* * * * *

  So forth from the hall goes the Wooer, and slow and slow he goes,
  As a conquered king from his city fares forth to meet his foes;
  And he taketh the reins of Greyfell, nor yet will back him there,
  But afoot through the cold slaked ashes of yester-eve doth fare,
  With his eyes cast down to the earth; till he heareth the wind, and a cry,
  And raiseth a face brow-knitted and beholdeth men anigh,
  And beholdeth Hogni the King set grey on his coal-black steed,
  And beholdeth the image of Sigurd, the King in the golden weed: 
  Then he stayeth and stareth astonished and setteth his hand to his sword;
  Till Hogni cries from his saddle, and his word is a kindly word: 

  “Hail, brother, the King of the people! hail, helper of my kin! 
  Again from the death and the trouble great gifts hast thou set thee to win
  For thy friends and the Niblung children, and hast crowned thine earthly
       fame,
  And increased thine exceeding glory and the sound of thy loved name.”

Nought Sigurd spake in answer but looked straight forth with a frown,
And stretched out his hand to Gunnar, as one that claimeth his own. 
Then no word speaketh Gunnar, but taketh his hand in his hand,
And they look in the eyes of each other, and a while in the desert they
stand
Till the might of Grimhild prevaileth, and the twain are as yester-morn;
But sad was the golden Sigurd, though his eyes knew nought of scorn;
And he spake: 
“It is finished, O Gunnar! and I will that our brotherhood
May endure through the good and the evil as it sprang in the days of the
good: 
But I bid thee look to the ending, that the deed I did yest’reve
Bear nought for me to repent of, for thine heart of hearts to grieve. 
Thou art troth-plight, O King of the Niblungs, to Brynhild Queen of the
earth,
She hath sworn thine heart to cherish and increase thy worth with her worth: 
She shall come to the house of Gunnar ere ten days are past and o’er;
And thenceforth the life of Brynhild shall part from thy life no more,
Till the doom of our kind shall speed you, and Odin and Freyia shall call,
And ye bide the Day of the Battle, and the uttermost changing of all.”

  The praise and thanks they gave him! the words of love they spake! 
  The tale that the world should hear of, deeds done for Sigurd’s sake! 
  They were lovely might you hear them:  but they lack; for in very deed
  Their sound was clean forgotten in the day of Sigurd’s need.

* * * * *

  So that night in the hall of the ancient they hold high-tide again,
  And the Gods on the Southland hangings smile out full fair and fain,
  And the song goes up of Sigurd, and the praise of his fame fulfilled,
  But his speech in the dead sleep lieth, and the words of his wisdom are
       chilled: 
  And men say, the King is careful, for he thinks of the people’s weal,
  And his heart is afraid for our trouble, lest the Gods our joyance steal.