So they climb the burg of Hindfell, and hand in hand they fare,
    Till all about and above them is nought but the sunlit air,
    And there close they cling together rejoicing in their mirth;
    For far away beneath them lie the kingdoms of the earth,
    And the garths of men-folk’s dwellings and the streams that water them,
    And the rich and plenteous acres, and the silver ocean’s hem,
    And the woodland wastes and the mountains, and all that holdeth all;
    The house and the ship and the island, the loom and the mine and the
      stall,
    The beds of bane and healing, the crafts that slay and save,
    The temple of God and the Doom-ring, the cradle and the grave.

    Then spake the Victory-Wafter:  “O King of the Earthly Age,
    As a God thou beholdest the treasure and the joy of thine heritage,
    And where on the wings of his hope is the spirit of Sigurd borne? 
    Yet I bid thee hover awhile as a lark alow on the corn;
    Yet I bid thee look on the land ’twixt the wood and the silver sea
    In the bight of the swirling river, and the house that cherished me! 
    There dwelleth mine earthly sister and the king that she hath wed;
    There morn by morn aforetime I woke on the golden bed;
    There eve by eve I tarried mid the speech and the lays of kings;
    There noon by noon I wandered and plucked the blossoming things;
    The little land of Lymdale by the swirling river’s side,
    Where Brynhild once was I called in the days ere my father died;
    The little land of Lymdale ’twixt the woodland and the sea,
    Where on thee mine eyes shall brighten and thine eyes shall beam on
      me.”

    “I shall seek thee there,” said Sigurd, “when the day-spring is begun,
    Ere we wend the world together in the season of the sun.”

    “I shall bide thee there,” said Brynhild, “till the fulness of the
      days,
    And the time for the glory appointed, and the springing-tide of
      praise.”

    From his hand then draweth Sigurd Andvari’s ancient Gold;
    There is nought but the sky above them as the ring together they hold,
    The shapen ancient token, that hath no change nor end,
    No change, and no beginning, no flaw for God to mend: 
    Then Sigurd cries:  “O Brynhild, now hearken while I swear,
    That the sun shall die in the heavens and the day no more be fair,
    If I seek not love in Lymdale and the house that fostered thee,
    And the land where thou awakedst ’twixt the woodland and the sea!”

    And she cried:  “O Sigurd, Sigurd, now hearken while I swear
    That the day shall die for ever and the sun to blackness wear,
    Ere I forget thee, Sigurd, as I lie ’twixt wood and sea
    In the little land of Lymdale and the house that fostered me!”

    Then he set the ring on her finger and once, if ne’er again,
    They kissed and clung together, and their hearts were full and fain.