So they twain went hand in hand to stand before Giuki and Grimhild and the swart-haired Niblung brethren, and all these were glad-hearted when they marked their joy and goodlihead.  Then Sigurd spake noble words of thanks to Giuki for all past kindness, and bade Giuki call him son because he had that day bidden Gudrun to wife, and he sware also to toil for her exalting and for the weal of all the Niblung kin.  Thereto Giuki answered glad-hearted, “Hail, Sigurd, son of mine eld!” and called upon Grimhild the Queen to bless him.

Thus was Sigurd troth-plight to the white-armed Gudrun, and all men were fain of their love and spake nought but praise of him.

  Hark now, on the morrow morning how the blast of the mighty horn
  From the builded Burg of the Niblungs goes over the acres shorn,
  And the roads are gay with the riders, and the bull in the stall is left,
  And the plough is alone in the furrow, and the wedge in the hole half-cleft;
  And late shall the ewes be folded, and the kine come home to the pail,
  And late shall the fires be litten in the outmost treeless dale: 
  For men fare to the gate of Giuki and the ancient cloudy hall,
  And therein are the earls assembled and the kings wear purple and pall,
  And the flowers are spread beneath them, and the bench-cloths beaten with
       gold;
  And the walls are strange and wondrous with the noble stories told: 
  For new-hung is the ancient dwelling with the golden spoils of the south,
  And men seem merry for ever, and the praise is in each man’s mouth,
  And the name of Sigurd the Volsung, the King and the Serpent’s Bane,
  Who exalteth the high this morning and blesseth the masters of gain: 
  For men drink the bridal of Sigurd and the white-armed Niblung maid,
  And the best with the best shall be mingled, and the gold with the gold
       o’erlaid.

  So, fair in the hall is the feasting and men’s hearts are uplifted on high,
  And they deem that the best of their life-days are surely drawing anigh,
  As now, one after other, uprise the scalds renowned,
  And their well-beloved voices awake the hoped-for sound,
  In the midmost of the high-tide, and the joy of feasting lords. 
  Then cometh a hush and a waiting, and the light of many swords
  Flows into the hall of Giuki by the doorway of the King,
  And amid those flames of battle the war-clad warriors bring
  The Cup of daring Promise and the hallowed Boar of Son,
  And men’s hearts grow big with longing and great is the hope-tide grown;
  For bright the Son of Sigmund ariseth by the board
  And unwinds the knitted peace-strings that hamper Regin’s Sword: 
  Then fierce is the light on the high-seat as men set down the Cup
  Anigh the hand of Sigurd, and the edges blue rise up,
  And fall on the hallowed Wood-beast:  as a trump of the woeful war
  Rings the voice of the mighty Volsung as he speaks the words of yore: