How the Niblungs fare to the Land of King Atli.
Now when the house was silent, and all men in slumber lay,
And yet two hours were lacking of the dawning-tide of day,
The sons of his foster-mother doth the heart-wise Hogni find;
In the dead night, speaking softly, he showeth them his mind,
And they wake and hearken and heed him, and arise from the bolster blue,
Nor aught do their stout hearts falter at the deed he bids them do.
So he and they go softly while all men slumber and sleep,
And they enter the treasure-houses, and come to their midmost heap;
But so rich in the night it glimmers that the brethren hold their breath,
While Hogni laugheth upon it:—long it lay on the Glittering Heath,
Long it lay in the house of Reidmar, long it lay 'neath the waters wan;
But no long while hath it tarried in the houses and dwellings of man.
Nor long these linger before it; they set their hands to the toil,
And uplift the Bed of the Serpent, the Seed of murder and broil;
No word they speak in their labour, but bear out load on load
To great wains that out in the fore-court for the coming Gold abode:
Most huge were the men, far mightier than the mightiest fashioned now,
But the salt sweat dimmed their eyesight and flooded cheek and brow
Ere half the work was accomplished; and by then the laden wains
Came groaning forth from the gateway, dawn drew on o'er the plains;
And the ramparts of the people, those walls high-built of old,
Stood grey as the bones of a battle in a dale few folk behold:
But in haste they goad the yoke-beasts, and press on and make no speech,
Though the hearts are proud within them and their eyes laugh each at each.
No great way down from the burg-gate, anigh to the hallowed field,
There lieth a lake in the river as round as Odin's shield,
A black pool huge and awful: ten long-ships of the most
Therein might wager battle, and the sunken should be lost
Beyond all hope of diver, yea, beyond the plunging lead;
On either side its rock-walls rise up to a mighty head,
But by green slopes from the meadows 'tis easy drawing near
To the brow whence the dark-grey rampart to the water goeth sheer:
'Tis as if the Niblung River had cleft the grave-mound through
Of the mightiest of all Giants ere the Gods' work was to do;
And indeed men well might deem it, that fearful sights lie hid
Beneath the unfathomed waters, the place to all forbid;
No stream the black deep showeth, few winds may search its face,
And the silver-scaled sea-farers love nought its barren space.
There now the Niblung War-king and the foster-brethren twain
Lead up their golden harvest and stay it wain by wain,
Till they hang o'er the rim scarce balanced: no glance they cast below
To the black and awful waters well known from long ago,
But they cut the yoke-beasts' traces, and drive them down the slopes,
Who rush through the widening daylight, and bellow forth their hopes
Of the straw-stall and the barley: but the Niblungs turn once more,
Hard toil the warrior cart-carles for the garnering of their store,
And shoulder on the wain-wheels o'er the edge of the grimly wall,
And stand upright to behold it, how the waggons plunge and fall.
Down then and whirling outward the ruddy Gold fell forth,
As a flame in the dim grey morning, flashed out a kingdom's worth,
Then the waters, roared above it, the wan water and the foam
Flew up o'er the face of the rock-wall as the tinkling Gold fell home,
Unheard, unseen for ever, a wonder and a tale,
Till the last of earthly singers from, the sons of men shall fail:
Then the face of the further waters a widening ripple rent
And forth from hollow places strange sounds as of talking went,
And loud laughed Hogni in answer; but not so long he stayed
As that half the oily ripple in long sleepy coils was laid,
Or the lapping fallen silent in the water-beaten caves;
Scarce streamward yet were drifting the foam-heaps o'er the waves.
When betwixt the foster-brethren down the slopes King Hogni strode
Toward the ancient Burg of his fathers, as a man that casteth a load:
No word those fellows had spoken since he whispered low and light
O'er the beds of the foster-brethren in the dead hour of the night,
But his face was proud and glorious as he strode the war-gate through,
And went up to his kingly chamber, and the golden bed he knew,
And lay down and slept by his help-mate as a play-spent child might sleep
In some franklin's wealthy homestead, in the room the nurses keep.
Nought the sun on that morn delayeth, but light o'er the world's face flies.
And awake by the side of King Hogni the wedded woman lies,
And her bosom is weary with sighing, and her eyes with dream-born tears.
And a sound as of all confusion is ever in her ears:
Then she turneth and crieth to Hogni, as she layeth a hand on his breast;
"Wake, wake, thou son of Giuki! save thy speech-friend all unrest!"
Then he waketh up as a child that hath slept in the summer grass,
And he saith: "What tidings, O Bera, what tidings come to pass?"
She saith, "Wilt thou wend with Gunnar to Atli over the main?"