When Signild proud the mantle saw,
The sight it pierced her like a knife:
“He’s dead,” she thought, “it vails me nought
To tarry longer here in life.”
She called together her maids with speed,
Concealing well her bosom’s woe:
“To have some play we’ll wend our way
Unto the lofty chamber now.”
Then out and spake proud Signelil,
She spake in stern determined guise:
“This day I will my own self kill,
And Hafbur join in Paradise.
“If any one in our band has helped
To bring him to his death so foul,
Shall rue his wrong when we ere long
Shall burn together all to coal.
“So many there are in this palace fair
Whom now the death of Hafbur gladdens;
But venge will I their cruelty
This moment on their plighted maidens.”
Then fire she set to her bower high,
The fire so hastily it blazed;
How well she loved to all she proved
Who on that conflagration gazed.
It was Hafbur, son of the King,
O’er his shoulder blade he cast his sight;
Of Signe good the bower stood,
Enwrapt in one tremendous light.
“Now take ye down my mantle red,
And let it lie upon the plain;
Within my breast if I possessed
Ten lives to beg them I’d disdain.”
King Sivard out of the window looked,
And on his mind such horror came;
For Hafbur he saw hang on a tree,
And Signild’s bower enwrapt in flame.
Outspake amain the little foot swain,
And he a mantle red had on:
“Now burns in bower the beauteous flower
With her fair maidens, every one.”