SIGURD AND THE DRAGON.—K. Dielitz.
Sigurd gratefully followed this advice, and as the monster’s loathsome, slimy folds rolled overhead he thrust his sword under its left breast, and, deluged with blood, sprang out of the trench as the dragon rolled aside in the throes of death.
“Then all sank into silence, and the son of Sigmund stood
On the torn and furrowed desert by the pool of Fafnir’s blood,
And the serpent lay before him, dead, chilly, dull, and gray;
And over the Glittering Heath fair shone the sun and the day,
And a light wind followed the sun and breathed o’er the fateful place,
As fresh as it furrows the sea plain, or bows the acres’ face.”
Regin, who had prudently remained at a distance until all danger was over, seeing his foe was slain, now came up to Sigurd; and fearing lest the strong young conqueror should glory in his deed and claim a reward, he began to accuse him of having murdered his kin, and declared that instead of requiring life for life, as was his right according to Northern law, he would consider it sufficient atonement if Sigurd would cut out the monster’s heart and roast it for him on a spit.