The Story of Sigurd the Volsung and the Fall of the Niblungs E-Book

William Morris

• Herausgeber: Interactive Media
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

The Story of Sigurd the Volsung and the Fall of the Niblungs

Leseprobe

William Morris

The Story of Sigurd the Volsung and the Fall of the Niblungs

New Edition

LONDON ∙ NEW YORK ∙ TORONTO ∙ SAO PAULO ∙ MOSCOW

PARIS ∙ MADRID ∙ BERLIN ∙ ROME ∙ MEXICO CITY ∙ MUMBAI ∙ SEOUL ∙ DOHA

TOKYO ∙ SYDNEY ∙ CAPE TOWN ∙ AUCKLAND ∙ BEIJING

New Edition

Published by Sovereign Classic

This Edition

First published in 2019

Copyright © 2019 Sovereign Classic

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN: 9781787360440

Contents

BOOK I.

BOOK II.

BOOK III.

BOOK IV.

BOOK I.

SIGMUND.

In this book is told of the earlier days of the volsungs, and of sigmund the father of sigurd, and of his deeds, and of how he died while sigurd was yet unborn in his mother’s womb.

Of the dwelling of King Volsung, and the wedding of Signy his daughter.

There was a dwelling of Kings ere the world was waxen old;

Dukes were the door-wards there, and the roofs were thatched with gold;

Earls were the wrights that wrought it, and silver nailed its doors;

Earls’ wives were the weaving-women, queens’ daughters strewed its floors,

And the masters of its song-craft were the mightiest men that cast

The sails of the storm of battle adown the bickering blast.

There dwelt men merry-hearted, and in hope exceeding great

Met the good days and the evil as they went the way of fate:

There the Gods were unforgotten, yea whiles they walked with men.

Though e’en in that world’s beginning rose a murmur now and again

Of the midward time and the fading and the last of the latter days,

And the entering in of the terror, and the death of the People’s Praise.

Thus was the dwelling of Volsung, the King of the Midworld’s Mark,

As a rose in the winter season, a candle in the dark;

And as in all other matters ‘twas all earthly houses’ crown,

And the least of its wall-hung shields was a battle-world’s renown,

So therein withal was a marvel and a glorious thing to see,

For amidst of its midmost hall-floor sprang up a mighty tree,

That reared its blessings roofward, and wreathed the roof-tree dear

With the glory of the summer and the garland of the year.

I know not how they called it ere Volsung changed his life,

But his dawning of fair promise, and his noontide of the strife,

His eve of the battle-reaping and the garnering of his fame,

Have bred us many a story and named us many a name;

And when men tell of Volsung, they call that war-duke’s tree,

That crownèd stem, the Branstock; and so was it told unto me.

So there was the throne of Volsung beneath its blossoming bower.

But high o’er the roof-crest red it rose ‘twixt tower and tower,

And therein were the wild hawks dwelling, abiding the dole of their lord;

And they wailed high over the wine, and laughed to the waking sword.

Still were its boughs but for them, when lo on an even of May

Comes a man from Siggeir the King with a word for his mouth to say:

“All hail to thee King Volsung, from the King of the Goths I come:

He hath heard of thy sword victorious and thine abundant home;

He hath heard of thy sons in the battle, the fillers of Odin’s Hall;

And a word hath the west-wind blown him, (full fruitful be its fall!)

A word of thy daughter Signy the crown of womanhood:

Now he deems thy friendship goodly, and thine help in the battle good,

And for these will he give his friendship and his battle-aid again:

But if thou wouldst grant his asking, and make his heart full fain,

Then shalt thou give him a matter, saith he, without a price,

—Signy the fairer than fair, Signy the wiser than wise.”

Such words in the hall of the Volsungs spake the Earl of Siggeir the Goth,

Bearing the gifts and the gold, the ring, and the tokens of troth.

But the King’s heart laughed within him and the King’s sons deemed it good;

For they dreamed how they fared with the Goths o’er ocean and acre and wood,

Till all the north was theirs, and the utmost southern lands.

But nought said the snow-white Signy as she sat with folded hands

And gazed at the Goth-king’s Earl till his heart grew heavy and cold,

As one that half remembers a tale that the elders have told,

A story of weird and of woe: then spake King Volsung and said:

“A great king woos thee, daughter; wilt thou lie in a great king’s bed,

And bear earth’s kings on thy bosom, that our name may never die?”

A fire lit up her face, and her voice was e’en as a cry:

“I will sleep in a great king’s bed, I will bear the lords of the earth,

And the wrack and the grief of my youth-days shall be held for nothing worth.”

Then would he question her kindly, as one who loved her sore,

But she put forth her hand and smiled, and her face was flushed no more

“Would God it might otherwise be! but wert thou to will it not,

Yet should I will it and wed him, and rue my life and my lot.”

Lowly and soft she said it; but spake out louder now:

“Be of good cheer, King Volsung! for such a man art thou,

That what thou dost well-counselled, goodly and fair it is,

And what thou dost unwitting, the Gods have bidden thee this:

So work all things together for the fame of thee and thine.

And now meseems at my wedding shall be a hallowed sign,

That shall give thine heart a joyance, whatever shall follow after.”

She spake, and the feast sped on, and the speech and the song and the laughter

Went over the words of boding as the tide of the norland main

Sweeps over the hidden skerry, the home of the shipman’s bane.

So wendeth his way on the morrow that Earl of the Gothland King,

Bearing the gifts and the gold, and King Volsung’s tokening,

And a word in his mouth moreover, a word of blessing and hail,

And a bidding to King Siggeir to come ere the June-tide fail

And wed him to white-hand Signy and bear away his bride,

While sleepeth the field of the fishes amidst the summer-tide.

So on Mid-Summer Even ere the undark night began

Siggeir the King of the Goth-folk went up from the bath of the swan

Unto the Volsung dwelling with many an Earl about;

There through the glimmering thicket the linkèd mail rang out,

And sang as mid the woodways sings the summer-hidden ford:

There were gold-rings God-fashioned, and many a Dwarf-wrought sword,

And many a Queen-wrought kirtle and many a written spear;

So came they to the acres, and drew the threshold near,

And amidst of the garden blossoms, on the grassy, fruit-grown land,

Was Volsung the King of the Wood-world with his sons on either hand;

Therewith down lighted Siggeir the lord of a mighty folk,

Yet showed he by King Volsung as the bramble by the oak,

Nor reached his helm to the shoulder of the least of Volsung’s sons.

And so into the hall they wended, the Kings and their mighty ones;

And they dight the feast full glorious, and drank through the death of the day,

Till the shadowless moon rose upward, till it wended white away;

Then they went to the gold-hung beds, and at last for an hour or twain

Were all things still and silent, save a flaw of the summer rain.

But on the morrow noontide when the sun was high and bare,

More glorious was the banquet, and now was Signy there,

And she sat beside King Siggeir, a glorious bride forsooth;

Ruddy and white was she wrought as the fair-stained sea-beast’s tooth,

But she neither laughed nor spake, and her eyes were hard and cold,

And with wandering side-long looks her lord would she behold.

That saw Sigmund her brother, the eldest Volsung son,

And oft he looked upon her, and their eyes met now and anon,

And ruth arose in his heart, and hate of Siggeir the Goth,

And there had he broken the wedding, but for plighted promise and troth.

But those twain were beheld of Siggeir, and he deemed of the Volsung kin,

That amid their might and their malice small honour should he win;

Yet thereof made he no semblance, but abided times to be

And laughed out with the loudest, amid the hope and the glee.

And nought of all saw Volsung, as he dreamed of the coming glory,

And how the Kings of his kindred should fashion the round world’s story.

So round about the Branstock they feast in the gleam of the gold;

And though the deeds of man-folk were not yet waxen old,

Yet had they tales for songcraft, and the blossomed garth of rhyme;

Tales of the framing of all things and the entering in of time

From the halls of the outer heaven; so near they knew the door.

Wherefore uprose a sea-king, and his hands that loved the oar

Now dealt with the rippling harp-gold, and he sang of the shaping of earth,

And how the stars were lighted, and where the winds had birth,

And the gleam of the first of summers on the yet untrodden grass.

But e’en as men’s hearts were hearkening some heard the thunder pass

O’er the cloudless noontide heaven; and some men turned about

And deemed that in the doorway they heard a man laugh out.

Then into the Volsung dwelling a mighty man there strode,

One-eyed and seeming ancient, yet bright his visage glowed:

Cloud-blue was the hood upon him, and his kirtle gleaming-grey

As the latter morning sundog when the storm is on the way:

A bill he bore on his shoulder, whose mighty ashen beam

Burnt bright with the flame of the sea and the blended silver’s gleam.

And such was the guise of his raiment as the Volsung elders had told

Was borne by their fathers’ fathers, and the first that warred in the wold.

So strode he to the Branstock nor greeted any lord,

But forth from his cloudy raiment he drew a gleaming sword,

And smote it deep in the tree-bole, and the wild hawks overhead

Laughed ‘neath the naked heaven as at last he spake and said:

“Earls of the Goths, and Volsungs, abiders on the earth,

Lo there amid the Branstock a blade of plenteous worth!

The folk of the war-wand’s forgers wrought never better steel

Since first the burg of heaven uprose for man-folk’s weal.

Now let the man among you whose heart and hand may shift

To pluck it from the oakwood e’en take it for my gift.

Then ne’er, but his own heart falter, its point and edge shall fail

Until the night’s beginning and the ending of the tale.

Be merry Earls of the Goth-folk, O Volsung Sons be wise,

And reap the battle-acre that ripening for you lies:

For they told me in the wild wood, I heard on the mountain side,

That the shining house of heaven is wrought exceeding wide,

And that there the Early-comers shall have abundant rest

While Earth grows scant of great ones, and fadeth from its best,

And fadeth from its midward and groweth poor and vile:—

All hail to thee King Volsung! farewell for a little while!”

So sweet his speaking sounded, so wise his words did seem,

That moveless all men sat there, as in a happy dream

We stir not lest we waken; but there his speech had end,

And slowly down the hall-floor, and outward did he wend;

And none would cast him a question or follow on his ways,

For they knew that the gift was Odin’s, a sword for the world to praise.

But now spake Volsung the King: “Why sit ye silent and still?

Is the Battle-Father’s visage a token of terror and ill?

Arise O Volsung Children, Earls of the Goths arise,

And set your hands to the hilts as mighty men and wise!

Yet deem it not too easy; for belike a fateful blade

Lies there in the heart of the Branstock for a fated warrior made.”

Now therewith spake King Siggeir: “King Volsung give me a grace

To try it the first of all men, lest another win my place

And mere chance-hap steal my glory and the gain that I might win.”

Then somewhat laughed King Volsung, and he said: “O Guest, begin;

Though herein is the first as the last, for the Gods have long to live,

Nor hath Odin yet forgotten unto whom the gift he would give.”

Then forth to the tree went Siggeir, the Goth-folk’s mighty lord,

And laid his hand on the gemstones, and strained at the glorious sword

Till his heart grew black with anger; and never a word he said

As he wended back to the high-seat: but Signy waxed blood-red

When he sat him adown beside her; and her heart was nigh to break

For the shame and the fateful boding: and therewith King Volsung spake:

“Thus comes back empty-handed the mightiest King of Earth,

And how shall the feeble venture? yet each man knows his worth;

And today may a great beginning from a little seed upspring

To o’erpass many a great one that hath the name of King:

So stand forth free and unfree; stand forth both most and least:

But first ye Earls of the Goth-folk, ye lovely lords we feast.”

Upstood the Earls of Siggeir, and each man drew anigh

And deemed his time was coming for a glorious gain and high;

But for all their mighty shaping and their deeds in the battle-wood,

No looser in the Branstock that gift of Odin stood.

Then uprose Volsung’s homemen, and the fell-abiding folk;

And the yellow-headed shepherds came gathering round the Oak,

And the searchers of the thicket and the dealers with the oar:

And the least and the worst of them all was a mighty man of war.

But for all their mighty shaping, and the struggle and the strain

Of their hands, the deft in labour, they tugged thereat in vain;

And still as the shouting and jeers, and the names of men and the laughter

Beat backward from gable to gable, and rattled o’er roof-tree and rafter,

Moody and still sat Siggeir; for he said: “They have trained me here

As a mock for their woodland bondsmen; and yet shall they buy it dear.”

Now the tumult sank a little, and men cried on Volsung the King

And his sons, the hedge of battle, to try the fateful thing.

So Volsung laughed, and answered: “I will set me to the toil,

Lest these my guests of the Goth-folk should deem I fear the foil.

Yet nought am I ill-sworded, and the oldest friend is best;

And this, my hand’s first fellow, will I bear to the grave-mound’s rest,

Nor wield meanwhile another: Yea this shall I have in hand

When mid the host of Odin in the Day of Doom I stand.”

Therewith from his belt of battle he raised the golden sheath,

And showed the peace-strings glittering about the hidden death:

Then he laid his hand on the Branstock, and cried: “O tree beloved,

I thank thee of thy good-heart that so little thou art moved:

Abide thou thus, green bower, when I am dead and gone

And the best of all my kindred a better day hath won!”

Then as a young man laughed he, and on the hilts of gold

His hand, the battle-breaker, took fast and certain hold,

And long he drew and strained him, but mended not the tale,

Yet none the more thereover his mirth of heart did fail;

But he wended to the high-seat and thence began to cry:

“Sons I have gotten and cherished, now stand ye forth to try;

Lest Odin tell in God-home how from the way he strayed,

And how to the man he would not he gave away his blade.”

So therewithal rose Rerir, and wasted might and main;

Then Gunthiof, and then Hunthiof, they wearied them in vain;

Nought was the might of Agnar; nought Helgi could avail;

Sigi the tall and Solar no further brought the tale,

Nor Geirmund the priest of the temple, nor Gylfi of the wood.

At last by the side of the Branstock Sigmund the Volsung stood,

And with right hand wise in battle the precious sword-hilt caught,

Yet in a careless fashion, as he deemed it all for nought:

When lo, from floor to rafter went up a shattering shout,

For aloft in the hand of Sigmund the naked blade shone out

As high o’er his head he shook it: for the sword had come away

From the grip of the heart of the Branstock, as though all loose it lay.

A little while he stood there mid the glory of the hall,

Like the best of the trees of the garden, when the April sunbeams fall

On its blossomed boughs in the morning, and tell of the days to be;

Then back unto the high-seat he wended soberly;

For this was the thought within him; Belike the day shall come

When I shall bide here lonely amid the Volsung home,

Its glory and sole avenger, its after-summer seed.

Yea, I am the hired of Odin, his workday will to speed,

And the harvest-tide shall be heavy.—What then, were it come and past

And I laid by the last of the sheaves with my wages earned at the last?

He lifted his eyes as he thought it, for now was he come to his place,

And there he stood by his father and met Siggeir face to face,

And he saw him blithe and smiling, and heard him how he spake:

“O best of the sons of Volsung, I am merry for thy sake

And the glory that thou hast gained us; but whereas thine hand and heart

Are e’en now the lords of the battle, how lack’st thou for thy part

A matter to better the best? Wilt thou overgild fine gold

Or dye the red rose redder? So I prithee let me hold

This sword that comes to thine hand on the day I wed thy kin.

For at home have I a store-house; there is mountain-gold therein

The weight of a war-king’s harness; there is silver plenteous store;

There is iron, and huge-wrought amber, that the southern men love sore,

When they sell me the woven wonder, the purple born of the sea;

And it hangeth up in that bower; and all this is a gift for thee:

But the sword that came to my wedding, methinketh it meet and right,

That it lie on my knees in the council and stead me in the fight.”

But Sigmund laughed and answered, and he spake a scornful word:

“And if I take twice that treasure, will it buy me Odin’s sword,

And the gift that the Gods have given? will it buy me again to stand

Betwixt two mightiest world-kings with a longed-for thing in mine hand

That all their might hath missed of? when the purple-selling men

Come buying thine iron and amber, dost thou sell thine honour then?

Do they wrap it in bast of the linden, or run it in moulds of earth?

And shalt thou account mine honour as a matter of lesser worth?

Came the sword to thy wedding, Goth-king, to thine hand it never came,

And thence is thine envy whetted to deal me this word of shame.”

Black then was the heart of Siggeir, but his face grew pale and red,

Till he drew a smile thereover, and spake the word and said:

“Nay, pardon me, Signy’s kinsman! when the heart desires o’ermuch

It teacheth the tongue ill speaking, and my word belike was such.

But the honour of thee and thy kindred, I hold it even as mine,

And I love you as my heart-blood, and take ye this for a sign.

I bid thee now King Volsung, and these thy glorious sons,

And thine earls and thy dukes of battle and all thy mighty ones,

To come to the house of the Goth-kings as honoured guests and dear

And abide the winter over; that the dusky days and drear

May be glorious with thy presence, that all folk may praise my life,

And the friends that my fame hath gotten; and that this my new-wed wife

Thine eyes may make the merrier till she bear my eldest born.”

Then speedily answered Volsung: “No king of the earth might scorn

Such noble bidding, Siggeir; and surely will I come

To look upon thy glory and the Goths’ abundant home.

But let two months wear over, for I have many a thing

To shape and shear in the Woodland, as befits a people’s king:

And thou meanwhile here abiding of all my goods shalt be free,

And then shall we twain together roof over the glass-green sea

With the sides of our golden dragons; and our war-hosts’ blended shields

Shall fright the sea-abiders and the folk of the fishy fields.”

Answered the smooth-speeched Siggeir: “I thank thee well for this,

And thy bidding is most kingly; yet take it not amiss

That I wend my ways in the morning; for we Goth-folk know indeed

That the sea is a foe full deadly, and a friend that fails at need,

And that Ran who dwells thereunder will many a man beguile:

And I bear a woman with me; nor would I for a while

Behold that sea-queen’s dwelling; for glad at heart am I

Of the realm of the Goths and the Volsungs, and I look for long to lie

In the arms of the fairest woman that ever a king may kiss.

So I go mine house to order for the increase of thy bliss,

That there in nought but joyance all we may wear the days

And that men of the time hereafter the more our lives may praise.”

And for all the words of Volsung e’en so must the matter be,

And Siggeir the Goth and Signy on the morn shall sail the sea.

But the feast sped on the fairer, and the more they waxed in disport

And the glee that all men love, as they knew that the hours were short.

Yet a boding heart bare Sigmund amid his singing and laughter;

And somewhat Signy wotted of the deeds that were coming after;

For the wisest of women she was, and many a thing she knew;

She would hearken the voice of the midnight till she heard what the Gods would do,

And her feet fared oft on the wild, and deep was her communing

With the heart of the glimmering woodland, where never a fowl may sing.

So fair sped on the feasting amid the gleam of the gold,

Amid the wine and the joyance; and many a tale was told

To the harp-strings of that wedding, whereof the latter days

Yet hold a little glimmer to wonder at and praise.

Then the undark night drew over, and faint the high stars shone,

And there on the beds blue-woven the slumber-tide they won;

Yea while on the brightening mountain the herd-boy watched his sheep.

Yet soft on the breast of Signy King Siggeir lay asleep.

How the Volsungs fared to the Land of the Goths, and of the fall of King Volsung.

Now or ever the sun shone houseward, unto King Volsung’s bed

Came Signy stealing barefoot, and she spake the word and said:

“Awake and hearken, my father, for though the wedding be done,

And I am the wife of the Goth-king, yet the Volsungs are not gone.

So I come as a dream of the night, with a word that the Gods would say,

And think thou thereof in the day-tide, and let Siggeir go on his way

With me and the gifts and the gold, but do ye abide in the land,

Nor trust in the guileful heart and the murder-loving hand,

Lest the kin of the Volsungs perish, and the world be nothing worth.”

So came the word unto Volsung, and wit in his heart had birth;

And he sat upright in the bed and kissed her on the lips;

But he said: “My word is given, it is gone like the spring-tide ships:

To death or to life must I journey when the months are come to an end.

Yet my sons my words shall hearken, and shall nowise with me wend.”

Then she answered, speaking swiftly: “Nay, have thy sons with thee;

Gather an host together and a mighty company,

And meet the guile and the death-snare with battle and with wrack.”

He said: “Nay, my troth-word plighted e’en so should I draw aback:

I shall go a guest, as my word was; of whom shall I be afraid?

For an outworn elder’s ending shall no mighty moan be made.”

Then answered Signy, weeping: “I shall see thee yet again

When the battle thou arrayest on the Goth-folks’ strand in vain.

Heavy and hard are the Norns: but each man his burden bears;

And what am I to fashion the fate of the coming years?”

She wept and she wended back to the Goth-king’s bolster blue,

And Volsung pondered awhile till slumber over him drew;

But when once more he wakened, the kingly house was up,

And the homemen gathered together to drink the parting cup:

And grand amid the hall-floor was the Goth king in his gear,

And Signy clad for faring stood by the Branstock dear

With the earls of the Goths about her: so queenly did she seem,

So calm and ruddy coloured, that Volsung well might deem

That her words were a fashion of slumber, a vision of the night.

But they drank the wine of departing, and brought the horses dight,

And forth abroad the Goth-folk and the Volsung Children rode,

Nor ever once would Signy look back to that abode.

So down over acre and heath they rode to the side of the sea,

And there by the long-ships’ bridges was the ship-host’s company.

Then Signy kissed her brethren with ruddy mouth and warm,

Nor was there one of the Goth-folk but blessed her from all harm;

Then sweet she kissed her father and hung about his neck,

And sure she whispered him somewhat ere she passed forth toward the deck,

Though nought I know to tell it: then Siggeir hailed them fair,

And called forth many a blessing on the hearts that bode his snare.

Then were the gangways shipped, and blown was the parting horn,

And the striped sails drew with the wind, and away was Signy borne

White on the shielded long-ship, a grief in the heart of the gold;

Nor once would she turn her about the strand of her folk to behold.

Thenceforward dwelt the Volsungs in exceeding glorious state,

And merry lived King Volsung, abiding the day of his fate;

But when the months aforesaid were well-nigh worn away

To his sons and his folk of counsel he fell these words to say:

“Ye mind you of Signy’s wedding and of my plighted troth

To go in two months’ wearing to the house of Siggeir the Goth:

Nor will I hide how Signy then spake a warning word

And did me to wit that her husband was a grim and guileful lord,

And would draw us to our undoing for envy and despite

Concerning the Sword of Odin, and for dread of the Volsung might.

Now wise is Signy my daughter and knoweth nought but sooth:

Yet are there seasons and times when for longing and self-ruth

The hearts of women wander, and this maybe is such;

Nor for her word of Siggeir will I trow it overmuch,

Nor altogether doubt it, since the woman is wrought so wise;

Nor much might my heart love Siggeir for all his kingly guise.

Yet, shall a king hear murder when a king’s mouth blessing saith?

So maybe he is bidding me honour, and maybe he is bidding me death:

Let him do after his fashion, and I will do no less.

In peace will I go to his bidding let the spae-wrights ban or bless;

And no man now or hereafter of Volsung’s blenching shall tell.

But ye, sons, in the land shall tarry, and heed the realm right well,

Lest the Volsung Children fade, and the wide world worser grow.”

But with one voice cried all men, that they one and all would go

To gather the Goth-king’s honour, or let one fate go over all

If he bade them to battle and murder, till each by each should fall.

So spake the sons of his body, and the wise in wisdom and war.

Nor yet might it otherwise be, though Volsung bade full sore

That he go in some ship of the merchants with his life alone in his hand;

With such love he loved his kindred, and the people of his land.

But at last he said:

“So be it; for in vain I war with fate,

Who can raise up a king from the dunghill and make the feeble great.

We will go, a band of friends, and be merry whatever shall come,

And the Gods, mine own forefathers, shall take counsel of our home.”

So now, when all things were ready, in the first of the autumn tide

Adown unto the swan-bath the Volsung Children ride;

And lightly go a shipboard, a goodly company,

Though the tale thereof be scanty and their ships no more than three:

But kings’ sons dealt with the sail-sheets and earls and dukes of war

Were the halers of the hawsers and the tuggers at the oar.

So they drew the bridges shipward, and left the land behind,

And fair astern of the longships sprang up a following wind;

So swift o’er Ægir’s acre those mighty sailors ran,

And speedier than all other ploughed down the furrows wan.

And they came to the land of the Goth-folk on the even of a day;

And lo by the inmost skerry a skiff with a sail of grey

That as they neared the foreshore ran Volsung’s ship aboard,

And there was come white-hand Signy with her latest warning word.

“O strange,” she said, “meseemeth, O sweet, your gear to see,

And the well-loved Volsung faces, and the hands that cherished me.

But short is the time that is left me for the work I have to win,

Though nought it be but the speaking of a word ere the worst begin.

For that which I spake aforetime, the seed of a boding drear,

It hath sprung, it hath blossomed and born rank harvest of the spear;

Siggeir hath dight the death-snare; he hath spread the shielded net.

But ye come ere the hour appointed, and he looks not to meet you yet.

Now blest be the wind that wafted your sails here over-soon,

For thus have I won me seaward ‘twixt the twilight and the moon,

To pray you for all the world’s sake turn back from the murderous shore.

—Ah take me hence, my father, to see my land once more!”

Then sweetly Volsung kissed her: “Woe am I for thy sake,

But earth the word hath hearkened, that yet unborn I spake;

How I ne’er would turn me backward from the sword or the fire of bale;

—I have held that word till today, and today shall I change the tale?

And look on these thy brethren, how goodly and great are they,

Wouldst thou have the maidens mock them, when this pain hath past away

And they sit at the feast hereafter, that they feared the deadly stroke?

Let us do our day’s work deftly for the praise and the glory of folk;

And if the Norns will have it that the Volsung kin shall fail,

Yet I know of the deed that dies not, and the name that shall ever avail.”

But she wept as one sick-hearted: “Woe’s me for the hope of the morn!

Yet send me not back unto Siggeir and the evil days and the scorn:

Let me bide the death as ye bide it, and let a woman feel

That hope of the death of battle and the rest of the foeman’s steel.”

“Nay nay,” he said, “go backward: this too thy fate will have;

For thou art the wife of a king, and many a matter may’st save.

Farewell! as the days win over, as sweet as a tale shall it grow,

This day when our hearts were hardened; and our glory thou shalt know,

And the love wherewith we loved thee mid the battle and the wrack.”

She kissed them and departed, and mid the dusk fared back,

And she sat that eve in the high-seat; and I deem that Siggeir knew

The way that her feet had wended, and the deed she went to do:

For the man was grim and guileful, and he knew that the snare was laid

For the mountain bull unblenching and the lion unafraid.

But when the sun on the morrow shone over earth and sea

Ashore went the Volsung Children a goodly company,

And toward King Siggeir’s dwelling o’er heath and holt they went

But when they came to the topmost of a certain grassy bent,

Lo there lay the land before them as thick with shield and spear

As the rich man’s wealthiest acre with the harvest of the year.

There bade King Volsung tarry and dight the wedge-array;

“For duly,” he said, “doeth Siggeir to meet his guests by the way.”

So shield by shield they serried, nor ever hath been told

Of any host of battle more glorious with the gold;

And there stood the high King Volsung in the very front of war;

And lovelier was his visage than ever heretofore.

As he rent apart the peace-strings that his brand of battle bound

And the bright blade gleamed to the heavens, and he cast the sheath to the ground.

Then up the steep came the Goth-folk, and the spear-wood drew anigh,

And earth’s face shook beneath them, yet cried they never a cry;

And the Volsungs stood all silent, although forsooth at whiles

O’er the faces grown earth-weary would play the flickering smiles,

And swords would clink and rattle: not long had they to bide,

For soon that flood of murder flowed round the hillock-side;

Then at last the edges mingled, and if men forebore the shout,

Yet the din of steel and iron in the grey clouds rang about;

But how to tell of King Volsung, and the valour of his folk!

Three times the wood of battle before their edges broke;

And the shield-wall, sorely dwindled and reft of the ruddy gold,

Against the drift of the war-blast for the fourth time yet did hold.

But men’s shields were waxen heavy with the weight of shafts they bore,

And the fifth time many a champion cast earthward Odin’s door

And gripped the sword two-handed; and in sheaves the spears came on.

And at last the host of the Goth-folk within the shield-wall won,

And wild was the work within it, and oft and o’er again

Forth brake the sons of Volsung, and drave the foe in vain;

For the driven throng still thickened, till it might not give aback.

But fast abode King Volsung amid the shifting wrack

In the place where once was the forefront: for he said: “My feet are old,

And if I wend on further there is nought more to behold

Than this that I see about me.”—Whiles drew his foes away

And stared across the corpses that before his sword-edge lay.

But nought he followed after: then needs must they in front

Thrust on by the thickening spear-throng come up to bear the brunt,

Till all his limbs were weary and his body rent and torn:

Then he cried: “Lo now, Allfather, is not the swathe well shorn?

Wouldst thou have me toil for ever, nor win the wages due?”

And mid the hedge of foemen his blunted sword he threw,

And, laid like the oars of a longship the level war-shafts pressed

On ‘gainst the unshielded elder, and clashed amidst his breast,

And dead he fell, thrust backward, and rang on the dead men’s gear:

But still for a certain season durst no man draw anear.

For ‘twas e’en as a great God’s slaying, and they feared the wrath of the sky;

And they deemed their hearts might harden if awhile they should let him lie.

Lo, now as the plotting was long, so short is the tale to tell

How a mighty people’s leaders in the field of murder fell.

For but feebly burned the battle when Volsung fell to field,

And all who yet were living were borne down before the shield:

So sinketh the din and the tumult; and the earls of the Goths ring round

That crown of the Kings of battle laid low upon the ground,

Looking up to the noon-tide heavens from the place where first he stood:

But the songful sing above him and they tell how his end is as good

As the best of the days of his life-tide; and well as he was loved

By his friends ere the time of his changing, so now are his foemen moved

With a love that may never be worsened, since all the strife is o’er,

And the warders look for his coming by Odin’s open door.

But his sons, the stay of battle, alive with many a wound,

Borne down to the earth by the shield-rush amid the dead lie bound,

And belike a wearier journey must those lords of battle bide

Ere once more in the Hall of Odin they sit by their father’s side.

Woe’s me for the boughs of the Branstock and the hawks that cried on the fight!

Woe’s me for the tireless hearthstones and the hangings of delight,

That the women dare not look on lest they see them sweat with blood!

Woe’s me for the carven pillars where the spears of the Volsungs stood!

And who next shall shake the locks, or the silver door-rings meet?

Who shall pace the floor beloved, worn down by the Volsung feet?

Who shall fill the gold with the wine, or cry for the triumphing?

Shall it be kindred or foes, or thief, or thrall, or king?

Of the ending of all Volsung’s Sons save Sigmund only, and of how he abideth in the wild wood.

So there the earls of the Goth-folk lay Volsung ‘neath the grass

On the last earth he had trodden; but his children bound must pass,

When the host is gathered together, amidst of their array

To the high-built dwelling of Siggeir; for sooth it is to say,

That he came not into the battle, nor faced the Volsung sword.

So now as he sat in his high-seat there came his chiefest lord,

And he said: “I bear thee tidings of the death of the best of the brave,

For thy foes are slain or bondsmen; and have thou Sigmund’s glaive,

If a token thou desirest; and that shall be surely enough.

And I do thee to wit, King Siggeir, that the road was exceeding rough,

And that many an earl there stumbled, who shall evermore lie down.

And indeed I deem King Volsung for all earthly kingship’s crown.”

Then never a word spake Siggeir, save: “Where be Volsung’s sons?”

And he said: “Without are they fettered, those battle-glorious ones:

And methinks ‘twere a deed for a king, and a noble deed for thee,

To break their bonds and heal them, and send them back o’er the sea,

And abide their wrath and the bloodfeud for this matter of Volsung’s slaying:”

“Witless thou waxest,” said Siggeir, “nor heedest the wise man’s saying;

‘Slay thou the wolf by the house-door, lest he slay thee in the wood.’

Yet since I am the overcomer, and my days henceforth shall be good,

I will quell them with no death-pains; let the young men smite them down,

But let me not behold them when my heart is angrier grown.”

E’en as he uttered the word was Signy at the door,

And with hurrying feet she gat her apace to the high-seat floor,

As wan as the dawning-hour, though never a tear she had:

And she cried: “I pray thee, Siggeir, now thine heart is merry and glad

With the death and the bonds of my kinsmen, to grant me this one prayer,

This one time and no other; let them breathe the earthly air

For a day, for a day or twain, ere they wend the way of death,

For ‘sweet to eye while seen,’ the elders’ saying saith.”

Quoth he: “Thou art mad with sorrow; wilt thou work thy friends this woe?

When swift and untormented e’en I would let them go:

Yet now shalt thou have thine asking, if it verily is thy will:

Nor forsooth do I begrudge them a longer tide of ill.”

She said: “I will it, I will it—O sweet to eye while seen!”

Then to his earl spake Siggeir: “There lies a wood-lawn green

In the first mile of the forest; there fetter these Volsung men

To the mightiest beam of the wild-wood, till Queen Signy come again

And pray me a boon for her brethren, the end of their latter life.”

So the Goth-folk led to the woodland those gleanings of the strife,

And smote down a great-boled oak-tree, the mightiest they might find,

And thereto with bonds of iron the Volsungs did they bind,

And left them there on the wood-lawn, mid the yew-trees’ compassing,

And went back by the light of the moon to the dwelling of the king.

But he sent on the morn of the morrow to see how his foemen fared,

For now as he thought thereover, o’ermuch he deemed it dared

That he saw not the last of the Volsungs laid dead before his feet,

Back came his men ere the noontide, and he deemed their tidings sweet;

For they said: “We tell thee, King Siggeir, that Geirmund and Gylfi are gone.

And we deem that a beast of the wild-wood this murder grim hath done,

For the bones yet lie in the fetters gnawed fleshless now and white;

But we deemed the eight abiding sore minished of their might.”

So wore the morn and the noontide, and the even ‘gan to fall,

And watchful eyes held Signy at home in bower and hall.

And again came the men in the morning, and spake: “The hopples hold

The bare white bones of Helgi, and the bones of Solar the bold:

And the six that abide seem feebler than they were awhile ago.”

Still all the day and the night-tide must Signy nurse her woe

About the house of King Siggeir, nor any might she send:

And again came the tale on the morrow: “Now are two more come to an end.

For Hunthiof dead and Gunthiof, their bones lie side by side,

And the four that are left, us seemeth, no long while will abide.”

O woe for the well-watched Signy, how often on that day

Must she send her helpless eyen adown the woodland way!

Yet silent in her bosom she held her heart of flame.

And again on the morrow morning the tale was still the same:

“We tell thee now, King Siggeir, that all will soon be done;

For the two last men of the Volsungs, they sit there one by one,

And Sigi’s head is drooping, but somewhat Sigmund sings;

For the man was a mighty warrior, and a beater down of kings.

But for Rerir and for Agnar, the last of them is said,

Their bones in the bonds are abiding, but their souls and lives are sped.”

That day from the eyes of the watchers nought Signy strove to depart,

But ever she sat in the high-seat and nursed the flame in her heart.

In the sight of all people she sat, with unmoved face and wan,

And to no man gave she a word, nor looked on any man.

Then the dusk and the dark drew over, but stirred she never a whit,

And the word of Siggeir’s sending, she gave no heed to it.

And there on the morrow morning must he sit him down by her side,

When unto the council of elders folk came from far and wide.

And there came Siggeir’s woodmen, and their voice in the hall arose:

“There is no man left on the tree-beam: some beast hath devoured thy foes;

There is nought left there but the bones, and the bonds that the Volsungs bound.”

No word spake the earls of the Goth-folk, but the hall rang out with a sound,

With the wail and the cry of Signy, as she stood upright on her feet,

And thrust all people from her, and fled to her bower as fleet

As the hind when she first is smitten; and her maidens fled away,

Fearing her face and her eyen: no less at the death of the day

She rose up amid the silence, and went her ways alone,

And no man watched her or hindered, for they deemed the story done.

So she went ‘twixt the yellow acres, and the green meads of the sheep,

And or ever she reached the wild-wood the night was waxen deep

No man she had to lead her, but the path was trodden well

By those messengers of murder, the men with the tale to tell;

And the beams of the high white moon gave a glimmering day through night

Till she came where that lawn of the woods lay wide in the flood of light.

Then she looked, and lo, in its midmost a mighty man there stood,

And laboured the earth of the green-sward with a truncheon torn from the wood;

And behold, it was Sigmund the Volsung: but she cried and had no fear:

“If thou art living, Sigmund, what day’s work dost thou here

In the midnight and the forest? but if thou art nought but a ghost,

Then where are those Volsung brethren, of whom thou wert best and most?”

Then he turned about unto her, and his raiment was fouled and torn,

And his eyen were great and hollow, as a famished man forlorn;

But he cried: “Hail, Sister Signy! I looked for thee before,

Though what should a woman compass, she one alone and no more,

When all we shielded Volsungs did nought in Siggeir’s land?

O yea, I am living indeed, and this labour of mine hand

Is to bury the bones of the Volsungs; and lo, it is well-nigh done.

So draw near, Volsung’s daughter, and pile we many a stone

Where lie the grey wolf’s gleanings of what was once so good.”

So she set her hand to the labour, and they toiled, they twain in the wood

And when the work was over, dead night was beginning to fail:

Then spake the white-hand Signy: “Now shalt thou tell the tale

Of the death of the Volsung brethren ere the wood thy wrath shall hide,

Ere I wend me back sick-hearted in the dwelling of kings to abide.”

He said: “We sat on the tree, and well ye may wot indeed

That we had some hope from thy good-will amidst that bitter need.

Now none had ‘scaped the sword-edge in the battle utterly,

And so hurt were Agnar and Helgi, that, unhelped, they were like to die;

Though for that we deemed them happier: but now when the moon shone bright,

And when by a doomed man’s deeming ‘twas the midmost of the night,

Lo, forth from yonder thicket were two mighty wood-wolves come,

Far huger wrought to my deeming than the beasts I knew at home:

Forthright on Gylfi and Geirmund those dogs of the forest fell,

And what of men so hoppled should be the tale to tell?

They tore them midst the irons, and slew them then and there,

And long we heard them snarling o’er that abundant cheer.

Night after night, O my sister, the story was the same,

And still from the dark and the thicket the wild-wood were-wolves came

And slew two men of the Volsungs whom the sword edge might not end.

And every day in the dawning did the King’s own woodmen wend

To behold those craftsmen’s carving and rejoice King Siggeir’s heart.

And so was come last midnight, when I must play my part:

Forsooth when those first were murdered my heart was as blood and fire;

And I deemed that my bonds must burst with my uttermost desire

To free my naked hands, that the vengeance might be wrought;

But now was I wroth with the Gods, that had made the Volsungs for nought

And I said: in the Day of their Doom a man’s help shall they miss;

I will be as a wolf of the forest, if their kings must come to this;

Or if Siggeir indeed be their king, and their envy has brought it about

That dead in the dust lies Volsung, while the last of his seed dies out.

Therewith from out the thicket the grey wolves drew anigh,

And the he-wolf fell on Sigi, but he gave forth never a cry,

And I saw his lips that they smiled, and his steady eyes for a space;

And therewith was the she-wolf’s muzzle thrust into my very face.

The Gods helped not, but I helped; and I too grew wolfish then;

Yea I, who have borne the sword-hilt high mid the kings of men,

I, lord of the golden harness, the flame of the Glittering Heath,

Must snarl to the she-wolf’s snarling, and snap with greedy teeth,

While my hands with the hand-bonds struggled; my teeth took hold the first

And amid her mighty writhing the bonds that bound me burst,

As with Fenrir’s Wolf it shall be: then the beast with the hopples I smote,

When my left hand stiff with the bonds had got her by the throat.

But I turned when I had slain her, and there lay Sigi dead,

And once more to the night of the forest the fretting wolf had fled.

In the thicket I hid till the dawning, and thence I saw the men,

E’en Siggeir’s heart-rejoicers, come back to the place again

To gather the well-loved tidings: I looked and I knew for sooth

How hate had grown in my bosom and the death of my days of ruth:

Though unslain they departed from me, lest Siggeir come to doubt.

But hereafter, yea hereafter, they that turned the world about,

And raised Hell’s abode o’er God-home, and mocked all men-folk’s worth—

Shall my hand turn back or falter, while these abide on earth,

Because I once was a child, and sat on my father’s knees;

But long methinks shall Siggeir bide merrily at ease

In the high-built house of the Goths, with his shielded earls around,

His warders of day and of night-tide, and his world of peopled ground,

While his foe is a swordless outcast, a hunted beast of the wood,

A wolf of the holy places, where men-folk gather for good.

And didst thou think, my sister, when we sat in our summer bliss

Beneath the boughs of the Branstock, that the world was like to this?”

As the moon and the twilight mingled, she stood with kindling eyes,

And answered and said: “My brother, thou art strong, and thou shalt be wise:

I am nothing so wroth as thou art with the ways of death and hell,

For thereof had I a deeming when all things were seeming well.

In sooth overlong it may linger; the children of murder shall thrive,

While thy work is a weight for thine heart, and a toil for thy hand to drive;

But I wot that the King of the Goth-folk for his deeds shall surely pay,

And that I shall live to see it: but thy wrath shall pass away,

And long shalt thou live on the earth an exceeding glorious king,

And thy words shall be told in the market, and all men of thy deeds shall sing:

Fresh shall thy memory be, and thine eyes like mine shall gaze

On the day unborn in the darkness, the last of all earthly days,

The last of the days of battle, when the host of the Gods is arrayed

And there is an end for ever of all who were once afraid.

There as thou drawest thy sword, thou shalt think of the days that were,

And the foul shall still seem foul, and the fair shall still seem fair;

But thy wit shall then be awakened, and thou shalt know indeed

Why the brave man’s spear is broken, and his war-shield fails at need;

Why the loving is unbelovèd; why the just man falls from his state;

Why the liar gains in a day what the soothfast strives for late.

Yea, and thy deeds shalt thou know, and great shall thy gladness be;

As a picture all of gold thy life-days shalt thou see,

And know that thou too wert a God to abide through the hurry and haste;

A God in the golden hall, a God on the rain-swept waste,

A God in the battle triumphant, a God on the heap of the slain:

And thine hope shall arise and blossom, and thy love shall be quickened again:

And then shalt thou see before thee the face of all earthly ill;

Thou shalt drink of the cup of awakening that thine hand hath holpen to fill;

By the side of the sons of Odin shalt thou fashion a tale to be told

In the hall of the happy Baldur: nor there shall the tale grow old

Of the days before the changing, e’en those that over us pass.

So harden thine heart, O brother, and set thy brow as the brass!

Thou shalt do, and thy deeds shall be goodly, and the day’s work shall be done

Though nought but the wild deer see it. Nor yet shalt thou be alone

For ever-more in thy waiting; for belike a fearful friend

The long days for thee may fashion, to help thee ere the end.

But now shalt thou bide in the wild-wood, and make thee a lair therein:

Thou art here in the midst of thy foemen, and from them thou well mayst win

Whatso thine heart desireth; yet be thou not too bold,

Lest the tale of the wood-abider too oft to the king be told.

Ere many days are departed again shall I see thy face,

That I may wot full surely of thine abiding-place

To send thee help and comfort; but when that hour is o’er

It were good, O last of the Volsungs, that I see thy face no more,

If so indeed it may be: but the Norns must fashion all,

And what the dawn hath fated on the hour of noon shall fall.”

Then she kissed him and departed, for the day was nigh at hand,

And by then she had left the woodways green lay the horse-fed land

Beneath the new-born daylight, and as she brushed the dew

Betwixt the yellowing acres, all heaven o’erhead was blue.

And at last on that dwelling of Kings the golden sunlight lay,

And the morn and the noon and the even built up another day.

Of the birth and fostering of Sinfiotli, Signy’s Son.

So wrought is the will of King Siggeir, and he weareth Odin’s sword

And it lies on his knees in the council and hath no other lord:

And he sendeth earls o’er the sea-flood to take King Volsung’s land,

And those scattered and shepherdless sheep must come beneath his hand.

And he holdeth the milk-white Signy as his handmaid and his wife.

And nought but his will she doeth, nor raiseth a word of strife;

So his heart is praising his wisdom, and he deems him of most avail

Of all the lords of the cunning that teacheth how to prevail.

Now again in a half-month’s wearing goes Signy into the wild,

And findeth her way by her wisdom to the dwelling of Volsung’s child.

It was e’en as a house of the Dwarfs, a rock, and a stony cave.

In the heart of the midmost thicket by the hidden river’s wave.

There Signy found him watching how the white-head waters ran,

And she said in her heart as she saw him that once more she had seen a man.

His words were few and heavy, for seldom his sorrow slept,

Yet ever his love went with them; and men say that Signy wept

When she left that last of her kindred: yet wept she never more

Amid the earls of Siggeir, and as lovely as before

Was her face to all men’s deeming: nor aught it changed for ruth,

Nor for fear nor any longing; and no man said for sooth

That she ever laughed thereafter till the day of her death was come.

So is Volsung’s seed abiding in a rough and narrow home;

And wargear he gat him enough from the slaying of earls of men,

And gold as much as he would; though indeed but now and again

He fell on the men of the merchants, lest, wax he overbold,

The tale of the wood-abider too oft to the king should be told.

Alone in the woods he abided, and a master of masters was he

In the craft of the smithying folk; and whiles would the hunter see,

Belated amid the thicket, his forge’s glimmering light,

And the boldest of all the fishers would hear his hammer benight.

Then dim waxed the tale of the Volsungs, and the word mid the wood-folk rose

That a King of the Giants had wakened from amidst the stone-hedged close,

Where they slept in the heart of the mountains, and had come adown to dwell

In the cave whence the Dwarfs were departed, and they said: It is aught but well

To come anigh to his house-door, or wander wide in his woods?

For a tyrannous lord he is, and a lover of gold and of goods.

So win the long years over, and still sitteth Signy there

Beside the King of the Goth-folk, and is waxen no less fair,

And men and maids hath she gotten who are ready to work her will,

For the worship of her fairness, and remembrance of her ill.

So it fell on a morn of springtide, as Sigmund sat on the sward

By that ancient house of the Dwarf-kind and fashioned a golden sword?

By the side of the hidden river he saw a damsel stand,

And a manchild of ten summers was holding by her hand.

And she cried:

“O Forest-dweller! harm not the child nor me,

For I bear a word of Signy’s, and thus she saith to thee:

‘I send thee a man to foster; if his heart be good at need

Then may he help thy workday; but hearken my words and heed;

If thou deem that his heart shall avail not, thy work is over-great

That thou weary thy heart with such-like: let him wend the ways of his fate.’”

And no more word spake the maiden, but turned and gat her gone,

And there by the side of the river the child abode alone:

But Sigmund stood on his feet, and across the river he went.

For he knew how the child was Siggeir’s, and of Signy’s fell intent.

So he took the lad on his shoulder, and bade him hold his sword,

And waded back to his dwelling across the rushing ford:

But the youngling fell a prattling, and asked of this and that,

As above the rattle of waters on Sigmund’s shoulder he sat!

And Sigmund deemed in his heart that the boy would be bold enough.

So he fostered him there in the woodland in life full hard and rough

For the space of three months’ wearing; and the lad was deft and strong,

Yet his sight was a grief to Sigmund because of his father’s wrong.

On a morn to the son of King Siggeir Sigmund the Volsung said:

“I go to the hunting of deer, bide thou and bake our bread

Against I bring the venison.”

So forth he fared on his way,

And came again with the quarry about the noon of day;

Quoth he: “Is the morn’s work done?” But the boy said nought for a space,

And all white he was and quaking as he looked on Sigmund’s face.

“Tell me, O Son of the Goth-king,” quoth Sigmund, “how thou hast fared?

Forsooth, is the baking of bread so mighty a thing to be dared?”

Quoth the lad: “I went to the meal-sack, and therein was something quick,

And it moved, and I feared for the serpent, like a winter ashen stick

That I saw on the stone last even: so I durst not deal with the thing.”

Loud Sigmund laughed, and answered: “I have heard of that son of a king,

Who might not be scared from his bread for all the worms of the land.”

And therewith he went to the meal-sack and thrust therein his hand,