It it better for the brave man
Than for the coward
To join in the battle,
It is better for the glad
Than for the sorrowing
In all circumstances.
Sigurd took Fafner’s heart, put it on a spit and roasted it; but when he thought it must be roasted enough, and when the juice oozed out of the heart, he felt of it with his fingers to see whether it was well done. He burned himself, and put his finger into his mouth, but when the blood of Fafner’s heart touched his tongue he understood the song of birds. He heard birds singing in the bushes, and seven birds sang a strophe each, talking about how Regin might avenge his brother, kill Sigurd, and possess the treasure alone, when Sigurd finally says:
Not so violent
Will fate be, that Regin
Shall announce my death;