“Hearken, Gudrun my wife; the season is nigh at hand,
    Yea, the day is now on the threshold, when thou alone in the land
    Shalt answer for Sigurd departed, and shalt say that I loved thee well;
    And yet if thou hear’st men say it, then true is the tale to tell,
    That Brynhild was my beloved in the tide and the season of youth;
    And as great as is thy true-love, e’en so was her love and her truth. 
    But for this cause thus have I spoken, that the tale of the night hast
      thou told,
    And cast the word unto Brynhild, and shown her the token of gold. 
    —­A deed for the slaying of many, and the ending of my life,
    Since I betrayed her unwitting.—­Yet grieve not, Gudrun my wife! 
    For cloudy of late were the heavens with many a woven lie,
    And now is the clear of the twilight, when the slumber draweth anigh. 
    But call up the soul of the Niblungs, and harden thine heart to bear,
    For wert thou not sprung from the mighty, today were thy portion of
      fear: 
    Yea, thou wottest it even as I; but I see thine heart arise,
    And the soul of the mighty Niblungs, and fair is the love in thine
      eyes.”

    Then forth went the King from the chamber to the council of the Kings,
    And he sat with the wise in the Doom-ring for the sifting of troublous
      things,
    And rejoiced the heart of the people:  and the Wrath kept watch by his
      side. 
    And his eyen were nothing dimmer than on many a joyous tide.

    But abed lay Brynhild the Queen, as a woman dead she lay,
    And no word for better or worse to the best of her folk would she say: 
    So they bore the tidings to Gunnar, and said:  “Queen Brynhild ails
    With a sickness whereof none knoweth, and death o’er her life
      prevails.”

Then uprose Gunnar the Niblung, and he went to Brynhild his wife,
And prayed her to strengthen her heart for the glory of his life: 
But she gave not a word in answer, nor turned to where he stood,
And there rose up a fear in his heart, and he looked for little of
good: 
There he bode for a long while silent, and the thought within him
stirred
Of wise speech of his mother Grimhild, and many a warning word: 
But he spake: 
“Art thou smitten of God, unto whom shall we cast the prayer? 
Art thou wronged by one of the King-folk, for whom shall the blades be
bare?”

Belike she never heard him; she lay in her misery,
And the slow tears gushed from her eyen and nought of the world would
she see. 
But ill thoughts arose in Gunnar, and remembrance of the speech
Erst spoken low by Grimhild; yet he turned his heart to beseech,
And he spake again: 
“O Brynhild, if I ever made thee glad,
If the glory of the great-ones of my gift thine heart hath had. 
As mine heart hath been faithful to thee, as I longed for thy
life-days’ gain,
Tell now of thy toil and thy trouble that we each of each may be fain!”