With never an uttered death-word and never a death-changed look,
And the floor of the hall of the Volsungs beneath his falling shook.
Then up rose the elder of days with a great and bitter cry,
And lifted the head of the fallen; and none durst come anigh
To hearken the words of his sorrow, if any words he said
But such as the Father of all men might speak over Balder dead.
And again, as before the death-stroke, waxed the hall of the Volsungs dim,
And once more he seemed in the forest, where he spake with naught but him.”
Speechless with grief, Sigmund tenderly raised his son’s body in his arms, and strode out of the hall and down to the shore, where he deposited his precious burden in the skiff of an old one-eyed boatman who came at his call. But when he would fain have stepped aboard also, the boatman pushed off and was soon lost to sight. The bereaved father then slowly wended his way home again, knowing that Odin himself had come to claim the young hero and had rowed away with him “out into the west.”
Hiordis.