Each blind soul voyages in loneliness:
Nor ever has a man with undimmed eyes,
Save he whom ravens fed, and he whose voice
Sounded the note of triumph, even in Hell,
While the dead flocked unto him, and the gates
Were lifted up for gladness, travelled it.
Wide regions filled with spirits numberless——”
But Brunhild turned on him: “I see them now,
Though Death has not yet claimed me, in that flame;
And wouldst thou have me go to them in fear,