"Do I curse the accursèd?" said Brynhild, "but yet the day shall come,
When thy word shall scarce be better on the threshold of thine home;
When thine heart shall be dulled and chilly with e'en such a mingling of might,
As in Sigurd's cup she mingled, and thou shalt not remember aright."
Out-brake the child of the Niblungs: "A witless lie is this;
But thou sickenest sore for Sigurd, and the giver of all bliss:
A ruthless liar thou art: thou wouldst cut off my glory and gain,
Though it further thine own hope nothing, and thy longing be empty and vain.
Ah, thou hungerest after mine husband!—yet greatly art thou wed,
And high o'er the kings of the Goth-folk doth Gunnar rear the head."
"Which one of the sons of Giuki," said Brynhild, "durst to ride
Through the waves of my Flickering Fire to lie by Brynhild's side?
Thou shouldst know him, O Sister of Kings; let the glorious name be said,
Lest mine oath in the water be written, and I wake up, vile and betrayed,
In the arms of the faint-heart dastard, and of him that loveth life,
And casteth his deeds to another, and the wooing of his wife."
"Yea, hearken," said she of the Niblungs, "what words the stranger saith!
Hear the words of the fool of love, how she feareth not the death,
Nor to cry the shame on Gunnar, whom the King-folk tremble before:
The wise and the overcomer, the crown of happy war!"
Said Brynhild: "Long were the days ere the Son of Sigmund came;
Long were the days and lone, but nought I dreamed of the shame.
So may the day come, Grimhild, when thine eyes know not thy son!
Think then on the man I knew not, and the deed thy guile hath done!"
Then coldly laughed Queen Gudrun, and she said: "Wilt thou lay all things
On the woman that hath loved thee and the Mother of the Kings?
O all-wise Queen of the Niblungs, was this change too hard a part
For the learned in the lore of Regin, who ate of the Serpent's heart?"
Then was Brynhild silent a little, and forth from the Niblung hall
Came the sound of the laughter of men to the garth by the nook of the wall;
And a wind arose in the twilight, and sounds came up from the plain
Of kine in the dew-fall wandering, and of oxen loosed from the wain,
And the songs of folk free-hearted, and the river rushing by;
And the heart of Brynhild hearkened and she cried with a grievous cry:
"O Sigurd, O my Sigurd, we twain were one, time was,
And the wide world lay before us and the deeds to bring to pass!
And now I am nought for helping, and no helping mayst thou give;
And all is marred and evil, and why hast thou heart to live?"
She held her peace for anguish, and forth from the hall there came
The shouts of the joyous Niblungs, and the sound of Sigurd's name:
And Brynhild turned from Gudrun, and lifted her voice and said:
"O evil house of the Niblungs, may the day of your woe and your dread
Be meted with the measure of the guile ye dealt to me,
When ye sealed your hearts from pity and forgat my misery!"
And she turned to flee from the garden; but her gown-lap Gudrun caught,
And cried: "Thou evil woman, for thee were the Niblungs wrought,
And their day of the fame past telling, that they should heed thy life?
Dear house of the Niblung glory, fair bloom of the warriors' strife,
How well shalt thou stand triumphant, when all we lie in the earth
For a little while remembered in the story of thy worth!"