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

BOOK I.-2

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,