So she saith till the daylight brightens, and the kingly house is
      astir,
    And she sits by the side of Atli, and a woman’s voice doth hear,
    One who speaks with the voice of Gudrun, a queenly voice and cold: 
    “How oft shall I tell thee, Atli, of the wise Andvari’s Gold,
    The Treasure Regin craved for, the uncounted ruddy rings? 
    Full surely he that holds it shall rule all earthly kings: 
    Stretch forth thine hand, O Atli, for the gift is marvellous great,
    And I am she that giveth! how long wilt thou linger and wait
    Till the traitors come against thee with the war-torch and the steel,
    And here in thy land thou perish, befooled of thy kingly weal? 
    Have I wedded the King of the Eastlands, the master of numberless
      swords,
    Or a serving-man of the Niblungs, a thrall of the Westland lords?”

    So spake the voice of Gudrun; suchwise she cast the seed
    O’er the gold-lust of King Atli for the day of the Niblungs’ Need.

    Who is this in the hall of King Gunnar, this golden-gleaming man? 
    Who is this, the bright and the silent as the frosty eve and wan,
    Round whom the speech of wise-ones lies hid in bonds of fear? 
    Who this in the Niblung feast-hall as the moon-rise draweth anear?

    Hark! his voice mid the glittering benches and the wine-cups of the
      Earls,
    As cold as the wind that bloweth where the winter river whirls,
    And the winter sun forgetteth all the promise of the spring: 
    “Hear ye, O men of the Westlands, hear thou, O Westland King,
    I have ridden the scorching highways, I have ridden the mirk-wood
      blind,
    I have sailed the weltering ocean your Westland house to find;
    For I am the man called Knefrud with Atli’s word in my mouth. 
    That saith:  O noble Gunnar, come thou and be glad in the south,
    And rejoice with Eastland warriors; for the feast for thee is dight,
    And the cloths for thy coming fashioned my glorious hall make bright. 
    Knowst thou not how the sun of the heavens hangs there ’twixt floor
      and roof. 
    How the light of the lamp all golden holds dusky night aloof? 
    How the red wine runs like a river, and the white wine springs as a
      well,
    And the harps are never ceasing of ancient deeds to tell? 
    Thou shalt come when thy heart desireth, when thou weariest thou shalt
      go,
    And shalt say that no such high-tide the world shall ever know. 
    Come bare and bald as the desert, and leave mine house again
    As rich as the summer wine-burg, and the ancient wheat-sown plain! 
    Come, bid thy men be building thy store-house greater yet,
    And make wide thy stall and thy stable for the gifts thine hand shall
      get! 
    Yet when thou art gone from Atli he shall stand by his treasure of