“Thou hast spoken well,” said Gudrun, “let us tarry now no whit;
    For wise in the world is the woman, and knoweth the ways of it.”

    So they make the yoke-beasts ready, and dight the wains for the way,
    And the maidens gather together, and their bodies they array,
    And gird the laps of the linen, and do on the dark-blue gear,
    And bind with the leaves of summer the wandering of their hair: 
    Then they drive by dale and acre, o’er heath and holt they wend,
    Till they come to the land of the waters, and the lea by the
      woodland’s end;
    And there is the burg of Brynhild, the white-walled house and long,
    And the garth her fathers fashioned before the days of wrong. 
    So fare their feet on the earth by the threshold of the Queen,
    And Brynhild’s damsels abide them, for their goings had been seen;
    And the mint and the blossomed woodruff they strew before their feet,
    And their arms of welcome take them, and they kiss them soft and sweet,
    And they go forth into the feast-hall, the many-pillared house;
    Most goodly were its hangings and its webs were glorious
    With tales of ancient fathers, and the Swans of the Goths on the sea,
    And weaponed Kings on the island, and great deeds yet to be;
    And the host of Odin’s Choosers, and the boughs of the fateful Oak,
    And the gush of Mimir’s Fountain, and the Midworld-Serpent’s yoke.

    So therein the maidens enter, but Gudrun all out-goes,
    As over the leaves of the garden shines the many-folded rose: 
    Amidst and alone she standeth; in the hall her arms shine white,
    And her hair falls down behind her like a cloak of the sweet-breathed
      night,
    As she casts her cloak to the earth, and the wind of the flowery tide
    Runs over her rippling raiment and stirs the gold at her side. 
    But she stands and may scarce move forward, and a red flush lighteth
      her face
    As her eyes seek out Queen Brynhild in the height of the golden place.

    But lo, as a swan on the sea spreads out her wings to arise
    From the face of the darksome ocean when the isle before her lies,
    So Brynhild arose from her throne and the fashioned cloths of blue
    When she saw the Maid of the Niblungs, and the face of Gudrun knew;
    And she gathers the laps of the linen, and they meet in the hall,
      they twain,
    And she taketh her hands in her hands and kisseth her sweet and fain: 
    And she saith:  “Hail, sister and queen! for we deem thy coming kind: 
    Though forsooth the hall of Brynhild is no weary way to find: 
    How fare the kin of the Niblungs? is thy mother happy and hale,
    And the ancient of days, thy father, the King of all avail?”