a God on the rain-swept waste,
    A God in the battle triumphant, a God on the heap of the slain: 
    And thine hope shall arise and blossom, and thy love shall be
      quickened again: 
    And then shalt thou see before thee the face of all earthly ill;
    Thou shalt drink of the cup of awakening that thine hand hath holpen
      to fill;
    By the side of the sons of Odin shalt thou fashion a tale to be told
    In the hall of the happy Baldur:  nor there shall the tale grow old
    Of the days before the changing, e’en those that over us pass. 
    So harden thine heart, O brother, and set thy brow as the brass! 
    Thou shalt do, and thy deeds shall be goodly, and the day’s work
      shall be done
    Though nought but the wild deer see it.  Nor yet shalt thou be alone
    For ever-more in thy waiting; for belike a fearful friend
    The long days for thee may fashion, to help thee ere the end. 
    But now shalt thou bide in the wild-wood, and make thee a lair therein: 
    Thou art here in the midst of thy foemen, and from them thou well
      mayst win
    Whatso thine heart desireth; yet be thou not too bold,
    Lest the tale of the wood-abider too oft to the king be told. 
    Ere many days are departed again shall I see thy face,
    That I may wot full surely of thine abiding-place
    To send thee help and comfort; but when that hour is o’er
    It were good, O last of the Volsungs, that I see thy face no more,
    If so indeed it may be:  but the Norns must fashion all,
    And what the dawn hath fated on the hour of noon shall fall.”

    Then she kissed him and departed, for the day was nigh at hand,
    And by then she had left the woodways green lay the horse-fed land
    Beneath the new-born daylight, and as she brushed the dew
    Betwixt the yellowing acres, all heaven o’erhead was blue. 
    And at last on that dwelling of Kings the golden sunlight lay,
    And the morn and the noon and the even built up another day.

    Of the birth and fostering of Sinfiotli, Signy’s Son.

    So wrought is the will of King Siggeir, and he weareth Odin’s sword
    And it lies on his knees in the council and hath no other lord: 
    And he sendeth earls o’er the sea-flood to take King Volsung’s land,
    And those scattered and shepherdless sheep must come beneath his hand. 
    And he holdeth the milk-white Signy as his handmaid and his wife. 
    And nought but his will she doeth, nor raiseth a word of strife;
    So his heart is praising his wisdom, and he deems him of most avail
    Of all the lords of the cunning that teacheth how to prevail.