LITMIR.BIZ

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of the days

       Through the dark and the dusk she travailed, till at last in the dawning hour

       Have the deeds of the Volsungs blossomed, and born their latest flower;

       In the bed there lieth a man-child, and his eyes look straight on the sun,

       And lo, the hope of the people, and the days of a king are begun.

      Men say of the serving-women, when they cried on the joy of the morn,

       When they handled the linen raiment, and washed the king new-born,

       When they bore him back unto Hiordis, and the weary and happy breast,

       And bade her be glad to behold it, how the best was sprung from the best,

       Yet they shrank in their rejoicing before the eyes of the child,

       So bright and dreadful were they; yea though the spring morn smiled,

       And a thousand birds were singing round the fair familiar home,

       And still as on other mornings they saw folk go and come,

       Yet the hour seemed awful to them, and the hearts within them burned

       As though of fateful matters their souls were newly learned.

      But Hiordis looked on the Volsung, on her grief and her fond desire,

       And the hope of her heart was quickened, and her joy was a living fire;

       And she said: "Now one of the earthly on the eyes of my child hath gazed

       Nor shrunk before their glory, nor stayed her love amazed:

       I behold thee as Sigmund beholdeth—and I was the home of thine heart—

       Woe's me for the day when thou wert not, and the hour when we shall part!"

      Then she held him a little season on her weary and happy breast

       And she told him of Sigmund and Volsung and the best sprung forth from the best:

       She spake to the new-born baby as one who might understand,

       And told him of Sigmund's battle, and the dead by the sea-flood's strand,

       And of all the wars passed over, and the light with darkness blent.

      So she spake, and the sun rose higher, and her speech at last was spent,

       And she gave him back to the women to bear forth to the people's kings,

       That they too may rejoice in her glory and her day of happy things.

      But there sat the Helper of Men with King Elf and his Earls in the hall,

       And they spake of the deeds that had been, and told of the times to befall,

       And they hearkened and heard sweet voices and the sound of harps draw nigh,

       Till their hearts were exceeding merry and they knew not wherefore or why:

       Then, lo, in the hall white raiment, as thither the damsels came,

       And amid the hands of the foremost was the woven gold aflame.

      "O daughters of earls," said the Helper, "what tidings then do ye bear?

       Is it grief in the merry morning, or joy or wonder or fear?"

      Quoth the first: "It is grief for the foemen that the Masters of God-home would grieve."

      Said the next: "'Tis a wonder of wonders, that the hearkening world shall believe."

      "A fear of all fears," said the third, "for the sword is uplifted on men."

      "A joy of all joys," said the fourth, "once come, and it comes not again!"

      "Lo, son," said the ancient Helper, "glad sit the earls and the lords!

       Lookst thou not for a token of tidings to follow such-like words?"

      Saith King Elf: "Great words of women! or great hath our dwelling become."

      Said the women: "Words shall be greater, when all folk shall praise our home."

      "What then hath betid," said King Elf, "do the high Gods stand in our gate?"

      "Nay," said they, "else were we silent, and they should be telling of fate."

      "Is the bidding come," said the Helper, "that we wend the Gods to see?"

      "Many summers and winters," they said, "ye shall live on the earth, it may be."

      Said a young man: "Will ye be telling that all we shall die no more?"

      "Nay," they answered, "nay, who knoweth but the change may be hard at the door?"

      "Come ships from the sea," said an elder, "with all gifts of the Eastland gold?"

      "Was there less than enough," said the women, "when last our treasure was told?"

      "Speak then," said the ancient Helper, "let the worst and the best be said."

      Quoth they: "'Tis the Queen of the Isle-folk, she is weary-sick on her bed."

      Said King Elf: "Yet ye come rejoicing; what more lieth under the tongue?"

      They said: "The earth is weary: but the tender blade hath sprung,

       That shall wax till beneath its branches fair bloom the meadows green;

       For the Gods and they that were mighty were glad erewhile with the Queen."

      Said King Elf: "How say ye, women? Of a King new-born do ye tell,

       By a God of the Heavens begotten in our fathers' house to dwell?"

      "By a God of the Earth," they answered; "but greater yet is the son,

       Though long were the days of Sigmund, and great are the deeds he hath done."

      Then she with the golden burden to the kingly high-seat stepped

       And away from the new-born baby the purple cloths she swept,

       And cried: "O King of the people, long mayst thou live in bliss,

       As our hearts today are happy! Queen Hiordis sends thee this,

       And she saith that the world shall call it by the name that thou shalt name;

       Now the gift to thee is given, and to thee is brought the fame."

      Then e'en as a man astonied King Elf the Volsung took,

       While his feast-hall's ancient timbers with the cry of the earl-folk shook;

       For the eyes of the child gleamed on him till he was as one who sees

       The very Gods arising mid their carven images:

      To his ears there came a murmur of far seas beneath the wind

       And the tramp of fierce-eyed warriors through the outland forest blind;

       The sound of hosts of battle, cries round the hoisted shield,

       Low talk of the gathered wise-ones in the Goth-folk's holy field:

       So the thought in a little moment through King Elf the mighty ran

       Of the years and their building and burden, and toil of the sons of man,

       The joy of folk and their sorrow, and the hope of deeds to do:

       With the love of many peoples was the wise king smitten through,

       As he hung o'er the new-born Volsung: but at last he raised his head,

       And looked forth kind o'er his people, and spake aloud and said:

      "O Sigmund King of Battle; O man of many days,

       Whom I saw mid the shields of the fallen and the dead men's silent praise,

       Lo, how hath the dark tide perished and the dawn of day begun!

       And now, O mighty Sigmund, wherewith shall we name thy son?"

      But there rose up a man most ancient, and he

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