“Nay nay,” he said, “go backward:  this too thy fate will have;
    For thou art the wife of a king, and many a matter may’st save. 
    Farewell! as the days win over, as sweet as a tale shall it grow,
    This day when our hearts were hardened; and our glory thou shalt know,
    And the love wherewith we loved thee mid the battle and the wrack.”

    She kissed them and departed, and mid the dusk fared back,
    And she sat that eve in the high-seat; and I deem that Siggeir knew
    The way that her feet had wended, and the deed she went to do: 
    For the man was grim and guileful, and he knew that the snare was laid
    For the mountain bull unblenching and the lion unafraid.

    But when the sun on the morrow shone over earth and sea
    Ashore went the Volsung Children a goodly company,
    And toward King Siggeir’s dwelling o’er heath and holt they went
    But when they came to the topmost of a certain grassy bent,
    Lo there lay the land before them as thick with shield and spear
    As the rich man’s wealthiest acre with the harvest of the year. 
    There bade King Volsung tarry and dight the wedge-array;
    “For duly,” he said, “doeth Siggeir to meet his guests by the way.” 
    So shield by shield they serried, nor ever hath been told
    Of any host of battle more glorious with the gold;
    And there stood the high King Volsung in the very front of war;
    And lovelier was his visage than ever heretofore. 
    As he rent apart the peace-strings that his brand of battle bound
    And the bright blade gleamed to the heavens, and he cast the sheath
      to the ground.

    Then up the steep came the Goth-folk, and the spear-wood drew anigh,
    And earth’s face shook beneath them, yet cried they never a cry;
    And the Volsungs stood all silent, although forsooth at whiles
    O’er the faces grown earth-weary would play the flickering smiles,
    And swords would clink and rattle:  not long had they to bide,
    For soon that flood of murder flowed round the hillock-side;
    Then at last the edges mingled, and if men forebore the shout,
    Yet the din of steel and iron in the grey clouds rang about;
    But how to tell of King Volsung, and the valour of his folk! 
    Three times the wood of battle before their edges broke;
    And the shield-wall, sorely dwindled and reft of the ruddy gold,
    Against the drift of the war-blast for the fourth time yet did hold. 
    But men’s shields were waxen heavy with the weight of shafts they bore,
    And the fifth time many a champion cast earthward Odin’s door
    And gripped the sword two-handed; and in sheaves the spears came on. 
    And at last the host of the Goth-folk within the shield-wall won,
    And wild was the work within it, and oft and o’er again
    Forth brake the sons of Volsung,