Woe’s me! how the house of the Niblungs by another cry was rent,
    The wakening wail of Gudrun, as she shrank in the river of blood
    From the breast of the mighty Sigurd:  he heard it and understood,
    And rose up on the sword of Guttorm, and turned from the country of
      death,
    And spake words of loving-kindness as he strove for life and breath: 

    “Wail not, O child of the Niblungs!  I am smitten, but thou shalt live,
    In remembrance of our glory, mid the gifts the Gods shall give!”

    She stayed her cry to hearken, and her heart well nigh stood still: 
    But he spake:  “Mourn not, O Gudrun, this stroke is the last of ill;
    Fear leaveth the House of the Niblungs on this breaking of the morn;
    Mayst thou live, O woman beloved, unforsaken, unforlorn!”

    Then he sank aback on the sword, and down to his lips she bent
    If some sound therefrom she might hearken; for his breath was
      well-nigh spent: 
    “It is Brynhild’s deed,” he murmured, “and the woman that loves me
      well;
    Nought now is left to repent of, and the tale abides to tell. 
    I have done many deeds in my life-days, and all these, and my love,
      they lie
    In the hollow hand of Odin till the day of the world go by. 
    I have done and I may not undo, I have given and I take not again: 
    Art thou other than I, Allfather, wilt thou gather my glory in vain?”

    There was silence then in the chamber, as the dawn spread wide and
      grey,
    And hushed was the hall of the Niblungs at the entering-in of day. 
    Long Gudrun hung o’er the Volsung and waited the coming word;
    Then she stretched out her hand to Sigurd and touched her love and her
      lord,
    And the broad day fell on his visage, and she knew she was there alone,
    And her heart was wrung with anguish and she uttered a weary moan: 
    Then Brynhild laughed in the hall, and the first of men’s voices was
      that
    Since when on yester-even the kings in the high-seat had sat.

    But the wrath of Gunnar was kindled and the words of the king
      out-brake,
    “Woe’s me, thou wonder of women! thou art glad for no man’s sake,
    Nay not for thine own, meseemeth, for thou bidest here as the dead,
    As the pale ones stricken deedless, whose tale of life is sped.”

    She hearkened him not nor answered; and day came on apace,
    And they heard the anguish of Gudrun and her voice in the ancient
      place.

    “Awake, O House of the Niblungs! for my kin hath slain my lord. 
    Awake, awake, to the murder, and the edges of the sword! 
    Awake, go forth and be merry! and yet shall the day betide,
    When ye stand in the garth of the foemen, and death is on every side,
    And ye look about and around you, and right and left ye look
    For the least of the hours of Sigurd, and his hand that the battle
      shook: 
    Then be your hope as mine is, then face ye death and shame
    As I face the desolation, and the days without a name!”