Chapter XLIII

The Latter End of all the Kin of the Giukings

Now telleth the tale concerning the sons of Gudrun, that she had arrayed their war-raiment in such wise, that no steel would bite thereon; and she bade them play not with stones or other heavy matters, for that it would be to their scathe if they did so.

And now, as they went on their way, they met Erp, their brother, and asked him in what wise he would help them.

He answered, “Even as hand helps hand, or foot helps foot.”

But that they deemed naught at all, and slew him there and then. Then they went their ways, nor was it long or ever Hamdir stumbled, and thrust down his hand to steady himself, and spake therewith—

“Naught but a true thing spake Erp, for now should I have fallen, had not hand been to steady me.”

A little after Sorli stumbled, but turned about on his feet, and so stood, and spake—

“Yea now had I fallen, but that I steadied myself with both feet.”

And they said they had done evilly with Erp their brother.

But on they fare till they come to the abode of King Jormunrek, and they went up to him and set on him forthwith, and Hamdir cut both hands from him and Sorli both feet. Then spake Hamdir—

“Off were the head if Erp were alive; our brother, whom we slew on the way, and found out our deed too late.” Even as the Song says,—

“Off were the headIf Erp were alive yet,Our brother the bold,Whom we slew by the way,The well-famed in warfare.”

Now in this must they turn away from the words of their mother, whereas they had to deal with stones. For now men fell on them, and they defended themselves in good and manly wise, and were the scathe of many a man, nor would iron bite on them.

But there came thereto a certain man, old of aspect and one-eyed, (1) and he spake—

“No wise men are ye, whereas ye cannot bring these men to their end.”

Then the king said, “Give us rede thereto, if thou canst.”

He said, “Smite them to the death with stones.”

In such wise was it done, for the stones flew thick and fast from every side, and that was the end of their life-days.

And now has come to an end the whole root and stem of the Giukings. (2)

NOW MAY ALL EARLSBE BETTERED IN MIND,MAY THE GRIEF OF ALL MAIDENSEVER BE MINISHED,FOR THIS TALE OF TROUBLESO TOLD TO ITS ENDING.
ENDNOTES:(1) Odin; he ends the tale as he began it.(2) “And now,” etc., inserted by translators from the PoeticEdda, the stanza at the end from the Whetting of Gudrun.

Appendix: Excerpts from the Poetic Edda

PART OF THE SECOND LAY OF HELGI HUNDINGS-BANE (1)

Helgi wedded Sigrun, and they begate sons together, but Helgi lived not to be old; for Dag, (2) the son of Hogni, sacrificed to Odin, praying that he might avenge his father. So Odin lent Dag his spear, and Dag met Helgi, his brother-in-law, at a place called Fetter-grove, and thrust him through with that spear, and there fell Helgi dead; but Dag rode to Sevafell, and told Sigrun of the news.

DAG:Loth am I, sisterOf sorrow to tell thee,For by hard need drivenHave I drawn on the greeting;This morning fellIn Fetter-groveThe king well deemedThe best in the wide world,Yea, he who stoodOn the necks of the strong.”
SIGRUN:All oaths once swornShall bite thee sore,The oaths that to HelgiOnce thou swarestAt the bright whiteWater of Lightening, (3)And at the cold rockThat the sea runneth over.
May the ship sweep not onThat should sweep at its swiftest,Though the wind desiredBehind thee driveth!May the horse never runThat should run at his most mightWhen from thy foe’s faceThou hast most need to flee!
May the sword never biteThat thou drawest from scabbardBut and if round thine headIn wrath it singeth!
Then should meet price be paidFor Helgi’s slayingWhen a wolf thou wertOut in the wild-wood,Empty of good thingsEmpty of gladness,With no meat for thy mouthBut dead men’s corpses!
DAG:With mad words thou ravest,Thy wits are gone from thee,When thou for thy brotherSuch ill fate biddest;Odin aloneLet all this bale loose,Casting the strife-runes‘Twixt friends and kindred.
Rings of red goldWill thy brother give thee,And the stead of VandilAnd the lands of Vigdale;Have half of the landFor thy sorrow’s healing,O ring-arrayed sweetlingFor thee and thy sons!
SIGRUN:No more sit I happyAt Sevafell;At day-dawn, at nightNaught love I my lifeTill broad o’er the peopleMy lord’s light breaketh;Till his war-horse runnethBeneath him hither,Well wont to the gold bit—Till my king I welcome.
In such wise did HelgiDeal fear aroundTo all his foesAnd all their friendsAs when the goat runnethBefore the wolf’s rageFilled with mad fearDown from the fell.
As high above all lordsDid Helgi beat himAs the ash-tree’s gloryFrom the thorn ariseth,Or as the fawnWith the dew-fell sprinkledIs far aboveAll other wild things,As his horns go gleaming’Gainst the very heavens.

A barrow was raised above Helgi, but when he came in Valhall, then Odin bade him be lord of all things there, even as he; so Helgi sang—

HELGI:Now shalt thou, HundingFor the help of each manGet ready the foot-bath,And kindle the fire;The hounds shalt thou bindAnd give heed to the horses,Give wash to the swineEre to sleep thou goest.

A bondmaid of Sigrun went in the evening-tide by Helgi’s mound, and there saw how Helgi rode toward it with a great company; then she sang—

BONDMAID:It is vain things’ beguillingThat methinks I behold,Or the ending of all things,As ye ride, O ye dead men,Smiting with spursYour horses’ sides?Or may dead warriorsWend their ways homeward?
THE DEAD:No vain things’ beguilingIs that thou beholdest,Nor the ruin of all things;Though thou lookest upon us,Though we smite with spursOur horses’ sides;Rather dead warriorsMay wend their ways homeward.

Then went the bondmaid home, and told Sigrun, and sang—

BONDMAID:Go out, SigrunFrom Sevafell,If thou listest to look onThe lord of thy people!For the mound is uncoveredThither is Helgi come,And his wounds are bleeding,But the king thee biddethTo come and stayThat stream of sorrow.

So Sigrun went into the mound to Helgi, and sang—

SIGRUN:Now am I as fainOf this fair meeting,As are the hungryHawks of Odin,When they wot of the slayingOf the yet warm quarry,Or bright with dewSee the day a-dawning.
Ah, I will kissMy king laid lifeless,Ere thou castest byThy blood-stained byrny.O Helgi, thy hairIs thick with death’s rime,With the dew of the deadIs my love all dripping;Dead-cold are the handsOf the son of Hogni;How for thee, O my king,May I win healing?
HELGI:Thou alone, SigrunOf Sevafell,Hast so done that HelgiWith grief’s dew drippeth;O clad in goldCruel tears thou weepest,Bright May of the Southlands,Or ever thou sleepest;Each tear in blood fallethOn the breast of thy lord,Cold wet and bitter-sharpSwollen with sorrow.
Ah, we shall drinkDear draughts and lovely,Though, we have lostBoth life and lands;Neither shall anySing song of sorrow,Though in my breastBe wounds wide to behold:For now are bridesIn the mound abiding;Kings’ daughters sitBy us departed.

Bow Sigrun arrayed a bed in the mound, and sang—

SIGRUN:Here, Helgi, for theeA bed have I dight,Kind without woe,O kin of the Ylfings!To thy bosom, O king,Will I come and sleep soft,As I was wontWhen my lord was living.
HELGI:Now will I callNaught not to be hoped forEarly or lateAt Sevafell,When thou in the armsOf a dead man art laid,White maiden of Hogni,Here in the mound:And thou yet quick,O King’s daughter!
Now needs must I rideOn the reddening ways;My pale horse must treadThe highway aloft;West must I goTo Windhelm’s bridgeEre the war-winning crowdHall-crower (4) waketh.

So Helgi rode his ways: and the others gat them gone home to the house. But the next night Sigrun bade the bondwoman have heed of the mound. So at nightfall, thenas Sigrun came to the mound, she sang:

SIGRUN:Here now would he come,If to come he were minded;Sigmund’s offspringFrom the halls of Odin.O me the hope wanethOf Helgi’s coming;For high on the ash-boughsAre the ernes abiding,And all folk driftToward the Thing of the dreamland.
BONDMAID:Be not foolish of heart,And fare all aloneTo the house of the dead,O Hero’s daughter!For more strong and dreadfulIn the night seasonAre all dead warriorsThan in the daylight.

But a little while lived Sigrun, because of her sorrow and trouble. But in old time folk trowed that men should be born again, though their troth be now deemed but an old wife’s dotting. And so, as folk say, Helgi and Sigrun were born again, and at that tide was he called Helgi the Scathe of Hadding, and she Kara the daughter of Halfdan; and she was a Valkyrie, even as is said in the Lay of Kara.

ENDNOTES:(1) Only that part of the song is given which completes theepisodes of Helgi Hunding’s-bane; the earlier part of thesong differs little from the Saga.(2) Hogni, the father of Dar and Sigrun, had been slain by Helgiin battle, and Helgi had given peace to, and taken oaths ofDag.(3) One of the rivers of the under-world.(4) Hall-crower, “Salgofnir”: lit. Hall-gaper, the cock ofValhall.

Part of the Lay of Sigrdrifa (1)

Now this is my first counsel,That thou with thy kinBe guiltless, guileless ever,Nor hasty of wrath,Despite of wrong done—Unto the dead good that doeth.
Lo the second counsel,That oath thou swearest never,But trusty oath and true:Grim tormentingGripes troth-breakers;Cursed wretch is the wolf of vows.
This is my third rede,That thou at the ThingDeal not with the fools of folk;For unwise manFrom mouth lets fallWorser word than well he wotteth.
Yet hard it isThat holding of peaceWhen men shall deem thee dastard,Or deem the lie said soothly;But woeful is home-witness,Unless right good thou gettest it.Ah, on another dayDrive the life from out him,And pay the liar back for his lying.
Now behold the fourth rede:If ill witch thee bideth,Woe-begatting by the way,Good going furtherRather than guesting,Though thick night be on thee.
Far-seeing eyesNeed all sons of menWho wend in wrath to war;For baleful womenBide oft by the highway,Swords and hearts to soften.
And now the fifth rede:As fair as thou seestBrides on the bench abiding,Let not love’s silverRule over thy sleeping;Draw no woman to kind kissing!
For the sixth thing, I redeWhen men sit a-drinkingAmid ale-words and ill-words,Dead thou naughtWith the drunken fight-stavesFor wine stealeth wit from many.
Brawling and drinkHave brought unto menSorrow sore oft enow;Yea, bane unto some,And to some weary bale;Many are the griefs of mankind.
For the seventh, I rede thee,If strife thou raisestWith a man right high of heart,Better fight a-fieldThan burn in the fireWithin thine hall fair to behold.
The eighth rede that I give thee:Unto all ill look thou,And hold thine heart from all beguiling;Draw to thee no maiden,No man’s wife bewray thou,Urge them not unto unmeet pleasure.
This is the ninth counsel:That thou have heed of dead folkWhereso thou findest them a-field;Be they sick-dead,Be they sea-dead,Or come to ending by war-weapons.
Let bath be madeFor such men fordone,Wash thou hands and feet thereof,Comb their hair and dry themEre the coffin has them;Then bid them sleep full sweetly.
This for the tenth counsel:That thou give trust neverUnto oaths of foeman’s kin,Be’st thou bane of his brother,Or hast thou felled his father;Wolf in young son waxes,Though he with gold be gladdened.
For wrong and hatredShall rest them never,Nay, nor sore sorrow.Both wit and weaponsWell must the king haveWho is fain to be the foremost.
The last rede and eleventh:Until all ill look thou.And watch thy friends’ ways everScarce durst I lookFor long life for thee, king:Strong trouble ariseth now already.
ENDNOTES:(1) This continues the first part of the lay given in Chapter XXof the Saga; and is, in fact, the original verse of ChapterXXI.

The Lay Called the Short Lay of Sigurd

Sigurd of yore,Sought the dwelling of Giuki,As he fared, the young Volsung,After fight won;Troth he tookFrom the two brethren;Oath swore they betwixt them,Those bold ones of deed.
A may they gave to himAnd wealth manifold,Gudrun the young,Giuki’s daughter:They drank and gave doomMany days together,Sigurd the young,And the sons of Giuki.
Until they wendedFor Brynhild’s wooing,Sigurd a-ridingAmidst their rout;The wise young VolsungWho knew of all ways—Ah! He had wed her,Had fate so willed it.
Southlander SigurdA naked sword,Bright, well grinded,Laid betwixt them;No kiss he wonFrom the fair woman,Nor in arms of hisDid the Hun King hold her,Since he gat the young maidFor the son of Giuki.
No lack in her lifeShe wotted of now,And at her death-dayNo dreadful thingFor a shame indeedOr a shame in seeming;But about and betwixtWent baleful fate.
Alone, abroad,She sat of an evening,Of full many thingsShe fall a-talking:“O for my Sigurd!I shall have death,Or my fair, my lovely,Laid in mine arms.
“For the word once spoken,I sorrow sorely—His queen is Gudrun,I am wed to Gunnar;The dread Norns wrought for usA long while of woe.”
Oft with heart deepIn dreadful thoughts,O’er ice-fields and ice-hillsShe fared a-night time,When he and GudrunWere gone to their fair bed,And Sigurd wrappedThe bed-gear round her.
“Ah! Now the Hun KingHis queen in arms holdeth,While love I go lacking,And all things longed forWith no delightBut in dreadful thought.”
These dreadful thingsThrust her toward murder:—“Listen, Gunnar,For thou shalt loseMy wide lands,Yea, me myself!Never love I my life,With thee for my lord—
“I will fare back thitherFrom whence I came,To my nighest kinAnd those that know meThere shall I sitSleeping my life away,Unless thou slayestSigurd the Hun King,Making thy might moreE’en than his might was!
“Yea, let the son fareAfter the father,And no young wolfA long while nourish!For on earth man liethVengeance lighter,And peace shall be surerIf the son live not.”
Adrad was Gunnar,Heavy-hearted was he,And in doubtful moodDay-long he sat.For naught he wotted,Nor might see clearlyWhat was the seemliestOf deeds to set hand to;What of all deedsWas best to be done:For he minded the vowsSworn to the Volsung,And the sore wrongTo be wrought against Sigurd.
Wavered his mindA weary while,No wont it wasOf those days worn by,That queens should fleeFrom the realms of their kings.
“Brynhild to meIs better than all,The child of BudliIs the best of women.Yea, and my lifeWill I lay down,Ere I am twinnedFrom that woman’s treasure.”
He bade call HogniTo the place where he bided;With all the trust that might be,Trowed he in him.
“Wilt thou bewray SigurdFor his wealth’s sake?Good it is to ruleO’er the Rhine’s metal;And well contentGreat wealth to wield,Biding in peaceAnd blissful days.”
One thing alone HogniHad for an answer:“Such doings for usAre naught seemly to do;To rend with swordOaths once sworn,Oaths once sworn,And troth once plighted.
“Nor know we on mould,Men of happier days,The while we fourRule over the folk;While the bold in battle,The Hun King, bides living.
“And no nobler kinShall be known afield,If our five sonsWe long may foster;Yea, a goodly stemShall surely wax.—But I clearly seeIn what wise it standeth,Brynhild’s sore urgingO’ermuch on thee beareth.
“Guttorm shall weGet for the slaying,Our younger brotherBare of wisdom;For he was out ofAll the oaths sworn,All the oaths sworn,And the plighted troth.”
Easy to rouse himWho of naught recketh!—Deep stood the swordIn the heart of Sigurd.
There, in the hall,Gat the high-hearted vengeance;For he can his swordAt the reckless slayer:Out at GuttormFlew Gram the mighty,The gleaming steelFrom Sigurd’s hand.
Down fell the slayerSmitten asunder;The heavy headAnd the hands fell one way,But the feet and such likeAback where they stood.
Gudrun was sleepingSoft in the bed,Empty of sorrowBy the side of Sigurd:When she awokeWith all pleasure gone,Swimming in bloodOf Frey’s beloved.
So sore her handsShe smote together,That the great-heartedGat raised in bed;—“O Gudrun, weep notSo woefully,Sweet lovely bride,For thy brethren live for thee!
“A young child have IFor heritor;Too young to win forthFrom the house of his foes.—Black deeds and illHave they been a-doing,Evil redeHave they wrought at last.
“Late, late, rideth with themUnto the Thing,Such sister’s son,Though seven thou bear,——But well I wotWhich way all goeth;Alone wrought BrynhildThis bale against us.
“That maiden loved meFar before all men,Yet wrong to GunnarI never wrought;Brotherhood I heededAnd all bounden oaths,That none should deem meHis queen’s darling.”
Weary sighed Gudrun,As the king gat ending,And so sore her handsShe smote together,That the cups arowRang out therewith,And the geese cried on highThat were in the homefield.
Then laughed BrynhildBudli’s daughter,Once, once only,From out her heart;When to her bedWas borne the soundOf the sore greetingOf Giuki’s daughter.
Then, quoth Gunnar,The king, the hawk-bearer,“Whereas, thou laughest,O hateful woman,Glad on thy bed,No good it betokeneth:Why lackest thou elseThy lovely hue?Feeder of foul deeds,Fey do I deem thee,
“Well worthy art thouBefore all women,That thine eyes should seeAtli slain of us;That thy brother’s woundsThou shouldest see a-bleeding,That his bloody hurtsThine hands should bind.”
“No man blameth thee, Gunnar,Thou hast fulfilled death’s measureBut naught Atli fearethAll thine ill will;Life shall he lay downLater than ye,And still bear more mightAloft than thy might.
“I shall tell thee, Gunnar,Though well the tale thou knowest,In what early daysYe dealt abroad your wrong:Young was I then,Worn with no woe,Good wealth I hadIn the house of my brother!
“No mind had IThat a man should have me,Or ever ye Giukings,Rode into our garth;There ye sat on your steedsThree kings of the people——Ah! That that faringHad never befallen!
“Then spake AtliTo me apart,And said that no wealthHe would give unto me,Neither gold nor landsIf I would not be wedded;Nay, and no partOf the wealth apportioned,Which in my first daysHe gave me duly;Which in my first daysHe counted down.
“Wavered the mindWithin me then,If to fight I should fallAnd the felling of folk,Bold in ByrnyBecause of my brother;A deed of fameHad that been to all folk,But to many a manSorrow of mind.
“So I let all sinkInto peace at the last:More grew I mindedFor the mighty treasure,The red-shining ringsOf Sigmund’s son;For no man’s wealth elseWould I take unto me.
“For myself had I givenTo that great kingWho sat amid goldOn the back of Grani;Nought were his eyesLike to your eyen,Nor in any wiseWent his visage with yours;Though ye might deem youDue kings of men.
“One I loved,One, and none other,The gold-decked mayHad no doubtful mind;Thereof shall AtliWot full surely,When he getteth to knowI am gone to the dead.
“Far be it from me,Feeble and wavering,Ever to loveAnother’s love——Yes shall my woeBe well avenged.”
Up rose Gunnar,The great men’s leader,And cast his armsAbout the queen’s neck;And all went nighOne after other,With their whole heartsHer heart to turn.
But then all theseFrom her neck she thrust,Of her long journeyNo man should let her.
Then called he HogniTo have talk with him;“Let all folk goForth into the hall,Thine with mine——O need sore and mighty!—To wot if we yetMy wife’s parting may stay.Till with time’s wearingSome hindrance wax.”
One answer HogniHad for all;“Nay, let hard needHave rule thereover,And no man let herOf her long journey!Never born again,May she come back thence!
“Luckless she cameTo the lap of her mother,Born into the worldFor utter woe,TO many a manFor heart-whole mourning.”
Upraised he turnedFrom the talk and the trouble,To where the gem-fieldDealt out goodly treasure;As she looked and beheldAll the wealth that she had,And the hungry bondmaids,And maids of the hall.
With no good in her heartShe donned her gold byrny,Ere she thrust the sword pointThrough the midst of her body:On the boister’s far sideSank she adown,And, smitten with sword,Still bethought her of redes.
“Let all come forthWho are fain the red gold,Or things less worthyTo win from my hands;To each one I giveA necklace gilt over,Wrought hangings and bed=gear,And bright woven weed.”
All they kept silence,And thought what to speak,Then all at onceAnswer gave:“Full enow are death-doomed,Fain are we to live yet,Maids of the hallAll meet work winning.”
“From her wise heart at lastThe linen-clad damsel,The one of few yearsGave forth the word:“I will that none drivenBy hand or by word,For our sake should loseWell-loved life.
“Thou on the bones of youSurely shall burn,Less dear treasureAt your departingNor with Menia’s Meal (1)Shall ye come to see me.”
“Sit thee down, Gunnar,A word must I say to theeOf the life’s ruinOf thy lightsome bride——Nor shall thy shipSwim soft and sweetlyFor all that ILay life adown.
“Sooner than ye might deemShall ye make peace with Gudrun,For the wise womanShall full in the young wifeThe hard memoryOf her dead husband.
“There is a may bornReared by her mother,Whiter and brighterThan is the bright day;She shall be Swanhild,She shall be Sunbeam.
“Thou shalt give GudrunUnto a great one,Noble, well-praisedOf the world’s folk;Not with her goodwill,Or love shalt thou give her;Yet will AtliCome to win her,My very brother,Born of Budli.
—“Ah! Many a memoryOf how ye dealt with me,How sorely, how evillyYe ever beguiled me,How all pleasure left meThe while my life lasted—!
“Fain wilt thou beOddrun to win,But thy good likingShall Atli let;But in secret wiseShall ye win together,And she shall love theeAs I had loved thee,If in such wiseFare had willed it.
“But with all illShall Atli sting thee,Into the strait worm-closeShall he cast thee.
“But no long spaceShall slip awayEre Atli tooAll life shall lose,Yea, all his wealWith the life of his sons,For a dreadful bedDights Gudrun for him,From a heart sore laden,With the sword’s sharp edge.
“More seemly for Gudrun,Your very sister,In death to wend afterHer love first wed;Had but good redeTo her been given,Or if her heartHad been like to my heart.
—“Faint my speech groweth—But for our sakeNe’er shall she loseHer life beloved;The sea shall have her,High billows bear herForth unto Jonakr’sFair land of his fathers.
“There shall she bear sons,Stays of a heritage,Stays of a heritage,Jonakr’s sons;And Swanhild shall sheSend from the land,That may born of her,The may born of Sigurd.
“Her shall biteThe rede of Bikki,Whereas for no goodWins Jormunrek life;And so is clean perishedAll the kin of Sigurd,Yea, and more greeting,And more for Gudrun.
“And now one prayerYet pray I of thee—That last word of mineHere in the world—So broad on the fieldBe the burg of the deadThat fair space may be leftFor us all to lie down,All those that diedAt Sigurd’s death!
“Hang round that burgFair hangings and shields,Web by Gauls woven,And folk of the Gauls:There burn the Hun KingLying beside me.
“But on the other sideBurn by the Hun KingThose who served meStrewn with treasure;Two at the head,And two at the feet,Two hounds therewith,And two hawks moreover:Then is all dealtWith even dealing.
“Lay there amidst usThe right-dight metal,The sharp-edged steel,That so lay erst;When we both togetherInto one bed went,And were called by the nameOf man and wife.
“Never, then, belikeShall clash behind himValhall’s bright doorWith rings bedight:And if my fellowshipFolloweth after,In no wretched wiseThen shall we wend.
“For him shall followMy five bondmaids,My eight bondsmen,No borel folk:Yea, and my fosterer,And my father’s dowerThat Budli of old daysGave to his dear child.
“Much have I spoken,More would I speak,If the sword would give meSpace for speech;But my words are waning,My wounds are swelling—Naught but truth have I told——And now make I ending.”
ENDNOTES:(1) “Menia’s Maid”—periphrasis for gold.

The Hell-Ride of Brynhild

After the death of Brynhild were made two bales, one for Sigurd, and that was first burned; but Brynhild was burned on the other, and she was in a chariot hung about with goodly hangings.

And so folk say that Brynhild drave in her chariot down along the way to Hell, and passed by an abode where dwelt a certain giantess, and the giantess spake:—

THE GIANT-WOMAN“Nay, with my goodwillNever goest thouThrough this stone-pillaredStead of mine!More seemly for theeTo sit sewing the cloth,Than to go look onThe love of another.
“What dost thou, goingFrom the land of the Gauls,O restless head,To this mine house?Golden girl, hast thou not,If thou listest to hearken,In sweet wise from thy handsThe blood of men washen?”
BRYNHILD“Nay, blame me naught,Bride of the rock-hall,Though I roved a warringIn the days that were;The higher of us twainShall I ever be holdenWhen of our kindMen make account.”
THE GIANT-WOMAN“Thou, O Brynhild,Budli’s daughter,Wert the worst ever bornInto the world;For Giuki’s childrenDeath hast thou gotten,And turned to destructionTheir goodly dwelling.”
BRYNHILD“I shall tell theeTrue tale from my chariot,O thou who naught wottest,If thou listest to wot;How for me they have gottenThose heirs of Giuki,A loveless life,A life of lies.
“Hild under helm,The Hlymdale people,E’en those who knew me,Ever would call me.
“The changeful shapesOf us eight sisters,The wise king badeUnder oak-tree to bear;Of twelve winters was I,If thou listest to wot,When I sware to the young lordOaths of love.
“Thereafter gat IMid the folk of the Goths,For Helmgunnar the old,Swift journey to Hell,And gave to Aud’s brotherThe young, gain and glory;Whereof overwrathWaxed Odin with me.
“So he shut me in shield-wallIn Skata grove,Red shields and whiteClose set around me;And bade him aloneMy slumber to breakWho in no landKnew how to fear.
“He set round my hall,Toward the south quarter,The Bane of all treesBurning aloft;And ruled that he onlyThereover should rideWho should bring me the goldO’er which Fafnir brooded.
“Then upon Grani rodeThe goodly gold-strewerTo where my fostererRuled his fair dwelling.He who alone thereWas deemed best of all,The War-lord of the Danes,Well worthy of men.
“In peace did we sleepSoft in one bed,As though he had beenNaught but my brother:There as we layThrough eight nights wearing,No hand in loveOn each other we laid.
“Yet thence blamed me, Gudrun,Giuki’s daughter,That I had sleptIn the arms of Sigurd;And then I wottedAs I fain had not wotted,That they had bewrayed meIn my betrothals.
“Ah! For unrestAll too longAre men and womenMade alive!Yet we twain togetherShall wear through the ages,Sigurd and I.——Sink adown, O giant-wife!”

Fragments of the Lay of Brynhild

HOGNI SAID:“What hath wrought SigurdOf any wrong-doingThat the life of the famed oneThou art fain of taking?”
GUNNAR SAID:“To me has SigurdSworn many oaths,Sworn many oaths,And sworn them lying,And he bewrayed meWhen it behoved himOf all folk to his trothTo be the most trusty.”
HOGNI SAID:“Thee hath BrynhildUnto all bale,And all hate whetted,And a work of sorrow;For she grudges to GudrunAll goodly life;And to thee the blissOf her very body.”

…

Some the wolf roasted,Some minced the worm,Some unto GuttormGave the wolf-meat,Or ever they mightIn their lust for murderOn the high kingLay deadly hand.
Sigurd lay slainOn the south of the RhineHigh from the fair treeCroaked forth the raven,“Ah, yet shall AtliOn you redden edges,The old oaths shall weighOn your souls, O warriors.”
Without stood Gudrun,Giuki’s daughter,And the first word she saidWas even this word:“Where then is Sigurd,Lord of the Warfolk,Since my kinCome riding the foremost?
One word HogniHad for an answer:“Our swords have smittenSigurd asunder,And the grey horse hangs droopingO’er his lord lying dead.”
Then quoth Brynhild,Budli’s daughter;“Good weal shall ye haveOf weapons and lands,That Sigurd aloneWould surely have ruledIf he had livedBut a little longer.
“Ah, nothing seemlyFor Sigurd to ruleGiuki’s houseAnd the folk of the Goths,When of him five sonsFor the slaying of men,Eager for battle,Should have been begotten!”
Then laughed Brynhild—Loud rang the whole house—One laugh onlyFrom out her heart:“Long shall your bliss beOf lands and people,Whereas the famed lordYou have felled to the earth!”
Then spake Gudrun,Giuki’s daughter;“Much thou speakest,Many things fearful,All grame be on GunnarThe bane of Sigurd!From a heart full of hateShall come heavy vengeance.”
Forth sped the evenEnow there was drunken,Full enow was thereOf all soft speech;And all men got sleepWhen to bed they were gotten;Gunnar only lay wakingLong after all men.
His feet fell he to moving,Fell to speak to himselfThe waster of men,Still turned in his mindWhat on the boughThose twain would be saying,The raven and erne,As they rode their ways homeward.
But Brynhild awoke,Budli’s daughter,May of the shield-folk,A little ere morning:“Thrust ye on, hold ye back,—Now all harm is wrought,—To tell of my sorrow,Or to let all slip by me?”
All kept silenceAfter her speaking,None might knowThat woman’s mind,Or why she must weepTo tell of the workThat laughing onceOf men she prayed.
BRYNHILD SPAKE:“In dreams, O Gunnar,Grim things fell on me;Dead-cold the hall was,And my bed was a-cold,And thou, lord, wert ridingReft of all bliss,Laden with fetters‘Mid the host of thy foemen.”
“So now all ye,O House of the Niblungs,Shall be brought to naught,O ye oath-breakers!
“Think’st thou not, Gunnar,How that betid,When ye let the blood runBoth in one footstep?With ill rewardHast thou rewardedHis heart so fainTo be the foremost!
“As well was seenWhen he rode his ways,That king of all worth,Unto my wooing;How the host-destroyerHeld to the vowsSworn beforetime,Sworn to the young king.
“For his wounding-wandAll wrought with gold,The king belovedLaid between us;Without were its edgesWrought with fire,But with venom-dropsDeep dyed within.”

Thus this song telleth of the death of Sigurd, and setteth forth how that they slew him without doors; but some say that they slew him within doors, sleeping in his bed. But the Dutch Folk say that they slew him out in the wood: and so sayeth the ancient song of Gudrun, that Sigurd and the sons of Giuki were riding to the Thing whenas he was slain. But all with one accord say that they bewrayed him in their troth with him, and fell on him as he lay unarrayed and unawares.

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 maysMy mother reared meBright in bower;Well loved I my brethren,Until that GiukiWith gold arrayed me,With gold arrayed me,And gave me to Sigurd.
Such was my Sigurd,Among the sons of GiukiAs is the green leekO’er the low grass waxen,Or a hart high-limbedOver hurrying deer,Or glede-red goldOver 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 slayMy well-loved Sigurd.
Grani ran to the Thing,There was clatter to hear,But never came SigurdHimself thereunto;All the saddle-girt beastsWith blood were besprinkled,As faint with the wayNeath the slayers they went.
Then greeting I wentWith Grani to talk,And with tear-furrowed cheeksI bade him tell all;But drooping laid Grani,His head in the grass,For the steed well wottedOf his master’s slaying.
A long while I wandered,Long my mind wavered,Ere the kings I might askConcerning my king.
Then Gunnar hung head,But Hogni toldOf the cruel slayingOf my Sigurd:“On the water’s far sideLies, smitten to death,The bane of GuttormTo the wolves given over.
“Go, look on Sigurd,On the ways that go southward,There shalt thou hearThe ernes high screaming,The ravens a-croakingAs their meat they crave for;Thou shalt hear the wolves howlingOver thine husband.
“How hast thou, Hogni,The heart to tell me,Me of joy made empty,Of such misery?Thy wretched heartMay the ravens tearWide over the world,With no men mayst thou wend.”
One thing HogniHad for answer,Fallen from his high heart,Full of all trouble:“More greeting yet,O Gudrun, for thee,If my heart the ravensShould rend asunder!”
Thence I turnedFrom the talk and the troubleTo go a leasing (1)What the wolves had left me;No sigh I madeNo smote hands together,Nor did I wailAs other womenWhen I sat overMy Sigurd slain.
Night methought it,And the moonless dark,When I sat in sorrowOver Sigurd;Better than all thingsI deemed it would beIf they would let meCast my life by,Or burn me upAs they burn the birch-wood.
From the fell I wanderedFive days together,Until the high hallOf Half lay before me;Seven seasons thereI sat with Thora,The daughter of Hacon,Up in Denmark.
My heart to gladdenWith gold she wroughtSouthland hallsAnd swans of the Dane-folk;There had we paintedThe chiefs a-playing;Fair our hands wroughtFolk 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 SigmundFrom the land swift sailing;Heads gilt overAnd prows fair graven.
On the cloth we broideredThat 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 herAnd called to her sons,And oft and eagerlyAsked them thereof,Who for her sonWould their sister atone,Who for her lord slainWould lay down weregild.
Fain was GunnarGold to lay downAll wrongs to atone for,And Hogni in likewise;Then she asked who was fainOf faring straightly,The steed to saddleTo set forth the wain,The horse to back,And the hawk to fly,To shoot forth the arrowFrom out the yew-bow.
Valdarr the Dane-kingCame with JarisleifEymod the third wentThen went Jarizskar;In kingly wiseIn they wended,The host of the Longbeards;Red cloaks had they,Byrnies short-cut,Helms strong hammered,Girt with glaives,And hair red-gleaming.
Each would give meGifts desired,Gifts desired,Speech dear to my heart,If they might yet,Despite my sorrow,Win back my trust,But in them nought I trusted.
Then brought me GrimhildA beaker to drink of,Cold and bitter,Wrong’s memory to quench;Made great was that drinkWith the might of the earth,With the death-cold seaAnd the blood that Son (2) holdeth.
On that horn’s face were thereAll the kin of lettersCut aright and reddened,How should I rede them rightly?
The ling-fish longOf the land of Hadding,Wheat-ears unshorn,And wild things’ inwards.
In that mead were mingledMany ills together,Blood of all the wood,And brown-burnt acorns;The black dew of the hearth, (3)And god-doomed dead beasts’ inwardsAnd the swine’s liver sodden,For wrongs late done that deadens.
Then waned my memoryWhen that was within me,Of my lord ‘mid the hallBy the iron laid low.Three kings cameBefore my kneesEre she herselfFell to speech with me.
“I will give to thee, Gudrun,Gold to be glad with,All the great wealthOf thy father gone from us,Rings of red goldAnd the great hall of Lodver,And all fair hangings leftBy the king late fallen.
“Maids of the HunsWoven pictures to make,And work fair in goldTill thou deem’st thyself glad.Alone shalt thou ruleO’er the riches of Budli,Shalt be made great with gold,And be given to Atli.”
“Never will IWend to a husband,Or wed the brotherOf Queen Brynhild;Naught it beseems meWith the son of BudliKin to bring forth,Or to live and be merry.”
“Nay, the high chiefsReward not with hatred,For take heed that IWas the first in this tale!To thy heart shall it beAs if both these had life,Sigurd and Sigmund,When thou hast borne sons.”
“Naught may I, Grimhild,Seek after gladness,Nor deem aught hopefulOf any high warrior,Since wolf and ravenWere friends together,The greedy, the cruel,O’er great Sigurd’s heart-blood.”
“Of all men that can beFor the noblest of kinThis king have I found,And the foremost of all;Him shalt thou haveTill with eld thou art heavy—Be thou ever unwed,If thou wilt naught of him!”
“Nay, nay, bid me notWith thy words long abidingTo take unto meThat balefullest kin;This king shall bid GunnarBe stung to his bane,And shall cut the heartFrom out of Hogni.
“Nor shall I leave lifeEre the keen lord,The eager in sword-play,My hand shall make end of.”
Grimhild a-weepingTook up the word then,When the sore bale she wottedAwaiting her sons,And the bane hanging overHer offspring beloved.
“I will give thee, moreover,Great lands, many men,Wineberg and Valberg,If thou wilt but have them;Hold them lifelong,And live happy, O daughter!”
“Then him must I takeFrom among kingly men,’Gainst my heart’s desire,From the hands of my kinsfolk;But no joy I lookTo have from that lord:Scarce may my brother’s baneBe a shield to my sons.”
Soon was each warriorSeen on his horse,But the Gaulish womenInto wains were gotten;Then seven days longO’er a cold land we rode,And for seven otherClove we the sea-waves.But with the third sevenO’er dry land we wended.
There the gate-wardensOf the burg, high and wide,Unlooked the barriersEre the burg-garth we rode to—

…

Atli woke meWhen meseemed I wasFull evil of heartFor my kin dead slain.
“In such wise did the NornsWake me or now.”—Fain was he to knowOf this ill foreshowing—“That methought, O Gudrun,Giuki’s daughter,That thou setst in my heartA sword wrought for guile.”
“For fires tokening I deem itThat dreaming of iron,But for pride and for lustThe wrath of fair womenAgainst some baleBelike, I shall burn theeFor thy solace and healingThough hateful thou art.”
“In the fair garth methoughtHad saplings fallenE’en such as I wouldShould have waxen ever;Uprooted were these,And reddened with blood,And borne to the bench,And folk bade me eat of them.
“Methought from my hand thenWent hawks a-flyingLacking their meatTo the land of all ill;Methought that their heartsMingled with honey,Swollen with bloodI ate amid sorrow.
“Lo, next two whelpsFrom my hands I loosened,Joyless were both,And both a-howling;And now their fleshBecame naught but corpses,Whereof must I eatBut sore against my will.”
“O’er the prey of the fishersWill folk give doom;From the bright white fishThe heads will they take;Within a few nights,Fey as they are,A little ere dayOf that draught will they eat.”
“Ne’er since lay I down,Ne’er since would I sleep,Hard of heart, in my bed:—That deed have I to do. (4)

ENDNOTES: (1) The original has “a vid lesa”. “Leasing” is the word still used for gleaning in many country sides in England. (2) Son was the vessel into which was poured the blood of Quasir, the God of Poetry. (3) This means soot. (4) The whole of this latter part is fragmentary and obscure; there seems wanting to two of the dreams some trivial interpretation by Gudrun, like those given by Hogni to Kostbera in the Saga, of which nature, of course, the interpretation contained in the last stanza but one is, as we have rendered it: another rendering, from the different reading of the earlier edition of “Edda” (Copenhagen, 1818) would make this refer much more directly to the slaying of her sons by Gudrun.

The Song of Atli

Gudrun, Giuki’s daughter, avenger her brethren, as is told far and wide; first she slew the sons of Atli, and then Atli himself; and she burned the hall thereafter, and all the household with it: and about these matters is this song made:—

In days long goneSent Atli to GunnarA crafty one riding,Knefrud men called him;To Giuki’s garth came he,To the hall of Gunnar,To the benches gay-dight,And the gladsome drinking.
There drank the great folk‘Mid the guileful one’s silence,Drank wine in their fair hall:The Huns’ wrath they fearedWhen Knefrud criedIn his cold voice,As he sat on the high seat,That man of the Southland:
“Atli has sent meRiding swift on his errandsOn the bit-griping steedThrough dark woodways unbeaten,To bid thee, King Gunnar,Come to his fair benchWith helm well-adorned,To the house of King Atli.
“Shield shall ye have thereAnd spears ashen-shafted,Helms ruddy with gold,And hosts of the Huns;Saddle-gear silver gilt,Shirts red as blood,The hedge of the warwife,And horses bit-griping.
“And he saith he will give youGnitaheath widespread,And whistling spearsAnd prows well-gilded,Might wealthWith the stead of Danpi,And that noble woodMen name the Murkwood.”
Then Gunnar turned headAnd spake unto Hogni:“What rede from thee, high one,Since such things we hear?No gold know IOn Gnitaheath,That we for our partsHave not portion as great.
“Seven halls we haveFulfilled of swords,And hilts of goldEach sword there has;My horse is the best,My blade is the keenest;Fair my bow o’er the bench is,Gleams my byrny with gold;Brightest helm, brightest shield,From Kiar’s dwelling ere brought—Better all things I haveThan all things of the Huns.”
HOGNI SAID:“What mind has our sisterThat a ring she hath sent usIn weed of wolves clad?Bids she not to be wary?For a wolf’s hair I foundThe fair ring wreathed about;Wolf beset shall the way beIf we wend on this errand.”
No sons whetted Gunnar,Nor none of his kin,Nor learned men nor wise men,Nor such as were mighty.Then spake GunnarE’en as a king should speak,Glorious in mead-hallFrom great heart and high:
“Rise up now, Fiornir,Forth down the benchesLet the gold-cups of great onesPass in hands of my good-men!Well shall we drink wine,Draughts dear to our hearts,Though the last of all feastsIn our fair house this be!
“For the wolves shall ruleO’er the wealth of the Niblungs,With the pine-woods’ wardensIn Gunnar perish:And the black-felled bearsWith fierce teeth shall biteFor the glee of the dog kind,If again comes not Gunnar.”
Then good men never shamed,Greeting aloud,Led the great king of menFrom the garth of his home;And cried the fair sonOf Hogni the king:“Fare happy, O Lords,Whereso your hearts lead you!”
Then the bold knightsLet their bit-griping steedsWend swift o’er the fells,Tread the murk-wood unknown,All the Hunwood was shakingAs the hardy ones fared there;O’er the green meads they urgedTheir steeds shy of the goad.
Then Atli’s land saw they;Great towers and strong,And the bold men of Bikki,Aloft on the burg:The Southland folks’ hallSet with benches about,Dight with bucklers well bounden,And bright white shining shields.
There drank Atli,The awful Hun king,Wine in his fair hall;Without were the warders,Gunnar’s folk to have heed of,Lest they had fared thitherWith the whistling spearWar to wake ’gainst the king.
But first came their sisterAs they came to the hall,Both her brethren she met,With beer little gladdened:“Bewrayed art thou, Gunnar!What dost thou great kingTo deal war to the Huns?Go thou swift from the hall!
Better, brother, hadst thouFared here in thy byrnyThan with helm gaily dightLooked on Atli’s great house:Them hadst sat then in saddleThrough days bright with the sunFight to awakenAnd fair fields to redden:
“O’er the folk fate makes paleShould the Norn’s tears have fallen,The shield mays of the HunsShould have known of all sorrow;And King Atli himselfTo worm-close should be brought;But now is the worm-closeKept but for thee.”
Then spake GunnarGreat ‘mid the people:“Over-late sisterThe Niblungs to summon;A long way to seekThe helping of warriors,The high lord unshamed,From the hills of the Rhine!”

…

Seven Hogni beat downWith his sword sharp-grinded,And the eighth man he thrustAmidst of the fire.Ever so shall famed warriorFight with his foemen,As Hogni foughtFor the hand of Gunnar.
But on Gunnar they fell,And set him in fetters,And bound hard and fastThat friend of Burgundians;Then the warrior they askedIf he would buy life,But life with goldThat king of the Goths.
Nobly spake Gunnar,Great lord of the Niblungs;“Hogni’s bleeding heart firstShall lie in mine hand,Cut from the breastOf the bold-riding lord,With bitter-sharp knifeFrom the son of the king.”
With guile the great oneWould they beguile,On the wailing thrallLaid they hand unwares,And cut the heartFrom out of Hjalli,Laid it bleeding on trencherAnd bare it to Gunnar.
“Here have I the heartOf Hjalli the trembler,Little like the heartOf Hogni the hardy:As much as it tremblethLaid on the trencherBy the half more it trembledIn the breast of him hidden.”
Then laughed HogniWhen they cut the heart from him,From the crest-smith yet quick,Little thought he to quail.The hard acorn of thoughtFrom the high king they took,Laid it bleeding on trencherAnd bare it Gunnar.
“Here have I the heartOf Hogni the hardy,Little like to the heartOf Hjalli the trembler.Howso little it quakethLaid here on the dish,Yet far less it quakedIn the breast of him laid.
“So far mayst thou bideFrom men’s eyen, O Atli,As from that treasureThou shalt abide!
“Behold in my heartIs hidden for everThat hoard of the Niblungs,Now Hogni is dead.Doubt threw me two waysWhile the twain of us lived,But all that is goneNow I live on alone.
“The great Rhine shall ruleO’er the hate-raising treasure,That gold of the Niblungs,The seed of the gods:In the weltering waterShall that wealth lie a-gleaming,Or it shine on the handsOf the children of Huns!”
Then cried Atli,King of the Hun-folk,“Drive forth your wains nowThe slave is fast bounden.”And straightly thenceThe bit-shaking steedsDrew the hoard-warden,The war-god to his death.
Atli the great king,Rode upon Glaum,With shields set round about,And sharp thorns of battle:Gudrun, bound by wedlockTo these, victory made gods of,Held back her tearsAs the hall she ran into.
“Let it fare with thee, Atli,E’en after thine oaths swornTo Gunnar fell often;Yea, oaths sworn of old time,By the sun sloping southward,By the high burg of Sigry,By the fair bed of rest,By the red ring of Ull!”
Now a host of menCast the high king aliveInto a closeCrept o’er withinWith most foul worms,Fulfilled of all venom,Ready grave to digIn his doughty heart.
Wrathful-hearted he smoteThe harp with his hand,Gunnar laid there alone;And loud rang the strings.—In such wise everShould hardy ring-scattererKeep gold from all folkIn the garth of his foeman.
Then Atli would wendAbout his wide land,On his steed brazen shod,Back from the murder.Din there was in the garth,All thronged with the horses;High the weapon-song roseFrom men come from the heath.
Out then went Gudrun,’Gainst Atli returning,With a cup gilded over,To greet the land’s ruler;“Come, then, and take it,King glad in thine hall,From Gudrun’s hands,For the hell-farers groan not!”
Clashed the beakers of Atli,Wine-laden on bench,As in hall there a-gathered,The Huns fell a-talking,And the long-bearded eager onesEntered therein,From a murk den new-come,From the murder of Gunnar.
Then hastened the sweet-facedDelight of the shield-folk,Bright in the fair hall,Wine to bear to them:The dreadful womanGave dainties withalTo the lords pale with fate,Laid strange word upon Atli:
“The hearts of thy sonsHast thou eaten, sword-dealer,All bloody with deathAnd drenched with honey:In most heavy moodBrood o’er venison of men!Drink rich draughts therewith,Down the high benches send it!
“Never callest thou nowFrom henceforth to thy kneeFair Erp or fair Eiril,Bright-faced with the drink;Never seest thou them nowAmidmost the seat,Scattering the gold,Or shafting of spears;Manes trimming duly,Or driving steeds forth!”
Din arose from the benches,Dread song of men was there,Noise ‘mid the fair hangings,As all Hun’s children wept;All saving Gudrun,Who never gat greeting,For her brethren bear-hardyFor her sweet sons and bright,The young ones, the simpleOnce gotten with Atli.

…

The seed of goldSowed the swan-bright woman,Rings of red goldShe gave to the house-carls;Fate let she wax,Let the bright gold flow forth,In naught spared that womanThe store-houses’ wealth.
Atli unawareWas a-weary with drink;No weapon had he,No heeding of Gudrun—Ah, the pity would be better,When in soft wise they twainWould full often embraceBefore the great lords!
To the bed with sword-pointBlood gave she to drinkWith a hand fain of death,And she let the dogs loose:Then in from the hall-door——Up waked the house-carls—Hot brands she cast,Gat revenge for her brethren.
To the flame gave she allWho therein might be found;Fell adown the old timbers,Reeked all treasure-houses;There the shield-mays were burnt,Their lives’ span brought to naught;In the fierce fire sank downAll the stead of the Budlungs.
Wide told of is this—Ne’er sithence in the world,Thus fared bride clad in byrnyFor her brothers’ avenging;For behold, this fair womanTo three kings of the people,Hath brought very deathOr ever she died!

The Whetting of Gudrun

Gudrun went down unto the sea whenas she had slain Atli, and she cast herself therein, for she was fain to end her life: but nowise might she drown. She drave over the firths to the land of King Jonakr, and he wedded her, and their sons were Sorli, and Erp, and Hamdir, and there was Swanhild, Sigurd’s daughter, nourished: and she was given to Jormunrek the Mighty. Now Bikki was a man of his, and gave such counsel to Randver, the king’s son, as that he should take her; and with that counsel were the young folk well content.

Then Bikki told the king, and the king let hang Randver, but bade Swanhild be trodden under horses’ feet. But when Gudrun heard thereof, she spake to her sons—

Words of strife heard I,Huger than any,Woeful words spoken,Sprung from all sorrow,When Gudrun fierce-heartedWith the grimmest of wordsWhetter her sonsUnto the slaying.
“Why are ye sitting here?Why sleep ye life away?Why doth it grieve you nought?Glad words to speak,Now when your sister—Young of years was she—Has Jormunrek troddenWith the treading of horses?—
“Black horses and whiteIn the highway of warriors;Grey horses that knowThe roads of the Goths.—
“Little like are ye grownTo that Gunnar of old days!Nought are your heartsAs the heart of Hogni!Well would ye seekVengeance to winIf your mood were in aughtAs the mood of my brethren,Or the hardy heartsOf the Kings of the Huns!”
Then spake Hamdir,The high-hearted—“Little didst thouPraise Hogni’s doings,When Sigurd wokeFrom out of sleep,And the blue-white bed-gearUpon thy bedGrew red with man’s blood—With the blood of thy mate!
“Too baleful vengeanceWroughtest thou for thy brethrenMost sore and evilWhen thy sons thou slewedst,Else all we togetherOn JormunrekHad wrought sore vengeanceFor that our sister.
“Come, bring forth quicklyThe Hun kings’ bright gear,Since thou has urged usUnto the sword-Thing!”
Laughing went GudrunTo the bower of good gear,Kings’ crested helmsFrom chests she drew,And wide-wrought byrniesBore to her sons:Then on their horsesLoad laid the heroes.
Then spake Hamdir,The high-hearted—“Never cometh againHis mother to seeThe spear-god laid lowIn the land of the Goths.That one arvel mayst thouFor all of us drink,For sister Swanhild,And us thy sons.”
Greeted GudrunGiuki’s daughter;Sorrowing she wentIn the forecourt to sit,That she might tell,With cheeks tear-furrowed,Her weary wailIn many a wise.
“Three fires I knew,Three hearths I knew,To three husbands’ housesHave I been carried;And better than allHad been Sigurd alone,He whom my brethrenBrought to his bane.
“Such sore grief as thatMethought never should be,Yet more indeedWas left for my tormentThen, when the great onesGave me to Atli.
“My fair bright boysI bade unto speech,Nor yet might I winWeregild for my bale,Ere I had hewn offThose Niblungs’ heads.
“To the sea-strand I wentWith the Norns sorely wroth,For I would thrust from meThe storm of their torment;But the high billowsWould not drown, but bore meForth, till I stepped a-landLonger to live.
“Then I went a-bed——Ah, better in the old days,This was the third time!—To a king of the people;Offspring I brought forth,Props of a fair house,Props of a fair house,Jonakr’s fair sons.
“But around SwanhildBond-maidens sat,Her, that of all mineMost to my heart was;Such was my Swanhild,In my hall’s midmost,As is the sunbeamFair to beheld.
“In gold I arrayed her,And goodly raiment,Or ever I gave herTo the folk of the Goths.That was the hardestOf my heavy woes,When the bright hair,—O the bright hair of Swanhild!—In the mire was troddenBy the treading of horses.
“This was the sorest,When my love, my Sigurd,Reft of gloryIn his bed gat ending:But this the grimmestWhen glittering wormsTore their wayThrough the heart of Gunnar.
“But this the keenestWhen they cut to the quickOf the hardy heartOf the unfeared Hogni.Of much of bale I mind me,Of many griefs I mind me;Why should I sit abidingYet more bale and more?
“Thy coal-black horse,O Sigurd, bridle,The swift on the highway!O let him speed hither!Here sitteth no longerSon or daughter,More good giftsTo give to Gudrun!
“Mindst thou not, Sigurd,Of the speech betwixt us,When on one bedWe both sat together,O my great king—That thou wouldst come to meE’en from the hall of Hell,I to thee from the fair earth?
“Pile high, O earlsThe oaken pile,Let it be the highestThat ever queen had!Let the fire burn swift,My breast with woe laden,And thaw all my heart,Hard, heavy with sorrow!”
Now may all earlsBe bettered in mind,May the grief of all maidensEver be minished,For this tale of sorrowSo told to its ending.

The Lay of Hamdir

Great deeds of baleIn the garth began,At the sad dawningThe tide of Elves’ sorrowWhen day is a-waxingAnd man’s grief awaketh,And the sorrow of each oneThe early day quickeneth.
Not now, not now,Nor yesterday,But long agoHas that day worn by,That ancientest time,The first time to tell of,Then, whenas Gudrun,Born of Giuki,Whetter her sonsTo Swanhild’s avenging.
“Your sister’s nameWas naught but Swanhild,Whom JormunrekWith horses has trodden!—White horses and blackOn the war-beaten way,Grey horses that goOn the roads of the Goths.
“All alone am I nowAs in holt is the aspen;As the fir-tree of boughs,So of kin am I bare;As bare of things longed forAs the willow of leavesWhen the bough-breaking windThe warm day endeth.
“Few, sad, are ye leftO kings of my folk!Yet alone livingLast shreds of my kin!
“Ah, naught are ye grownAs that Gunnar of old days;Naught are your heartsAs the heart of Hogni!Well would ye seekVengeance to winIf your hearts were in aughtAs the hearts of my brethren!”
Then spake HamdirThe high-hearted:“Nought hadst thou to praiseThe doings of Hogni,When they woke up SigurdFrom out of slumber,And in bed thou sat’st up‘Mid the banes-men’s laughter.
“Then when thy bed=gear,Blue-white, well wovenBy art of craftsmenAll swam with thy king’s blood;The Sigurd died,O’er his dead corpse thou sattest,Not heeding aught gladsome,Since Gunnar so willed it.
“Great grief for AtliGatst thou by Erp’s murder,And the end of thine Eitil,But worse grief for thyself.Good to use swordFor the slaying of othersIn such wise that its edgeShall not turn on ourselves!”
Then well spake SorliFrom a heart full of wisdom:“No words will IMake with my mother,Though both ye twainNeed words belike—What askest thou, Gudrun,To let thee go greeting?
“Weep for thy brethren,Weep for thy sweet sons,And thy nighest kinsfolkLaid by the fight-side!Yea, and thou Gudrun,May’st greet for us twainSitting fey on our steedsDoomed in far lands to die.”
From the garth forth they wentWith hearts full of fury,Sorli and Hamdir,The sons of Gudrun,And they met on the wayThe wise in all wiles:“And thou little Erp,What helping from thee?”
He of alien wombSpake out in such wise:“Good help for my kin,Such as foot gives to foot,Or flesh-covered handGives unto hand!”
“What helping for footThat help that foot giveth,Or for flesh-covered handThe helping of hand?”
Then spake ErpYet once againMock spake the princeAs he sat on his steed:“Fool’s deed to showThe way to a dastard!”“Bold beyond measure,”Quoth they, “is the base-born!”
Out from the sheathDrew they the sheath-steel,And the glaives’ edges playedFor the pleasure of hell;By the third part they minishedThe might that they had,Their young kin they let lieA-cold on the earth.
Then their fur-cloaks they shookAnd bound fast their swords,In webs goodly wovenThose great ones were clad;Young they went o’er the fellsWhere the dew was new-fallenSwift, on steeds of the Huns,Heavy vengeance to wreak.
Forth stretched the ways,And an ill way they found,Yea, their sister’s son (1)Hanging slain upon tree—Wolf-trees by the wind made coldAt the town’s westwardLoud with cranes’ clatter—Ill abiding there long!
Din in the king’s hallOf men merry with drink,And none might hearkenThe horses’ trampingOr ever the wardersTheir great horn winded.
Then men went forthTo JormunrekTo tell of the heedingOf men under helm:“Give ye good counsel!Great ones are come hither,For the wrong of men mightyWas the may to death trodden.”
“Loud Jormunrek laughed,And laid hand to his beard,Nor bade bring his byrny,But with the wine fighting,Shook his red locks,On his white shield sat staring,And in his handSwung the gold cup on high.
“Sweet sight for meThose twain to set eyes on,Sorli and Hamdir,Here in my hall!Then with bowstringsWould I bind them,And hang the good GiukingsAloft on the gallows!”

…

Then spake HrothglodFrom off the high steps,Spake the slim-fingeredUnto her son,——For a threat was cast forthOf what ne’er should fall—“Shall two men aloneTwo hundred GothfolkBind or bear downIn the midst of their burg?”

…

Strife and din in the hall,Cups smitten asunderMen lay low in bloodFrom the breasts of Goths flowing.
Then spake Hamdir,The high-hearted:“Thou cravedst, O king,From the coming of us,The sons of one mother,Amidmost thine hall—Look on these hands of thine,Look on these feet of thine,Cast by us, Jormunrek,On to the flame!”
Then cried aloudThe high Gods’ kinsman (2)Bold under byrny,—Roared he as bears roar;“Stones to the stout onesThat the spears bite not,Nor the edges of steel,These sons of Jonakr!”

…

QUOTH SORLI:“Bale, brother, wroughtst thouBy that bag’s (3) opening,Oft from that bagRede of bale cometh!Heart hast thou, Hamdir,If thou hadst heart’s wisdomGreat lack in a manWho lacks wisdom and lore!”
HAMDIR SAID:“Yes, off were the headIf Erp were alive yet,Our brother the boldWhom we slew by the way;The far-famed through the world—Ah, the fares drave me on,And the man war made holy,There must I slay!”
SORLI SAID:“Unmeet we should doAs the doings of wolves are,Raising wrong each ’gainst otherAs the dogs of the Norns,The greedy ones nourishedIn waste steads of the world.
In strong wise have we fought,On Goths’ corpses we stand,Beat down by our edges,E’en as ernes on the bough.Great fame our might winneth,Die we now, or to-morrow,—No man lives till eveWhom the fates doom at morning.”At the hall’s gable-endFell Sorli to earth,But Hamdir lay lowAt the back of the houses.

Now this is called the Ancient Lay of Hamdir.

ENDNOTES:(1) Randver, the son of their sister’s husband.(2) Odin, namely.(3) “Bag”, his mouth.

The Lament of Oddrun

There was a king hight Heidrik, and his daughter was called Borgny, and the name of her lover was Vilmund. Now she might nowise be made lighter of a child she travailed with, before Oddrun, Atil’s sister, came to her,—she who had been the love of Gunnar, Giuki’s son. But of their speech together has this been sung:

I have hear tellIn ancient talesHow a may there cameTo Morna-land,Because no manOn mould abidingFor Heidrik’s daughterMight win healing.
All that heard Oddrun,Atil’s sister,How that the damselHad heavy sickness,So she led from stallHer bridled steed,And on the swart oneLaid the saddle.
She made her horse wendO’er smooth ways of earth,Until to a high-builtHall she came;Then the saddle she hadFrom the hungry horse,And her ways wendedIn along the wide hall,And this word firstSpake forth therewith:
“What is most famed,Afield in Hunland,Or what may beBlithest in Hunland?”
QUOTH THE HANDMAID:“Here lieth Borgny,Borne down by trouble,Thy sweet friend, O Oddrun,See to her helping!”
ODDRUN SAID:“Who of the lordsHath laid this grief on her,Why is the anguishOf Borgny so weary?”
THE HANDMAID SAID:“He is hight Vilmund,Friend of hawk-bearers,He wrapped the damselIn the warm bed-gearFive winters longWithout her father’s wotting.”
No more than thisThey spake methinks;Kind sat she downBy the damsel’s knee;Mightily sand Oddrun,Sharp piercing songsBy Borgny’s side:
Till a maid and a boyMight tread on the world’s ways,Blithe babes and sweetOf Hogni’s bane:Then the damsel foreweariedThe word took up,The first word of allThat had won from her:
“So may help theeAll helpful things,Fey and Freyia,And all the fair Gods,As thou hast thrustThis torment from me!”
ODDRUN SAID:“Yet no heart had IFor thy helping,Since never wert thouWorthy of helping,But my word I held to,That of old was spokenWhen the high lordsDealt out the heritage,That every soulI would ever help.”
BORGNY SAID:“Right mad art thou, Oddrun,And reft of thy wits,Whereas thou speakestHard words to meThy fellow everUpon the earthAs of brothers twain,We had been born.”
ODDRUN SAID:“Well I mind me yet,What thou saidst that evening,Whenas I bore forthFair drink for Gunnar;Such a thing, saidst thou,Should fall out never,For any maySave for me alone.”
Mind had the damselOf the weary dayWhenas the high lordsDealt out the heritage,And she sat her down,The sorrowful woman,To tell of the bale,And the heavy trouble.
“Nourished was IIn the hall of kings—Most folk were glad—‘Mid the council of great ones:In fair life lived I,And the wealth of my fatherFor five winters only,While yet he had life.
“Such were the last wordsThat ever he spake,The king forewearied,Ere his ways he went;For he bade folk give meThe gold red-gleaming,And give me in SouthlandsTo the son of Grimhild.
“But Brynhild he badeTo the helm to betake her,And said that Death-chooserShe should become;And that no betterMight ever be bornInto the world,If fate would not spoil it.
“Brynhild in bowerSewed at her broidery,Folk she hadAnd fair lands about her;Earth lay a-sleeping,Slept the heavens aloftWhen Fafnir’s-baneThe burg first saw.
“Then was war wagedWith the Welsh-wrought swordAnd the burg all brokenThat Brynhild owned;Nor wore long space,E’en as well might be,Ere all those wilesFull well she knew.
“Hard and dreadfulWas the vengeance she drew down,So that all weHave woe enow.Through all lands of the worldShall that story fare forthHow she did her to deathFor the death of Sigurd.
“But therewithal GunnarThe gold-scattererDid I fall to lovingAnd should have loved him.Rings of red goldWould they give to Atli,Would give to my brotherThings goodly and great.
“Yea, fifteen steadsWould they give for me,And the load of GraniTo have as a gift;But then spake Atli,That such was his will,Never gift to takeFrom the sons of Giuki.
“But we in nowiseMight love withstand,And mine head must I layOn my love, the ring-breaker;And many there wereAmong my kin,Who said that theyHad seen us together.
“Then Atli saidThat I surely neverWould fall to crimeOr shameful folly:But now let no oneFor any other,That shame denyWhere love has dealing.
“For Atli sentHis serving-folkWide through the murkwoodProof to win of me,And thither they cameWhere they ne’er should have come,Where one bed we twainHad dight betwixt us.
“To those men had we givenRings of red gold,Naught to tellThereof to Atli,But straight they hastenedHome to the house,And all the taleTo Atli told.
‘Whereas from GudrunWell they hid it,Though better by halfHad she have known it.

…

“Din was there to hearOf the hoofs gold-shod,When into the garthRode the sons of Giuki.
“There from HogniThe heart they cut,But into the worm-closeCast the other.There the king, the wise-hearted,Swept his harp-strings,For the might kingHad ever mindThat I to his helpingSoon should come.
“But now was I goneYet once againUnto Geirmund,Good feast to make;Yet had I hearing,E’en out from Hlesey,How of sore troubleThe harp-strings sang.
“So I bade the bondmaidsBe ready swiftly,For I listed to saveThe life of the king,And we let our shipSwim over the sound,Till Atli’s dwellingWe saw all clearly.
Then came the wretch (1)Crawling out,E’en Atli’s mother,All sorrow upon her!A grave gat her stingIn the heart of Gunnar,So that no helpingWas left for my hero.
“O gold-clad woman,Full oft I wonderHow I my lifeStill hold thereafter,For methought I lovedThat light in battle,The swift with the sword,As my very self.
“Thou hast sat and hearkenedAs I have told theeOf many an ill-fate,Mine and theirs—Each man livethE’en as he may live—Now hath gone forthThe greeting of Oddrun.”
ENDNOTES:(1) Atli’s mother took the form of the only adder that was notlulled to sleep by Gunnar’s harp-playing, and who slew him.

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