his wisdom, and the glory of his face. 
    Came the wise men too from the outlands, and the lords of singers’
      fame,
    That men might know hereafter the deeds that knew his name;
    And all these to their lands departed, and bore aback his love,
    And cherished the tree of his glory, and lived glad in the joy thereof.

    But men say that howsoever all other folk of earth
    Loved Sigmund’s son rejoicing, and were bettered of their mirth,
    Yet ever the white-armed Gudrun, the dark-haired Niblung Maid,
    From the barren heart of sorrow her love upon him laid: 
    He rejoiceth, and she droopeth; he speaks and hushed is she;
    He beholds the world’s days coming, nought but Sigurd may she see;
    He is wise and her wisdom falters; he is kind, and harsh and strange
    Comes the voice from her bosom laden, and her woman’s mercies change. 
    He longs, and she sees his longing, and her heart grows cold as a
      sword,
    And her heart is the ravening fire, and the fretting sorrows’ hoard.

    Ah, shall she not wander away to the wilds and the wastes of the deer,
    Or down to the measureless sea-flood, and the mountain marish drear? 
    Nay, still shall she bide and behold him in the ancient happy place,
    And speak soft as the other women with wise and queenly face. 
    Woe worth the while for her sorrow, and her hope of life forlorn! 
    —­Woe worth the while for her loving, and the day when she was born!

    Of the Cup of evil drink that Grimhild the Wise-wife gave to Sigurd.

    Now again in the latter summer do those Kings of the Niblungs ride
    To chase the sons of the plunder that curse the ocean-side: 
    So over the oaken rollers they run the cutters down
    Till fair in the first of the deep are the glittering bows up-thrown;
    But, shining wet and steel-clad, men leap from the surfy shore,
    And hang their shields on the gunwale, and cast abroad the oar;
    Then full to the outer ocean swing round the golden beaks,
    And Sigurd sits by the tiller and the host of the spoilers seeks. 
    But lo, by the rim of the out-sea where the masts of the Vikings sway,
    And their bows plunge down to the sea-floor as they ride the ridgy way,
    And show the slant decks covered with swords from stem to stern: 
    Hark now, how the horns of battle for the clash of warriors yearn,
    And the mighty song of mocking goes up from the thousands of throats,
    As down the wind and landward the raven-banner floats: 
    For they see thin streaks and shining o’er the waters’ face draw nigh,
    And about each streak a foam-wake as the wet oars toss on high;
    And they shout; for the silent Niblungs round those great sea-castles
      throng,
    And the eager men unshielded swarm up the heights of wrong. 
    Then from bulwark unto bulwark