“Then unto this land I came, and that was long ago. 
  As men-folk count the years; and I taught them to reap and to sow,

* * * * *

  “And I grew the master of masters—­Think thou how strange it is
  That the sword in the hands of a stripling shall one day end all this!

  “Yet oft mid all my wisdom did I long for my brother’s part,
  And Fafnir’s mighty kingship weighed heavy on my heart
  When the Kings of the earthly kingdoms would give me golden gifts
  From out of their scanty treasures, due pay for my cunning shifts. 
  And once—­didst thou number the years thou wouldst think it long ago—­
  I wandered away to the country from whence our stem did grow.

* * * * *

  “Then I went to the pillared hall-stead, and lo, huge heaps of gold,
  And to and fro amidst them a mighty Serpent rolled: 
  Then my heart grew chill with terror, for I thought on the wont of our race,
  And I, who had lost their cunning, was a man in a deadly place,
  A feeble man and a swordless in the lone destroyer’s fold;
  For I knew that the Worm was Fafnir, the Wallower on the Gold.

  “So I gathered my strength and fled, and hid my shame again
  Mid the foolish sons of men-folk; and the more my hope was vain,
  The more I longed for the Treasure, and deliv’rance from the yoke: 
  And yet passed the generations, and I dwelt with the short-lived folk.

  “Long years, and long years after, the tale of men-folk told
  How up on the Glittering Heath was the house and the dwelling of gold,
  And within that house was the Serpent, and the Lord of the Fearful Face: 
  Then I wondered sore of the desert; for I thought of the golden place
  My hands of old had builded; for I knew by many a sign
  That the Fearful Face was my brother, that the blood of the Worm was mine. 
  This was ages long ago, and yet in that desert he dwells,
  Betwixt him and men death lieth, and no man of his semblance tells;
  But the tale of the great Gold-wallower is never the more outworn. 
  Then came thy kin, O Sigurd, and thy father’s father was born,
  And I fell to the dreaming of dreams, and I saw thine eyes therein,
  And I looked and beheld thy glory and all that thy sword should win;
  And I thought that thou shouldst be he, who should bring my heart its rest,
  That of all the gifts of the Kings thy sword should give me the best.

  “Ah, I fell to the dreaming of dreams; and oft the gold I saw,
  And the golden-fashioned Hauberk, clean-wrought without a flaw,
  And the Helm that aweth the world; and I knew of Fafnir’s heart
  That his wisdom was greater than mine, because he had held him apart,
  Nor spilt on the sons of men-folk our knowledge of ancient days,
  Nor bartered one whit for their love, nor craved for the people’s praise.