HOGNI SAID:
     "What hath wrought Sigurd
     Of any wrong-doing
     That the life of the famed one
     Thou art fain of taking?"

     GUNNAR SAID:
     "To me has Sigurd
     Sworn many oaths,
     Sworn many oaths,
     And sworn them lying,
     And he bewrayed me
     When it behoved him
     Of all folk to his troth
     To be the most trusty."

     HOGNI SAID:
     "Thee hath Brynhild
     Unto all bale,
     And all hate whetted,
     And a work of sorrow;
     For she grudges to Gudrun
     All goodly life;
     And to thee the bliss
     Of her very body."

    ..........

     Some the wolf roasted,
     Some minced the worm,
     Some unto Guttorm
     Gave the wolf-meat,
     Or ever they might
     In their lust for murder
     On the high king
     Lay deadly hand.

     Sigurd lay slain
     On the south of the Rhine
     High from the fair tree
     Croaked forth the raven,
     "Ah, yet shall Atli
     On you redden edges,
     The old oaths shall weigh
     On your souls, O warriors."

     Without stood Gudrun,
     Giuki's daughter,
     And the first word she said
     Was even this word:
     "Where then is Sigurd,
     Lord of the Warfolk,
     Since my kin
     Come riding the foremost?

     One word Hogni
     Had for an answer:
     "Our swords have smitten
     Sigurd asunder,
     And the grey horse hangs drooping
     O'er his lord lying dead."

     Then quoth Brynhild,
     Budli's daughter;
     "Good weal shall ye have
     Of weapons and lands,
     That Sigurd alone
     Would surely have ruled
     If he had lived
     But a little longer.

     "Ah, nothing seemly
     For Sigurd to rule
     Giuki's house
     And the folk of the Goths,
     When of him five sons
     For the slaying of men,
     Eager for battle,
     Should have been begotten!"

     Then laughed Brynhild—
     Loud rang the whole house—
     One laugh only
     From out her heart:
     "Long shall your bliss be
     Of lands and people,
     Whereas the famed lord
     You have felled to the earth!"

     Then spake Gudrun,
     Giuki's daughter;
     "Much thou speakest,
     Many things fearful,
     All grame be on Gunnar
     The bane of Sigurd!
     From a heart full of hate
     Shall come heavy vengeance."

     Forth sped the even
     Enow there was drunken,
     Full enow was there
     Of all soft speech;
     And all men got sleep
     When to bed they were gotten;
     Gunnar only lay waking
     Long after all men.

     His feet fell he to moving,
     Fell to speak to himself
     The waster of men,
     Still turned in his mind
     What on the bough
     Those twain would be saying,
     The raven and erne,
     As they rode their ways homeward.

     But Brynhild awoke,
     Budli's daughter,
     May of the shield-folk,
     A little ere morning:
     "Thrust ye on, hold ye back,
     —Now all harm is wrought,—
     To tell of my sorrow,
     Or to let all slip by me?"

     All kept silence
     After her speaking,
     None might know
     That woman's mind,
     Or why she must weep
     To tell of the work
     That laughing once
     Of men she prayed.

     BRYNHILD SPAKE:
     "In dreams, O Gunnar,
     Grim things fell on me;
     Dead-cold the hall was,
     And my bed was a-cold,
     And thou, lord, wert riding
     Reft of all bliss,
     Laden with fetters
     'Mid the host of thy foemen."

     "So now all ye,
     O House of the Niblungs,
     Shall be brought to naught,
     O ye oath-breakers!

     "Think'st thou not, Gunnar,
     How that betid,
     When ye let the blood run
     Both in one footstep?
     With ill reward
     Hast thou rewarded
     His heart so fain
     To be the foremost!

     "As well was seen
     When he rode his ways,
     That king of all worth,
     Unto my wooing;
     How the host-destroyer
     Held to the vows
     Sworn beforetime,
     Sworn to the young king.

     "For his wounding-wand
     All wrought with gold,
     The king beloved
     Laid between us;
     Without were its edges
     Wrought with fire,
     But with venom-drops
     Deep dyed within."

     A may of all mays
     My mother reared me
     Bright in bower;
     Well loved I my brethren,
     Until that Giuki
     With gold arrayed me,
     With gold arrayed me,
     And gave me to Sigurd.

     Such was my Sigurd,
     Among the sons of Giuki
     As is the green leek
     O'er the low grass waxen,
     Or a hart high-limbed
     Over hurrying deer,
     Or glede-red gold
     Over grey silver.

     Till me they begrudged,
     Those my brethren,
     The fate to have him,
     Who was first of all men;
     Nor might they sleep,
     Nor sit a-dooming,
     Ere they let slay
     My well-loved Sigurd.

     Grani ran to the Thing,
     There was clatter to hear,
     But never came Sigurd
     Himself thereunto;
     All the saddle-girt beasts
     With blood were besprinkled,
     As faint with the way
     Neath the slayers they went.

     Then greeting I went
     With Grani to talk,
     And with tear-furrowed cheeks
     I bade him tell all;
     But drooping laid Grani,
     His head in the grass,
     For the steed well wotted
     Of his master's slaying.

     A long while I wandered,
     Long my mind wavered,
     Ere the kings I might ask
     Concerning my king.

     Then Gunnar hung head,
     But Hogni told
     Of the cruel slaying
     Of my Sigurd:
     "On the water's far side
     Lies, smitten to death,
     The bane of Guttorm
     To the wolves given over.

     "Go, look on Sigurd,
     On the ways that go southward,
     There shalt thou hear
     The ernes high screaming,
     The ravens a-croaking
     As their meat they crave for;
     Thou shalt hear the wolves howling
     Over thine husband.

     "How hast thou, Hogni,
     The heart to tell me,
     Me of joy made empty,
     Of such misery?
     Thy wretched heart
     May the ravens tear
     Wide over the world,
     With no men mayst thou wend."

     One thing Hogni
     Had for answer,
     Fallen from his high heart,
     Full of all trouble:
     "More greeting yet,
     O Gudrun, for thee,
     If my heart the ravens
     Should rend asunder!"

     Thence I turned
     From the talk and the trouble
     To go a leasing (1)
     What the wolves had left me;
     No sigh I made
     No smote hands together,
     Nor did I wail
     As other women
     When I sat over
     My Sigurd slain.

     Night methought it,
     And the moonless dark,
     When I sat in sorrow
     Over Sigurd;
     Better than all things
     I deemed it would be
     If they would let me
     Cast my life by,
     Or burn me up
     As they burn the birch-wood.

     From the fell I wandered
     Five days together,
     Until the high hall
     Of Half lay before me;
     Seven seasons there
     I sat with Thora,
     The daughter of Hacon,
     Up in Denmark.

     My heart to gladden
     With gold she wrought
     Southland halls
     And swans of the Dane-folk;
     There had we painted
     The chiefs a-playing;
     Fair our hands wrought
     Folk of the kings.

     Red shields we did,
     Doughty knights of the Huns,
     Hosts spear-dight, hosts helm-dight,
     All a high king's fellows;
     And the ships of Sigmund
     From the land swift sailing;
     Heads gilt over
     And prows fair graven.

     On the cloth we broidered
     That tide of their battling,
     Siggeir and Siggar,
     South in Fion.

     Then heard Grimhild,
     The Queen of Gothland,
     How I was abiding,
     Weighed down with woe;
     And she thrust the cloth from her
     And called to her sons,
     And oft and eagerly
     Asked them thereof,
     Who for her son
     Would their sister atone,
     Who for her lord slain
     Would lay down weregild.

     Fain was Gunnar
     Gold to lay down
     All wrongs to atone for,
     And Hogni in likewise;
     Then she asked who was fain
     Of faring straightly,
     The steed to saddle
     To set forth the wain,
     The horse to back,
     And the hawk to fly,
     To shoot forth the arrow
     From out the yew-bow.

     Valdarr the Dane-king
     Came with Jarisleif
     Eymod the third went
     Then went Jarizskar;
     In kingly wise
     In they wended,
     The host of the Longbeards;
     Red cloaks had they,
     Byrnies short-cut,
     Helms strong hammered,
     Girt with glaives,
     And hair red-gleaming.

     Each would give me
     Gifts desired,
     Gifts desired,
     Speech dear to my heart,
     If they might yet,
     Despite my sorrow,
     Win back my trust,
     But in them nought I trusted.

     Then brought me Grimhild
     A beaker to drink of,
     Cold and bitter,
     Wrong's memory to quench;
     Made great was that drink
     With the might of the earth,
     With the death-cold sea
     And the blood that Son (2) holdeth.

     On that horn's face were there
     All the kin of letters
     Cut aright and reddened,
     How should I rede them rightly?

     The ling-fish long
     Of the land of Hadding,
     Wheat-ears unshorn,
     And wild things' inwards.

     In that mead were mingled
     Many ills together,
     Blood of all the wood,
     And brown-burnt acorns;
     The black dew of the hearth, (3)
     And god-doomed dead beasts' inwards
     And the swine's liver sodden,
     For wrongs late done that deadens.

     Then waned my memory
     When that was within me,
     Of my lord 'mid the hall
     By the iron laid low.
     Three kings came
     Before my knees
     Ere she herself
     Fell to speech with me.

     "I will give to thee, Gudrun,
     Gold to be glad with,
     All the great wealth
     Of thy father gone from us,
     Rings of red gold
     And the great hall of Lodver,
     And all fair hangings left
     By the king late fallen.

     "Maids of the Huns
     Woven pictures to make,
     And work fair in gold
     Till thou deem'st thyself glad.
     Alone shalt thou rule
     O'er the riches of Budli,
     Shalt be made great with gold,
     And be given to Atli."

     "Never will I
     Wend to a husband,
     Or wed the brother
     Of Queen Brynhild;
     Naught it beseems me
     With the son of Budli
     Kin to bring forth,
     Or to live and be merry."

     "Nay, the high chiefs
     Reward not with hatred,
     For take heed that I
     Was the first in this tale!
     To thy heart shall it be
     As if both these had life,
     Sigurd and Sigmund,
     When thou hast borne sons."

     "Naught may I, Grimhild,
     Seek after gladness,
     Nor deem aught hopeful
     Of any high warrior,
     Since wolf and raven
     Were friends together,
     The greedy, the cruel,
     O'er great Sigurd's heart-blood."

     "Of all men that can be
     For the noblest of kin
     This king have I found,
     And the foremost of all;
     Him shalt thou have
     Till with eld thou art heavy—
     Be thou ever unwed,
     If thou wilt naught of him!"

     "Nay, nay, bid me not
     With thy words long abiding
     To take unto me
     That balefullest kin;
     This king shall bid Gunnar
     Be stung to his bane,
     And shall cut the heart
     From out of Hogni.

     "Nor shall I leave life
     Ere the keen lord,
     The eager in sword-play,
     My hand shall make end of."

     Grimhild a-weeping
     Took up the word then,
     When the sore bale she wotted
     Awaiting her sons,
     And the bane hanging over
     Her offspring beloved.

     "I will give thee, moreover,
     Great lands, many men,
     Wineberg and Valberg,
     If thou wilt but have them;
     Hold them lifelong,
     And live happy, O daughter!"

     "Then him must I take
     From among kingly men,
     'Gainst my heart's desire,
     From the hands of my kinsfolk;
     But no joy I look
     To have from that lord:
     Scarce may my brother's bane
     Be a shield to my sons."

     Soon was each warrior
     Seen on his horse,
     But the Gaulish women
     Into wains were gotten;
     Then seven days long
     O'er a cold land we rode,
     And for seven other
     Clove we the sea-waves.
     But with the third seven
     O'er dry land we wended.

     There the gate-wardens
     Of the burg, high and wide,
     Unlooked the barriers
     Ere the burg-garth we rode to—

    ............

     Atli woke me
     When meseemed I was
     Full evil of heart
     For my kin dead slain.

     "In such wise did the Norns
     Wake me or now."—
     Fain was he to know
     Of this ill foreshowing—
     "That methought, O Gudrun,
     Giuki's daughter,
     That thou setst in my heart
     A sword wrought for guile."

     "For fires tokening I deem it
     That dreaming of iron,
     But for pride and for lust
     The wrath of fair women
     Against some bale
     Belike, I shall burn thee
     For thy solace and healing
     Though hateful thou art."

     "In the fair garth methought
     Had saplings fallen
     E'en such as I would
     Should have waxen ever;
     Uprooted were these,
     And reddened with blood,
     And borne to the bench,
     And folk bade me eat of them.

     "Methought from my hand then
     Went hawks a-flying
     Lacking their meat
     To the land of all ill;
     Methought that their hearts
     Mingled with honey,
     Swollen with blood
     I ate amid sorrow.

     "Lo, next two whelps
     From my hands I loosened,
     Joyless were both,
     And both a-howling;
     And now their flesh
     Became naught but corpses,
     Whereof must I eat
     But sore against my will."

     "O'er the prey of the fishers
     Will folk give doom;
     From the bright white fish
     The heads will they take;
     Within a few nights,
     Fey as they are,
     A little ere day
     Of that draught will they eat."

     "Ne'er since lay I down,
     Ne'er since would I sleep,
     Hard of heart, in my bed:—
     That deed have I to do. (4)

  ENDNOTES:
  (1)  The original has "a vid lesa".  "Leasing" is the word still
       used for gleaning in many country sides in England.
  (2)  Son was the vessel into which was poured the blood of
       Quasir, the God of Poetry.
  (3)  This means soot.
  (4)  The whole of this latter part is fragmentary and obscure;
       there seems wanting to two of the dreams some trivial
       interpretation by Gudrun, like those given by Hogni to
       Kostbera in the Saga, of which nature, of course, the
       interpretation contained in the last stanza but one is, as
       we have rendered it: another rendering, from the different
       reading of the earlier edition of "Edda" (Copenhagen, 1818)
       would make this refer much more directly to the slaying of
       her sons by Gudrun.

     In days long gone
     Sent Atli to Gunnar
     A crafty one riding,
     Knefrud men called him;
     To Giuki's garth came he,
     To the hall of Gunnar,
     To the benches gay-dight,
     And the gladsome drinking.

     There drank the great folk
     'Mid the guileful one's silence,
     Drank wine in their fair hall:
     The Huns' wrath they feared
     When Knefrud cried
     In his cold voice,
     As he sat on the high seat,
     That man of the Southland:

     "Atli has sent me
     Riding swift on his errands
     On the bit-griping steed
     Through dark woodways unbeaten,
     To bid thee, King Gunnar,
     Come to his fair bench
     With helm well-adorned,
     To the house of King Atli.

     "Shield shall ye have there
     And spears ashen-shafted,
     Helms ruddy with gold,
     And hosts of the Huns;
     Saddle-gear silver gilt,
     Shirts red as blood,
     The hedge of the warwife,
     And horses bit-griping.

     "And he saith he will give you
     Gnitaheath widespread,
     And whistling spears
     And prows well-gilded,
     Might wealth
     With the stead of Danpi,
     And that noble wood
     Men name the Murkwood."

     Then Gunnar turned head
     And spake unto Hogni:
     "What rede from thee, high one,
     Since such things we hear?
     No gold know I
     On Gnitaheath,
     That we for our parts
     Have not portion as great.

     "Seven halls we have
     Fulfilled of swords,
     And hilts of gold
     Each sword there has;
     My horse is the best,
     My blade is the keenest;
     Fair my bow o'er the bench is,
     Gleams my byrny with gold;
     Brightest helm, brightest shield,
     From Kiar's dwelling ere brought—
     Better all things I have
     Than all things of the Huns."

     HOGNI SAID:
     "What mind has our sister
     That a ring she hath sent us
     In weed of wolves clad?
     Bids she not to be wary?
     For a wolf's hair I found
     The fair ring wreathed about;
     Wolf beset shall the way be
     If we wend on this errand."

     No sons whetted Gunnar,
     Nor none of his kin,
     Nor learned men nor wise men,
     Nor such as were mighty.
     Then spake Gunnar
     E'en as a king should speak,
     Glorious in mead-hall
     From great heart and high:

     "Rise up now, Fiornir,
     Forth down the benches
     Let the gold-cups of great ones
     Pass in hands of my good-men!
     Well shall we drink wine,
     Draughts dear to our hearts,
     Though the last of all feasts
     In our fair house this be!

     "For the wolves shall rule
     O'er the wealth of the Niblungs,
     With the pine-woods' wardens
     In Gunnar perish:
     And the black-felled bears
     With fierce teeth shall bite
     For the glee of the dog kind,
     If again comes not Gunnar."

     Then good men never shamed,
     Greeting aloud,
     Led the great king of men
     From the garth of his home;
     And cried the fair son
     Of Hogni the king:
     "Fare happy, O Lords,
     Whereso your hearts lead you!"

     Then the bold knights
     Let their bit-griping steeds
     Wend swift o'er the fells,
     Tread the murk-wood unknown,
     All the Hunwood was shaking
     As the hardy ones fared there;
     O'er the green meads they urged
     Their steeds shy of the goad.

     Then Atli's land saw they;
     Great towers and strong,
     And the bold men of Bikki,
     Aloft on the burg:
     The Southland folks' hall
     Set with benches about,
     Dight with bucklers well bounden,
     And bright white shining shields.

     There drank Atli,
     The awful Hun king,
     Wine in his fair hall;
     Without were the warders,
     Gunnar's folk to have heed of,
     Lest they had fared thither
     With the whistling spear
     War to wake 'gainst the king.

     But first came their sister
     As they came to the hall,
     Both her brethren she met,
     With beer little gladdened:
     "Bewrayed art thou, Gunnar!
     What dost thou great king
     To deal war to the Huns?
     Go thou swift from the hall!

     Better, brother, hadst thou
     Fared here in thy byrny
     Than with helm gaily dight
     Looked on Atli's great house:
     Them hadst sat then in saddle
     Through days bright with the sun
     Fight to awaken
     And fair fields to redden:

     "O'er the folk fate makes pale
     Should the Norn's tears have fallen,
     The shield mays of the Huns
     Should have known of all sorrow;
     And King Atli himself
     To worm-close should be brought;
     But now is the worm-close
     Kept but for thee."

     Then spake Gunnar
     Great 'mid the people:
     "Over-late sister
     The Niblungs to summon;
     A long way to seek
     The helping of warriors,
     The high lord unshamed,
     From the hills of the Rhine!"

    ..............

     Seven Hogni beat down
     With his sword sharp-grinded,
     And the eighth man he thrust
     Amidst of the fire.
     Ever so shall famed warrior
     Fight with his foemen,
     As Hogni fought
     For the hand of Gunnar.

     But on Gunnar they fell,
     And set him in fetters,
     And bound hard and fast
     That friend of Burgundians;
     Then the warrior they asked
     If he would buy life,
     But life with gold
     That king of the Goths.

     Nobly spake Gunnar,
     Great lord of the Niblungs;
     "Hogni's bleeding heart first
     Shall lie in mine hand,
     Cut from the breast
     Of the bold-riding lord,
     With bitter-sharp knife
     From the son of the king."

     With guile the great one
     Would they beguile,
     On the wailing thrall
     Laid they hand unwares,
     And cut the heart
     From out of Hjalli,
     Laid it bleeding on trencher
     And bare it to Gunnar.

     "Here have I the heart
     Of Hjalli the trembler,
     Little like the heart
     Of Hogni the hardy:
     As much as it trembleth
     Laid on the trencher
     By the half more it trembled
     In the breast of him hidden."

     Then laughed Hogni
     When they cut the heart from him,
     From the crest-smith yet quick,
     Little thought he to quail.
     The hard acorn of thought
     From the high king they took,
     Laid it bleeding on trencher
     And bare it Gunnar.

     "Here have I the heart
     Of Hogni the hardy,
     Little like to the heart
     Of Hjalli the trembler.
     Howso little it quaketh
     Laid here on the dish,
     Yet far less it quaked
     In the breast of him laid.

     "So far mayst thou bide
     From men's eyen, O Atli,
     As from that treasure
     Thou shalt abide!

     "Behold in my heart
     Is hidden for ever
     That hoard of the Niblungs,
     Now Hogni is dead.
     Doubt threw me two ways
     While the twain of us lived,
     But all that is gone
     Now I live on alone.

     "The great Rhine shall rule
     O'er the hate-raising treasure,
     That gold of the Niblungs,
     The seed of the gods:
     In the weltering water
     Shall that wealth lie a-gleaming,
     Or it shine on the hands
     Of the children of Huns!"

     Then cried Atli,
     King of the Hun-folk,
     "Drive forth your wains now
     The slave is fast bounden."
     And straightly thence
     The bit-shaking steeds
     Drew the hoard-warden,
     The war-god to his death.

     Atli the great king,
     Rode upon Glaum,
     With shields set round about,
     And sharp thorns of battle:
     Gudrun, bound by wedlock
     To these, victory made gods of,
     Held back her tears
     As the hall she ran into.

     "Let it fare with thee, Atli,
     E'en after thine oaths sworn
     To Gunnar fell often;
     Yea, oaths sworn of old time,
     By the sun sloping southward,
     By the high burg of Sigry,
     By the fair bed of rest,
     By the red ring of Ull!"

     Now a host of men
     Cast the high king alive
     Into a close
     Crept o'er within
     With most foul worms,
     Fulfilled of all venom,
     Ready grave to dig
     In his doughty heart.

     Wrathful-hearted he smote
     The harp with his hand,
     Gunnar laid there alone;
     And loud rang the strings.—
     In such wise ever
     Should hardy ring-scatterer
     Keep gold from all folk
     In the garth of his foeman.

     Then Atli would wend
     About his wide land,
     On his steed brazen shod,
     Back from the murder.
     Din there was in the garth,
     All thronged with the horses;
     High the weapon-song rose
     From men come from the heath.

     Out then went Gudrun,
     'Gainst Atli returning,
     With a cup gilded over,
     To greet the land's ruler;
     "Come, then, and take it,
     King glad in thine hall,
     From Gudrun's hands,
     For the hell-farers groan not!"

     Clashed the beakers of Atli,
     Wine-laden on bench,
     As in hall there a-gathered,
     The Huns fell a-talking,
     And the long-bearded eager ones
     Entered therein,
     From a murk den new-come,
     From the murder of Gunnar.

     Then hastened the sweet-faced
     Delight of the shield-folk,
     Bright in the fair hall,
     Wine to bear to them:
     The dreadful woman
     Gave dainties withal
     To the lords pale with fate,
     Laid strange word upon Atli:

     "The hearts of thy sons
     Hast thou eaten, sword-dealer,
     All bloody with death
     And drenched with honey:
     In most heavy mood
     Brood o'er venison of men!
     Drink rich draughts therewith,
     Down the high benches send it!

     "Never callest thou now
     From henceforth to thy knee
     Fair Erp or fair Eiril,
     Bright-faced with the drink;
     Never seest thou them now
     Amidmost the seat,
     Scattering the gold,
     Or shafting of spears;
     Manes trimming duly,
     Or driving steeds forth!"

     Din arose from the benches,
     Dread song of men was there,
     Noise 'mid the fair hangings,
     As all Hun's children wept;
     All saving Gudrun,
     Who never gat greeting,
     For her brethren bear-hardy
     For her sweet sons and bright,
     The young ones, the simple
     Once gotten with Atli.

    ...............

     The seed of gold
     Sowed the swan-bright woman,
     Rings of red gold
     She gave to the house-carls;
     Fate let she wax,
     Let the bright gold flow forth,
     In naught spared that woman
     The store-houses' wealth.

     Atli unaware
     Was a-weary with drink;
     No weapon had he,
     No heeding of Gudrun—
     Ah, the pity would be better,
     When in soft wise they twain
     Would full often embrace
     Before the great lords!

     To the bed with sword-point
     Blood gave she to drink
     With a hand fain of death,
     And she let the dogs loose:
     Then in from the hall-door—
     —Up waked the house-carls—
     Hot brands she cast,
     Gat revenge for her brethren.

     To the flame gave she all
     Who therein might be found;
     Fell adown the old timbers,
     Reeked all treasure-houses;
     There the shield-mays were burnt,
     Their lives' span brought to naught;
     In the fierce fire sank down
     All the stead of the Budlungs.

     Wide told of is this—
     Ne'er sithence in the world,
     Thus fared bride clad in byrny
     For her brothers' avenging;
     For behold, this fair woman
     To three kings of the people,
     Hath brought very death
     Or ever she died!

     Words of strife heard I,
     Huger than any,
     Woeful words spoken,
     Sprung from all sorrow,
     When Gudrun fierce-hearted
     With the grimmest of words
     Whetter her sons
     Unto the slaying.

     "Why are ye sitting here?
     Why sleep ye life away?
     Why doth it grieve you nought?
     Glad words to speak,
     Now when your sister—
     Young of years was she—
     Has Jormunrek trodden
     With the treading of horses?—

     "Black horses and white
     In the highway of warriors;
     Grey horses that know
     The roads of the Goths.—

     "Little like are ye grown
     To that Gunnar of old days!
     Nought are your hearts
     As the heart of Hogni!
     Well would ye seek
     Vengeance to win
     If your mood were in aught
     As the mood of my brethren,
     Or the hardy hearts
     Of the Kings of the Huns!"

     Then spake Hamdir,
     The high-hearted—
     "Little didst thou
     Praise Hogni's doings,
     When Sigurd woke
     From out of sleep,
     And the blue-white bed-gear
     Upon thy bed
     Grew red with man's blood—
     With the blood of thy mate!

     "Too baleful vengeance
     Wroughtest thou for thy brethren
     Most sore and evil
     When thy sons thou slewedst,
     Else all we together
     On Jormunrek
     Had wrought sore vengeance
     For that our sister.

     "Come, bring forth quickly
     The Hun kings' bright gear,
     Since thou has urged us
     Unto the sword-Thing!"

     Laughing went Gudrun
     To the bower of good gear,
     Kings' crested helms
     From chests she drew,
     And wide-wrought byrnies
     Bore to her sons:
     Then on their horses
     Load laid the heroes.

     Then spake Hamdir,
     The high-hearted—
     "Never cometh again
     His mother to see
     The spear-god laid low
     In the land of the Goths.
     That one arvel mayst thou
     For all of us drink,
     For sister Swanhild,
     And us thy sons."

     Greeted Gudrun
     Giuki's daughter;
     Sorrowing she went
     In the forecourt to sit,
     That she might tell,
     With cheeks tear-furrowed,
     Her weary wail
     In many a wise.

     "Three fires I knew,
     Three hearths I knew,
     To three husbands' houses
     Have I been carried;
     And better than all
     Had been Sigurd alone,
     He whom my brethren
     Brought to his bane.

     "Such sore grief as that
     Methought never should be,
     Yet more indeed
     Was left for my torment
     Then, when the great ones
     Gave me to Atli.

     "My fair bright boys
     I bade unto speech,
     Nor yet might I win
     Weregild for my bale,
     Ere I had hewn off
     Those Niblungs' heads.

     "To the sea-strand I went
     With the Norns sorely wroth,
     For I would thrust from me
     The storm of their torment;
     But the high billows
     Would not drown, but bore me
     Forth, till I stepped a-land
     Longer to live.

     "Then I went a-bed—
     —Ah, better in the old days,
     This was the third time!—
     To a king of the people;
     Offspring I brought forth,
     Props of a fair house,
     Props of a fair house,
     Jonakr's fair sons.

     "But around Swanhild
     Bond-maidens sat,
     Her, that of all mine
     Most to my heart was;
     Such was my Swanhild,
     In my hall's midmost,
     As is the sunbeam
     Fair to beheld.

     "In gold I arrayed her,
     And goodly raiment,
     Or ever I gave her
     To the folk of the Goths.
     That was the hardest
     Of my heavy woes,
     When the bright hair,—
     O the bright hair of Swanhild!—
     In the mire was trodden
     By the treading of horses.

     "This was the sorest,
     When my love, my Sigurd,
     Reft of glory
     In his bed gat ending:
     But this the grimmest
     When glittering worms
     Tore their way
     Through the heart of Gunnar.

     "But this the keenest
     When they cut to the quick
     Of the hardy heart
     Of the unfeared Hogni.
     Of much of bale I mind me,
     Of many griefs I mind me;
     Why should I sit abiding
     Yet more bale and more?

     "Thy coal-black horse,
     O Sigurd, bridle,
     The swift on the highway!
     O let him speed hither!
     Here sitteth no longer
     Son or daughter,
     More good gifts
     To give to Gudrun!

     "Mindst thou not, Sigurd,
     Of the speech betwixt us,
     When on one bed
     We both sat together,
     O my great king—
     That thou wouldst come to me
     E'en from the hall of Hell,
     I to thee from the fair earth?

     "Pile high, O earls
     The oaken pile,
     Let it be the highest
     That ever queen had!
     Let the fire burn swift,
     My breast with woe laden,
     And thaw all my heart,
     Hard, heavy with sorrow!"

     Now may all earls
     Be bettered in mind,
     May the grief of all maidens
     Ever be minished,
     For this tale of sorrow
     So told to its ending.

     Great deeds of bale
     In the garth began,
     At the sad dawning
     The tide of Elves' sorrow
     When day is a-waxing
     And man's grief awaketh,
     And the sorrow of each one
     The early day quickeneth.

     Not now, not now,
     Nor yesterday,
     But long ago
     Has that day worn by,
     That ancientest time,
     The first time to tell of,
     Then, whenas Gudrun,
     Born of Giuki,
     Whetter her sons
     To Swanhild's avenging.

     "Your sister's name
     Was naught but Swanhild,
     Whom Jormunrek
     With horses has trodden!—
     White horses and black
     On the war-beaten way,
     Grey horses that go
     On the roads of the Goths.

     "All alone am I now
     As in holt is the aspen;
     As the fir-tree of boughs,
     So of kin am I bare;
     As bare of things longed for
     As the willow of leaves
     When the bough-breaking wind
     The warm day endeth.

     "Few, sad, are ye left
     O kings of my folk!
     Yet alone living
     Last shreds of my kin!

     "Ah, naught are ye grown
     As that Gunnar of old days;
     Naught are your hearts
     As the heart of Hogni!
     Well would ye seek
     Vengeance to win
     If your hearts were in aught
     As the hearts of my brethren!"

     Then spake Hamdir
     The high-hearted:
     "Nought hadst thou to praise
     The doings of Hogni,
     When they woke up Sigurd
     From out of slumber,
     And in bed thou sat'st up
     'Mid the banes-men's laughter.

     "Then when thy bed=gear,
     Blue-white, well woven
     By art of craftsmen
     All swam with thy king's blood;
     The Sigurd died,
     O'er his dead corpse thou sattest,
     Not heeding aught gladsome,
     Since Gunnar so willed it.

     "Great grief for Atli
     Gatst thou by Erp's murder,
     And the end of thine Eitil,
     But worse grief for thyself.
     Good to use sword
     For the slaying of others
     In such wise that its edge
     Shall not turn on ourselves!"

     Then well spake Sorli
     From a heart full of wisdom:
     "No words will I
     Make with my mother,
     Though both ye twain
     Need words belike—
     What askest thou, Gudrun,
     To let thee go greeting?

     "Weep for thy brethren,
     Weep for thy sweet sons,
     And thy nighest kinsfolk
     Laid by the fight-side!
     Yea, and thou Gudrun,
     May'st greet for us twain
     Sitting fey on our steeds
     Doomed in far lands to die."

     From the garth forth they went
     With hearts full of fury,
     Sorli and Hamdir,
     The sons of Gudrun,
     And they met on the way
     The wise in all wiles:
     "And thou little Erp,
     What helping from thee?"

     He of alien womb
     Spake out in such wise:
     "Good help for my kin,
     Such as foot gives to foot,
     Or flesh-covered hand
     Gives unto hand!"

     "What helping for foot
     That help that foot giveth,
     Or for flesh-covered hand
     The helping of hand?"

     Then spake Erp
     Yet once again
     Mock spake the prince
     As he sat on his steed:
     "Fool's deed to show
     The way to a dastard!"
     "Bold beyond measure,"
     Quoth they, "is the base-born!"

     Out from the sheath
     Drew they the sheath-steel,
     And the glaives' edges played
     For the pleasure of hell;
     By the third part they minished
     The might that they had,
     Their young kin they let lie
     A-cold on the earth.

     Then their fur-cloaks they shook
     And bound fast their swords,
     In webs goodly woven
     Those great ones were clad;
     Young they went o'er the fells
     Where the dew was new-fallen
     Swift, on steeds of the Huns,
     Heavy vengeance to wreak.

     Forth stretched the ways,
     And an ill way they found,
     Yea, their sister's son (1)
     Hanging slain upon tree—
     Wolf-trees by the wind made cold
     At the town's westward
     Loud with cranes' clatter—
     Ill abiding there long!

     Din in the king's hall
     Of men merry with drink,
     And none might hearken
     The horses' tramping
     Or ever the warders
     Their great horn winded.

     Then men went forth
     To Jormunrek
     To tell of the heeding
     Of men under helm:
     "Give ye good counsel!
     Great ones are come hither,
     For the wrong of men mighty
     Was the may to death trodden."

     "Loud Jormunrek laughed,
     And laid hand to his beard,
     Nor bade bring his byrny,
     But with the wine fighting,
     Shook his red locks,
     On his white shield sat staring,
     And in his hand
     Swung the gold cup on high.

     "Sweet sight for me
     Those twain to set eyes on,
     Sorli and Hamdir,
     Here in my hall!
     Then with bowstrings
     Would I bind them,
     And hang the good Giukings
     Aloft on the gallows!"

    ..............

     Then spake Hrothglod
     From off the high steps,
     Spake the slim-fingered
     Unto her son,—
     —For a threat was cast forth
     Of what ne'er should fall—
     "Shall two men alone
     Two hundred Gothfolk
     Bind or bear down
     In the midst of their burg?"

    ...............

     Strife and din in the hall,
     Cups smitten asunder
     Men lay low in blood
     From the breasts of Goths flowing.

     Then spake Hamdir,
     The high-hearted:
     "Thou cravedst, O king,
     From the coming of us,
     The sons of one mother,
     Amidmost thine hall—
     Look on these hands of thine,
     Look on these feet of thine,
     Cast by us, Jormunrek,
     On to the flame!"

     Then cried aloud
     The high Gods' kinsman (2)
     Bold under byrny,—
     Roared he as bears roar;
     "Stones to the stout ones
     That the spears bite not,
     Nor the edges of steel,
     These sons of Jonakr!"

    ..............

     QUOTH SORLI:
     "Bale, brother, wroughtst thou
     By that bag's (3) opening,
     Oft from that bag
     Rede of bale cometh!
     Heart hast thou, Hamdir,
     If thou hadst heart's wisdom
     Great lack in a man
     Who lacks wisdom and lore!"

     HAMDIR SAID:
     "Yes, off were the head
     If Erp were alive yet,
     Our brother the bold
     Whom we slew by the way;
     The far-famed through the world—
     Ah, the fares drave me on,
     And the man war made holy,
     There must I slay!"

     SORLI SAID:
       "Unmeet we should do
       As the doings of wolves are,
     Raising wrong each 'gainst other
       As the dogs of the Norns,
       The greedy ones nourished
     In waste steads of the world.

     In strong wise have we fought,
     On Goths' corpses we stand,
     Beat down by our edges,
     E'en as ernes on the bough.
     Great fame our might winneth,
     Die we now, or to-morrow,—
     No man lives till eve
     Whom the fates doom at morning."
     At the hall's gable-end
     Fell Sorli to earth,
     But Hamdir lay low
     At the back of the houses.