At last spake the wise-heart Brynhild:  “O glorious Niblung child! 
    The dreams and the word we have hearkened, and the dreams and the
      word have been wild. 
    Thou hast thy life and thy summer, and the love is drawing anear;
    Take these to thine heart to cherish, and deem them good and dear,
    Lest the Norns should mock our knowledge and cast our fame aside,
    And our doom be empty of glory as the hopeless that have died. 
    Farewell, O Niblung Maiden! for day on day shall come
    Whilst thou shalt live rejoicing mid the blossom of thine home. 
    Now have thou thanks for thy greeting and thy glory that I have seen;
    And come thou again to Lymdale while the summer-ways are green.”

    So the hall-dusk deepens upon them till the candles come arow,
    And they drink the wine of departing and gird themselves to go;
    And they dight the dark-blue raiment and climb to the wains aloft
    While the horned moon hangs in the heaven and the summer wind blows
      soft. 
    Then the yoke-beasts strained at the collar, and the dust in the moon
      arose,
    And they brushed the side of the acre and the blooming dewy close;
    Till at last, when the moon was sinking and the night was waxen late,
    The warders of the earl-folk looked forth from the Niblung gate,
    And saw the gold pale-gleaming, and heard the wain-wheels crush
    The weary dust of the summer amidst the midnight hush.

    So came the daughter of Giuki from the hall of Brynhild the queen
    When the days of the Niblungs blossomed and their hope was springing
      green.

    How the folk of Lymdale met Sigurd the Volsung in the woodland.

    Full fair was the land of Lymdale, and great were the men thereof,
    And Heimir the King of the people was held in marvellous love;
    And his wife was the sister of Brynhild, and the Queen of Queens was
      she;
    And his sons were noble striplings, and his daughters sweet to see;
    And all these lived on in joyance through the good days and the ill,
    Nor would shun the war’s awaking; but now that the war was still
    They looked to the wethers’ fleeces and what the ewes would yield,
    And led their bulls from the straw-stall, and drave their kine afield;
    And they dealt with mere and river and all waters of their land,
    And cast the glittering angle, and drew the net to the strand,
    And searched the rattling shallows, and many a rock-walled well,
    Where the silver-scaled sea-farers, and the crook-lipped bull-trout
      dwell. 
    But most when their hearts were merry ’twas the joy of carle and quean
    To ride in the deeps of the oak-wood, and the thorny thicket green: 
    Forth go their hearts before them to the blast of the strenuous horn,
    Where the level sun comes