Well wedded is Gunnar the
King, and Hogni hath wedded a wife;
Fair queens are those wives
of the Niblungs, good helpmates in peace
and in strife
Sweet they sit on the golden
high-seat, and Grimhild sitteth beside,
And the years have made her
glorious, and the days have swollen her
pride;
She looketh down on the people,
from on high she looketh down,
And her days have become a
wonder, and her redes are wisdom’s crown.
She saith: Where then
are the Gods? what things have they shapen and
made
More of might than the days
I have shapen? of whom shall our hearts be
afraid?
Now there was a King of the
outlands, and Atli was his name,
The lord of a mighty people,
a man of marvellous fame,
Who craved the utmost increase
of all that kings desire;
Who would reach his hand to
the gold as it ran in the ruddy fire,
Or go down to the ocean-pavement
to harry the people beneath,
Or cast up his sword at the
Gods, or bid the friendship of death.
By hap was the man unwedded,
and wide in the world he sought
For a queen to increase his
glory lest his name should come to nought;
And no kin like the kin of
the Niblungs he found in all the earth.
No treasure like their treasure,
no glory like their worth;
So he sendeth an ancient war-duke
with a goodly company,
And three days they ride the
mirk-wood and ten days they sail the sea,
And three days they ride the
highways till they come to Gunnar’s land;
And there on an even of summer
in Gunnar’s hall they stand,
And the spears of Welshland
glitter, and the Southland garments gleam,
For those folk are fair apparelled
as the people of a dream.
But the glorious Son of Giuki
from amidst the high-seat spoke:
“Why stand ye mid men
sitting, or fast mid feasting folk?
No meat nor drink there lacketh,
and the hall is long and wide.
Three days in the peace of
the Niblungs unquestioned shall ye bide,
Then timely do your message,
and bid us peace or war.”
But spake the Earl of Atli
yet standing on the floor:
“All hail, O glorious
Gunnar, O mighty King of men!
O’er-short is the life
of man-folk, the three-score years and ten,
Long, long is the craft for
the learning, and sore doth the right hand
waste:
Lo, lord, our spurs are bloody,
and our brows besweat with haste;
Our gear is stained by the
sea-spray and rent by bitter gales,
For we struck no mast to the
tempest, and the East was in our sails;
By the thorns is our raiment
rended, for we rode the mirk-wood through,
And our steeds were the God-bred
coursers, nor day from night-tide
knew:
Lo, we are the men of Atli,
and his will and his spoken word
Lies not beneath our pillow,
nor hangs above the board;
Nay, how shall it fail but
slay us if three days we hold it hid?
—I will speak to-night,
O Niblung, save thy very mouth forbid:
But lo now, look on the tokens,
and the rune-staff of the King.”