The Story of the Volsungs (Volsunga Saga); with Excerpts from the Poetic Edda by - (e book reader free txt) 📗

Went baleful fate. Alone, abroad, She sat of an evening, Of full many things She fall a-talking: "O for my Sigurd! I shall have death, Or my fair, my lovely, Laid in mine arms. "For the word once spoken, I sorrow sorely— His queen is Gudrun, I am wed to Gunnar; The dread Norns wrought for us A long while of woe." Oft with heart deep In dreadful thoughts, O'er ice-fields and ice-hills She fared a-night time, When he and Gudrun Were gone to their fair bed, And Sigurd wrapped The bed-gear round her. "Ah! Now the Hun King His queen in arms holdeth, While love I go lacking, And all things longed for With no delight But in dreadful thought." These dreadful things Thrust her toward murder: —"Listen, Gunnar, For thou shalt lose My wide lands, Yea, me myself! Never love I my life, With thee for my lord— "I will fare back thither From whence I came, To my nighest kin And those that know me There shall I sit Sleeping my life away, Unless thou slayest Sigurd the Hun King, Making thy might more E'en than his might was! "Yea, let the son fare After the father, And no young wolf A long while nourish! For on earth man lieth Vengeance lighter, And peace shall be surer If the son live not." Adrad was Gunnar, Heavy-hearted was he, And in doubtful mood Day-long he sat. For naught he wotted, Nor might see clearly What was the seemliest Of deeds to set hand to; What of all deeds Was best to be done: For he minded the vows Sworn to the Volsung, And the sore wrong To be wrought against Sigurd. Wavered his mind A weary while, No wont it was Of those days worn by, That queens should flee From the realms of their kings. "Brynhild to me Is better than all, The child of Budli Is the best of women. Yea, and my life Will I lay down, Ere I am twinned From that woman's treasure." He bade call Hogni To the place where he bided; With all the trust that might be, Trowed he in him. "Wilt thou bewray Sigurd For his wealth's sake? Good it is to rule O'er the Rhine's metal; And well content Great wealth to wield, Biding in peace And blissful days." One thing alone Hogni Had for an answer: "Such doings for us Are naught seemly to do; To rend with sword Oaths once sworn, Oaths once sworn, And troth once plighted. "Nor know we on mould, Men of happier days, The while we four Rule over the folk; While the bold in battle, The Hun King, bides living. "And no nobler kin Shall be known afield, If our five sons We long may foster; Yea, a goodly stem Shall surely wax. —But I clearly see In what wise it standeth, Brynhild's sore urging O'ermuch on thee beareth. "Guttorm shall we Get for the slaying, Our younger brother Bare of wisdom; For he was out of All the oaths sworn, All the oaths sworn, And the plighted troth." Easy to rouse him Who of naught recketh! —Deep stood the sword In the heart of Sigurd. There, in the hall, Gat the high-hearted vengeance; For he can his sword At the reckless slayer: Out at Guttorm Flew Gram the mighty, The gleaming steel From Sigurd's hand. Down fell the slayer Smitten asunder; The heavy head And the hands fell one way, But the feet and such like Aback where they stood. Gudrun was sleeping Soft in the bed, Empty of sorrow By the side of Sigurd: When she awoke With all pleasure gone, Swimming in blood Of Frey's beloved. So sore her hands She smote together, That the great-hearted Gat raised in bed; —"O Gudrun, weep not So woefully, Sweet lovely bride, For thy brethren live for thee! "A young child have I For heritor; Too young to win forth From the house of his foes.— Black deeds and ill Have they been a-doing, Evil rede Have they wrought at last. "Late, late, rideth with them Unto the Thing, Such sister's son, Though seven thou bear,— —But well I wot Which way all goeth; Alone wrought Brynhild This bale against us. "That maiden loved me Far before all men, Yet wrong to Gunnar I never wrought; Brotherhood I heeded And all bounden oaths, That none should deem me His queen's darling." Weary sighed Gudrun, As the king gat ending, And so sore her hands She smote together, That the cups arow Rang out therewith, And the geese cried on high That were in the homefield. Then laughed Brynhild Budli's daughter, Once, once only, From out her heart; When to her bed Was borne the sound Of the sore greeting Of Giuki's daughter. Then, quoth Gunnar, The king, the hawk-bearer, "Whereas, thou laughest, O hateful woman, Glad on thy bed, No good it betokeneth: Why lackest thou else Thy lovely hue? Feeder of foul deeds, Fey do I deem thee, "Well worthy art thou Before all women, That thine eyes should see Atli slain of us; That thy brother's wounds Thou shouldest see a-bleeding, That his bloody hurts Thine hands should bind." "No man blameth thee, Gunnar, Thou hast fulfilled death's measure But naught Atli feareth All thine ill will; Life shall he lay down Later than ye, And still bear more might Aloft than thy might. "I shall tell thee, Gunnar, Though well the tale thou knowest, In what early days Ye dealt abroad your wrong: Young was I then, Worn with no woe, Good wealth I had In the house of my brother! "No mind had I That a man should have me, Or ever ye Giukings, Rode into our garth; There ye sat on your steeds Three kings of the people— —Ah! That that faring Had never befallen! "Then spake Atli To me apart, And said that no wealth He would give unto me, Neither gold nor lands If I would not be wedded;