A Selection From The Poems Of William Morris Part 18

"They went and the Gold abided: but the words Allfather spake, I call them back full often for that golden even's sake, Yet little that hour I heard them, save as wind across the lea; For the gold shone up on Reidmar and on Fafnir's face and on me.

And sore I loved that treasure: so I wrapped my heart in guile, And sleeked my tongue with sweetness, and set my face in a smile, And I bade my father keep it, the more part of the gold, Yet give good store to Fafnir for his goodly help and bold, And deal me a little handful for my smithying-help that day.

But no little I desired, though for little I might pray; And prayed I for much or for little, he answered me no more Than the shepherd answers the wood-wolf who howls at the yule-tide door: But good he ever deemed it to sit on his ivory throne, And stare on the red rings' glory, and deem he was ever alone: And never a word spake Fafnir, but his eyes waxed red and grim As he looked upon our father, and noted the ways of him.

"The night waned into the morning, and still above the h.o.a.rd Sat Reidmar clad in purple; but Fafnir took his sword, And I took my smithying-hammer, and apart in the world we went; But I came aback in the even, and my heart was heavy and spent; And I longed, but fear was upon me and I durst not go to the Gold; So I lay in the house of my toil mid the things I had fashioned of old; And methought as I lay in my bed 'twixt waking and slumber of night That I heard the tinkling metal and beheld the hall alight, But I slept and dreamed of the G.o.ds, and the things that never have slept, Till I woke to a cry and a clashing and forth from the bed I leapt, And there by the heaped-up Elf-gold my brother Fafnir stood, And there at his feet lay Reidmar and reddened the Treasure with blood; And e'en as I looked on his eyen they glazed and whitened with death, And forth on the torch-litten hall he shed his latest breath.

"But I looked on Fafnir and trembled for he wore the Helm of Dread, And his sword was bare in his hand, and the sword and the hand were red With the blood of our father Reidmar, and his body was wrapped in gold, With the ruddy-gleaming mailcoat of whose fellow hath nought been told, And it seemed as I looked upon him that he grew beneath mine eyes: And then in the mid-hall's silence did his dreadful voice arise:

"'I have slain my father Reidmar, that I alone might keep The Gold of the darksome places, the Candle of the Deep.

I am such as the G.o.ds have made me, lest the Dwarf-kind people the earth, Or mingle their ancient wisdom with its short-lived latest birth.

I shall dwell alone henceforward, and the Gold and its waxing curse, I shall brood on them both together, let my life grow better or worse.

And I am a King henceforward and long shall be my life, And the Gold shall grow with my longing, for I shall hide it from strife, And h.o.a.rd up the Ring of Andvari in the house thine hand hath built.

O thou, wilt thou tarry and tarry, till I cast thy blood on the guilt?

Lo, I am a King for ever, and alone on the Gold shall I dwell And do no deed to repent of and leave no tale to tell.'

"More awful grew his visage as he spake the word of dread And no more durst I behold him, but with heart a-cold I fled; I fled from the glorious house my hands had made so fair, As poor as the new-born baby with nought of raiment or gear: I fled from the heaps of gold, and my goods were the eager will, And the heart that remembereth all, and the hand that may never be still.

"Then unto this land I came, and that was long ago As men-folk count the years; and I taught them to reap and to sow, And a famous man I became: but that generation died, And they said that Frey had taught them, and a G.o.d my name did hide.

Then I taught them the craft of metals, and the sailing of the sea, And the taming of the horse-kind, and the yoke-beasts' husbandry, And the building up of houses; and that race of men went by, And they said that Thor had taught them; and a smithying-carle was I.

Then I gave their maidens the needle and I bade them hold the rock, And the shuttle-race gaped for them as they sat at the weaving-stock.

But by then these were waxen crones to sit dim-eyed by the door, It was Freyia had come among them to teach the weaving-lore.

"Then I taught them the tales of old, and fair songs fashioned and true, And their speech grew into music of measured time and due, And they smote the harp to my bidding, and the land grew soft and sweet: But ere the gra.s.s of their grave-mounds rose up above my feet, It was Bragi had made them sweet-mouthed, and I was the wandering scald; Yet green did my cunning flourish by whatso name I was called, And I grew the master of masters--Think thou how strange it is That the sword in the hands of a stripling shall one day end all this!

"Yet oft mid all my wisdom did I long for my brother's part, And Fafnir's mighty kingship weighed heavy on my heart When the Kings of the earthly kingdoms would give me golden gifts From out of their scanty treasures, due pay for my cunning shifts.

And once--didst thou number the years thou wouldst think it long ago-- I wandered away to the country from whence our stem did grow.

There methought the fells grown greater, but waste did the meadows lie And the house was rent and ragged and open to the sky.

But lo, when I came to the doorway, great silence brooded there, Nor bat nor owl would haunt it, nor the wood-wolves drew anear.

Then I went to the pillared hall-stead, and lo, huge heaps of gold, And to and fro amidst them a mighty Serpent rolled: Then my heart grew chill with terror, for I thought on the wont of our race, And I, who had lost their cunning, was a man in a deadly place, A feeble man and a swordless in the lone destroyer's fold; For I knew that the Worm was Fafnir, the Wallower on the Gold.

"So I gathered my strength and fled, and hid my shame again Mid the foolish sons of men-folk; and the more my hope was vain, The more I longed for the Treasure, and deliv'rance from the yoke: And yet pa.s.sed the generations, and I dwelt with the short-lived folk.

"Long years, and long years after the tale of men-folk told How up on the Glittering Heath was the house and the dwelling of gold, And within that house was the Serpent, and the Lord of the Fearful Face: Then I wondered sore of the desert; for I thought of the golden place My hands of old had builded; for I knew by many a sign That the Fearful Face was my brother, that the blood of the Worm was mine.

"This was ages long ago, and yet in that desert he dwells, Betwixt him and men death lieth, and no man of his semblance tells; But the tale of the great Gold-wallower is never the more outworn.

Then came thy kin, O Sigurd, and thy father's father was born, And I fell to the dreaming of dreams, and I saw thine eyes therein, And I looked and beheld thy glory and all that thy sword should win; And I thought that thou shouldst be he, who should bring my heart its rest, That of all the gifts of the Kings thy sword should give me the best.

"Ah, I fell to the dreaming of dreams; and oft the gold I saw, And the golden-fashioned Hauberk, clean-wrought without a flaw, And the Helm that aweth the world; and I knew of Fafnir's heart That his wisdom was greater than mine, because he had held him apart, Nor spilt on the sons of men-folk our knowledge of ancient days, Nor bartered one whit for their love, nor craved for the people's praise.

"And some day I shall have it all, his gold and his craft and his heart And the gathered and garnered wisdom he guards in the mountains apart.

And then when my hand is upon it, my hand shall be as the spring To thaw his winter away and the fruitful tide to bring.

It shall grow, it shall grow into summer, and I shall be he that wrought, And my deeds shall be remembered, and my name that once was nought; Yea I shall be Frey, and Thor, and Freyia, and Bragi in one: Yea the G.o.d of all that is,--and no deed in the wide world done, But the deed that my heart would fashion: and the songs of the freed from the yoke Shall bear to my house in the heavens the love and the longing of folk; And there shall be no more dying, and the sea shall be as the land, And the world for ever and ever shall be young beneath my hand."

Then his eyelids fell, and he slumbered, and it seemed as Sigurd gazed That the flames leapt up in the st.i.thy and about the Master blazed, And his hand in the harp-strings wandered and the sweetness from them poured.

Then unto his feet leapt Sigurd and drew his stripling's sword, And he cried: "Awake, O Master, for, lo, the day goes by, And this too is an ancient story, that the sons of men-folk die, And all save fame departeth. Awake! for the day grows late, And deeds by the door are pa.s.sing, nor the Norns will have them wait."

Then Regin groaned and wakened, sad-eyed and heavy-browed, And weary and worn was he waxen, as a man by a burden bowed: And he spake: "Hast thou hearkened, Sigurd, wilt thou help a man that is old To avenge him for his father? Wilt thou win that Treasure of Gold And be more than the Kings of the earth? Wilt thou rid the earth of a wrong And heal the woe and the sorrow my heart hath endured o'erlong?"

Then Sigurd looked upon him with steadfast eyes and clear, And Regin drooped and trembled as he stood the doom to hear: But the bright child spake as aforetime, and answered the Master and said: "Thou shalt have thy will, and the Treasure, and take the curse on thine head."

_Of the forging of the Sword that is called The Wrath of Sigurd._

Now again came Sigurd to Regin, and said: "Thou hast taught me a task Whereof none knoweth the ending: and a gift at thine hands I ask."

Then answered Regin the Master: "The world must be wide indeed If my hand may not reach across it for aught thine heart may need."

"Yea wide is the world," said Sigurd, "and soon spoken is thy word; But this gift thou shalt nought gainsay me: for I bid thee forge me a sword."

Then spake the Master of Masters, and his voice was sweet and soft, "Look forth abroad, O Sigurd, and note in the heavens aloft How the dim white moon of the daylight hangs round as the Goth-G.o.d's shield: Now for thee first rang mine anvil when she walked the heavenly field A slim and lovely lady, and the old moon lay on her arm: Lo, here is a sword I have wrought thee with many a spell and charm And all the craft of the Dwarf-kind; be glad thereof and sure; Mid many a storm of battle full well shall it endure."

Then Sigurd looked on the slayer, and never a word would speak: Gemmed were the hilts and golden, and the blade was blue and bleak, And runes of the Dwarf-kind's cunning each side the trench were scored: But soft and sweet spake Regin: "How likest thou the sword?"

Then Sigurd laughed and answered: "The work is proved by the deed; See now if this be a traitor to fail me in my need."

Then Regin trembled and shrank, so bright his eyes outshone As he turned about to the anvil, and smote the sword thereon; But the shards fell shivering earthward, and Sigurd's heart grew wroth As the steel-flakes tinkled about him: "Lo, there the right-hand's troth!

Lo, there the golden glitter, and the word that soon is spilt."

And down amongst the ashes he cast the glittering hilt, And turned his back on Regin and strode out through the door And for many a day of spring-tide came back again no more.

But at last he came to the st.i.thy and again took up the word: "What hast thou done, O Master, in the forging of the sword?"

Then sweetly Regin answered: "Hard task-master art thou, But lo, a blade of battle that shall surely please thee now!

Two moons are clean departed since thou lookedst toward the sky And sawest the dim white circle amid the cloud-flecks lie; And night and day have I laboured; and the cunning of old days Hath surely left my right-hand if this sword thou shalt not praise."

And indeed the hilts gleamed glorious with many a dear-bought stone, And down the fallow edges the light of battle shone; Yet Sigurd's eyes shone brighter, nor yet might Regin face Those eyes of the heart of the Volsungs; but trembled in his place As Sigurd cried: "O Regin, thy kin of the days of old Were an evil and treacherous folk, and they lied and murdered for gold; And now if thou wouldst bewray me, of the ancient curse beware, And set thy face as the flint the bale and the shame to bear: For he that would win to the heavens, and be as the G.o.ds on high Must tremble nought at the road, and the place where men-folk die."

White leaps the blade in his hand and gleams in the gear of the wall, And he smites, and the oft-smitten edges on the beaten anvil fall: But the life of the sword departed, and dull and broken it lay On the ashes and flaked-off iron, and no word did Sigurd say, But strode off through the door of the st.i.thy and went to the Hall of Kings, And was merry and blithe that even mid all imaginings.

But when the morrow was come he went to his mother and spake: "The shards, the shards of the sword, that thou gleanedst for my sake In the night on the field of slaughter, in the tide when my father fell, Hast thou kept them through sorrow and joyance? hast thou warded them trusty and well?

Where hast thou laid them, my mother?"

Then she looked upon him and said: "Art thou wroth, O Sigurd my son, that such eyes are in thine head?

And wilt thou be wroth with thy mother? do I withstand thee at all?"

"Nay," said he, "nought am I wrathful, but the days rise up like a wall Betwixt my soul and the deeds, and I strive to rend them through.

And why wilt thou fear mine eyen? as the sword lies baleful and blue E'en 'twixt the lips of lovers, when they swear their troth thereon, So keen are the eyes ye have fashioned, ye folk of the days agone; For therein is the light of battle, though whiles it lieth asleep.

Now give me the sword, my mother, that Sigmund gave thee to keep."

She said: "I shall give it thee gladly, for fain shall I be of thy praise When thou knowest my careful keeping of that hope of the earlier days."

So she took his hand in her hand, and they went their ways, they twain, Till they came to the treasure of queen-folk, the guarded chamber of gain: They were all alone with its riches, and she turned the key in the gold, And lifted the sea-born purple, and the silken web unrolled, And lo, 'twixt her hands and her bosom the shards of Sigmund's sword; No rust-fleck stained its edges, and the gems of the ocean's h.o.a.rd Were as bright in the hilts and glorious, as when in the Volsungs' hall It shone in the eyes of the earl-folk and flashed from the shielded wall.

But Sigurd smiled upon it, and he said: "O Mother of Kings, Well hast thou warded the war-glaive for a mirror of many things, And a hope of much fulfilment: well hast thou given to me The message of my fathers, and the word of things to be: Trusty hath been thy warding, but its hour is over now: These shards shall be knit together, and shall hear the war-wind blow.

They shall shine through the rain of Odin, as the sun come back to the world, When the heaviest bolt of the thunder amidst the storm is hurled: They shall shake the thrones of Kings, and shear the walls of war, And undo the knot of treason when the world is darkening o'er.

They have shone in the dusk and the night-tide, they shall shine in the dawn and the day; They have gathered the storm together, they shall chase the clouds away; They have sheared red gold asunder, they shall gleam o'er the garnered gold; They have ended many a story, they shall fashion a tale to be told: They have lived in the wrack of the people; they shall live in the glory of folk: They have stricken the G.o.ds in battle, for the G.o.ds shall they strike the stroke."

Then she felt his hands about her as he took the fateful sword, And he kissed her soft and sweetly; but she answered never a word: So great and fair was he waxen, so glorious was his face, So young, as the deathless G.o.ds are, that long in the golden place She stood when he was departed: as some for-travailed one Comes over the dark fell-ridges on the birth-tide of the sun, And his gathering sleep falls from him mid the glory and the blaze; And he sees the world grow merry and looks on the lightened ways, While the ruddy streaks are melting in the day-flood broad and white; Then the morn-dusk he forgetteth, and the moon-lit waste of night, And the hall whence he departed with its yellow candles' flare: So stood the Isle-king's daughter in that treasure-chamber fair.

But swift on his ways went Sigurd, and to Regin's house he came, Where the Master stood in the doorway and behind him leapt the flame, And dark he looked and little: no more his speech was sweet, No words on his lip were gathered the Volsung child to greet, Till he took the sword from Sigurd and the shards of the days of old; Then he spake: "Will nothing serve thee save this blue steel and cold, The bane of thy father's father, the fate of all his kin, The baleful blade I fashioned, the Wrath that the G.o.ds would win?"