Then the heart of a king’s son failed not, but he tossed his sword on high
  And laughed as he spurred for the fire, and cried the Niblung cry;
  But the mare’s son saw and imagined, and the battle-eager steed,
  That so oft had pierced the spear-hedge and never failed at need,
  Shrank back, and shrieked in his terror, and spite of spur and rein
  Fled fast as the foals unbitted on Odin’s pasturing plain;
  Wide then he wheeled with Gunnar, but with hand and knee he dealt,
  And the voice of a lord beloved, till the steed his master felt,
  And bore him back to the brethren; by Greyfell Sigurd stood,
  And stared at the heart of the fire, and his helm was red as blood;
  But Hogni sat in his saddle, and watched the flames up-roll;
  And he said:  “Thy steed has failed thee that was once the noblest foal
  In the pastures of King Giuki; but since thine heart fails not,
  And thou wouldst not get thee backward and say, The fire was hot,
  And the voices pent within it were singing nought but death,
  Let Sigurd lend thee his steed that wore the Glittering Heath,
  And carried the Bed of the Serpent, and the ancient ruddy rings. 
  So perchance may the mocks be lesser when men tell of the Niblung Kings.”

  Then Sigurd looked on the twain, and he saw their swart hair wave
  In the wind of the waste and the flame-blast, and no answer awhile he gave. 
  But at last he spake:  “O brother, on Greyfell shalt thou ride,
  And do on the Helm of Aweing and gird the Wrath to thy side,
  And cover thy breast with the war-coat that is throughly woven of gold,
  That hath not its like in the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told: 
  For this is the raiment of Kings when they ride the Flickering Fire,
  And so sink the flames before them and the might of their desire.”

  Then Hogni laughed in his heart, and he said:  “This changing were well
  If so might the deed be accomplished; but perchance there is more to tell: 
  Thou shalt take the war-steed, Gunnar, and enough or nought it shall be: 
  But the coal-blue gear of the Niblungs the golden hall shall see.” 
  Then Sigurd looked on the speaker, as one who would answer again,
  But his words died out on the waste and the fire-blast made them vain. 
  Then he casteth the reins to his brother, and Gunnar praiseth his gift,
  And springeth aloft to the saddle as the fair sun fails from the lift;
  And Sigurd looks on the burden that Greyfell doth uprear,
  The huge king towering upward in the dusky Niblung gear: 
  There sits the eager Gunnar, and his heart desires the deed,
  And of nought he recketh and thinketh, but a fame-stirred warrior’s need;
  But Greyfell trembleth nothing and nought of the fire doth reck: 
  Then the spurs in his flank are smitten, and the reins lie loose on his
       neck,
  And the sharp cry springeth from Gunnar—­no