Then arose the cry of the people, and that Duke of Atli spake:
"We bless thee, O mighty Gunnar, for the Eastland Atli's sake,
And his kingdom as thy kingdom, and his men as thy men shall be,
And the gold in Atli's treasure is stored and gathered for thee."
So spake he amid their shouting, and the Queen from the high-seat stept,
And Gudrun stood with the strangers, and there were women who wept,
But she wept no more than she smiled, nor spake, nor turned again
To that place in the ancient dwelling where once lay Sigurd slain.
But she mounteth the wain all golden, and the Earls to the saddle leap,
And forth they ride in the morning, and adown the builded steep
That hath no name for Gudrun, save the place where Sigurd fell,
The strong abode of treason, the house where murderers dwell.
Three days they ride the lealand till they come to the side of the sea:
Ten days they sail the sea-flood to the land where they would be:
Three days they ride the mirk-wood to the peopled country-side,
Three days through a land of cities and plenteous tilth they ride;
On the fourth the Burg of Atli o'er the meadows riseth up,
And the houses of his dwelling fine-wrought as a silver cup.
Far off in a bight of the mountains by the inner sea it stands,
Turned away from the house of Gudrun, and her kindred and their lands.
Then to right and to left looked Gudrun and beheld the outland folk,
With no love nor hate nor wonder, as out from the teeth she spoke
To that unfamiliar people that had seen not Sigurd's face.
There she saw the walls most mighty as they came to the fencèd place:
But lo, by the gate of the city and the entering in of the street
Is an host exceeding glorious, for the King his bride will greet:
So Gudrun stayeth her fellows, and lighteth down from the wain,
And afoot cometh Atli to meet hers and they meet in the midst, they twain,
And he casteth his arms about her as a great man glad at heart;
Nought she smiles, nor her brow is knitted as she draweth aback and apart,
No man could say who beheld her if sorry or glad she were;
But her steady eyes are beholding the King and the Eastland's Fear,
And she thinks: Have I lived too long? how swift doth the world grow worse,
Though it was but a little season that I slept, forgetting the curse!
But the King speaks kingly unto her and they pass forth under the gate,
And she sees he is rich and mighty, though the Niblung folk be great;
So strong is his house upbuilded, so many are his lords,
So great the hosts for the murder and the meeting of the swords;
And she saith: It is surely enough and no further now shall I wend;
In this house, in the house of a stranger shall be the tale and the end.
Atli biddeth the Niblungs to him.
There now is Gudrun abiding, and gone by is the bloom of her youth,
And she dwells with a folk untrusty, and a King that knows not ruth:
Great are his gains in the world, and few men may his might withstand,
But he weigheth sore on his people and cumbers the hope of his land;
He craves as the sea-flood craveth, he gripes as the dying hour,
All folk lie faint before him as he seeketh a soul to devour:
Like breedeth like in his house, and venom, and guile, and the knife
Oft lie 'twixt brother and brother, and the son and the father's life:
As dogs doth Gudrun heed them, and looks with steadfast eyes
On the guile and base contention, and the strife of murder and lies.
So pass the days and the moons, and the seasons wend on their ways,
And there as a woman alone she sits mid the glory and praise:
There oft in the hall she sitteth, and as empty images
Are grown the shapes of the strangers, till her fathers' hall she sees:
Void then seems the throne of the King, and no man sits by her side
In the house of the Cloudy People and the place of her brethren's pride;
But a dead man lieth before her, and there cometh a voice and a hand,
And the cloth is plucked from the dead, and, lo, the beloved of the land,
The righter of wrongs, the deliverer, yea he that gainsayed no grace:
In a stranger's house is Gudrun and no change comes over her face,
But her heart cries: Woe, woe, woe, O woe unto me and to all!
On the fools, on the wise, on the evil let the swift destruction fall!
Cold then is her voice in the high-seat, and she hears not what it saith;
But Atli heedeth and hearkeneth, for she tells of the Glittering Heath,
And the Load of the mighty Greyfell, and the Ransom of Odin the Goth:
Cold yet is her voice as she telleth of murder and breaking of troth,
Of the stubborn hearts of the Niblungs, and their hands that never yield,
Of their craving that nought fulfilleth, of their hosts arrayed for the field.
—What then are the words of King Atli that the cold voice answereth thus?
"King, so shalt thou do, and be sackless of the vengeance that lieth with us:
What words are these of my brethren, what words are these of my kin?
For kin upon kin hath pity, and good deeds do brethren win
For the babes of their mothers' bosoms, and the children of one womb:
But no man on me had pity, no kings were gathered for doom,
When I lifted my hands for the pleading in the house of my father's folk;
When men turned and wrapped them in treason, and did on wrong as a cloak:
I have neither brethren nor kindred, and I am become thy wife
To help thine heart to its craving, and strengthen thine hand in the strife."