Then he sank aback on the sword, and down to his lips she bent
  If some sound therefrom she might hearken; for his breath was well-nigh
       spent: 
  “It is Brynhild’s deed,” he murmured, “and the woman that loves me well;
  Nought now is left to repent of, and the tale abides to tell. 
  I have done many deeds in my life-days, and all these, and my love, they lie
  In the hollow hand of Odin till the day of the world go by. 
  I have done and I may not undo, I have given and I take not again: 
  Art thou other than I, Allfather, wilt thou gather my glory in vain?”

  There was silence then in the chamber, as the dawn spread wide and grey,
  And hushed was the hall of the Niblungs at the entering-in of day. 
  Long Gudrun hung o’er the Volsung and waited the coming word;
  Then she stretched out her hand to Sigurd and touched her love and her lord,
  And the broad day fell on his visage, and she knew she was there alone,
  And her heart was wrung with anguish and she uttered a weary moan: 
  Then Brynhild laughed in the hall, and the first of men’s voices was that
  Since when on yester-even the kings in the high-seat had sat.

* * * * *

  In the house rose rumour and stir, and men stood up in the morn,
  And their hearts with doubt were shaken, as if with the Uttermost Horn: 
  The cry and the calling spread, and shields clashed down from the wall,
  And swords in the chamber glittered, and men ran apace to the hall. 
  Nor knew what man to question, nor who had tidings to give,
  Nor what were the days thenceforward wherein the folk should live. 
  But ever the word is amongst them that Sigurd the Volsung is slain,
  And the spears in the hall were tossing as the rye in the windy plain. 
  But they look aloft to the high-seat and they see the gleam of the gold: 
  And Gunnar the King of battle, and Hogni wise and cold,
  And Brynhild the wonder of women; and her face is deadly pale,
  And the Kings are clad in their war-gear, and bared are the edges of bale. 
  Then cold fear falleth upon them, but the noise and the clamour abate,
  And they look on the war-wise Gunnar and awhile for his word they wait;
  But e’en as he riseth above them, doth a shriek through the tumult ring;

  “Awake, O House of the Niblungs, for slain is Sigurd the King!”

  Then nothing faltered Gunnar, but he stood o’er the Niblung folk,
  And over the hall woe-stricken the words of pride he spoke: 

  “Mourn now, O Niblung people, for gone is Sigurd our guest,
  And Guttorm the King is departed, and this is our day of unrest;
  But all this of the Norns was fore-ordered, and herein is Odin’s hand;
  Cast down are the mighty of men-folk, but the Niblung house shall stand: 
  Mourn then today and tomorrow, but the third day waken and live,
  For the Gods died not this morning, and great gifts they have to give.”