Part 24 (1/2)

_Sigurd rideth with the Niblungs, and wooeth Brynhild for King Gunnar._

Now it fell on a day of the spring-tide that followed on these things, That Sigurd fares to the meadows with Gunnar and Hogni the Kings; For afar is Guttorm the youngest, and he sails the Eastern Seas, And fares with war-s.h.i.+eld hoisted to win him fame's increase.

So come the Kings to the Doom-ring, and the people's Hallowed Field, And no dwelling of man is anigh it, and no acre forced to yield; There stay those Kings of the people alone in weed of war, And they cut a strip of the greensward on the meadow's daisied floor, And loosen it clean in the midst, while its ends in the earth abide; Then they heave its midmost aloft, and set on either side An ancient spear of battle writ round with words of worth; And these are the posts of the door, whose threshold is of the earth And the skin of the earth is its lintel: but with war-glaives gleaming bare The Niblung Kings and Sigurd beneath the earth-yoke fare; Then each an arm-vein openeth, and their blended blood falls down On Earth the fruitful Mother where they rent her turfy gown: And then, when the blood of the Volsungs hath run with the Niblung blood, They kneel with their hands upon it and swear the brotherhood: Each man at his brother's bidding to come with the blade in his hand, Though the fire and the flood should sunder, and the very G.o.ds withstand: Each man to love and cherish his brother's hope and will; Each man to avenge his brother when the Norns his fate fulfill: And now are they foster-brethren, and in such wise have they sworn As the G.o.d-born Goths of aforetime, when the world was newly born.

But among the folk of the Niblungs goes forth the tale of the same, And men deem the tidings a glory and the garland of their fame.

So is Sigurd yet with the Niblungs, and he loveth Gudrun his wife, And wendeth afield with the brethren to the days of the dooming of life; And nought his glory waneth, nor falleth the flood of praise: To every man he hearkeneth, nor gainsayeth any grace, And glad is the poor in the Doom-ring when he seeth his face mid the Kings, For the tangle straighteneth before him, and the maze of crooked things.

But the smile is departed from him, and the laugh of Sigurd the young, And of few words now is he waxen, and his songs are seldom sung.

Howbeit of all the sad-faced was Sigurd loved the best; And men say: Is the king's heart mighty beyond all hope of rest?

Lo, how he beareth the people! how heavy their woes are grown!

So oft were a G.o.d mid the Goth-folk, if he dwelt in the world alone.

Now Giuki the King of the Niblungs must change his life at the last, And they lay him down in the mountains and a great mound over him cast: For thus had he said in his life-days: ”When my hand from the people shall fade, Up there on the side of the mountains shall the King of the Niblungs be laid, Whence one seeth the plain of the tillage and the fields where man-folk go; Then whiles in the dawn's awakening, when the day-wind riseth to blow, Shall I see the war-gates opening, and the joy of my s.h.i.+elded men As they look to the field of the dooming: and whiles in the even again Shall I see the spoil come homeward, and the host of the Niblungs pour Through the gates that the Dwarf-folk builded and the well-beloved door.”

So there lieth Giuki the King, mid steel and the glimmer of gold, As the sound of the feastful Niblungs round his misty house is rolled: But Gunnar is King of the people, and the chief of the Niblung land; A man beloved for his mercy, and his might and his open hand; A glorious king in the battle, a hearkener at the doom, A singer to sing the sun up from the heart of the midnight gloom.

On a day sit the Kings in the high-seat when Grimhild saith to her son: ”O Gunnar, King beloved, a fair life hast thou won; On the flood, in the field hast thou wrought, and hung the chambers with gold; Far abroad mid many a people are the tidings of thee told: Now do a deed for thy mother and the hallowed Niblung hearth, Lest the house of the mighty perish, and our tale grow wan with dearth.

If thou do the deed that I bid thee, and wed a wife of the Kings, No less shalt thou cleave the war-helms and scatter the ruddy rings.”

He said: ”Meseemeth, mother, thou speaketh not in haste, But hast sought and found beforehand, lest thy fair words fall to waste.”

She said: ”Thou sayest the sooth; I have found the thing I sought: A Maid for thee is shapen, and a Queen for thee is wrought: In the waste land hard by Lymdale a marvellous hall is built, With its roof of the red gold beaten, and its wall-stones over-gilt: Afar o'er the heath men see it, but no man draweth nigher, For the garth that goeth about it is nought but the roaring fire, A white wall waving aloft; and no window nor wicket is there, Whereby the s.h.i.+elded earl-folk or the sons of the merchants may fare: But few things from me are hidden, and I know in that hall of gold Sits Brynhild, white as a wild-swan where the foamless seas are rolled; And the daughter of Kings of the world, and the sister of Queens is she, And wise, and Odin's Chooser, and the Breath of Victory: But for this cause sitteth she thus in the ring of the Wavering Flame, That no son of the Kings will she wed save the mightiest master of fame, And the man who knoweth not fear, and the man foredoomed of fate To ride through her Wavering Fire to the door of her golden gate: And for him she sitteth and waiteth, and him shall she cherish and love, Though the Kings of the world should withstand it, and the G.o.ds that sit above.

Speak thou, O mighty Gunnar!--nay rather, Sigurd my son, Say who but the lord of the Niblungs should wed with this glorious one?”

Long Sigurd gazeth upon her, and slow he sayeth again: ”I know thy will, my mother; of all the sons of men, Of all the Kings unwedded, and the kindred of the great, It is meet that my brother Gunnar should ride to her golden gate.”

Then laughed Gunnar and answered: ”May a king of the people fear?

May a king of the harp and the hall-glee hold such a maid but dear?

Yet nought have I and my kindred to do with fateful deeds; Lo, how the fair earth bloometh, and the field fulfilleth our needs, And our swords rust not in our scabbards, and our steeds bide not in the stall, And oft are the s.h.i.+elds of the Niblungs drawn clanking down from the wall; And I sit by my brother Sigurd, and no ill there is in our life, And the harp and the sword is beside me, and I joy in the peace and the strife.

So I live, till at last in the sword-play midst the uttermost longing of fame I shall change my life and be merry, and leave no hated name.

Yet nevertheless, my mother, since the word has thus gone forth, And I wot of thy great desire, I will reach at this garland of worth; And I bid you, Kings and Brethren, with the wooer of Queens to ride, That ye tell of the thing hereafter, and the deeds that shall betide.”

”It were well, O Son,” said Grimhild, ”in such fellows.h.i.+p to fare; But not today nor tomorrow; the hearts of the G.o.ds would I wear, And know of the will of the Norns; for a mighty matter is this, And a deed all lands shall tell of, and the hope of the Niblung bliss.”

So apart for long dwelt Grimhild, and mingled the might of the earth With the deeds of the chilly sea, and the heart of the cloudland's dearth; And all these with the wine she mingled, and sore guile was set therein, Blindness, and strong compelling for such as dared to win: And she gave the drink to her sons; and withal unto Gunnar she spake, And told him tales of the King-folk, and smote desire awake; Till many a time he bethinks him of the Maiden sitting alone, And the Queen that was shapen for him; till a dream of the night is she grown, And a tale of the day's desire, and the crown of all his praise: And the net of the Norns was about him, and the snare was spread in his ways, And his mother's will was spurring adown the way they would; For she was the wise of women and the framer of evil and good.

In the May-morn riseth Gunnar with fair face and gleaming eyes, And he calleth on Sigurd his brother, and he calleth on Hogni the wise: ”Today shall we fare to the wooing, for so doth our mother bid; We shall go to gaze on marvels, and things from the King-folk hid.”

So they do on the best of their war-gear, and their steeds are dight for the road, And forth to the sun neigheth Greyfell as he neighed 'neath the Golden Load: But or ever they leap to the saddle, while yet in the door they stand, Thereto cometh Grimhild the wise-wife, and on each head layeth her hand, As she saith: ”Be mighty and wise, as the kings that came before!

For they knew of the ways of the G.o.ds, and the craft of the G.o.ds they bore: And they knew how the shapes of man-folk are the very images Of the hearts that abide within them, and they knew of the shaping of these.

Be wise and mighty, O Kings, and look in mine heart and behold The craft that prevaileth o'er semblance, and the treasured wisdom of old!

I hallow you thus for the day, and I hallow you thus for the night, And I hallow you thus for the dawning with my fathers' hidden might.

Go now, for ye bear my will while I sit in the hall and spin; And tonight shall be the weaving, and tomorn the web shall ye win.”

So they leap to the saddles aloft, and they ride and speak no word, But the hills and the dales are awakened by the clink of the sheathed sword: None looks in the face of the other, but the earth and the heavens gaze, And behold those kings of battle ride down the dusty ways.

So they come to the Waste of Lymdale when the afternoon is begun, And afar they see the flame-blink on the grey sky under the sun: And they spur and speak no word, and no man to his fellow will turn; But they see the hills draw upward and the earth beginning to burn: And they ride, and the eve is coming, and the sun hangs low o'er the earth, And the red flame roars up to it from the midst of the desert's dearth.

None turns or speaks to his brother, but the Wrath gleams bare and red, And blood-red is the Helm of Aweing on the golden Sigurd's head, And bare is the blade of Gunnar, and the first of the three he rides, And the wavering wall is before him and the golden sun it hides.

Then the heart of a king's son failed not, but he tossed his sword on high And laughed as he spurred for the fire, and cried the Niblung cry; But the mare's son saw and imagined, and the battle-eager steed, That so oft had pierced the spear-hedge and never failed at need, Shrank back, and shrieked in his terror, and spite of spur and rein Fled fast as the foals unbitted on Odin's pasturing plain; Wide then he wheeled with Gunnar, but with hand and knee he dealt, And the voice of a lord beloved, till the steed his master felt, And bore him back to the brethren; by Greyfell Sigurd stood, And stared at the heart of the fire, and his helm was red as blood; But Hogni sat in his saddle, and watched the flames up-roll; And he said: ”Thy steed has failed thee that was once the n.o.blest foal In the pastures of King Giuki; but since thine heart fails not, And thou wouldst not get thee backward and say, The fire was hot, And the voices pent within it were singing nought but death, Let Sigurd lend thee his steed that wore the Glittering Heath, And carried the Bed of the Serpent, and the ancient ruddy rings.