The Story of the Volsungs (Volsunga Saga); with Excerpts from the Poetic Edda by - (important books to read txt) 📖

THE SECOND OR ANCIENT LAY OF GUDRUN.

Thiodrek the King was in Atli's house, and had lost there the more part of his men: so there Thiodrek and Gudrun bewailed their troubles one to the other, and she spake and said:—

A may of all mays My mother reared me Bright in bower; Well loved I my brethren, Until that Giuki With gold arrayed me, With gold arrayed me, And gave me to Sigurd. Such was my Sigurd, Among the sons of Giuki As is the green leek O'er the low grass waxen, Or a hart high-limbed Over hurrying deer, Or glede-red gold Over grey silver. Till me they begrudged, Those my brethren, The fate to have him, Who was first of all men; Nor might they sleep, Nor sit a-dooming, Ere they let slay My well-loved Sigurd. Grani ran to the Thing, There was clatter to hear, But never came Sigurd Himself thereunto; All the saddle-girt beasts With blood were besprinkled, As faint with the way Neath the slayers they went. Then greeting I went With Grani to talk, And with tear-furrowed cheeks I bade him tell all; But drooping laid Grani, His head in the grass, For the steed well wotted Of his master's slaying. A long while I wandered, Long my mind wavered, Ere the kings I might ask Concerning my king. Then Gunnar hung head, But Hogni told Of the cruel slaying Of my Sigurd: "On the water's far side Lies, smitten to death, The bane of Guttorm To the wolves given over. "Go, look on Sigurd, On the ways that go southward, There shalt thou hear The ernes high screaming, The ravens a-croaking As their meat they crave for; Thou shalt hear the wolves howling Over thine husband. "How hast thou, Hogni, The heart to tell me, Me of joy made empty, Of such misery? Thy wretched heart May the ravens tear Wide over the world, With no men mayst thou wend." One thing Hogni Had for answer, Fallen from his high heart, Full of all trouble: "More greeting yet, O Gudrun, for thee, If my heart the ravens Should rend asunder!" Thence I turned From the talk and the trouble To go a leasing (1) What the wolves had left me; No sigh I made No smote hands together, Nor did I wail As other women When I sat over My Sigurd slain. Night methought it, And the moonless dark, When I sat in sorrow Over Sigurd; Better than all things I deemed it would be If they would let me Cast my life by, Or burn me up As they burn the birch-wood. From the fell I wandered Five days together, Until the high hall Of Half lay before me; Seven seasons there I sat with Thora, The daughter of Hacon, Up in Denmark. My heart to gladden With gold she wrought Southland halls And swans of the Dane-folk; There had we painted The chiefs a-playing; Fair our hands wrought Folk of the kings. Red shields we did, Doughty knights of the Huns, Hosts spear-dight, hosts helm-dight, All a high king's fellows; And the ships of Sigmund From the land swift sailing; Heads gilt over And prows fair graven. On the cloth we broidered That tide of their battling, Siggeir and Siggar, South in Fion. Then heard Grimhild, The Queen of Gothland, How I was abiding, Weighed down with woe; And she thrust the cloth from her And called to her sons,