Part 27 (2/2)

”Which one of the sons of Giuki,” said Brynhild, ”durst to ride Through the waves of my Flickering Fire to lie by Brynhild's side?

Thou shouldst know him, O Sister of Kings; let the glorious name be said, Lest mine oath in the water be written, and I wake up, vile and betrayed, In the arms of the faint-heart dastard, and of him that loveth life, And casteth his deeds to another, and the wooing of his wife.”

”Yea, hearken,” said she of the Niblungs, ”what words the stranger saith!

Hear the words of the fool of love, how she feareth not the death, Nor to cry the shame on Gunnar, whom the King-folk tremble before: The wise and the overcomer, the crown of happy war!”

Said Brynhild: ”Long were the days ere the Son of Sigmund came; Long were the days and lone, but nought I dreamed of the shame.

So may the day come, Grimhild, when thine eyes know not thy son!

Think then on the man I knew not, and the deed thy guile hath done!”

Then coldly laughed Queen Gudrun, and she said: ”Wilt thou lay all things On the woman that hath loved thee and the Mother of the Kings?

O all-wise Queen of the Niblungs, was this change too hard a part For the learned in the lore of Regin, who ate of the Serpent's heart?”

Then was Brynhild silent a little, and forth from the Niblung hall Came the sound of the laughter of men to the garth by the nook of the wall; And a wind arose in the twilight, and sounds came up from the plain Of kine in the dew-fall wandering, and of oxen loosed from the wain, And the songs of folk free-hearted, and the river rus.h.i.+ng by; And the heart of Brynhild hearkened and she cried with a grievous cry:

”O Sigurd, O my Sigurd, we twain were one, time was, And the wide world lay before us and the deeds to bring to pa.s.s!

And now I am nought for helping, and no helping mayst thou give; And all is marred and evil, and why hast thou heart to live?”

She held her peace for anguish, and forth from the hall there came The shouts of the joyous Niblungs, and the sound of Sigurd's name: And Brynhild turned from Gudrun, and lifted her voice and said: ”O evil house of the Niblungs, may the day of your woe and your dread Be meted with the measure of the guile ye dealt to me, When ye sealed your hearts from pity and forgat my misery!”

And she turned to flee from the garden; but her gown-lap Gudrun caught, And cried: ”Thou evil woman, for thee were the Niblungs wrought, And their day of the fame past telling, that they should heed thy life?

Dear house of the Niblung glory, fair bloom of the warriors' strife, How well shalt thou stand triumphant, when all we lie in the earth For a little while remembered in the story of thy worth!”

But the lap of her linen raiment did Brynhild tear from her hold And spake from her mouth brought nigher, and her voice was low and cold:

”Such pride and comfort in Sigurd henceforward mayst thou find, Such joy of his life's endurance, as thou leav'st me joy behind!”

But turmoil of wrath wrapt Gudrun, that she knew not the day from the night, And she hardened her heart for evil as the warriors when they smite: And she cried: ”Thou filled with murder, my love shall blossom and bloom When thou liest in the h.e.l.l forgotten! smite thence from the deedless gloom, Smite thence at the lovely Sigurd, from the dark without a day!

Let the hand that death hath loosened the King of Glory slay!”

So died her words of anger, and her latter speech none heard, Save the wind of the early night-tide and the leaves by its wandering stirred; For amidst her wrath and her blindness was the hapless Brynhild gone: And she fled from the Burg of the Niblungs and cried to the night alone:

”O Sigurd, O my Sigurd, what now shall give me back One word of thy loving-kindness from the tangle and the wrack?

O Norns, fast bound from helping, O G.o.ds that never weep, Ye have left stark death to help us, and the semblance of our sleep!

Yet I sleep and remember Sigurd; and I wake and nought is there, Save the golden bed of the Niblungs, and the hangings fas.h.i.+oned fair: If I stretch out mine hand to take it, that sleep that the sword-edge gives, How then shall I come on Sigurd, when again my sorrow lives In the dreams of the slumber of death? O nameless, measureless woe, To abide on the earth without him, and alone from earth to go!”

So wailed the wife of Gunnar, as she fled through the summer night, And unwitting around she wandered, till again in the dawning light She stood by the Burg of the Niblungs, and the dwelling of her lord.

Awhile bode the white-armed Gudrun on the edge of the daisied sward, Till she shrank from the lonely flowers and the chill, speech-burdened wind.

Then she turned to the house of her fathers and her golden chamber kind; And for long by the side of Sigurd hath she lain in light-breathed sleep, While yet the winds of night-tide round the wandering Brynhild sweep.

_Gunnar talketh with Brynhild._

On the morrow awakeneth Gudrun; and she speaketh with Sigurd and saith: ”For what cause is Brynhild heavy, and as one who abideth but death?”

”Yea,” Sigurd said, ”is it so? as a great queen she goes upon earth, And thoughtful of weighty matters, and things that are most of worth.”

”It was other than this,” said Gudrun, ”that I deemed her yesterday; All men would have said great trouble on the wife of Gunnar lay.”

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