So the Goth-folk led to the woodland those gleanings of the strife,
    And smote down a great-boled oak-tree, the mightiest they might find,
    And thereto with bonds of iron the Volsungs did they bind,
    And left them there on the wood-lawn, mid the yew-trees’ compassing,
    And went back by the light of the moon to the dwelling of the king.

    But he sent on the morn of the morrow to see how his foemen fared,
    For now as he thought thereover, o’ermuch he deemed it dared
    That he saw not the last of the Volsungs laid dead before his feet,
    Back came his men ere the noontide, and he deemed their tidings sweet;
    For they said:  “We tell thee, King Siggeir, that Geirmund and Gylfi
      are gone. 
    And we deem that a beast of the wild-wood this murder grim hath done,
    For the bones yet lie in the fetters gnawed fleshless now and white;
    But we deemed the eight abiding sore minished of their might.”

    So wore the morn and the noontide, and the even ’gan to fall,
    And watchful eyes held Signy at home in bower and hall.

    And again came the men in the morning, and spake:  “The hopples hold
    The bare white bones of Helgi, and the bones of Solar the bold: 
    And the six that abide seem feebler than they were awhile ago.”

    Still all the day and the night-tide must Signy nurse her woe
    About the house of King Siggeir, nor any might she send: 
    And again came the tale on the morrow:  “Now are two more come to
      an end. 
    For Hunthiof dead and Gunthiof, their bones lie side by side,
    And the four that are left, us seemeth, no long while will abide.”

    O woe for the well-watched Signy, how often on that day
    Must she send her helpless eyen adown the woodland way! 
    Yet silent in her bosom she held her heart of flame. 
    And again on the morrow morning the tale was still the same: 

    “We tell thee now, King Siggeir, that all will soon be done;
    For the two last men of the Volsungs, they sit there one by one,
    And Sigi’s head is drooping, but somewhat Sigmund sings;
    For the man was a mighty warrior, and a beater down of kings. 
    But for Rerir and for Agnar, the last of them is said,
    Their bones in the bonds are abiding, but their souls and lives are
      sped.”

    That day from the eyes of the watchers nought Signy strove to depart,
    But ever she sat in the high-seat and nursed the flame in her heart. 
    In the sight of all people she sat, with unmoved face and wan,
    And to no man gave she a word, nor looked on any man. 
    Then the dusk and the dark drew over, but stirred she never a whit,
    And the word of Siggeir’s sending, she gave no heed to it. 
    And there on the morrow morning must he sit him down by her side,
    When unto the council of elders folk came from far and wide. 
    And there came Siggeir’s woodmen, and their voice in the hall arose: