“O have thou thanks,” said Brynhild, “for thine heart that speaketh
      kind! 
    Yea, the hope of my days is accomplished, and no more there is to
      find.”

    And again she spake in a space:  “The road hath been weary and long,
    But well hast thou ridden it, Sigurd, and the sons of God are strong.”

    He said:  “I have sought, O Brynhild, and found the heart of thine home;
    And no man hath asked or holpen, and all unbidden I come.”

    She said:  “O welcome hither! for the heart of the King I knew,
    And thine hope that overcometh, and thy will that nought shall undo.”

    “Unbidden I came,” he answered, “yet it is but a little space
    Since I heard thy voice on the mountain, and thy kind lips cherished
      my face.”

    She rose from the dark-blue raiment, and trembling there she stood,
    And no word her lips had gotten that her heart might deem it good: 
    And his heart went forth to meet her, yet nought he moved for a while,
    Until the God-kin’s laughter brake blooming from a smile
    And he cried:  “It is good, O Brynhild, that we draw exceeding near,
    Lest Odin mock Kings’ children that the doom of fate they fear.”

    Then forth she stepped from the high-seat, and forth from the
      threshold he came,
    Till both their bodies mingling seemed one glory and the same,
    And far o’er all fulfilment did the souls within them long,
    As at breast and at lips of the faithful the earthly love strained
      strong;
    And fresh from the deeps of the summer the breeze across them blew,
    But nought of the earth’s desire, or the lapse of time they knew.

    Then apart, but exceeding nigh, for a little while they stand,
    Till Brynhild toucheth her lord, and taketh his hand in her hand,
    And she leadeth him through the chamber, and sitteth down in her seat;
    And him she setteth beside her, and she saith: 
                                                  “It is right and meet
    That thou sit in this throne of my fathers, since thy gift today I
      have: 
    Thou hast given it altogether, nor aught from me wouldst save;
    And thou knowest the tale of women, how oft it haps on a day
    That of such gifts men repent them, and their lives are cast away.”

    He said:  “I have cast it away as the tiller casteth the seed,
    That the summer may better the spring-tide, and the autumn winter’s
      need: 
    For what were the fruit of our lives if apart they needs must pass,
    And men shall say hereafter:  Woe worth the hope that was!”

    She said:  “That day shall dawn the best of all earthly days
    When we sit, we twain, in the high-seat in the hall of the people’s
      praise: 
    Or else, what fruit of our life-days, what fruit of our death shall be? 
    What fruit, save men’s remembrance of the grief of thee and me?”