In the thicket I hid till the dawning, and thence I saw the men,
    E’en Siggeir’s heart-rejoicers, come back to the place again
    To gather the well-loved tidings:  I looked and I knew for sooth
    How hate had grown in my bosom and the death of my days of ruth: 
    Though unslain they departed from me, lest Siggeir come to doubt. 
    But hereafter, yea hereafter, they that turned the world about,
    And raised Hell’s abode o’er God-home, and mocked all men-folk’s
      worth—­
    Shall my hand turn back or falter, while these abide on earth,
    Because I once was a child, and sat on my father’s knees;
    But long methinks shall Siggeir bide merrily at ease
    In the high-built house of the Goths, with his shielded earls around,
    His warders of day and of night-tide, and his world of peopled ground,
    While his foe is a swordless outcast, a hunted beast of the wood,
    A wolf of the holy places, where men-folk gather for good. 
    And didst thou think, my sister, when we sat in our summer bliss
    Beneath the boughs of the Branstock, that the world was like to this?”

    As the moon and the twilight mingled, she stood with kindling eyes,
    And answered and said:  “My brother, thou art strong, and thou shalt
      be wise: 
    I am nothing so wroth as thou art with the ways of death and hell,
    For thereof had I a deeming when all things were seeming well. 
    In sooth overlong it may linger; the children of murder shall thrive,
    While thy work is a weight for thine heart, and a toil for thy hand
      to drive;
    But I wot that the King of the Goth-folk for his deeds shall surely
      pay,
    And that I shall live to see it:  but thy wrath shall pass away,
    And long shalt thou live on the earth an exceeding glorious king,
    And thy words shall be told in the market, and all men of thy deeds
      shall sing: 
    Fresh shall thy memory be, and thine eyes like mine shall gaze
    On the day unborn in the darkness, the last of all earthly days,
    The last of the days of battle, when the host of the Gods is arrayed
    And there is an end for ever of all who were once afraid. 
    There as thou drawest thy sword, thou shalt think of the days that
      were,
    And the foul shall still seem foul, and the fair shall still seem fair;
    But thy wit shall then be awakened, and thou shalt know indeed
    Why the brave man’s spear is broken, and his war-shield fails at need;
    Why the loving is unbeloved; why the just man falls from his state;
    Why the liar gains in a day what the soothfast strives for late. 
    Yea, and thy deeds shalt thou know, and great shall thy gladness be;
    As a picture all of gold thy life-days shalt thou see,
    And know that thou too wert a God to abide through the hurry and haste;
    A God in the golden hall,