Then swift ariseth Sigurd, and the Wrath in his hand is bare,
  And he looketh, and Regin sleepeth, and his eyes wide-open glare;
  But his lips smile false in his dreaming, and his hand is on the sword;
  For he dreams himself the Master and the new world’s fashioning-lord,
  And his dream hath forgotten Sigurd, and the King’s life lies in the pit;
  He is nought; Death gnaweth upon him, while the Dwarfs in mastery sit.

  But lo, how the eyes of Sigurd the heart of the guileful behold,
  And great is Allfather Odin, and upriseth the Curse of the Gold,
  And the Branstock bloometh to heaven from the ancient wondrous root;
  The summer hath shone on its blossoms, and Sigurd’s Wrath is the fruit.

* * * * *

  Then his second stroke struck Sigurd, for the Wrath flashed thin and white,
  And ’twixt head and trunk of Regin fierce ran the fateful light;
  And there lay brother by brother a faded thing and wan. 
  But Sigurd cried in the desert:  “So far have I wended on! 
  Dead are the foes of God-home that would blend the good and the ill;
  And the World shall yet be famous, and the Gods shall have their will. 
  Nor shall I be dead and forgotten, while the earth grows worse and worse,
  With the blind heart king o’er the people, and binding curse with curse.”

How Sigurd took to him the Treasure of the Elf Andvari.

So Sigurd ate of the heart of Fafnir, and as he ate the longing to be gone to mighty deeds grew great, and he leapt on Greyfell and sought the home of the Dweller amid the Gold on the edge of the heath.  He strode through the doorway, and before him lay golden armour, golden coins, and golden sands from rivers that none but the Dwarfs could mine.  But more wonderful than all other treasures were the Helm of Aweing, and the Hauberk all of gold, while on top of the midmost heap, gleaming like the brightest star in the sky, lay the ring of Andvari.

Sigurd put on the helm and the hauberk, and dragged out gold wherewith he loaded Greyfell till the cloud-grey horse shone, while the eagles ever bade him bring forth the treasure, and let the gold shine in the open.  And as the stars paled and the dawn grew clearer, Sigurd and Greyfell passed swiftly and lightly towards the west.

How Sigurd awoke Brynhild upon Hindfell.

  By long roads rideth Sigurd amidst that world of stone,
  And somewhat south he turneth; for he would not be alone,
  But longs for the dwellings of man-folk, and the kingly people’s speech,
  And the days of the glee and the joyance, where men laugh each to each. 
  But still the desert endureth, and afar must Greyfell fare
  From the wrack of the Glittering Heath, and Fafnir’s golden lair. 
  Long Sigurd rideth the waste, when, lo, on a morning of day
  From out of the tangled crag-walls, amidst the cloud-land grey
  Comes up a mighty mountain, and it is as though there burns
  A torch amidst of its cloud-wreath; so thither Sigurd turns,
  For he deems indeed from its topmost to look on the best of the earth;
  And Greyfell neigheth beneath him, and his heart is full of mirth.