“I had the ring, O Brynhild, on the night that followed the morn,
    When the semblance of Gunnar left thee in thy golden hall forlorn: 
    And he, the giver that gave it, was the Helper’s war-got thrall,
    And the babe King Elf uplifted to the war-dukes in the hall;
    And he rode with the heart-wise Regin, and rode the Glittering Heath,
    And gathered the Golden Harvest and smote the Worm to the death: 
    And he rode with the sons of the Niblungs till the words of men must
      fail
    To tell of the deeds of Sigurd and the glory of his tale: 
    Yet e’en as thou sayst, O Brynhild, the bidding of Gunnar he did,
    For he cloaked him in Gunnar’s semblance and his shape in Gunnar’s
      hid:—­
    Thou all-wise Queen of the Niblungs, was this so hard a part
    For the learned in the lore of Regin, who ate of the Serpent’s heart? 
    —­Thus he wooed the bride for Gunnar, and for Gunnar rode the fire;
    And he held thine hand for Gunnar, and lay by thy dead desire. 
    We have known thee for long, O Brynhild, and great is thy renown;
    In this shalt thou joy henceforward and nought in thy wedding crown.”

    Now is Brynhild wan as the dead, and she openeth her mouth to speak,
    But no word cometh outward:  then the green bank doth she seek,
    And casteth her raiment upon her, and flees o’er the meadow fair,
    As though flames were burning beneath it, and red gleeds the daisies
      were: 
    But fair with face triumphant from the water Gudrun goes,
    And with many a thought of Sigurd the heart within her glows.

    And yet as she walked the meadow a fear upon her came,
    What deeds are the deeds of women in their anguish and their shame;
    And many a heavy warning and many a word of fate
    By the lips of Sigurd spoken she remembereth overlate;
    Yet e’en to the heart within her she dissembleth all her dread. 
    Daylong she sat in her bower in glee and goodlihead,
    But when the day was departing and the earl-folk drank in the hall
    She went alone in the garden by the nook of the Niblung wall;
    There she thought of that word in the river, and of how it were
      better unsaid,
    And she looked with kind words to hide it, as men bury their
      battle-dead
    With the spice and the sweet-smelling raiment:  in the cool of the eve
      she went
    And murmured her speech of forgiveness and the words of her intent,
    While her heart was happy with love:  then she lifted up her face,
    And lo, there was Brynhild the Queen hard by in the leafy place;
    Then the smile from her bright eyes faded and a flush came over her
      cheek
    And she said:  “What dost thou, Brynhild? what matter dost thou seek?”

    But the word of Sigurd smote her, and she spake ere the answer came: 
    “Hard speech was between us, Brynhild, and words of evil and shame;
    I repent, and crave thy pardon:  wilt thou say so much unto me,
    That the Niblung wives may be merry, as great queens are wont to be?”