I have done the deed and abide it, and my face shall laugh on the
      swords;
    But thee, woman, I bid thee abide here till thy grief of soul abate;
    Meseems nought lowly nor shameful shall be the Niblung fate;
    And here shalt thou rule and be mighty, and be queen of the
      measureless Gold,
    And abase the kings and upraise them; and anew shall thy fame be told,
    And as fair shall thy glory blossom as the fresh fields under the
      spring.”

    Then he casteth his arms about her, and hot is the heart of the King
    For the glory of Queen Brynhild and the hope of her days of gain,
    And he clean forgetteth Sigurd and the foster-brother slain: 
    But she shrank aback from before him, and cried:  “Woe worth the while
    For the thoughts ye drive back on me, and the memory of your guile! 
    The Kings of earth were gathered, the wise of men were met;
    On the death of a woman’s pleasure their glorious hearts were set,
    And I was alone amidst them—­Ah, hold thy peace hereof! 
    Lest the thought of the bitterest hours this little hour should move.”

    He rose abashed from before her, and yet he lingered there;
    Then she said:  “O King of the Niblungs, what noise do I hearken and
      hear? 
    Why ring the axes and hammers, while feet of men go past,
    And shields from the wall are shaken, and swords on the pavement cast,
    And the door of the treasure is opened; and the horn cries loud and
      long,
    And the feet of the Niblung children to the people’s meadows throng?”

    His face was troubled before her, and again she spake and said: 
    “Meseemeth this is the hour when men array the dead;
    Wilt thou tell me tidings, Gunnar, that the children of thy folk
    Pile up the bale for Guttorm, and the hand that smote the stroke?”

    He said:  “It is not so, Brynhild; for that Giuki’s son was burned
    When the moon of the middle heaven last night toward dawning turned.”

    They looked on each other and spake not; but Gunnar gat him gone,
    And came to his brother Hogni, the wise-heart Giuki’s son,
    And spake:  “Thou art wise, O Hogni; go in to Brynhild the queen,
    And stay her swift departing; or the last of her days hath she seen.”

    “It is nought, thy word,” said Hogni; “wilt thou bring dead men aback,
    Or the souls of kings departed midst the battle and the wrack? 
    Yet this shall be easier to thee than the turning Brynhild’s heart;
    She came to dwell among us, but in us she had no part;
    Let her go her ways from the Niblungs with her hand in Sigurd’s hand. 
    Will the grass grow up henceforward where her feet have trodden the
      land?”

    “O evil day,” said Gunnar, “when my queen must perish and die!”