"Here are glad men about us, and a joyous folk of war.
And they that have loved thee for long, and they that have cherished mine heart;
But we twain alone are woeful, as sad folk sitting apart.
Ah, if I thy soul might gladden! if thy lips might give me peace!
Then belike were we gladdest of all; for I love thee more than these.
The cup of goodwill that thou bearest, and the greeting thou wouldst say,
Turn these to the cup of thy love, and the words of the troth-plighting day;
The love that endureth for ever, and the never-dying troth,
To face the Norns' undoing, and the Gods amid their wrath."
Then he taketh the cup and her hands, and she boweth meekly adown,
Till she feels the arms of Sigurd round her trembling body thrown:
A little while she doubteth in the mighty slayer's arms
As Sigurd's love unhoped-for her barren bosom warms;
A little while she struggleth with the fear of his mighty fame,
That grows with her hope's fulfilment; ruth rises with wonder and shame;
For the kindness grows in her soul, as forgotten anguish dies,
And her heart feels Sigurd's sorrow in the breast whereon she lies;
Then the fierce love overwhelms her, and as wax in the fervent fire
All dies and is forgotten in the sweetness of desire;
And close she clingeth to Sigurd, as one that hath gotten the best
And fair things of the world she deemeth, as a place of infinite rest.
Of the Wedding of Sigurd the Volsung.
That night sleeps Sigurd the Volsung, and awakes on the morrow-morn,
And wots at the first but dimly what thing in his life hath been born:
But the sun cometh up in the autumn, and the eve he remembered,
And the word he hath given to Gudrun to love her to the death;
And he longs for the Niblung maiden, that her love may cherish his heart,
Lest e'en as a Godhead banished he dwell in the world apart:
The new sun smiteth his body as he leaps from the golden bed,
And doeth on his raiment and is fair apparelled;
Then he goes his ways through the chambers, and greeteth none at all
Till he comes to the garth and the garden in the nook of the Niblung wall.
Now therein, mid the yellowing leafage, and the golden blossoms spent,
Alone and lovely and eager the white-armed Gudrun went;
Swift then he hasteneth toward her, and she bideth his drawing near,
And now in the morn she trembleth; for her love is blent with fear;
And wonder is all around her, for she deemed till yestereve,
When she saw the earls astonied, and the golden Sigurd grieve,
That on some most mighty woman his joyful love was set;
And love hath made her humble, and her race doth she forget,
And her noble and mighty heart from the best of the Niblungs sprung,
The sons of the earthly War-Gods of the days when the world was young.
Yea she feareth her love and his fame, but she feareth his sorrow most,
Lest he spake from a heart o'erladen and counted not the cost.
But lo, the love of his eyen, and the kindness of his face!
And joy her body burdens, and she trembleth in her place,
And sinks in the arms that cherish with a faint and eager cry,
And again on the bosom of Sigurd doth the head of Gudrun lie.
Fairer than yestereven doth Sigurd deem his love,
And more her tender wooing and her shame his soul doth move;
And his words of peace and comfort come easier forth from him,
And woman's love seems wondrous amidst his trouble dim;
Strange, sweet, to cling together! as oft and o'er again
They crave and kiss rejoicing, and their hearts are full and fain.
Then a little while they sunder, and apart and anigh they stand,
And Sigurd's eyes grow awful as he stretcheth forth his hand,
And his clear voice saith:
"O Gudrun, now hearken while I swear
That the sun shall die for ever and the day no more be fair.
Ere I forget thy pity and thine inmost heart of love!
Yea, though the Kings be mighty, and the Gods be great above,
I will wade the flood and the fire, and the waste of war forlorn,
To look on the Niblung dwelling, and the house where thou wert born."
Strange seemed the words to Sigurd that his gathering love compelled,
And sweet and strange desire o'er his tangled trouble welled.
But bright flashed the eyes of Gudrun, and she said: "King, as for me,
If thou sawest the heart in my bosom, what oath might better thee?
Yet my words thy words shall cherish, as thy lips my lips have done.
—Herewith I swear, O Sigurd, that the earth shall hate the sun,
And the year desire but darkness, and the blossoms shrink from day,
Ere my love shall fail, beloved, or my longing pass away!"
Now they go from the garth and the garden, and hand in hand they come
To the hall of the kings of aforetime, and the heart of the Niblung home.
There they go 'neath the cloudy roof-tree, and on to the high-seat fair,
And there sitteth Giuki the ancient, and the guileful Grimhild is there,
With the swart-haired Niblung brethren; and all these are exceeding fain,
When they look on Sigurd and Gudrun, and the peace that enwrappeth the twain,
For in her is all woe forgotten, sick longing little seen,
And the shame that slayeth pity, and the self-scorn of a Queen;
And all doubt in love is swallowed, and lovelier now is she
Than a picture deftly painted by the craftsmen over sea;
And her face is a rose of the morning by the night-tide framed about,
And the long-stored love of her bosom from her eyes is leaping out.
But how fair is Sigurd the King that beside her beauty goes!
How lovely is he shapen, how great his stature shows!
How kind is the clasping right-hand, that hath smitten the battle acold!
How kind are the awful eyen that no foeman durst behold!
How sweet are the lips unsmiling, and the brow as the open day!
What man can behold and believe it, that his life shall pass away?
So he standeth proud by the high-seat, and the sun through the vast hall pours
And the Gods on the hangings waver as the wind goes by the doors,
And abroad are the sounds of man-folk, and the eagles cry from the roof,
And the ancient deeds of Sigmund seem fallen far aloof;
And dead are the fierce days fallen, and the world is soft and sweet,
As the Son of the Volsungs speaketh in noble words and meet: