The Story of Sigurd the Volsung and the Fall of the Niblungs Part 20

Much marvelled the Son of Sigmund, and rode to the fruitful close: For he said: Here a great one dwelleth, though none have told me thereof, And he shall give me my falcon, and his fellows.h.i.+p and love.

So he came to the gate of the garth, and forth to the hall-door rode, And leapt adown from Greyfell, and entered that fair abode; For full lovely was it fas.h.i.+oned, and great was the pillared hall, And fair in its hangings were woven the deeds that Kings befall, And the merry sun went through it and gleamed in gold and horn; But afield or a-fell are its carles, and none labour there that morn, And void it is of the maidens, and they weave in the bower aloft, Or they go in the outer gardens 'twixt the rose and the lily soft: So saith Sigurd the Volsung, and a door in the corner he spies With knots of gold fair-carven, and the graver's masteries: So he lifts the latch and it opens, and he comes to a marble stair, And aloft by the same he goeth through a tower wrought full fair.

And he comes to a door at its topmost, and lo, a chamber of Kings, And his falcon there by the window with all unruffled wings.

But a woman sits on the high-seat with gold about her head, And ruddy rings on her arms, and the grace of her girdle-stead; And sunlit is her rippled linen, and the green leaves lie at her feet, And e'en as a swan on the billow where the firth and the out-sea meet.

On the dark-blue cloths she sitteth, so fair and softly made Are her limbs by the linen hidden, and so white is she arrayed.

But a web of gold is before her, and therein by her shuttle wrought The early days of the Volsungs and the war by the sea's rim fought, And the crowned queen over Sigmund, and the Helper's pillared hall, And the golden babe uplifted to the eyes of duke and thrall; And there was the slender stripling by the knees of the Dwarf-folk's lord, And the gift of the ancient Gripir, and the forging of the Sword; And there were the coils of Fafnir, and the hooded threat of death, And the King by the cooking-fire, and the fowl of the Glittering Heath; And there was the headless King-smith and the golden halls of the Worm, And the laden Greyfell faring through the land of perished storm; And there was the head of Hindfell, and the flames to the sky-floor driven; And there was the glittering s.h.i.+eld-burg, and the fallow bondage riven; And there was the wakening woman and the golden Volsung done, And they twain o'er the earthly kingdoms in the lonely evening sun: And there were fells and forests, and towns and tossing seas, And the Wrath and the golden Sigurd for ever blent with these, In the midst of the battle triumphant, in the midst of the war-kings'

fall, In the midst of the peace well-conquered, in the midst of the praising hall.

There Sigurd stood and marvelled, for he saw his deeds that had been, And his deeds of the days that should be, fair wrought in the golden sheen: And he looked in the face of the woman, and Brynhild's eyes he knew, But still in the door he tarried, and so glad and fair he grew, That the G.o.ds laughed out in the heavens to see the Volsung's seed; And the breeze blew in from the summer and over Brynhild's weed, Till his heart so swelled with the sweetness that the fair word stayed in his mouth, And a marvel beloved he seemeth, as a s.h.i.+p new-come from the south: And still she longed and beheld him, nor foot nor hand she moved As she marvelled at her gladness, and her love so well beloved.

But at last through the sounds of summer the voice of Sigurd came, And it seemed as a silver trumpet from the house of the fateful fame; And he spake: "Hail, lady and queen! hail, fairest of all the earth!

Is it well with the hap of thy life-days, and thy kin and the house of thy birth?"

She said: "My kin is joyous, and my house is blooming fair, And dead, both root and branches, is the tree of their travail and care."

He spake: "I have longed, I have wondered if thy heart were well at ease, If the hope of thy days had blossomed and born thee fair increase."

"O have thou thanks," said Brynhild, "for thine heart that speaketh kind!

Yea, the hope of my days is accomplished, and no more there is to find."

And again she spake in a s.p.a.ce: "The road hath been weary and long, But well hast thou ridden it, Sigurd, and the sons of G.o.d are strong."

He said: "I have sought, O Brynhild, and found the heart of thine home; And no man hath asked or holpen, and all unbidden I come."

She said: "O welcome hither! for the heart of the King I knew, And thine hope that overcometh, and thy will that nought shall undo."

"Unbidden I came," he answered, "yet it is but a little s.p.a.ce Since I heard thy voice on the mountain, and thy kind lips cherished my face."

She rose from the dark-blue raiment, and trembling there she stood, And no word her lips had gotten that her heart might deem it good: And his heart went forth to meet her, yet nought he moved for a while, Until the G.o.d-kin's laughter brake blooming from a smile And he cried: "It is good, O Brynhild, that we draw exceeding near, Lest Odin mock Kings' children that the doom of fate they fear."

Then forth she stepped from the high-seat, and forth from the threshold he came, Till both their bodies mingling seemed one glory and the same, And far o'er all fulfilment did the souls within them long, As at breast and at lips of the faithful the earthly love strained strong; And fresh from the deeps of the summer the breeze across them blew, But nought of the earth's desire, or the lapse of time they knew.

Then apart, but exceeding nigh, for a little while they stand, Till Brynhild toucheth her lord, and taketh his hand in her hand, And she leadeth him through the chamber, and sitteth down in her seat; And him she setteth beside her, and she saith: "It is right and meet That thou sit in this throne of my fathers, since thy gift today I have: Thou hast given it altogether, nor aught from me wouldst save; And thou knowest the tale of women, how oft it haps on a day That of such gifts men repent them, and their lives are cast away."

He said: "I have cast it away as the tiller casteth the seed, That the summer may better the spring-tide, and the autumn winter's need: For what were the fruit of our lives if apart they needs must pa.s.s, And men shall say hereafter: Woe worth the hope that was!"

She said: "That day shall dawn the best of all earthly days When we sit, we twain, in the high-seat in the hall of the people's praise: Or else, what fruit of our life-days, what fruit of our death shall be?

What fruit, save men's remembrance of the grief of thee and me?"

He said: "It is sharper to bear than the bitter sword in the breast, O woe, to think of it now in the days of our gleaning of rest!"

Said Brynhild: "I bid thee remember the word that I have sworn, How the sun shall turn to blackness, and the last day be outworn, Ere I forget thee, Sigurd, and the kindness of thy face."

And they kissed and the day grew later and noon failed the golden place.

But Sigurd said: "O Brynhild, remember how I swore That the sun should die in the heavens and day come back no more, Ere I forget thy wisdom and thine heart of inmost love.

Lo now, shall I unsay it, though the G.o.ds be great above, Though my life should last for ever, though I die tomorrow morn, Though I win the realm of the world, though I sink to the thrall-folk's scorn?"

She said: "Thou shalt never unsay it, and thy heart is mine indeed: Thou shalt bear my love in thy bosom as thou helpest the earth-folk's need: Thou shalt wake to it dawning by dawning; thou shalt sleep and it shall not be strange: There is none shall thrust between us till our earthly lives shall change.

Ah, my love shall fare as a banner in the hand of thy renown, In the arms of thy fame accomplished shall it lie when we lay us adown.

O deathless fame of Sigurd! O glory of my lord!

O birth of the happy Brynhild to the measureless reward!"

So they sat as the day grew dimmer, and they looked on days to come, And the fair tale speeding onward, and the glories of their home; And they saw their crowned children and the kindred of the kings, And deeds in the world arising and the day of better things; All the earthly exaltation, till their pomp of life should be pa.s.sed, And soft on the bosom of G.o.d their love should be laid at the last.

But when words have a long while failed them, and the night is nigh at hand, They arise in the golden glimmer, and apart and anigh they stand: Then Brynhild stooped to the Wrath, and touched the hilts of the sword, Ere she wound her arms round Sigurd and cherished the lips of her lord: Then sweet were the tears of Brynhild, and fast and fast they fell, And the love that Sigurd uttered, what speech of song may tell?

But he turned and departed from her, and her feet on the threshold abode As he went through the pillared feast-hall, and forth to the night he rode: So he turned toward the dwelling of Heimir and his love and his fame seemed one, And all full-well accomplished, what deeds soe'er were done: And the love that endureth for ever, and the endless hope he bore.

As he faced the change of Heaven and the chance of worldly war.

_Of Sigurd's riding to the Niblungs._

What aileth the men of Lymdale, that their house is all astir?

Shall the hunt be up in the forest, or hath the s.h.i.+eld-hung fir Brought war from the outer ocean to their fish-beloved stream?

Or have the piping shepherds beheld the war-gear gleam Adown the flowery sheep-dales? or betwixt the poplars grey Have the neat-herds seen the banners of the drivers of the prey?

No, the forest shall be empty of the Lymdale men this morn, And the wells of the Lymdale river have heard no battle-horn, Nor the sheep in the flowery hollows seen any painted s.h.i.+eld, And nought from the fear of warriors bide the neat-herds from the field; Yet full is the hall of Heimir with eager earls of war, And the long-locked happy shepherds are gathered round the door, And the smith has left his st.i.thy, and the wife has left her rock, And the bright thrums hang unwinded by the maiden's weaving-stock: And there is the wife and the maiden, the elder and the boy; And scarce shall you tell what moves them, much sorrow or great joy.

But lo, as they gather and hearken by the door of Heimir's hall, The wave of a mighty music on the souls of men doth fall, And they bow their heads and hush them, because for a dear guest's sake Is Heimir's hand in the harp-strings and the ancient song is awake, And the words of the G.o.ds' own fellow, and the hope of days gone by; Then deep is that song-speech laden with the deeds that draw anigh, And many a hope accomplished, and many an unhoped change, And things of all once spoken, now grown exceeding strange; Then keen as the battle-piercer the stringed speech arose, And the hearts of men went with it, as of them that meet the foes; Then soared the song triumphant as o'er the world well won, Till sweet and soft it ended as a rose falls 'neath the sun; But thereafter was there silence till the earls cast up the shout, And the whole house clashed and glittered as the tramp of men bore out, And folk fell back before them; then forth the earl-folk pour, And forth comes Heimir the Ancient and stands by his fathers' door: And then is the feast-hall empty and none therein abides: For forth on the cloudy Greyfell the Son of Sigmund rides, And the Helm of Awe he beareth, and the Mail-coat all of gold, That hath not its like in the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told, And the Wrath to his side is girded, though the peace-strings wind it round, Yet oft and again it singeth, and strange is its sheathed sound: But beneath the King in his war-gear and beneath the wondrous Sword Are the red rings of the Treasure, and the gems of Andvari's h.o.a.rd, And light goes Greyfell beneath it, and oft and o'er again He neighs out hope of battle, for the heart of the beast is fain.

So there sitteth Sigurd the Volsung, and is dight to ride his ways, For the world lies fair before him and the field of the people's praise; And he kisseth the ancient Heimir, and haileth the folk of the land, And he crieth kind and joyous as the reins lie loose in his hand: "Farewell, O folk of Lymdale, and your joy of the summer-tide!

For the acres whiten, meseemeth, and the harvest-field is wide: Who knows of the toil that shall be, when the reaping-hook gleams grey, And the knees of the strong are loosened in the afternoon of day?

Who knows of the joy that shall be, when the reaper cometh again, And his sheaves are crowned with the blossoms, and the song goes up from the wain?

But now let the G.o.ds look to it, to hinder or to speed!

But the love and the longing I know, and I know the hand and the deed."

And he gathered the reins together, and set his face to the road, And the glad steed neighed beneath him as they fared from the King's abode, And out past the dewy closes; but the shouts went up to the sky, Though some for very sorrow forbore the farewell cry, Nor was any man but heavy that the G.o.dlike guest should go; And they craved for that glad heart guileless, and that face without a foe.

But Greyfell fareth onward, and back to the dusky hall Now goeth the ancient Heimir, and back to bower and stall, And back to hammer and shuttle go earl and carle and quean; And piping in the noontide adown the hollows green Go the yellow-headed shepherds amidst the scattered sheep; And all hearts a dear remembrance and a hope of Sigurd keep.

But forth by dale and lealand doth the Son of Sigmund wend, Till far away lies Lymdale and the folk of the forest's end; And he rides a heath unpeopled and holds the westward way, Till a long way off before him come up the mountains grey; Grey, huge beyond all telling, and the host of the heaped clouds, The black and the white together, on that rock-wall's coping crowds; But whiles are rents athwart them, and the hot sun pierceth through, And there glow the angry cloud-caves 'gainst the everlasting blue, And the changeless snow amidst it; but down from that cloudy head The scars of fires that have been show grim and dusky-red; And lower yet are the hollows striped down by the scanty green, And lingering flecks of the cloud-host are tangled there-between, White, pillowy, lit by the sun, unchanged by the drift of the wind.

Long Sigurd looked and marvelled, and up-raised his heart and his mind; For he deemed that beyond that rock-wall bode his changed love and life On the further side of the battle, and the hope, and the s.h.i.+fting strife: So up and down he rideth, till at even of the day A hill's brow he o'ertoppeth that had hid the mountains grey; Huge, blacker they showed than aforetime, white hung the cloud-flecks there, But red was the cloudy crown, for the sun was sinking fair: A wide plain lay beneath him, and a river through it wound Betwixt the lea and the acres, and the misty orchard ground; But forth from the feet of the mountains a ridged hill there ran That upreared at its. .h.i.thermost ending a builded burg of man; And Sigurd deemed in his heart as he looked on the burg from afar, That the high G.o.ds scarce might win it, if thereon they fell with war; So many and great were the walls, so bore the towers on high The threat of guarded battle, and the tale of victory.

Then swift he hasteneth downward, lest day be wholly spent Ere he come to the gate well warded, and the walls' beleaguerment; For his heart is eager to hearken what men-folk therein dwell And the name of that n.o.ble dwelling, and the tale that it hath to tell.

So he rides by the tilth of the acres, 'twixt the overhanging trees, And but seldom now and again a glimpse of the burg he sees, Till he comes to the flood of the river, and looks up from the balks of the bridge; Then how was the plain grown little 'neath that mighty burg of the ridge O'erhung by the cloudy mountains and the ash of another day, Whereto the slopes clomb upward till the green died out in the grey, And the grey in the awful cloud-land, where the red rents went and came Round the snows no summers minish and the far-off sunset flame: But lo, the burg at the ridge-end! have the G.o.ds been building again Since they watched the aimless Giants pile up the wall of the plain, The house for none to dwell in? Or in what days lived the lord Who 'neath those thunder-forges upreared that battle's ward?

Or was not the Smith at his work, and the blast of his forges awake, And the world's heart poured from the mountain for that ancient people's sake?

For as waves on the iron river of the days whereof nothing is told Stood up the many towers, so stark and sharp and cold; But dark-red and worn and ancient as the midmost mountain-sides Is the wall that goeth about them; and its mighty compa.s.s hides Full many a dwelling of man whence the reek now goeth aloft, And the voice of the house-abiders, the sharp sounds blent with the soft: But one house in the midst is unhidden and high up o'er the wall it goes; Aloft in the wind of the mountains its golden roof-ridge glows, And down mid its b.u.t.tressed feet is the wind's voice never still; And the day and the night pa.s.s o'er it and it changes to their will, And whiles is it gla.s.sy and dark, and whiles is it white and dead, And whiles is it grey as the sea-mead, and whiles is it angry red; And it s.h.i.+mmers under the suns.h.i.+ne and grows black to the threat of the storm, And dusk its gold roof glimmers when the rain-clouds over it swarm, And bright in the first of the morning its flame doth it uplift, When the light clouds rend before it and along its furrows drift.

Upriseth the heart of Sigurd, but ever he rideth forth Till he comes to the garth and the gateway built up in the face of the north: Then e'en as a wind from the mountains he heareth the warders' speech, As aloft in the mighty towers they clamour each to each: Then horn to horn blew token, and far and shrill they cried, And he heard, as the fishers hearken the cliff-fowl over the tide: But he rode in under the gate, that was long and dark as a cave Bored out in the isles of the northland by the beat of the restless wave; And the noise of the winds was within it, and the sound of swords unseen, As the night when the host is stirring and the hearts of Kings are keen.

But no man stayed or hindered, and the dusk place knew his smile, And into the court of the warriors he came forth after a while, And looked aloft to the hall-roof, high up and grey as the cloud, For the sun was wholly perished; and there he crieth aloud:

"Ho, men of this mighty burg, to what folk of the world am I come?

And who is the King of battles who dwells in this lordly home?

Or perchance are ye of the Elf-kin? are ye guest-fain, kind at the boards Or murder-churls and destroyers to gain and die by the sword?"

Then the spears in the forecourt glittered and the swords shone over the wall, But the song of smitten harp-strings came faint from the cloudy hall.

And he hearkened a voice and a crying: "The house of Giuki the King, And the Burg of the Niblung people and the heart of their warfaring."

There were many men about him, and the wind in the wall-nook sang, And the spears of the Niblungs glittered, and the swords in the forecourt rang.

But they looked on his face in the even, and they hushed their voices and gazed, For fear and great desire the hearts of men amazed.

Now cometh an earl to King Giuki as he sits in G.o.dlike wise With his sons, the Kings of battle, and his wife of the glittering eyes, And the King cries out at his coming to tell why the watch-horns blew; But the earl saith: "Lord of the people, choose now what thou wilt do; For here is a strange new-comer, and he saith, to thee alone Will he tell of his name and his kindred, and the deeds that his hand hath done.