Part 38 (1/2)

I, who whetted the sword for Sigurd, and bared the blade in the morn, And smote ere the sun's uprising, and left my sister forlorn: 'Yea I lied,' quoth the G.o.d-loved Singer, 'when the will of the G.o.ds I told!'

--Stretch forth thine hand, O Mighty, and take thy Treasure of Gold!”

Then was Atli silent a little, for anger dulled his thought, And the heaped-up wealth of the Eastland seemed an idle thing and nought: He turned and looked upon Gudrun as one who was fain to beseech, But he saw her eyes that beheld not, and her lips that knew no speech, And fear shot across his anger, and guile with his wrath was blent, And he spake aloud to the war-lords: ”O ye, shall the eve be spent, Nor behold the East rejoicing? what a mock for the G.o.ds is this, That men ever care for the morrow, nor nurse their toil-won bliss!

Lo now, this hour I speak in is the first of the seven-days' feast, And the spring of our exultation o'er the glory of the East: Draw nigh, O wise, O mighty, and gather words to praise The hope of the King accomplished in the harvest of his days: Bear forth this slave of the Niblungs to the pit and the chamber of death, That he hearken the council of night, and the rede that tomorrow saith, And think of the might of King Atli, and his hand that taketh his own, Though the hill-fox bark at his going, and his path with the bramble be grown.”

So they led the Niblung away from the light and the joy of the feast, In the chamber of death they cast him, and the pit of the Lord of the East: And thralls were the high King's warders; yet sons of the wise withal Came down to sit with Hogni in the doomed man's darkling hall; For they looked in his face and feared, lest Atli smite too nigh The kin of the G.o.ds of Heaven, and more than a man's child die.

But 'neath the golden roof-sun, at beginning of the night, Is the seven-days' feast of triumph in the hall of Atli dight; And his living Earls come thither in peaceful gold attire, And the cups on the East-King's tables s.h.i.+ne out as a river of fire, And sweet is the song of the harp-strings, and the singers' honeyed words; While wide through all the city do wives bewail their lords, And curse the untimely hour and the day of the land forlorn, And the year that the Earth shall rue of, and children never born.

But Atli spake to his thrall-folk, and they went, and were little afraid To take the glorious Gunnar, and the King in shackles laid: They deemed they should live for ever, and eat and sleep as the swine, To them were the tales of the singers no token and no sign; For the blossom of the Niblungs they rolled amid the dust, That well-renowned Gunnar 'neath Atli's chair they thrust; The feet of the Eastland liar on Gunnar's neck are set, And by Atli Gudrun sitteth, and nought she stirreth yet.

Outbrake the glee of the dastards, and they that had not dared To meet the swords of the Niblungs, no whit the G.o.d-folk feared: They forgat that the Norns were awake, and they praised the master of guile The war-spent conquering Atli and the face without a smile; And the tumult of their triumph and the wordless mingled roar Went forth from that hall of the Eastlands and smote the heavenly floor.

At last spake Atli the mighty: ”Stand up, thou war-won thrall, Whom they that were once the Niblungs did once King Gunnar call!”

From the dust they dragged up Gunnar, and set him on his feet, And the heart within him was living and the pride for a war-king meet; And his glory was nothing abated, and fair he seemed and young, As the first of the Cloudy Kings, fresh shoot from the sower sprung.

But Atli looked upon him, and a smile smoothed out his brow As he said: ”What thoughtest thou, Gunnar, when thou layst in the dust e'en now?”

He said: ”Of Valhall I thought, and the host of my fathers' land, And of Hogni that thou hast slaughtered, and my brother Sigurd's hand.”

Said Atli: ”Think of thy life, and the days that shall be yet, And thyself, maybe, as aforetime, in the throne of thy father set.”

”O Eastland liar,” said Gunnar, ”no more will I live and rue.”

Said Atli: ”The word I have spoken, thy word may yet make true.”

”I weary of speech,” said the Niblung, ”with those that are lesser than I.”

”Yet words of mine shalt thou hearken,” said Atli, ”or ever thou die.”

”So crieth the fool,” said Gunnar, ”on the G.o.d that his folly hath slain.”

Said Atli: ”Forth shall my word, nor yet shall be gathered again.”

”Yet meeter were thy silence; for thy folk make ready to sing.”

”O Gunnar, I long for the Gold with the heart and the will of a king.”

”This were good to tell,” said Gunnar, ”to the G.o.ds that fas.h.i.+oned the earth!”

”Make me glad with the Gold,” said Atli, ”live on in honour and worth!”

With a dreadful voice cried Gunnar: ”O fool, hast thou heard it told Who won the Treasure aforetime and the ruddy rings of the Gold?

It was Sigurd, child of the Volsungs, the best sprung forth from the best: He rode from the North and the mountains and became my summer-guest.

My friend and my brother sworn: he rode the Wavering Fire And won me the Queen of Glory and accomplished my desire; The praise of the world he was, the hope of the biders in wrong, The help of the lowly people, the hammer of the strong: Ah, oft in the world henceforward shall the tale be told of the deed, And I, e'en I, will tell it in the day of the Niblungs' Need: For I sat night-long in my armour, and when light was wide o'er the land I slaughtered Sigurd my brother, and looked on the work of mine hand.

And now, O mighty Atli, I have seen the Niblungs' wreck, And the feet of the faint-heart dastard have trodden Gunnar's neck; And if all be little enough, and the G.o.ds begrudge me rest, Let me see the heart of Hogni cut quick from his living breast, And laid, on the dish before me: and then shall I tell of the Gold, And become thy servant, Atli, and my life at thy pleasure hold.

O goodly story of Gunnar, and the King of the broken troth In the heavy Need of the Niblungs, and the Sorrow of Odin the Goth!”

Grim then waxed Atli bemocked, yet he pondered a little while, For yet with his bitter anger strove the hope of his greedy guile, And as one who falleth a-dreaming he hearkened Gunnar's word, While his eyes beheld that Treasure, and the rings of the Ancient h.o.a.rd.

But he spake low-voiced to his sword-carles, and they heard and understood, And departed swift from the feast-hall to do the work he would.

To the chamber of death they gat them, to the pit they went adown, And saw the wise men sitting round the war-king of renown: Then they spake: ”We are Atli's bondmen, and Atli's doom we bring: We shall carve the heart from thy body, and thou living yet, O King.”