, Out into the world of sunlight through the door those Brethren pa.s.s, And all the host of the warriors, the women's silent woe, The steel and the feet soft-falling o'er the ancient threshold go, While all alone on the high-seat the G.o.d-born Grimhild sits: There hearkeneth she steeds' neighing, and the champing of the bits, And the clash of steel-clad champions, as at last they leap aloft, And cries and women's weeping 'mid the music breathing soft; Then the clattering of the horse-hoofs, and the echo of the gate With the wakened sword-song singing o'er departure of the great, Till the many mingled voices are swallowed up and stilled, And all the air by seeming with an awful sound is filled, The cry of the Niblung trumpet, as men reach the unwalled s.p.a.ce: So whiles in a mighty city, and a many-peopled place, When the rain falls down 'mid the babble, nor ceaseth rattle of wheels, And with din of wedding joy-bells the minster steeple reels, Lo, G.o.d sends down his thunder, and all else is hushed as then, And it is as the world's beginning, and before the birth of men.

Long sitteth the G.o.d-born Grimhild till all is silent there, For afar down the meadows with the host all people fare; Then bitter groweth her visage, in the hush she crieth and saith:

"O ye--whom then shall I cry on, ye that hunt my sons unto death, And overthrow our glory, and bring our labour to nought-- Ye G.o.ds, ye had fashioned the greatest, and to make them greater I wrought, And to strengthen your hands for the battle, and uplift your hearts for the end: But ye, ye have fashioned confusion, and the great with the little ye blend, Till no more on the earth shall be living the mighty that mock at your death, Till like the leaves men tremble, like the dry leaves quake at a breath.

I have wrought for your lives and your glory, and for this have I strengthened my guile, That the earth your hands uplifted might endure, nor pa.s.s in a while Like the clouds of latter morning that melt in the first of the night."

She rose up great and dreadful, and stood on the floor upright, And cast up her hands to the roof-tree, and cried aloud and said: