But Brynhild lay in her chamber, and her women went and came,
    And they feared and trembled before her, and none spake Sigurd’s name;
    But whiles they deemed her weeping, and whiles they deemed indeed
    That she spake, if they might but hearken, but no words their ears
      might heed;
    Till at last she spake out clearly: 
                                        “I know not what ye would;
    For ye come and go in my chamber, and ye seem of wavering mood
    To thrust me on, or to stay me; to help my heart in woe,
    Or to bid my days of sorrow midst nameless folly go.”

None answered the word of Brynhild, none knew of her intent;
But she spake:  “Bid hither Gunnar, lest the sun sink o’er the bent,
And leave the words unspoken I yet have will to speak.”

Then her maidens go from before her, and that lord of war they seek,
And he stands by the bed of Brynhild and strives to entreat and
beseech,
But her eyes gaze awfully on him, and his lips may learn no speech. 
And she saith: 
“I slept in the morning, or I dreamed in the waking-hour,
And my dream was of thee, O Gunnar, and the bed in thy kingly bower,
And the house that I blessed in my sorrow, and cursed in my sorrow and
shame,
The gates of an ancient people, the towers of a mighty name: 
King, cold was the hall I have dwelt in, and no brand burned on the
hearth;
Dead-cold was thy bed, O Gunnar, and thy land was parched with dearth: 
But I saw a great King riding, and a master of the harp,
And he rode amidst of the foemen, and the swords were bitter-sharp,
But his hand in the hand-gyves smote not, and his feet in the fetters
were fast,
While many a word of mocking at his speechless face was cast. 
Then I heard a voice in the world:  ’O woe for the broken troth,
And the heavy Need of the Niblungs, and the Sorrow of Odin the Goth! 
Then I saw the halls of the strangers, and the hills, and the
dark-blue sea,
Nor knew of their names and their nations, for earth was afar from me,
But brother rose up against brother, and blood swam over the board,
And women smote and spared not, and the fire was master and lord. 
Then, then was the moonless mid-mirk, and I woke to the day and the
deed,
The deed that earth shall name not, the day of its bitterest need. 
Many words have I said in my life-days, and little more shall I say: 
Ye have heard the dream of a woman, deal with it as ye may: 
For meseems the world-ways sunder, and the dusk and the dark is mine,
Till I come to the hall of Freyia, where the deeds of the mighty shall
shine.’”

    So hearkened Gunnar the Niblung, that her words he understood,
    And he knew she was set on the death-stroke, and he deemed it nothing
      good: 
    But he said:  “I have hearkened, and heeded thy death and mine in thy
      words: