But the word of Sigurd smote her, and she spake ere the answer came:
"Hard speech was between us, Brynhild, and words of evil and shame;
I repent, and crave thy pardon: wilt thou say so much unto me,
That the Niblung wives may be merry, as great queens are wont to be?"
But no word answered Brynhild, and the wife of Sigurd spake:
"Lo, I humble myself before thee for many a warrior's sake,
And yet is thine anger heavy—well then, tell all thy tale,
And the grief that sickens thine heart, that a kindly word may avail."
Then spake Brynhild and said: "Thou art great and livest in bliss,
And the noble queens and the happy should ask better tidings than this:
For ugly words must tell it; thou shouldst scarce know what they mean;
Thou, the child of the mighty Niblungs, thou, Sigurd's wedded queen.
It is good to be kindly and soft while the heart hath all its will."
Said the Queen: "There is that in thy word that the joy of my heart would kill.
I have humbled myself before thee, and what further shall I say?"
Then spake Brynhild the Queen: "I spake heavy words today;
And thereof do I repent me; but one thing I beseech thee and crave:
That thou speak but a word in thy turn my life and my soul to save:
—Yea the lives of many warriors, and the joy of the Niblung home,
And the days of the unborn children, and the health of the days to come—
Say thou it was Gunnar thy brother that gave thee the Dwarf-lord's ring,
And not the glorious Sigurd, the peerless lovely King;
E'en so will I serve thee for ever, and peace on this house shall be,
And rest ere my departing, and a joyous life for thee;
And long life for the lovely Sigurd, and a glorious tale to tell.
O speak, thou sister of Gunnar, that all may be better than well!"
But hard grew the heart of Gudrun, and she said: "Hast thou heard the tale
That the wives of the Niblungs lie, lest the joy of their life-days fail?
Wilt thou threaten the house of the Niblungs, wilt thou threaten my love and my lord?
—It was Sigurd that lay in thy bed with thee and the edge of the sword;
And he told me the tale of the night-tide, and the bitterest tidings thereof,
And the shame of my brother Gunnar, how his glory was turned to a scoff;
And he set the ring on my finger with sweet words of the sweetest of men,
And no more from me shall it sunder—lo, wilt thou behold it again?"
And her hand gleamed white in the even with the ring of Andvari thereon,
The thrice-cursed burden of greed and the grain from the needy won;
Then uprose the voice of Brynhild, and she cried to the towers aloft:
"O house of the ancient people, I blessed thee sweet and soft;
In the day of my grief I blessed thee, when my life seemed evil and long;
Look down, O house of the Niblungs, on the hapless Brynhild's wrong!
Lest the day and the hour be coming when no man in thy courts shall be left
To remember the woe of Brynhild, and the joy from her life-days reft;
Lest the grey wolf howl in the hall, and the wood-king roll in the porch,
And the moon through thy broken rafters be the Niblungs' feastful torch."
"O God-folk hearken," cried Gudrun, "what a tale there is to tell!
How a Queen hath cursed her people, and the folk that hath cherished her well!"
"O Niblung child," said Brynhild, "what bitterer curse may be
Than the curse of Grimhild thy mother, and the womb that carried thee?"
"Ah fool!" said the wife of Sigurd, "wilt thou curse thy very friend?
But the bitter love bewrays thee, and thy pride that nought shall end."