But bright flashed the eyes of Gudrun, and she said:  “King, as for me,
    If thou sawest the heart in my bosom, what oath might better thee? 
    Yet my words thy words shall cherish, as thy lips my lips have done. 
    —­Herewith I swear, O Sigurd, that the earth shall hate the sun,
    And the year desire but darkness, and the blossoms shrink from day,
    Ere my love shall fail, beloved, or my longing pass away!”

    Now they go from the garth and the garden, and hand in hand they come
    To the hall of the kings of aforetime, and the heart of the Niblung
      home. 
    There they go ’neath the cloudy roof-tree, and on to the high-seat
      fair,
    And there sitteth Giuki the ancient, and the guileful Grimhild is
      there,
    With the swart-haired Niblung brethren; and all these are exceeding
      fain,
    When they look on Sigurd and Gudrun, and the peace that enwrappeth
      the twain,
    For in her is all woe forgotten, sick longing little seen,
    And the shame that slayeth pity, and the self-scorn of a Queen;
    And all doubt in love is swallowed, and lovelier now is she
    Than a picture deftly painted by the craftsmen over sea;
    And her face is a rose of the morning by the night-tide framed about,
    And the long-stored love of her bosom from her eyes is leaping out. 
    But how fair is Sigurd the King that beside her beauty goes! 
    How lovely is he shapen, how great his stature shows! 
    How kind is the clasping right-hand, that hath smitten the battle
      acold! 
    How kind are the awful eyen that no foeman durst behold! 
    How sweet are the lips unsmiling, and the brow as the open day! 
    What man can behold and believe it, that his life shall pass away? 
    So he standeth proud by the high-seat, and the sun through the vast
      hall pours
    And the Gods on the hangings waver as the wind goes by the doors,
    And abroad are the sounds of man-folk, and the eagles cry from the
      roof,
    And the ancient deeds of Sigmund seem fallen far aloof;
    And dead are the fierce days fallen, and the world is soft and sweet,
    As the Son of the Volsungs speaketh in noble words and meet: 

    “O hearken, King of the Niblungs, O ancient of the days! 
    Time was, when alone I wandered, and went on the wasteland ways,
    And sore my soul desired the harvest of the sword: 
    Then I slew the great Gold-wallower, and won the ancient Hoard,
    And I turned to the dwellings of men; for I longed for measureless
      fame,
    And to do and undo with the Kings, and the pride of the Kings to tame;
    And I longed for the love of the King-folk; but who desired my soul,
    Who stayed my feet in his dwelling, who showed the weary the goal,
    Who drew me forth from the wastes, and the bitter kinless dearth,