The Story of the Volsungs Part 27

"Too baleful vengeance Wroughtest thou for thy brethren Most sore and evil When thy sons thou slewedst, Else all we together On Jormunrek Had wrought sore vengeance For that our sister.

"Come, bring forth quickly The Hun kings' bright gear, Since thou has urged us Unto the sword-Thing!"

Laughing went Gudrun To the bower of good gear, Kings' crested helms From chests she drew, And wide-wrought byrnies Bore to her sons: Then on their horses Load laid the heroes.

Then spake Hamdir, The high-hearted-- "Never cometh again His mother to see The spear-G.o.d laid low In the land of the Goths.

That one arvel mayst thou For all of us drink, For sister Swanhild, And us thy sons."

Greeted Gudrun Giuki's daughter; Sorrowing she went In the forecourt to sit, That she might tell, With cheeks tear-furrowed, Her weary wail In many a wise.

"Three fires I knew, Three hearths I knew, To three husbands' houses Have I been carried; And better than all Had been Sigurd alone, He whom my brethren Brought to his bane.

"Such sore grief as that Methought never should be, Yet more indeed Was left for my torment Then, when the great ones Gave me to Atli.

"My fair bright boys I bade unto speech, Nor yet might I win Weregild for my bale, Ere I had hewn off Those Niblungs' heads.

"To the sea-strand I went With the Norns sorely wroth, For I would thrust from me The storm of their torment; But the high billows Would not drown, but bore me Forth, till I stepped a-land Longer to live.

"Then I went a-bed-- --Ah, better in the old days, This was the third time!-- To a king of the people; Offspring I brought forth, Props of a fair house, Props of a fair house, Jonakr's fair sons.

"But around Swanhild Bond-maidens sat, Her, that of all mine Most to my heart was; Such was my Swanhild, In my hall's midmost, As is the sunbeam Fair to beheld.

"In gold I arrayed her, And goodly raiment, Or ever I gave her To the folk of the Goths.

That was the hardest Of my heavy woes, When the bright hair,-- O the bright hair of Swanhild!-- In the mire was trodden By the treading of horses.

"This was the sorest, When my love, my Sigurd, Reft of glory In his bed gat ending: But this the grimmest When glittering worms Tore their way Through the heart of Gunnar.

"But this the keenest When they cut to the quick Of the hardy heart Of the unfeared Hogni.

Of much of bale I mind me, Of many griefs I mind me; Why should I sit abiding Yet more bale and more?

"Thy coal-black horse, O Sigurd, bridle, The swift on the highway!

O let him speed hither!

Here sitteth no longer Son or daughter, More good gifts To give to Gudrun!

"Mindst thou not, Sigurd, Of the speech betwixt us, When on one bed We both sat together, O my great king-- That thou wouldst come to me E'en from the hall of h.e.l.l, I to thee from the fair earth?

"Pile high, O earls The oaken pile, Let it be the highest That ever queen had!

Let the fire burn swift, My breast with woe laden, And thaw all my heart, Hard, heavy with sorrow!"

Now may all earls Be bettered in mind, May the grief of all maidens Ever be minished, For this tale of sorrow So told to its ending.

THE LAY OF HAMDIR

Great deeds of bale In the garth began, At the sad dawning The tide of Elves' sorrow When day is a-waxing And man's grief awaketh, And the sorrow of each one The early day quickeneth.

Not now, not now, Nor yesterday, But long ago Has that day worn by, That ancientest time, The first time to tell of, Then, whenas Gudrun, Born of Giuki, Whetter her sons To Swanhild's avenging.

"Your sister's name Was naught but Swanhild, Whom Jormunrek With horses has trodden!-- White horses and black On the war-beaten way, Grey horses that go On the roads of the Goths.

"All alone am I now As in holt is the aspen; As the fir-tree of boughs, So of kin am I bare; As bare of things longed for As the willow of leaves When the bough-breaking wind The warm day endeth.

"Few, sad, are ye left O kings of my folk!

Yet alone living Last shreds of my kin!

"Ah, naught are ye grown As that Gunnar of old days; Naught are your hearts As the heart of Hogni!

Well would ye seek Vengeance to win If your hearts were in aught As the hearts of my brethren!"

Then spake Hamdir The high-hearted: "Nought hadst thou to praise The doings of Hogni, When they woke up Sigurd From out of slumber, And in bed thou sat'st up 'Mid the banes-men's laughter.

"Then when thy bed=gear, Blue-white, well woven By art of craftsmen All swam with thy king's blood; The Sigurd died, O'er his dead corpse thou sattest, Not heeding aught gladsome, Since Gunnar so willed it.

"Great grief for Atli Gatst thou by Erp's murder, And the end of thine Eitil, But worse grief for thyself.

Good to use sword For the slaying of others In such wise that its edge Shall not turn on ourselves!"

Then well spake Sorli From a heart full of wisdom: "No words will I Make with my mother, Though both ye twain Need words belike-- What askest thou, Gudrun, To let thee go greeting?

"Weep for thy brethren, Weep for thy sweet sons, And thy nighest kinsfolk Laid by the fight-side!

Yea, and thou Gudrun, May'st greet for us twain Sitting fey on our steeds Doomed in far lands to die."

From the garth forth they went With hearts full of fury, Sorli and Hamdir, The sons of Gudrun, And they met on the way The wise in all wiles: "And thou little Erp, What helping from thee?"

He of alien womb Spake out in such wise: "Good help for my kin, Such as foot gives to foot, Or flesh-covered hand Gives unto hand!"

"What helping for foot That help that foot giveth, Or for flesh-covered hand The helping of hand?"

Then spake Erp Yet once again Mock spake the prince As he sat on his steed: "Fool's deed to show The way to a dastard!"

"Bold beyond measure,"

Quoth they, "is the base-born!"

Out from the sheath Drew they the sheath-steel, And the glaives' edges played For the pleasure of h.e.l.l; By the third part they minished The might that they had, Their young kin they let lie A-cold on the earth.

Then their fur-cloaks they shook And bound fast their swords, In webs goodly woven Those great ones were clad; Young they went o'er the fells Where the dew was new-fallen Swift, on steeds of the Huns, Heavy vengeance to wreak.

Forth stretched the ways, And an ill way they found, Yea, their sister's son (1) Hanging slain upon tree-- Wolf-trees by the wind made cold At the town's westward Loud with cranes' clatter-- Ill abiding there long!

Din in the king's hall Of men merry with drink, And none might hearken The horses' tramping Or ever the warders Their great horn winded.

Then men went forth To Jormunrek To tell of the heeding Of men under helm: "Give ye good counsel!

Great ones are come hither, For the wrong of men mighty Was the may to death trodden."

"Loud Jormunrek laughed, And laid hand to his beard, Nor bade bring his byrny, But with the wine fighting, Shook his red locks, On his white shield sat staring, And in his hand Swung the gold cup on high.

"Sweet sight for me Those twain to set eyes on, Sorli and Hamdir, Here in my hall!

Then with bowstrings Would I bind them, And hang the good Giukings Aloft on the gallows!"