(With rising enthusiasm.)
Though she stripped me sonless, one great gift she gave me— songcraft's mighty secret, skill to sing my sorrows.
On my lips she laid it,
goodly gift of songcraft;
loud, then, let my lay sound,
e'en where they are lying!
Hail, my stout sons seven!
Hail, as homeward ride ye!
Songcraft's glorious god-gift
stauncheth woe and wailing.
[1] Bragi, the god of poetry and eloquence.
[2] See note, p. 175 [The "Nornir" were the Fates of northern
mythology.]
[3] Suttung was a giant who kept guard over the magic mead of
poetical inspiration.
(He draws a deep breath, throws back the hair from his brow, and
says calmly:)
So—so; now is Ornulf sound and strong again. (To the men.) Follow
me to the supper-board, lads; we have had a heavy day's work!
(Goes with the men into the boat-house.)
DAGNY. Praised be the Mighty Ones on high that gave me so good a
rede. (To SIGURD.) Wilt thou not go in?
SIGURD. Nay, I list not to. Tell me, are all things ready for
to-morrow?