"Woe to you that have made me for nothing! for the house of the Niblungs is dead, Empty and dead as the desert, where the sun is idle and vain And no hope hath the dew to cherish, and no deed abideth the rain!"

She falleth aback in the high seat, and the eagles cry from aloof, While Grimhild's eyes wide-open stare up at the Niblung roof: But they see not, nought are they doing to feed her fear or desire; And her heart, the forge of sorrow, dead, cold, is its baneful fire; And her cunning hand is helpless, for her hopeless soul is gone; Far off belike it drifteth from the waste her labour won.

Fair now through midmost ocean King Gunnar's dragons run, And the green hills round about them gleam glorious with the sun; The keels roll down the sea-dale, and welter up the steep, And o'er the brow hang quivering ere again they take the leap; For the west wind pipes behind them, and no land is on their lea, As the mightiest of earth's peoples sails down the summer sea: And as eager as the west-wind, no duller than the foam They spread all sails to the breezes, and seek their glory home: Six days they sail the sea-flood, and the seventh dawn of day Up-heaveth a new country, a land far-off and grey; Then Knefrud biddeth heed it, and he saith: "Lo, the Eastland sh.o.r.e, And the land few ships have sailed to, by the mirk-wood covered o'er."

Then riseth the cry and the shouting as the golden beaks they turn, For all hearts for the land of cities, and the hall of Atli yearn: But a little after the noontide is the Niblung host embayed, And betwixt the sheltering nesses the ocean-wind is laid: No whit they brook delaying: but their n.o.blest and their best Toss up the shaven oar-blades, and toil and mock at rest: Full swift they skim the swan-mead till the tall masts quake and reel, And the oaken sea-burgs quiver from bulwark unto keel.

It is Gunnar goes the foremost with the tiller in his hand, And beside him standeth Knefrud and laughs on Atli's land: And so fair are the dragons driven, that by ending of the day On the beach by the ebb left naked the sea-beat keels they lay: Then they look aloft from the foresh.o.r.e, and lo, King Atli's steeds On the brow of the mirk-wood standing, well dight for the warriors'

needs, The red and the roan together, and the dapple-grey and the black; Nor bits nor silken bridles, nor golden cloths they lack, And the horse-lads of King Atli with that horse-array are blent, And their shout of salutation o'er the oozy sand is sent: Then no more will the Niblungs tarry when they see that ready band But they leap adown from the long-ships, and waist-deep they wade the strand, And they in their armour of onset, beshielded, and sword by the side, E'en as men returning homeward to their loves and their friends that abide.

The first of all goeth Gunnar, and Hogni the wise cometh after, And wringeth the sea from his kirtle; and all men hearken his laughter, As his feet on the earth stand firm, and the sun in the west goeth down, And the Niblungs stand on the foresh.o.r.e 'twixt the sea and the mirk-wood brown.

For no meat there they linger, and they tarry for no sleep, But aloft to the golden saddles those Giuki's children leap, And forth from the side of the sea-flood they ride the mirk-wood's ways, Loud then is the voice of King Hogni and he sets forth Atli's praise, As they ride through the night of the tree-boughs till the earthly night prevails, And along the desert sea-strand the wind of ocean wails.

There none hath tethered the dragons, or inboard handled the oars, And the tide of the sea cometh creeping along the stranger-sh.o.r.es, Till those golden dragons are floated, and their unmanned oars awash In the sandy waves of the shallows, from stem to tiller clash: Then setteth a wind from the sh.o.r.e, and the night is waxen a-cold, And seaward drift the long-ships with their raiment and vessels of gold, And their G.o.ds with mastery carven: and who knoweth the story to tell, If their wrack came ever to sh.o.r.eward in some place where fishers dwell, Or sank in midmost ocean, and lay on the sea-floor wan Where the pale sea-G.o.ddess singeth o'er the bane of many a man?

_Atli speaketh with the Niblungs._

Three days the Niblung warriors the ways of the mirk-wood ride Till they come to a land of cities and the peopled country-side, And the land's-folk run from their labour, and the merchants throng the street And the lords of many a city the stranger kings would meet.

But nought will the Niblungs tarry; swift through Atli's weal they wend, For their hearts are exceeding eager for their journey's latter end.

Three days they ride that country, and many a city leave, But the fourth dawn mighty mountains by the inner sea upheave.

Then they ride a little further, and Atli's burg they see With the feet of the mountains mingled above the flowery lea, And yet a little further, and lo, its long white wall, And its high-built guarded gateways, and its towers o'erhung and tall; And ever all along them the glittering spear-heads run, As the sparks of the white wood-ashes when the cooking-fire is done.

Then they look to the right and the left hand, and see no folk astir, And no reek from the homestead chimneys; and no toil of men they hear: But the hook hangs lone in the vineyard, and the scythe is lone in the hay, The bucket thirsts by the well-side, the void cart c.u.mbers the way.

Then doubt on the war-host falleth, and they think: Well were we then, When once we rode in the Westland and saw the brown-faced men Peer through the hawthorn hedges as the Niblung host went by.

Yet they laugh and make no semblance of any fear drawn nigh.

Yea, Knefrud looked upon them, and with chilly voice he spake:

"Now his guests doth Atli honour, and yet more will he do for your sake, Who hath hidden all his people, and holdeth his va.s.sals at home On the day that the mighty Niblungs adown his highway come, Lest men fear as the finders of G.o.ds, and tremble and c.u.mber the ways, And the voice of the singers fail them to sing of the Niblungs'

praise."

Men laughed as his voice they hearkened, and none bade turn again, But the swords in the scabbards rattled as they rode with loosened rein.

Now they ride in the Burg-gate's shadow from out the sunlit fields, Till the spears aloft are hidden and Atli's painted shields; And no captain cries from the rampart, nor soundeth any horn, And the doors of oak and iron are shut this merry morn: Then the Niblungs leap from the saddle, and the threats of earls arise, And the wrath of Kings' defenders is waxing in their eyes; But Knefrud looketh and laugheth, and he saith: "So is Atli fain Of the glory of the Niblungs and their honour's utmost gain: By no feet but yours this morning will he have his threshold trod, Nay, not by the world's most glorious, nay not by a wandering G.o.d."

Then Hogni looked on Knefrud as the bodily death shall gaze On the last of the Kings of men-folk in the last of the latter days, And he caught a staff from his saddle, a mighty axe of war, And stood most huge of all men in face of Atli's door, And upreared the axe against it with such wondrous strokes and great, That the iron-knitted marvel hung shattered in the gate: Through the rent poured the Niblung children, and in Atli's burg they stood; With none to bid them welcome, or ask them what they would.

But Hogni turned upon Knefrud, and spake: "I said, time was, That we twain should ride out hither to bring a deed to pa.s.s: And now one more deed abideth, and then no more for thee, And another and another, and no more deeds for me."

'Gainst the liar's eyes one moment flashed out the axe-head's sheen, And then was the face of Knefrud as though it ne'er had been, And his gay-clad corpse lay glittering on the causeway in the sun.

No man cried out on Hogni or asked of the deed so done, But their shielded ranks they marshalled and through Atli's burg they strode: There they see the merchant's dwelling, the rich man's fair abode, The halls of doom, and the market, the loom and the smithying-booth, The stall for the wares of the outlands, the temples high and smooth: But all is hushed and empty, and no child of man they meet As they thread the city's tangle, and enter street on street, And leave the last forgotten, and of the next know nought.

So through the silent city by the Norns their feet are brought, Till lo, on a hill's uprising a huge house they behold, And a hall with gates all brazen, and roof of ruddy gold: Then they know the house of Atli, and they trow that sooth it is That the Lord of such a dwelling may give his guest-folk bliss: Then they loosen the swords in their scabbards, and upraise a mighty shout, And the trumpet of the Niblungs through the lonely street rings out And stilleth the wind in the wall-nook: but hark, as its echoes die, How forth from that hall of the Eastlands comes the sound of minstrelsy, And the brazen doors swing open: but the Niblungs are at the door, And the bidden guests of Atli o'er the fateful threshold pour; There the music faileth before them, till its sound is over and done, And fair in the city behind them lies the flood of the morning sun: No man of the Niblungs murmureth, none biddeth turn aback And still their hands are empty, and sleep the edges of wrack.

Huge, dim is the hall of Atli, and faint and far aloof, As stars in the misty even, yet hang the lamps in the roof, And but little daylight toucheth the walls and the hangings of gold: No King and no earl-folk's children do the bidden guests behold, Till they look aloft to the high-seat, and lo, a woman alone, A white queen crowned, and silent as the ancient shapen stone That men find in the dale deserted, as beneath the moon they wend, When they weary even to slumber, and the journey draws to an end.

Chill then are the hearts of the warriors, for they know how they look on a queen, That Gudrun well-beloved of the days that once have been; Then were men that murmured on Sigurd, and as in some dream of the night They looked, but the left hand failed them, and there came no help from the right.

But forth stood the mighty Gunnar, and men heard his kingly voice As he spake: "O child of my father, I see thee again and rejoice, Though I wot not where I have wended, or where thou dwellest on earth, Or if this be the dead men's dwelling, or the hall of Atli's mirth!"

She stirred not, nothing she answered: but forth stood Hogni the King, Clear, sharp, in the house of the stranger did the voice of the fearless ring: "O sister, O daughter of Giuki, O child of my mother's womb, By what death shall the Niblungs perish, what day is the day of their doom?"

Forth then from the lips of Gudrun a dreadful voice was borne: "Ye shall die to-day, O brethren, at the hands of a King forsworn."

As she spake the outer door-leaves clashed to with a mighty sound, And the outer air was troubled with a new noise gathering around: As of leaves in the midmost summer ere the dusk of the even warm.

When the winds in the hillsides gathered go forth before the storm; Men abode, and a wicket opened on the feast-hall's inner side And the Niblungs looked for the coming of King Atli in his pride: But one man entered only, and he thin and old and spare, A swordless man and a little--yet was King Atli there.

He looked not once on the Niblungs, but forth to the high-seat went, And stood aloof from Gudrun with his eyes to the hall-floor bent: Thence came a voice from his lips, and men heard, for the hush was great.

And the hearts of the bold were astonished 'neath the overhanging fate.

"Ye are come, O Kings of the Niblungs, ye are come, O slayers of men!

But how great, and where is the ransom that shall buy your departure again?"

Then spake the wise-heart Hogni: "Do the bidden guests so long To depart to the night and the silence from the fire and the wine and the song?

Fear not! the feast shall be merry, and here we abide in thine hall, Till thou and the great feast-master shall bid the best befall."

There were cries of men in the city, there was clang and clatter of steel.

And high cried the thin-voiced Atli, the lord of the Eastland weal: "Ye are come in your pride, O Niblungs; but this day of days is mine: Will ye die? will ye live and be little? Hear now the token and sign!"

Great then grew the voices without, with one name was the city filled, Yea, all the world it might be, and all sounds of the earth were stilled With that cry of the name of Atli: but Gunnar stood for a s.p.a.ce Till the cry was something sunken, then he put back the helm from his face And spread out his hands before him, and his hands were empty and bare As he stood in the front of the Niblungs like a great G.o.d smiling and fair:

"We shall live and never be little, we shall die and be masters of fame: I know not thy will, O Atli, nor what thou wouldst with thy name."

"Ye shall know my will," said Atli, "ye shall do it, or do no more The deeds of the days of the living: ye shall render the garnered store, Ye shall give forth the Gold of Sigurd, the wealth of the uttermost strand."

"To give a gift," cried Hogni, "we came to King Atli's land: Tomorn for a little season thou shalt be the richest fool Of all kings ever told of; and the rest let the high G.o.ds rule."

"O King of the East," said Gunnar, "great gifts for thee draw nigh, But the treasure of the Niblungs in their guarded house shall lie."

"What then will ye do?" quoth Atli; "have ye seen the fish in the net?"

"Eve telleth of deeds," said Gunnar, "and it is but the morning as yet."

Said Atli: "Yea, will ye die? are there no deeds left you to do?"

"We shall smite with the sword," said the Niblung, "and tomorn will we journey anew."

"Craftsmaster Hogni," said Atli, "where then are the shifts of the wise?"

Said Hogni: "To smite with the sword, and go glad from the country of lies."

"So died the fool," said Atli, "as Hogni dieth today."

"Smote the blind and the aimless," said Hogni, "and Baldur pa.s.sed away."

Said Atli: "Yet may ye live in the wholesome light of the sun, And your latter days be as plenteous as the deeds your hands have done."

"Dost thou hearken, O sword," said Gunnar, "and yet thou liest in peace?

When then wilt thou look on the daylight, that the words of the mocker may cease?"

"Thou, Hogni the wise," said Atli, "art thou weary of wisdom and lore, Wilt thou die with these fools of the sword, and be mocked mid the blind of the war?"