“Speak then,” said the ancient Helper, “let the worst and the best be said.”

* * * * *

  They said:  “The earth is weary:  but the tender blade hath sprung,
  That shall wax till beneath its branches fair bloom the meadows green;
  For the Gods and they that were mighty were glad erewhile with the Queen.”

  Said King Elf:  “How say ye, women?  Of a King new-born do ye tell,
  By a God of the Heavens begotten in our fathers’ house to dwell?”

  “By a God of the Earth,” they answered; “but greater yet is the son,
  Though long were the days of Sigmund, and great are the deeds he hath done.”

  Then she with the golden burden to the kingly high-seat stepped
  And away from the new-born baby the purple cloths she swept,
  And cried:  “O King of the people, long mayst thou live in bliss,
  As our hearts today are happy!  Queen Hiordis sends thee this,
  And she saith that the world shall call it by the name that thou shalt name;
  Now the gift to thee is given, and to thee is brought the fame.”

  Then e’en as a man astonied King Elf the Volsung took,
  While his feast-hall’s ancient timbers with the cry of the earl-folk shook;

* * * * *

  With the love of many peoples was the wise king smitten through,
  As he hung o’er the new-born Volsung:  but at last he raised his head,
  And looked forth kind o’er his people, and spake aloud and said: 

  “O Sigmund King of Battle; O man of many days,
  Whom I saw mid the shields of the fallen and the dead men’s silent praise,
  Lo, how hath the dark tide perished and the dawn of day begun! 
  And now, O mighty Sigmund, wherewith shall we name thy son?”

  But there rose up a man most ancient, and he cried:  “Hail Dawn of the Day! 
  How many things shalt thou quicken, how many shalt thou slay! 
  How many things shalt thou waken, how many lull to sleep! 
  How many things shalt thou scatter, how many gather and keep! 
  O me, how thy love shall cherish, how thine hate shall wither and burn! 
  How the hope shall be sped from thy right hand, nor the fear to thy left
       return! 
  O thy deeds that men shall sing of!  O thy deeds that the Gods shall see! 
  O Sigurd, Son of the Volsungs, O Victory yet to be!”

  Men heard the name and they knew it, and they caught it up in the air,
  And it went abroad by the windows and the doors of the feast-hall fair,
  It went through street and market; o’er meadow and acre it went,
  And over the wind-stirred forest and the dearth of the sea-beat bent,
  And over the sea-flood’s welter, till the folk of the fishers heard,
  And the hearts of the isle-abiders on the sun-scorched rocks were stirred.

* * * * *

Sigurd getteth to him the horse that is called Greyfell.