goes;
    Aloft in the wind of the mountains its golden roof-ridge glows,
    And down mid its buttressed feet is the wind’s voice never still;
    And the day and the night pass o’er it and it changes to their will,
    And whiles is it glassy and dark, and whiles is it white and dead,
    And whiles is it grey as the sea-mead, and whiles is it angry red;
    And it shimmers under the sunshine and grows black to the threat of
      the storm,
    And dusk its gold roof glimmers when the rain-clouds over it swarm,
    And bright in the first of the morning its flame doth it uplift,
    When the light clouds rend before it and along its furrows drift.

    Upriseth the heart of Sigurd, but ever he rideth forth
    Till he comes to the garth and the gateway built up in the face of
      the north: 
    Then e’en as a wind from the mountains he heareth the warders’ speech,
    As aloft in the mighty towers they clamour each to each: 
    Then horn to horn blew token, and far and shrill they cried,
    And he heard, as the fishers hearken the cliff-fowl over the tide: 
    But he rode in under the gate, that was long and dark as a cave
    Bored out in the isles of the northland by the beat of the restless
      wave;
    And the noise of the winds was within it, and the sound of swords
      unseen,
    As the night when the host is stirring and the hearts of Kings are
      keen. 
    But no man stayed or hindered, and the dusk place knew his smile,
    And into the court of the warriors he came forth after a while,
    And looked aloft to the hall-roof, high up and grey as the cloud,
    For the sun was wholly perished; and there he crieth aloud: 

    “Ho, men of this mighty burg, to what folk of the world am I come? 
    And who is the King of battles who dwells in this lordly home? 
    Or perchance are ye of the Elf-kin? are ye guest-fain, kind at the
      boards
    Or murder-churls and destroyers to gain and die by the sword?”

    Then the spears in the forecourt glittered and the swords shone over
      the wall,
    But the song of smitten harp-strings came faint from the cloudy hall. 
    And he hearkened a voice and a crying:  “The house of Giuki the King,
    And the Burg of the Niblung people and the heart of their warfaring.” 
    There were many men about him, and the wind in the wall-nook sang,
    And the spears of the Niblungs glittered, and the swords in the
      forecourt rang. 
    But they looked on his face in the even, and they hushed their voices
      and gazed,
    For fear and great desire the hearts of men amazed.