THE STORY OF SIGURD THE VOLSUNG
Written In Verse By
WILLIAM MORRIS
With Portions Condensed Into Prose by Winifred Turner, B.A.
Late Assistant Mistress, Ware Grammar School For Girls
And
Helen Scott, M.A.
1922
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION
By J. W. Mackail
William Morris, one of the most eminent imaginative writers of the
Victorian age, differs from most other poets and men of letters in
two ways--first, he did great work in many other things as well as in
literature; secondly, he had beliefs of his own about the meaning and
conduct of life, about all that men think and do and make, very
different from those of ordinary people, and he carried out these
views in his writings as well as in all the other work he did
throughout his life.
He was born in 1834. His father, a member of a business firm in the
City of London, was a wealthy man and lived in Essex, in a country
house with large gardens and fields belonging to it, on the edge of
Epping Forest. Until the age of thirteen Morris was at home among a
large family of brothers and sisters. He delighted in the country
life and especially in the Forest, which is one of the most romantic
parts of England, and which he made the scene of many real and
imaginary adventures. From fourteen to eighteen he was at school at
Marlborough among the Wiltshire downs, in a country full of beauty and
history, and close to another of the ancient forests of England, that
of Savernake. He proceeded from school to Exeter College, Oxford,
where he soon formed a close friendship with a remarkable set of young
men of his own age; chief among these, and Morris's closest friend for
the rest of his life, was Edward Burne-Jones, the painter. Study of
the works of John Ruskin confirmed them in the admiration which they
already felt for the life and art of the Middle Ages. In the summer
vacation of 1855 the two friends went to Northern France to see the
beautiful towns and splendid churches with which that country had been
filled between the eleventh and the fifteenth centuries; and there
they made up their minds that they cared for art more than for
anything else, such as wealth or ease or the opinion of the world,
and that as soon as they left Oxford they would become artists.
By art they meant the making of beauty for the adornment and
enrichment of human life, and as artists they meant to strive against
all that was ugly or mean or untruthful in the life of their own time.
Art, as they understood it, is one single thing covering the whole
of life but practised in many special forms that differ one from
another. Among these many forms of art there are two of principal
importance. One of the two is the art which is concerned with the
making and adorning of the houses in which men and women live; that is
to say, architecture, with all its attendant arts of decoration,
including sculpture, painting, the designing and ornamenting of
metal, wood and glass, carpets, paper-hangings, woven, dyed and
embroidered cloths of all kinds, and all the furniture which a house
may have for use or pleasure. The other is the art which is concerned
with the making and adorning of stories in prose and verse. Both of
these kinds of art were practised by Morris throughout his life. The
former was his principal occupation; he made his living by it, and
built up in it a business which alone made him famous, and which has
had a great influence towards bringing more beauty into daily domestic
life in England and in other countries also. His profession was thus
that of a manufacturer, designer, and decorator. When he had to
describe himself by a single word, he called himself a designer. But
it is the latter branch of his art which principally concerns us now,
the art of a maker and adorner of stories. He became famous in this
kind of art also, both in prose and verse, as a romance-writer and a
poet. But he spoke of it as play rather than work, and although he
spent much time and great pains on it, he regarded it as relaxation
from the harder and more constant work of his life, which was carrying
on the business of designing, painting, weaving, dyeing, printing and
other occupations of that kind. In later life he also gave much of his
time to political and social work, with the object of bringing back
mankind into a path from which they had strayed since the end of the
Middle Ages, and creating a state of society in which art, by the
people and for the people, a joy to the maker and the user, might be
naturally, easily, and universally produced.
Even as a boy Morris had been noted for his love of reading and
inventing tales; but he did not begin to write any until he had been
for a couple of years at Oxford. His earliest poems and his earliest
written prose tales belong to the same year, 1855, in which he
determined to make art his profession. The first of either that he
published appeared in the Oxford and Cambridge Magazine, which was
started and managed by him and his friends in 1856. In 1858, after he
had left Oxford, he brought out a volume of poems called, after the
title of the first poem in the book, "The Defence of Guenevere." Soon
afterwards he founded, with some of his old Oxford friends and others
whom he had made in London, among whom Dante Gabriel Rossetti was the
leading spirit, the firm of Morris and Company, manufacturers and
decorators. His business, in which he was the principal and finally
the sole partner, took up the main part of his time. He had also
married, and built himself a beautiful small house in Kent, the
decoration of which went busily on for several years. Among all these
other occupations he almost gave up writing stories, but never ceased
reading and thinking about them. In 1865 he came back to live in
London, where, being close to his work, he had more leisure for other
things; and between 1865 and 1870 he wrote between thirty and forty
tales in verse, containing not less than seventy or eighty thousand
lines in all. The longest of these tales, "The Life and Death of
Jason," appeared in 1867. It is the old Greek story of the ship Argo
and the voyage in quest of the Golden Fleece. Twenty-five other tales
are included in "The Earthly Paradise," published in three parts
between 1868 and 1870.
During these years Morris learned Icelandic, and his next published
works were translations of some of the Icelandic sagas, writings
composed from six to nine hundred years ago, and containing a mass of
legends, histories and romances finely told in a noble language. These
translations were followed in 1876 by his great epic poem, "Sigurd the
Volsung and the Fall of the Niblungs." In that poem he retold a story
of which an Icelandic version, the "Volsunga Saga," written in the
twelfth century, is one of the world's masterpieces. It is the great
epic of Northern Europe, just as the "Iliad" and "Odyssey" of Homer
are the chief epics of ancient Greece, and the "├ćneid" of Virgil the
chief epic of the Roman Empire. Morris's love for these great stories
of ancient times led him to rewrite the tale of the Volsungs and
Niblungs, which he reckoned the finest of them all, more fully and on
a larger scale than it had ever been written before. He had already,
in 1875, translated the "├ćneid" into verse, and some ten years later,
in 1886-87, he also made a verse translation of the "Odyssey." In 1873
he had also written another very beautiful poem, "Love is Enough,"
containing the story of three pairs of lovers, a countryman and
country-woman, an emperor and empress, and a prince and peasant girl.
This poem was written in the form of a play, not of a narrative.
To write prose was at first for Morris more difficult than to write
poetry. Verse came naturally to him, and he composed in prose only
with much effort until after long practice. Except for his early tales
in the Oxford and Cambridge Magazine and his translations of Icelandic
sagas, he wrote little but poetry until the year 1882. About that time
he began to give lectures and addresses, and wrote them in great
numbers during the latter part of his life. A number of them were
collected and published in two volumes called "Hopes and Fears for
Art" and "Signs of Change," and many others have been published
separately. He thus gradually accustomed himself to prose composition.
For several years he was too busy with other things, which he thought
more important, to spend time on storytelling; but his instinct forced
itself out again, and in 1886 he began the series of romances in prose
or in mixed prose and verse which went on during the next ten years.
The chief of these are, "A Dream of John Ball," "The House of
Wolfings," "The Roots of the Mountains," "News from Nowhere," "The
Glittering Plain," "The Wood beyond the World," "The Well at the
World's End," "The Water of the Wondrous Isles," and "The Sundering
Flood." During the same years he also translated, out of
Icelandic and old French books, more of the stories which he had
long known and admired. "The Sundering Flood" was written in his last
illness, and finished by him within a few days of his death, in the
autumn of 1896.
INTRODUCTION TO SIGURD
By The Editors
The story of Sigurd is important to English people not only for its
wondrous beauty, but also on account of its great age, and of what it
tells us about our own Viking ancestors, who first knew the story.
The tale was known all over the north of Europe, in Denmark, in
Germany, in Norway and Sweden, and in Iceland, hundreds of years
before it was written down. Sometimes different names were given to
the characters, sometimes the events of the story were slightly
altered, but in the main points it was one and the same tale.
If we look at a map of Europe showing the nations as they were rather
more than a thousand years ago, we see the names of Saxons, Goths,
Danes, and Frisians marked on the lands around the Baltic Sea. Those
who bore these names were the makers of the tale of Sigurd. The name
of the Saxons is, of course, the best known to us, and next in
importance come the people we call Danes, or Northmen, or Vikings, who
attacked the coasts of the Saxon kingdoms in England. The Saxons came
from part of the land that is now known as Germany, and the Vikings
from Denmark and from Scandinavia.
A third important tribe was that of the Goths, who dwelt first in
South Sweden, and then in Germany.
All these people resembled one another in their way of life, in their
religion, and in their ideas of what deeds were good and what were
evil. Their lands were barren--too mountainous or too cold to bring
forth fruitful crops, and their homes were not such as would tempt men
never to leave them. So, though they built their little groups of
wooden houses in the valleys of their lands, and made fields and
pastures about them, these were often left to the care of the women
and the feeble men, while the strong men made raids over the sea to
other countries, where they engaged in the fighting which they loved,
and whence they brought back plunder to their homes. North, South,
East, and West they went, till few parts of Europe had not learnt to
know and fear them.
Their ships were long and narrow, driven often by oars as well as
sails, and outside them, along the bulwarks, the crew hung their round
shields made of yellow wood from the lime-tree. The men wore byrnies
or breast-plates, and helmets, and they were armed with swords, long
spears, or heavy battle-axes. They were enemies none could afford to
despise, for they had great stature and strength of body, joined to
such fierceness and delight in war that they held a man disgraced if
he died peacefully at home. Moreover, they knew nothing of mercy to
the conquered.
Courage, not only to fight, but also to bear suffering without
impatience or complaint, and the virtue of faithfulness were the
qualities they most honoured. To be wanting in courage was disgraceful
in their eyes, but it was equally disgraceful to refuse to help
kinsfolk, to lie, to deceive, or to desert a chief.
If they put their enemies to death with fearful tortures, they did not
treat them more severely than the traitors they discovered among
themselves, and if they had no pity for those they conquered, yet they
knew well how to admire great leaders, and how to serve them
faithfully. But we can best realise their ideas on these matters by
considering their religion and their stories.
They worshipped one chief god, Odin, and other gods and goddesses who
were his children. Odin was often called All-father because he was the
helper and friend of human beings, and appeared on earth in the form
of an old man, "one-eyed and seeming ancient," with cloud-blue hood
and grey cloak. He had courage, strength, and wondrous wisdom, for he
knew all events that happened in the world, and he understood the
speech of birds, and all kinds of charms and magic arts. Men served
him by brave fighting in a good cause, and when they perished in
battle he received their souls in his dwelling of Valhalla in the city
of Asgard, where they spent each day in warfare, and where at evening
the dead were revived, the wounded healed, and all feasted together in
Odin's palace. There they fed upon the flesh of the boar Saehrimner,
which was renewed as fast as it was eaten. Certain maidens called
Valkyrie, or Choosers of the Slain, were Odin's messengers whom he
sent forth into the battles of the world to find the warriors whom he
had appointed to die, and to bring them to Valhalla.
In the story of Sigurd Odin has a very important part to play, but
for the understanding of the tale it is necessary to know something
about another of the gods. This is Loki, who, though sprung from the
race of the giants, yet lived with the sons of Odin in Asgard,
behaving sometimes as their trusty helper, but more often as their
cunning enemy. He caused much wretchedness, not only among the gods,
but on earth also, for he delighted in the sight of misery. His vices
were all those most hateful to the Norse people, for he was before
all things a liar, a deceiver, a faith-breaker, a skilful worker of
mischief by guile instead of by fair fight. There are many stories of
his cunning thefts, of the miseries he wrought among his companions,
and of his envy of the beloved god Balder, whom he slew by a trick.
His children were terrible monsters, as hated as himself. Yet,
strange to say, Loki was Odin's companion in many of his adventures.
The gods inhabited Asgard, a city standing on a high mountain in the
middle of the world. Odin's palace of Valhalla was there, and other
palaces for his sons and daughters. All round Asgard lay Midgard, or
the ordinary world of men and women. Its caves and waste places were
inhabited by dwarfs, whom Odin had banished from the light of day for
various ill deeds. They were a spiteful and cunning race, jealous of
mankind, and eager to recover their lost power. Their strength lay in
their wondrous skill in handicraft, for they could forge more deadly
weapons, and fashion more lovely jewels than any made by the hands of
men. But, though possessed of wisdom, they had no spirit of kindness,
no respect for right, and no dislike of wrong.
Around Midgard lay the sea, and beyond that Utgard, a hideous frozen
country inhabited by giants, enemies of the gods.
But this arrangement of the world was only for a season. The gods
themselves looked forward to a time of defeat and death, when Asgard
should perish in flames and the world with it, and the sun and moon
should be darkened, and they themselves should be slain. This great
day was called Ragnarok, or sometimes the Twilight of the Gods. Then
Loki would gather giants and monsters to a great battle against the
gods, who would slay their enemies, but who would themselves fall in
the struggle. The sea would drown the earth, the stars would fall,
and all things would pass away.
This terrible fate the gods awaited with calm and cheerfulness,
showing even greater courage than in their many deeds of war. They
had to submit to this fate, for there were three beings even greater
than they. These were the Norns, deciders of the fate of gods and men
alike. They were three giant maidens who dwelt by a sacred,
wisdom-giving fountain, and who controlled the lives of men, giving
to each sickness and health, success and failure and death when they
would. No man or god might escape what the Norns decreed for him.
Many stories of these gods, together with tales of famous men, were
told among the northern peoples. These stories were passed on from
one to another by word of mouth, till they grew much longer and
fuller, and the happening of certain historical events helped to take
them from country to country.
As we have seen, all the races of the North were warlike and eager
for adventure, and so when trouble came upon them in their own homes,
they readily took to the sea to plunder the coasts or to conquer
other lands. Between 800 and 900 A.D., when the Danes were invading
England, many were driven from Norway because they refused to submit
to a king called Harold Fairhair, and when he pursued them to the
Orkney and Faroe Islands they took refuge on the coasts of Iceland.
There they settled, built themselves wooden houses, planted such
crops as would grow in that bleak land, and founded a commonwealth.
Little by little they left the old Viking life, and it lived only in
their songs and stories.
They had come to Iceland with a vast stock of tales in poetry, which
were related or sung by professional poets, called skalds, at all
kinds of feasts and gatherings. The skalds arranged and improved the
old stories, but they were not written down until about the time of
our King Stephen, when some unknown writer collected them into one
book called the Elder Edda. Very soon after this another book was
written containing the same stories in prose and called the Younger
or Prose Edda. In this way many of the old poems, and a great many
stories containing much information about the religion which the
people took with them to Iceland, have been preserved.
But it was from neither of the Eddas that William Morris took his
story of Sigurd.
All through the period from 800 A.D. till about the time of Henry III.
of England, the skalds had been re-telling many of the poetic stories
in prose, and as the people grew more civilised, one tale after
another was written down in its new form.
These prose tales were called Sagas, and among the very greatest is
the Volsunga Saga, or Story of Sigurd. It is a tale which has been
told in other lands besides Iceland. We read part of the same story
in the Old English poem of Beowulf, and in Germany it was made into
a great poem called the Nibelungenlied. The German musician, Richard
Wagner, set it to music in a famous series of operas called the
Nibelungen Ring. But his tale differs in many points from that
contained in Morris's poem, for Morris chose the old saga as it was
written in Iceland, not the German story. On this he founded his poem,
adding much beautiful description, and greatly lengthening the whole.
The story deals first with a certain King Volsung, to whose son,
Sigmund, Odin presented a magic sword.
But Siggeir, the jealous king of the Goths, slew Volsung, and took
Sigmund prisoner that he might have the sword for himself. Only after
many toils and perils did Sigmund win it back and reign in his
father's kingdom. At last in his old age he fell in battle and the
sword of Odin was shattered. But his wife, Queen Hiordis, kept the
fragments for the son who was born to her soon after in Denmark,
whither she fled for safety. This son of Sigmund and Hiordis was
Sigurd the Volsung. He was brought up in Denmark and grew strong
and beautiful, brave, kind of heart, and utterly truthful in word
and deed.
When he became a man he longed to win fame and kingship by mighty
deeds, and when his tutor told him of a great dragon that guarded a
hoard of ill-gotten gold in the mountains, he resolved to kill it. So
the fragments of Odin's sword were forged into a new blade, and
Sigurd slew the dragon and took the gold, but with it he brought on
himself a curse which had been put upon the treasure by the dwarf
from whom it had been stolen.
Sigurd then found and wakened Brynhild, a maiden who lay in an
enchanted sleep upon a high mountain. They loved one another, and
Sigurd gave her a ring from the dragon's treasure, promising to
return and marry her.
Then the curse led him to join with the fierce and treacherous
Niblungs or Cloudy People. Their king and his mother grew jealous
when they saw Sigurd more mighty and more beloved than themselves,
and by enchantments they caused him to forget Brynhild, to wed the
princess Gudrun, and at last to aid the Niblung king, Gunnar, to win
Brynhild for his own wife.
Then the curse of the gold brought death to many, for Sigurd and
Brynhild discovered all the treachery of the Niblungs, who, in their
anger, slew Sigurd, and Brynhild killed herself that she might not
live and sorrow for him.
Such is the story of Sigurd as it was told a thousand years ago in
distant Iceland, and as it is retold in this poem by William Morris.
THE STORY OF
SIGURD THE VOLSUNG.
BOOK I.
SIGMUND.
_Of the dwelling of King Volsung, and the wedding of Signy his
daughter._
There was a dwelling of Kings ere the world was waxen old;
Dukes were the door-wards there, and the roofs were thatched with gold:
Earls were the wrights that wrought it, and silver nailed its doors;
Earls' wives were the weaving-women, queens' daughters strewed its floors,
And the masters of its song-craft were the mightiest men that cast
The sails of the storm of battle adown the bickering blast.
There dwelt men merry-hearted, and in hope exceeding great
Met the good days and the evil as they went the way of fate:
There the Gods were unforgotten, yea whiles they walked with men,
Though e'en in that world's beginning rose a murmur now and again
Of the midward time and the fading and the last of the latter days,
And the entering in of the terror, and the death of the People's Praise.
Thus was the dwelling of Volsung, the King of the Midworld's Mark,
As a rose in the winter season, a candle in the dark;
And as in all other matters 'twas all earthly houses' crown,
And the least of its wall-hung shields was a battle-world's renown,
So therein withal was a marvel and a glorious thing to see,
For amidst of its midmost hall-floor sprang up a mighty tree,
That reared its blessings roofward, and wreathed the roof-tree dear
With the glory of the summer and the garland of the year.
I know not how they called it ere Volsung changed his life,
But his dawning of fair promise, and his noontide of the strife,
His eve of the battle-reaping and the garnering of his fame,
Have bred us many a story and named us many a name;
And when men tell of Volsung, they call that war-duke's tree,
That crowned stem, the Branstock; and so was it told unto me.
So there was the throne of Volsung beneath its blossoming bower,
But high o'er the roof-crest red it rose 'twixt tower and tower,
And therein were the wild hawks dwelling, abiding the dole of their lord;
And they wailed high over the wine, and laughed to the waking sword.
Still were its boughs but for them, when lo, on an even of May
Comes a man from Siggeir the King with a word for his mouth to say:
"All hail to thee King Volsung, from the King of the Goths I come:
He hath heard of thy sword victorious and thine abundant home;
He hath heard of thy sons in the battle, the fillers of Odin's Hall;
And a word hath the west-wind blown him, (full fruitful be its fall!)
A word of thy daughter Signy the crown of womanhood:
Now he deems thy friendship goodly, and thine help in the battle good,
And for these will he give his friendship and his battle-aid again:
But if thou wouldst grant his asking, and make his heart full fain,
Then shalt thou give him a matter, saith he, without a price,
--Signy the fairer than fair, Signy the wiser than wise."
Now the message gladdened Volsung and his sons, but no word spake
Signy, till the king asked her what her mind might be. Then said
Signy, "I will wed the Goth king, and yet shall I rue my lot in his
hall." And Volsung urged her with kind words to do nought against her
will, but her mind was fixed, and she said she wrought but what the
gods had fore-ordained. So the earl of Siggeir went his way with
gifts and fair words, bidding the Goth king come ere a month was over
to wed the white-handed Signy and bear her home.
So on Mid-Summer Even ere the undark night began
Siggeir the King of the Goth-folk went up from the bath of the swan
Unto the Volsung dwelling with many an Earl about;
There through the glimmering thicket the linked mail rang out,
And sang as mid the woodways sings the summer-hidden ford:
There were gold-rings God-fashioned, and many a Dwarf-wrought sword,
And many a Queen-wrought kirtle and many a written spear;
So came they to the acres, and drew the threshold near,
And amidst of the garden blossoms, on the grassy, fruit-grown land,
Was Volsung the King of the Wood-world with his sons on either hand;
Therewith down lighted Siggeir the lord of a mighty folk,
Yet showed he by King Volsung as the bramble by the oak,
Nor reached his helm to the shoulder of the least of Volsung's sons.
And so into the hall they wended, the Kings and their mighty ones;
And they dight the feast full glorious, and drank through the death of the
day,
Till the shadowless moon rose upward, till it wended white away;
Then they went to the gold-hung beds, and at last for an hour or twain
Were all things still and silent, save a flaw of the summer rain.
But on the morrow noontide when the sun was high and bare,
More glorious was the banquet, and now was Signy there,
And she sat beside King Siggeir, a glorious bride forsooth;
Ruddy and white was she wrought as the fair-stained sea-beast's tooth,
But she neither laughed nor spake, and her eyes were hard and cold,
And with wandering side-long looks her lord would she behold.
That saw Sigmund her brother, the eldest Volsung son,
And oft he looked upon her, and their eyes met now and anon,
And ruth arose in his heart, and hate of Siggeir the Goth,
And there had he broken the wedding, but for plighted promise and troth.
But those twain were beheld of Siggeir, and he deemed of the Volsung kin,
That amid their might and their malice small honour should he win;
Yet thereof made he no semblance, but abided times to be,
And laughed out with the loudest, amid the hope and the glee.
And nought of all saw Volsung, as he dreamed of the coming glory,
And how the Kings of his kindred should fashion the round world's story.
So round about the Branstock they feast in the gleam of the gold;
And though the deeds of man-folk were not yet waxen old,
Yet had they tales for songcraft, and the blossomed garth of rhyme;
Tales of the framing of all things and the entering in of time
From the halls of the outer heaven; so near they knew the door.
Wherefore uprose a sea-king, and his hands that loved the oar
Now dealt with the rippling harp-gold, and he sang of the shaping of earth,
And how the stars were lighted, and where the winds had birth,
And the gleam of the first of summers on the yet untrodden grass.
But e'en as men's hearts were hearkening some heard the thunder pass
O'er the cloudless noontide heaven; and some men turned about
And deemed that in the doorway they heard a man laugh out.
Then into the Volsung dwelling a mighty man there strode,
One-eyed and seeming ancient, yet bright his visage glowed:
Cloud-blue was the hood upon him, and his kirtle gleaming-grey
As the latter morning sundog when the storm is on the way:
A bill he bore on his shoulder, whose mighty ashen beam
Burnt bright with the flame of the sea and the blended silver's gleam.
And such was the guise of his raiment as the Volsung elders had told
Was borne by their fathers' fathers, and the first that warred in the wold.
So strode he to the Branstock nor greeted any lord,
But forth from his cloudy raiment he drew a gleaming sword,
And smote it deep in the tree-hole, and the wild hawks overhead
Laughed 'neath the naked heaven as at last he spake and said:
"Earls of the Goths, and Volsungs, abiders on the earth,
Lo there amid the Branstock a blade of plenteous worth!
The folk of the war-wand's forgers wrought never better steel
Since first the burg of heaven uprose for man-folk's weal.
Now let the man among you whose heart and hand may shift
To pluck it from the oakwood e'en take it for my gift.
Then ne'er, but his own heart falter, its point and edge shall fail
Until the night's beginning and the ending of the tale.
Be merry Earls of the Goth-folk, O Volsung Sons be wise
And reap the battle-acre that ripening for you lies:
For they told me in the wild wood, I heard on the mountain side,
That the shining house of heaven is wrought exceeding wide,
And that there the Early-comers shall have abundant rest
While Earth grows scant of great ones, and fadeth from its best,
And fadeth from its midward and groweth poor and vile:--
All hail to thee King Volsung! farewell for a little while!"
So sweet his speaking sounded, so wise his words did seem,
That moveless all men sat there, as in a happy dream
We stir not lest we waken; but there his speech had end,
And slowly down the hall-floor, and outward did he wend;
And none would cast him a question or follow on his ways,
For they knew that the gift was Odin's, a sword for the world to praise.
But now spake Volsung the King: "Why sit ye silent and still?
Is the Battle-Father's visage a token of terror and ill?
Arise O Volsung Children, Earls of the Goths arise,
And set your hands to the hilts as mighty men and wise!
Yet deem it not too easy; for belike a fateful blade
Lies there in the heart of the Branstock for a fated warrior made."
Now therewith spake King Siggeir: "King Volsung give me a grace
To try it the first of all men, lest another win my place
And mere chance-hap steal my glory and the gain that I might win."
Then somewhat laughed King Volsung, and he said: "O Guest, begin;
Though herein is the first as the last, for the Gods have long to live,
Nor hath Odin yet forgotten unto whom the gift he would give."
Then forth to the tree went Siggeir, the Goth-folk's mighty lord,
And laid his hand on the gemstones, and strained at the glorious sword
Till his heart grew black with anger; and never a word he said
As he wended back to the high-seat: but Signy waxed blood-red
When he sat him adown beside her; and her heart was nigh to break
For the shame and the fateful boding: and therewith King Volsung spake:
"Thus comes back empty-handed the mightiest King of Earth,
And how shall the feeble venture? yet each man knows his worth;
And today may a great beginning from a little seed upspring
To o'erpass many a great one that hath the name of King:
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 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.
Then the feast sped on the fairer, far into the night, but amidst the
mirth Sigmund and Signy were sad at heart. And before the sun was
risen next day Signy came to her father in secret and begged him to
stay in his own country rather than trust the guileful heart and
murder-loving hand of Siggeir. But Volsung answered that he must go
to be Siggeir's guest, for he could not break his pledged word
through fear of peril. So on the morrow the smooth-speeched Siggeir
departed with Signy, and when two months were passed Volsung made
ready to visit them.
_How the Volsungs fared to the Land of the Goths, and of the
fall of King Volsung._
* * * * *
So now, when all things were ready, in the first of the autumn tide
Adown unto the swan-bath the Volsung Children ride;
And lightly go a shipboard, a goodly company,
Though the tale thereof be scanty and their ships no more than three:
But kings' sons dealt with the sail-sheets and earls and dukes of war
Were the halers of the hawsers and the tuggers at the oar.
* * * * *
But when the sun on the morrow shone over earth and sea
Ashore went the Volsung Children a goodly company,
And toward King Siggeir's dwelling o'er heath and holt they went.
But when they came to the topmost of a certain grassy bent,
Lo there lay the land before them as thick with shield and spear
As the rich man's wealthiest acre with the harvest of the year.
There bade King Volsung tarry and dight the wedge-array;
"For duly," he said, "doeth Siggeir to meet his guests by the way."
So shield by shield they serried, nor ever hath been told
Of any host of battle more glorious with the gold;
And there stood the high King Volsung in the very front of war;
And lovelier was his visage than ever heretofore,
As he rent apart the peace-strings that his brand of battle bound
And the bright blade gleamed to the heavens, and he cast the sheath to the
ground.
Then up the steep came the Goth-folk, and the spear-wood drew anigh,
And earth's face shook beneath them, yet cried they never a cry;
And the Volsungs stood all silent, although forsooth at whiles
O'er the faces grown earth-weary would play the flickering smiles,
And swords would clink and rattle: not long had they to bide,
For soon that flood of murder flowed round the hillock-side;
Then at last the edges mingled, and if men forbore the shout,
Yet the din of steel and iron in the grey clouds rang about;
But how to tell of King Volsung, and the valour of his folk!
Three times the wood of battle before their edges broke;
And the shield-wall, sorely dwindled and reft of the ruddy gold,
Against the drift of the war-blast for the fourth time yet did hold.
But men's shields were waxen heavy with the weight of shafts they bore,
And the fifth time many a champion cast earthward Odin's door
And gripped the sword two-handed; and in sheaves the spears came on.
And at last the host of the Goth-folk within the shield-wall won,
And wild was the work within it, and oft and o'er again
Forth brake the sons of Volsung, and drave the foe in vain;
For the driven throng still thickened, till it might not give aback.
But fast abode King Volsung amid the shifting wrack
In the place where once was the forefront: for he said: "My feet are old,
And if I wend on further there is nought more to behold
Than this that I see about me."--Whiles drew his foes away
And stared across the corpses that before his sword-edge lay.
But nought he followed after: then needs must they in front
Thrust on by the thickening spear-throng come up to bear the brunt,
Till all his limbs were weary and his body rent and torn:
Then he cried: "Lo now, Allfather, is not the swathe well shorn?
Wouldst thou have me toil for ever, nor win the wages due?"
And mid the hedge of foemen his blunted sword he threw,
And, laid like the oars of a longship the level war-shafts pressed
On 'gainst the unshielded elder, and clashed amidst his breast;
And dead he fell, thrust backward, and rang on the dead men's gear:
But still for a certain season durst no man draw anear,
For 'twas e'en as a great God's slaying, and they feared the wrath of
the sky;
And they deemed their hearts might harden if awhile they should let him lie.
_Of the ending of all Volsung's Sons save Sigmund only, and of how
he abideth in the wild wood._
They joined battle again, but the fight grew feeble after Volsung
fell, and his earls were struck down one by one. Last of all, his sons
were borne to earth and carried captive to the hall, where Siggeir
awaited them, for he himself had feared to face the Volsung swords.
Then he would have slain them at once without torture, but Signy
besought him that they might breathe the earthly air a day or two
before their death, and he listened to her, for he saw how he might
thus give them greater pain. He bade his men lead them to a glade in
the forest and fetter them to the mightiest tree that grew there. So
the ten Volsungs were fettered with iron to a great oak, and on the
morrow Siggeir's woodmen told him sweet tidings, for beasts of the
wood had devoured two and left their bones in the fetters. So it
befell every night till the woodmen brought word that nothing
remained of the king's foemen save their bones in the fetters that
had bound them.
Now a watch had been set on Signy lest she should send help to her
brethren, but henceforth no man hindered her from going out to the
wood. So that night she came to the glade in the forest, and saw in
the midst of it a mighty man who was toiling to dig a grave in the
greensward.
And behold, it was Sigmund the Volsung: but she cried and had no fear:
"If thou art living, Sigmund, what day's work dost thou here
In the midnight and the forest? but if thou art nought but a ghost
Then where are those Volsung brethren, of whom thou wert best and most?"
Then he turned about unto her, and his raiment was fouled and torn,
And his eyen were great and hollow, as a famished man forlorn;
But he cried: "Hail, Sister Signy! I looked for thee before,
Though what should a woman compass, she one alone and no more,
When all we shielded Volsungs did nought in Siggeir's land?
O yea, I am living indeed, and this labour of mine hand
Is to bury the bones of the Volsungs; and lo, it is well-nigh done.
So draw near, Volsung's daughter, and pile we many a stone
Where lie the grey wolf's gleanings of what was once so good."
So she set her hand to the labour, and they toiled, they twain in the wood,
And when the work was over, dead night was beginning to fall:
Then spake the white-hand Signy: "Now shall thou tell the tale
Of the death of the Volsung brethren ere the wood thy wrath shall hide,
Ere I wend me back sick-hearted in the dwelling of kings to abide."
Then said Sigmund:
"We lay fettered to the tree and at midnight there came from the
thicket two mighty wood-wolves, and falling on my brethren Gylfi and
Geirmund, they devoured them in their bonds, and turned again to the
forest. Night after night, my sister, this befell, till I was left
alone with our brother Sigi to await the wood-beasts. Then came
midnight, and one of the wolves fell upon Sigi and the other turned
on me. But I met it with snarling like its own, and my teeth gripped
its throat, and my hands strove with the fetters till they burst. So
I slew the beast with my irons, but when I looked, Sigi lay dead, and
the other wolf had fled again to the thicket. Then I lay hid till
Siggeir's woodmen had looked on the place and departed with their
tidings, and as I beheld them I knew that pity was killed in my
heart, and that henceforward I should live but to avenge me on him
who hath so set the gods at nought." Then Signy spake noble words of
comfort, saying: "I wot well that Siggeir shall pay the due price of
his deeds, though the vengeance may tarry long, and I wot also that
thy life shall yet know gladness. Bear a stout heart, therefore, to
meet the waiting time, and make thee a lair in the woods whence thou
mayest fall on men of the Goth-folk, and win what thy life needeth.
As for me, I will see thy face once again ere many days are past to
wot where thou dwellest and then must we meet no more."
And so saying, she kissed him and departed, but Sigmund turned in the
dawn-light, and sought a wood-lair as she had bidden him.
_Of the fostering of Sinfiotli, Signy's son, and of the slaying of
Siggeir the Goth-king._
So wrought is the will of King Siggeir, and he weareth Odin's sword
And it lies on his knees in the council and hath no other lord:
And he sendeth earls o'er the sea-flood to take King Volsung's land,
And those scattered and shepherdless sheep must come beneath his hand.
And he holdeth the milk-white Signy as his handmaid and his wife,
And nought but his will she doeth, nor raiseth a word of strife;
So his heart is praising his wisdom, and he deems him of most avail
Of all the lords of the cunning that teacheth how to prevail.
Now Sigmund dwelt long in the wild-wood, abiding in a strong cave deep
hidden in a thicket by the river-side.
And now and again he fell upon the folk of Siggeir as they journeyed,
and slew them, and thus he had war-gear and gold as much as he would.
Also he became a master of masters in the smithying craft, and the
folk who beheld the gleam of his forge by night, deemed that a king
of the Giants was awakened from death to dwell there, and they durst
not wander near the cavern.
So passed the years till on a springtide morning Signy sent forth to
Sigmund a damsel leading her eldest son, a child of ten summers, and
bearing a word of her mouth to bid him foster the child for his
helper, if he should prove worthy and bold-hearted. And Sigmund
heeded her words and fostered the child for the space of three months
even though he could give no love to a son of Siggeir.
At last he was minded to try the boy's courage, to which end he set a
deadly ash-grey adder in the meal-sack, and bade the child bake bread.
But he feared when he found something that moved in the meal and had
not courage to do the task. Then would Sigmund foster him no longer,
but thrust him out from the woods to return to his father's hall.
So ten years won over again, and Signy sent another son to the
wild-wood, and the lad was called Sinfiotli. Sigmund thrust him into
many dangers, and burdened him with heavy loads, and he bore all
passing well.
Now after a year Sigmund deemed that the time for his testing was
come, and once again he set an adder in the meal-sack and bade the
lad bake bread. And the boy feared not the worm, but kneaded it with
the dough and baked all together. So Sigmund cherished him as his own
son, and he grew strong and valiant and loved Sigmund as his father.
Now Sigmund began to ponder how he might at last take vengeance on
Siggeir, and gladly did Sinfiotli hear him, for all his love was
given to Sigmund, so that he no longer deemed himself the Goth-king's
son.
At last when the long mirk nights of winter were come, Sigmund and his
foster-son went their way to the home of Siggeir and sought to lurk
therein. Then Sinfiotli led the way to a storehouse where lay great
wine-casks, and whence they could see the lighted feast-hall, and
hear the clamour of Siggeir's folk. There they had to abide the time
when the feasters should be hushed in sleep. Long seemed the hours to
Sinfiotli, but Sigmund was calm and clear-eyed.
Then it befell that two of Queen Signy's youngest-born children threw
a golden toy hither and thither in the feast-hall, and at last it
rolled away among the wine-casks till it lay at Sigmund's feet. So the
children followed it, and coming face to face with those lurkers, they
fled back to the feast-hall. And Sigmund and his foster-son saw all
hope was ended, for they heard the rising tumult as men ran to their
weapons; so they made ready to go forth and die in the hall. Then on
came the battle around the twain, and but short is the tale to tell,
for Sinfiotli slipped on the blood-stained floor and the shield wall
encompassed Sigmund, and so they were both hoppled strait and fast.
The Goth-folk washed their hall of blood and got them to slumber, but
Siggeir lay long pondering what dire death he might bring on his foes.
Now at the first grey dawning Siggeir's folk dight a pit and it had
two chambers with a sundering stone in the midst. Then they brought
the Volsung kindred and set them therein, one in each chamber, that
they might abide death alone, and yet in hearing of one another's woe.
And over the top the thralls laid roofing turfs, but so lingering were
their hands that eve drew on ere the task was finished. Then stole
Signy forth in the dusk, and spake the thralls fair, and gave them
gold that they might hold their peace of what she did. And when they
gainsaid her nought she drew out something wrapped in wheat straw, and
cast it down swiftly into the pit where Sinfiotli lay, and departed.
Sinfiotli at first deemed it food, but after a space Sigmund heard him
laugh aloud for joy, for within the wrappings lay the sword of the
Branstock. And Sinfiotli cried out the joyous tidings to his
foster-father, and tarried not to set the point to the stone that
sundered them, and lo, the blade pierced through, and Sigmund grasped
the point. Then sawed Sigmund and Sinfiotli together till they cleft
the stone, and they hewed full hard at the roofing, till they cast the
turfs aside, and their hearts were gladdened with the sight of the
starry heaven.
Forth they leapt, and no words were needed of whither they should
wend, but they fell on King Siggeir's night-watch and slew them
sleeping, and made haste to find the store of winter faggots,
wherewith they built a mighty bale about the hall of Siggeir. They
set a torch to the bale, and Sigmund gat him to one hall door and
Sinfiotli to the other, and now the Goth-folk awoke to their last
of days.
Then cried Siggeir to his thralls and offered them joyous life-days
and plenteous wealth if they would give him life, deeming that they
had fired the hall in hatred. But there came a great voice crying
from the door, "Nay, no toilers are we; wealth is ours when we list,
but now our hearts are set to avenge our kin; now hath the murder
seed sprung and borne its fruit; now the death-doomed and buried work
this deed; now doom draweth nigh thee at the hand of Sigmund the
Volsung, and Sinfiotli, Signy's son."
Then the voice cried again, "Come ye forth, women of the Goths, and
thou, O Signy, my sister, come forth to seek the boughs of the
Branstock." So fled the white-faced women from the fire, and passed
scatheless by Sinfiotli's blade, but Signy came not at all. Then the
earls of Siggeir strove to burst from the hall, but ever the two
glaives at the doorways drove them back to the fire.
And, lo, now came Signy in queenly raiment, and stood before Sinfiotli
and said, "O mightiest son, this is the hour of our parting, and fain
am I of slumber and the end of my toil now I have seen this day. And
the blither do I leave thee because thy days on earth shall be but
few; I charge thee make thy life glorious, and leave a goodly tale."
She kissed him and turned to Sigmund, and her face in the dawn-light
seemed to him fair and ruddy as in the days when they twain dwelt by
the Branstock. And she said, "My youth was happy, yet this hour is
the crown of my life-days which draw nigh their ending. And now I
charge thee, Sigmund, when thou sittest once more a mighty king
beneath the boughs of the Branstock, that thou remember how I loved
the Volsung name, and spared not to spend all that was mine for its
blossoming." Then she kissed him and turned again, and the dawn
brightened at her back, and the fire shone red before her, and so for
the last time was Signy beheld by the eyes of men. Thereafter King
Siggeir's roof-tree bowed earthward, and the mighty walls crashed
down, and so that dark murder-hall lay wasted, and its glory was
swept away.
_How Sigmund cometh to the Land of the Volsungs again, and of the
death of Sinfiotli his Son._
Now Sigmund the king bestirs him, and Sinfiotli, Sigmund's son,
And they gather a host together, and many a mighty one;
Then they set the ships in the sea-flood and sail from the stranger's shore,
And the beaks of the golden dragons see the Volsungs' land once more;
And men's hearts are fulfilled of joyance; and they cry, The sun shines now
With never a curse to hide it, and they shall reap that sow!
Then for many a day sits Sigmund 'neath the boughs of the Branstock green,
With his earls and lords about him as the Volsung wont hath been.
And oft he thinketh on Signy and oft he nameth her name,
And tells how she spent her joyance and her life-days and her fame
That the Volsung kin might blossom and bear the fruit of worth
For the hope of unborn people and the harvest of the earth.
And again he thinks of the word that he spake that other day,
How he should abide there lonely when his kin was passed away,
Their glory and sole avenger, their after-summer seed.
But far and wide went Sinfiotli through the earth, mowing the war
swathe and wasting the land, and passing but little time in song and
laughter in his father's hall. So went his days in warfare and valour,
and yet his end was not glorious, for he drank of the poisoned cup
given him by the sister of a warrior he had rightly slain.
None might come nigh Sigmund in his anguish as he lifted the head of
his fallen foster-child, and then swiftly bare him from the hall. On
he went through dark thicket and over wind-swept heath, past the
foot-hills and the homes of the deer, till he came to a great rushing
water, whereon was a white-sailed boat, manned by a mighty man,
"one-eyed and seeming ancient." This mighty one told Sigmund he had
been bidden to waft a great king over the water, and bade him lay his
burden on board, but when Sigmund would have followed he could see
neither ship nor man.
But Sigmund went back to his throne, and behaved himself as a king,
listening to his people's plaints, and dealing out justice.
_Of the last battle of King Sigmund, and the death of him._
Now there was a king of the Islands, whom the tale doth Eylimi call,
And saith he was wise and valiant, though his kingdom were but small:
He had one only daughter that Hiordis had to name,
A woman wise and shapely beyond the praise of fame.
And now saith the son of King Volsung that his time is short enow
To labour the Volsung garden, and the hand must be set to the plough:
So he sendeth an earl of the people to King Eylimi's high-built hall,
Bearing the gifts and the tokens, and this word in his mouth withal:
"King Sigmund the son of Volsung hath sent me here with a word
That plenteous good of thy daughter among all folk he hath heard,
And he wooeth that wisest of women that she may sit on his throne.
* * * * *
"Now hereof would he have an answer within a half-month's space,
And these gifts meanwhile he giveth for the increase of thy grace."
So King Eylimi hearkened the message, and hath no word to say,
For an earl of King Lyngi the mighty is come that very day,
He too for the wooing of Hiordis: and Lyngi's realm is at hand,
But afar King Sigmund abideth o'er many a sea and land:
And the man is young and eager, and grim and guileful of mood.
At last he sayeth: "Abide here such space as thou deemest good,
But tomorn shalt thou have thine answer that thine heart may the lighter be,
For the hearkening of harp and songcraft, and the dealing with game and
glee."
Then he went to Queen Hiordis' bower, where she worked in the silk and the
gold
The deeds of the world that should be, and the deeds that were of old.
And he stood before her and said:
"Often have I told thee that thou shouldst wed only the man thou
wouldst. Now it hath come to pass that two kings desire thee."
And she swiftly rose to her feet as she said, "And which be they?"
He spake: "The first is Lyngi, a valiant man and a fair,
A neighbour ill for thy father, if a foe's name he must bear:
And the next is King Sigmund the Volsung of a land far over sea,
And well thou knowest his kindred, and his might and his valiancy,
And the tales of his heart of a God; and though old he be waxen now,
Yet men deem that the wide world's blossom from Sigmund's loins shall grow."
Said Hiordis: "I wot, my father, that hereof may strife arise;
Yet soon spoken is mine answer; for I, who am called the wise,
Shall I thrust by the praise of the people, and the tale that no ending
hath,
And the love and the heart of the godlike, and the heavenward-leading path,
For the rose and the stem of the lily, and the smooth-lipped youngling's
kiss,
And the eyes' desire that passeth, and the frail unstable bliss?
Now shalt thou tell King Sigmund, that I deem it the crown of my life
To dwell in the house of his fathers amidst all peace and strife."
* * * * *
Now the king's heart sore misgave him, but herewith must he be content,
And great gifts to the earl of Lyngi and a word withal he sent,
That the woman's troth was plighted to another people's king.
But King Sigmund's earl on the morrow hath joyful yea-saying,
And ere two moons be perished he shall fetch his bride away.
"And bid him," King Eylimi sayeth, "to come with no small array,
But with sword and shield and war-shaft, lest aught of ill betide."
So forth goes the earl of Sigmund across the sea-flood wide,
And comes to the land of the Volsungs, and meeteth Sigmund the king,
And tells how he sped on his errand, and the joyful yea-saying.
So King Sigmund maketh him ready, and they ride adown to the sea
All glorious of gear and raiment, and a goodly company.
Yet hath Sigmund thought of his father, and the deed he wrought before,
And hath scorn to gather his people and all his hosts of war
To wend to the feast and the wedding: yet are their long-ships ten,
And the shielded folk aboard them are the mightiest men of men.
So Sigmund goeth a shipboard, and they hoist their sails to the wind,
And the beaks of the golden dragons leave the Volsungs' land behind.
Then come they to Eylimi's kingdom, and good welcome have they there,
And when Sigmund looked on Hiordis, he deemed her wise and fair.
But her heart was exceeding fain when she saw the glorious king,
And it told her of times that should be full many a noble thing.
So there is Sigmund wedded at a great and goodly feast,
And day by day on Hiordis the joy of her heart increased;
And her father joyed in Sigmund and his might and majesty,
And dead in the heart of the Isle-king his ancient fear did lie.
Yet, forsooth, had men looked seaward, they had seen the gathering cloud,
And the little wind arising, that should one day pipe so loud.
For well may ye wot indeed that King Lyngi the Mighty is wroth,
When he getteth the gifts and the answer, and that tale of the woman's
troth:
And he saith he will have the gifts and the woman herself withal,
Either for loving or hating, and that both those heads shall fall.
So now when Sigmund and Hiordis are wedded a month or more,
And the Volsung bids men dight them to cross the sea-flood o'er,
Lo, how there cometh the tidings of measureless mighty hosts
Who are gotten ashore from their long-ships on the skirts of King Eylimi's
coasts.
Sore boded the heart of the Isle-king of what the end should be.
But Sigmund long beheld him, and he said: "Thou deem'st of me
That my coming hath brought thee evil; but put aside such things;
For long have I lived, and I know it, that the lives of mighty kings
Are not cast away, nor drifted like the down before the wind;
And surely I know, who say it, that never would Hiordis' mind
Have been turned to wed King Lyngi or aught but the Volsung seed.
Come, go we forth to the battle, that shall be the latest deed
Of thee and me meseemeth: yea, whether thou live or die,
No more shall the brand of Odin at peace in his scabbard lie."
And therewith he brake the peace-strings and drew the blade of bale,
And Death on the point abided, Fear sat on the edges pale.
So men ride adown to the sea-strand, and the kings their hosts array
When the high noon flooded heaven; and the men of the Volsungs lay,
With King Eylimi's shielded champions mid Lyngi's hosts of war,
As the brown pips lie in the apple when ye cut it through the core.
But now when the kings were departed, from the King's house Hiordis went,
And before men joined the battle she came to a woody bent,
Where she lay with one of her maidens the death and the deeds to behold.
In the noon sun shone King Sigmund as an image all of gold,
And he stood before the foremost and the banner of his fame,
And many a thing he remembered, and he called on each earl by his name
To do well for the house of the Volsungs, and the ages yet unborn.
Then he tossed up the sword of the Branstock, and blew on his father's horn,
Dread of so many a battle, doom-song of so many a man.
Then all the earth seemed moving as the hosts of Lyngi ran
On the Volsung men and the Isle-folk like wolves upon the prey;
But sore was their labour and toil ere the end of their harvesting day.
On went the Volsung banners, and on went Sigmund before,
And his sword was the flail of the tiller on the wheat of the
wheat-thrashing floor,
And his shield was rent from his arm, and his helm was sheared from his
head:
But who may draw nigh him to smite for the heap and the rampart of dead?
White went his hair on the wind like the ragged drift of the cloud,
And his dust-driven, blood-beaten harness was the death-storm's angry
shroud,
When the summer sun is departing in the first of the night of wrack;
And his sword was the cleaving lightning, that smites and is hurried aback
Ere the hand may rise against it; and his voice was the following thunder.
Then cold grew the battle before him, dead-chilled with the fear and the
wonder:
For again in his ancient eyes the light of victory gleamed;
From his mouth grown tuneful and sweet the song of his kindred streamed;
And no more was he worn and weary, and no more his life seemed spent:
And with all the hope of his childhood was his wrath of battle blent;
And he thought: A little further, and the river of strife is passed,
And I shall sit triumphant the king of the world at last.
But lo, through the hedge of the war-shafts a mighty man there came,
One-eyed and seeming ancient, but his visage shone like flame:
Gleaming-grey was his kirtle, and his hood was cloudy blue;
And he bore a mighty twi-bill, as he waded the fight-sheaves through,
And stood face to face with Sigmund, and upheaved the bill to smite.
Once more round the head of the Volsung fierce glittered the Branstock's
light,
The sword that came from Odin; and Sigmund's cry once more
Rang out to the very heavens above the din of war.
Then clashed the meeting edges with Sigmund's latest stroke,
And in shivering shards fell earthward that fear of worldly folk.
But changed were the eyes of Sigmund, and the war-wrath left his face;
For that grey-clad mighty helper was gone, and in his place
Drave on the unbroken spear-wood 'gainst the Volsung's empty hands:
And there they smote down Sigmund, the wonder of all lands,
On the foemen, on the death-heap his deeds had piled that day.
Ill hour for Sigmund's fellows! they fall like the seeded hay
Before the brown scythes' sweeping, and there the Isle-king fell
In the fore-front of his battle, wherein he wrought right well,
And soon they were nought but foemen who stand upon their feet
On the isle-strand by the ocean where the grass and the sea-sand meet.
And now hath the conquering War-king another deed to do,
And he saith: "Who now gainsayeth King Lyngi come to woo,
The lord and the overcomer and the bane of the Volsung kin?"
So he fares to the Isle-king's dwelling a wife of the kings to win;
And the host is gathered together, and they leave the field of the dead;
And round as a targe of the Goth-folk the moon ariseth red.
And so when the last is departed, and she deems they will come not aback,
Fares Hiordis forth from the thicket to the field of the fateful wrack,
And half-dead was her heart for sorrow as she waded the swathes of the
sword.
Not far did she search the death-field ere she found her king and lord
On the heap that his glaive had fashioned: not yet was his spirit past,
Though his hurts were many and grievous, and his life-blood ebbing fast;
And glad were his eyes and open as her wan face over him hung,
And he spake:
"Thou art sick with sorrow, and I would thou wert not so young;
Yet as my days passed shall thine pass; and a short while now it seems
Since my hand first gripped the sword-hilt, and my glory was but in dreams."
She said: "Thou livest, thou livest! the leeches shall heal thee still."
"Nay," said he, "my heart hath hearkened to Odin's bidding and will;
For today have mine eyes beheld him: nay, he needed not to speak:
Forsooth I knew of his message and the thing he came to seek.
And now do I live but to tell thee of the days that are yet to come:
And perchance to solace thy sorrow; and then will I get me home
To my kin that are gone before me. Lo, yonder where I stood
The shards of a glaive of battle that was once the best of the good:
Take them and keep them surely. I have lived no empty days;
The Norns were my nursing mothers; I have won the people's praise.
When the Gods for one deed asked me I ever gave them twain;
Spendthrift of glory I was, and great was my life-days' gain;
Now these shards have been my fellow in the work the Gods would have,
But today hath Odin taken the gift that once he gave.
I have wrought for the Volsungs truly, and yet have I known full well
That a better one than I am shall bear the tale to tell:
And for him shall these shards be smithied; and he shall be my son
To remember what I have forgotten and to do what I left undone."
* * * * *
Then failed the voice of Sigmund; but so mighty was the man,
That a long while yet he lingered till the dusky night grew wan,
And she sat and sorrowed o'er him, but no more a word he spake.
Then a long way over the sea-flood the day began to break;
And when the sun was arisen a little he turned his head
Till the low beams bathed his eyen, and there lay Sigmund dead.
And the sun rose up on the earth; but where was the Volsung kin
And the folk that the Gods had begotten the praise of all people to win?
_How King Sigmund the Volsung was laid in mound on the sea-side
of the Isle-realm._
Now Hiordis looked from the dead, and her eyes strayed down to the sea,
And a shielded ship she saw, and a war-dight company,
Who beached the ship for the landing: so swift she fled away,
And once more to the depth of the thicket, wherein her handmaid lay:
And she said: "I have left my lord, and my lord is dead and gone,
And he gave me a charge full heavy, and here are we twain alone,
And earls from the sea are landing: give me thy blue attire,
And take my purple and gold and my crown of the sea-flood's fire,
And be thou the wife of King Volsung when men of our names shall ask,
And I will be the handmaid: now I bid thee to this task,
And I pray thee not to fail me, because of thy faith and truth,
And because I have ever loved thee, and thy mother fostered my youth."
* * * * *
So the other nought gainsaith it and they shift their raiment there:
But well-spoken was the maiden, and a woman tall and fair.
Now the lord of those new-coming men was a king and the son of a king,
King Elf the son of the Helper, and he sailed from warfaring
And drew anigh to the Isle-realm and sailed along the strand;
For the shipmen needed water and fain would go a-land;
And King Elf stood hard by the tiller while the world was yet a-cold:
Then the red sun lit the dawning, and they looked, and lo, behold!
The wrack of a mighty battle, and heaps of the shielded dead,
And a woman alive amidst them, a queen with crowned head,
And her eyes strayed down to the sea-strand, and she saw that weaponed folk,
And turned and fled to the thicket: then the lord of the shipmen spoke:
"Lo, here shall we lack for water, for the brooks with blood shall run,
Yet wend we ashore to behold it and to wot of the deeds late done."
So they turned their faces to Sigmund, and waded the swathes of the sword.
"O, look ye long," said the Sea-king, "for here lieth a mighty lord:
And all these are the deeds of his war-flame, yet hardy hearts, be sure,
That they once durst look in his face or the wrath of his eyen endure;
Though his lips be glad and smiling as a God that dreameth of mirth.
Would God I were one of his kindred, for none such are left upon earth.
Now fare we into the thicket, for thereto is the woman fled,
And belike she shall tell us the story of this field of the mighty dead."
So they wend and find the women, and bespeak them kind and fair:
Then spake the gold-crowned handmaid: "Of the Isle-king's house we were,
And I am the Queen called Hiordis; and the man that lies on the field
Was mine own lord Sigmund the Volsung, the mightiest under shield."
Then all amazed were the sea-folk when they hearkened to that word,
And great and heavy tidings they deem their ears have heard:
But again spake out the Sea-king: "And this blue-clad one beside,
So pale, and as tall as a Goddess, and white and lovely eyed?"
"In sooth and in troth," said the woman, "my serving-maid is this;
She hath wept long over the battle, and sore afraid she is."
Now the king looks hard upon her, but he saith no word thereto,
And down again to the death-field with the women-folk they go.
There they set their hands to the labour, and amidst the deadly mead
They raise a mound for Sigmund, a mighty house indeed;
And therein they set that folk-king, and goodly was his throne,
And dight with gold and scarlet: and the walls of the house were done
With the cloven shields of the foemen, and banners borne to field;
But none might find his war-helm or the splinters of his shield,
And clenched and fast was his right hand, but no sword therein he had:
For Hiordis spake to the shipmen:
"Our lord and master bade
That the shards of his glaive of battle should go with our lady the Queen:
And by them that lie a-dying a many things are seen."
_How Queen Hiordis is known; and how she abideth in the house of
Elf the son of the Helper._
Then Elf asked of the two women where they would go, and they prayed
that he would take them to his land, where they dwelt for long in all
honour.
But the old queen, the mother of Elf, was indeed a woman wise above
many, and fain would she know why the less noble of the two was
dressed the more richly and why the handmaid gave always wiser
counsel than her mistress. So she bade her son to speak suddenly and
to take them unawares.
Then he asked the gold-clad one how she knew in the dark winter night
that the dawn was near. She answered that ever in her youth she awoke
at the dawn to follow her daily work, and always was she wont to
drink of whey, and now, though the times were changed, she still woke
athirst near the dawning.
To Elf it seemed strange that a fair queen in her youth had need to
arise to follow the plough in the dark of the winter morning, and
turning to the handmaid he asked of her the same question. She
replied that in her youth her father had given her the gold ring she
still wore, and which had the magic power of growing cold as the
hours neared daybreak, and such was her dawning sign.
Then did Elf know of their exchange, and he told Hiordis that long
had he loved her and felt pity for her sorrow, and that he would make
her his wife. So that night she sat on the high-seat with the crown
on her head, and dreamt of what had been and what was to be.
So passeth the summer season, and the harvest of the year,
And the latter days of the winter on toward the springtide wear.