LITMIR.BIZ

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Till they come to the hidden river, and the glimmering house they know.

      There now they abide in peace, and wend abroad no more

       Till the last of the nine days perished, and the spell for a space was o'er,

       And they might cast their wolf-shapes: so they stood on their feet upright

       Great men again as aforetime, and they came forth into the light

       And looked in each other's faces, and belike a change was there

       Since they did on the bodies of wolves, and lay in the wood-wolves' lair,

       And they looked, and sore they wondered, and they both for speech did yearn.

      First then spake out Sinfiotli: "Sure I had a craft to learn,

       And thou hadst a lesson to teach, that I left the dwelling of kings,

       And came to the wood-wolves' dwelling; thou hast taught me many things

       But the Gods have taught me more, and at last have abased us both,

       That of nought that lieth before us our hearts and our hands may be loth.

       Come then, how long shall I tarry till I fashion something great?

       Come, Master, and make me a master that I do the deeds of fate."

      Heavy was Sigmund's visage but fierce did his eyen glow,

       "This is the deed of thy mastery;—we twain shall slay my foe—

       And how if the foe were thy father?"—

       Then he telleth him Siggeir's tale:

       And saith: "Now think upon it; how shall thine heart avail

       To bear the curse that cometh if thy life endureth long—

       The man that slew his father and amended wrong with wrong?

       Yet if the Gods have made thee a man unlike all men,

       (For thou startest not, nor palest), can I forbear it then,

       To use the thing they have fashioned lest the Volsung seed should die

       And unavenged King Volsung in his mound by the sea-strand lie?"

      Then loud laughed out Sinfiotli, and he said: "I wot indeed

       That Signy is my mother, and her will I help at need:

       Is the fox of the King-folk my father, that adder of the brake,

       Who gave me never a blessing, and many a cursing spake?

       Yea, have I in sooth a father, save him that cherished my life,

       The Lord of the Helm of Terror, the King of the Flame of Strife?

       Lo now my hand is ready to strike what stroke thou wilt,

       For I am the sword of the Gods: and thine hand shall hold the hilt."

      Fierce glowed the eyes of King Sigmund, for he knew the time was come

       When the curse King Siggeir fashioned at last shall seek him home:

       And of what shall follow after, be it evil days, or bliss,

       Or praise, or the cursing of all men—the Gods shall see to this.

Of the slaying of Siggeir the Goth-king.

      So there are those kings abiding, and they think of nought but the day

       When the time at last shall serve them, to wend on the perilous way.

       And so in the first of winter, when nights grow long and mirk,

       They fare unto Siggeir's dwelling and seek wherein to lurk.

       And by hap 'twas the tide of twilight, ere the watch of the night was set

       And the watch of the day was departed, as Sinfiotli minded yet

       So now by a passage he wotted they gat them into the bower

       Where lay the biggest wine-tuns, and there they abode the hour:

       Anigh to the hall it was, but no man came thereto,

       But now and again the cup-lord when King Siggeir's wine he drew:

       Yea and so nigh to the feast-hall, that they saw the torches shine

       When the cup-lord was departed with King Siggeir's dear-bought wine,

       And they heard the glee of the people, and the horns and the beakers' din,

       When the feast was dight in the hall and the earls were merry therein.

       Calm was the face of Sigmund, and clear were his eyes and bright;

       But Sinfiotli gnawed on his shield-rim, and his face was haggard and white:

       For he deemed the time full long, ere the fallow blades should leap

       In the hush of the midnight feast-hall o'er King Siggeir's golden sleep.

      Now it fell that two little children, Queen Signy's youngest-born,

       Were about the hall that even, and amid the glee of the horn

       They played with a golden toy, and trundled it here and there,

       And thus to that lurking-bower they drew exceeding near,

       When there fell a ring from their toy, and swiftly rolled away

       And into the place of the wine-tuns, and by Sigmund's feet made stay;

       Then the little ones followed after, and came to the lurking-place

       Where lay those night-abiders, and met them face to face,

       And fled, ere they might hold them, aback to the thronging hall.

      Then leapt those twain to their feet lest the sword and the murder fall

       On their hearts in their narrow lair and they die without a stroke;

       But e'en as they met the torch-light and the din and tumult of folk,

       Lo there on the very threshold did Signy the Volsung stand,

       And one of her last-born children she had on either hand;

       For the children had cried: "We have seen them—those two among the wine,

       And their hats are wide and white, and their garments tinkle and shine."

       So while men ran to their weapons, those children Signy took,

       And went to meet her kinsmen: then once more did Sigmund look

       On the face of his father's daughter, and kind of heart he grew,

       As the clash of the coming battle anigh the doomed men drew:

       But wan and fell was Signy; and she cried:

       "The end is near!

       —And thou with the smile on thy face and the joyful eyes and clear!

       But with these thy two betrayers first stain the edge of fight,

       For why should the fruit of my body outlive my soul tonight?"

      But he cried in the front of the spear-hedge; "Nay this shall be far from me

       To slay thy children sackless, though my death belike they be.

       Now men will be dealing, sister, and old the night is grown,

       And fair in the house of my fathers the benches are bestrown."

      So she stood aside and gazed: but Sinfiotli taketh them up

       And breaketh each tender body as a drunkard breaketh a cup;

       With a dreadful voice he crieth, and casteth them down the hall,

       And the Goth-folk sunder before them, and at Siggeir's feet they fall.

      But the fallow blades leapt naked, and on the battle came,

       As the tide of the winter ocean sweeps up to the beaconing flame.

       But firm

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