He drank, and all men drank with him, and the hearts of the Earls
      arose,
    As of them that snatch forth glory from the deadly wall of foes: 
    With the joy of life were they drunken and no man knew for why,
    And the voice of their exultation rose up in an awful cry;
    —­It is joy in the mouths that utter, it is hope in the hearts that
      crave,
    And think of no gainsaying, and remember nought to save;
    But without the women hearken, and the hearts within them sink;
    And they say:  What then betideth that our lords forbear to drink,
    And wail and weep in the night-tide and cry the Gods to aid? 
    Why then are the Kings tormented, and the warriors’ hearts afraid?

    Then the deadened sound sweeps landward, and the hearts of the
      field-folk fail,
    And they say:  Is there death in the Burg, that thence goeth the cry and
      the wail? 
    Lo, lo, the feast-hall’s windows! blood-red through the dark they
      shine: 
    Why is weeping the song of the Niblungs, and blood the warrior’s wine?

    But therein are the torches tossing, and the shields of men upborne,
    And the death-blades yet unbloodied cast up ’twixt bowl and horn,
    And all rest of heart is departed as men speak of the mirk-wood’s ways,
    And the fame of outland countries, and the green sea’s troublous days.

    But Gunnar arose o’er the people, as a mighty King he spake: 
    “O ye of the house of Giuki that are joyous for my sake,
    What then shall be left to the Niblungs if we return no more? 
    Then let the wolves be warders of the Niblungs’ gathered store! 
    On the hearth let the worm creep over where the fire now flares aloft! 
    And the adder coil in the chambers where the Niblung wives sleep soft! 
    Let the master of the pine-wood roll huge in the Niblung porch,
    And the moon through the broken rafters be the Niblungs’ feastful
      torch!”

    Glad they cried on the glorious Gunnar; for they saw the love in his
      eyes,
    And with joy and wine were they drunken, and his words passed over the
      wise,
    As oft o’er the garden lilies goes the rising thunder-wind,
    And they know no other summer, and no spring that was they mind.

    But Hogni speaketh to Knefrud:  “Lo, Gunnar’s word is said: 
    How fares it, lord, with Gudrun? remembereth she the dead?”

    Then the liar laughed out and answered:  “Ye shall go tomorrow morn;
    The man to turn back Gunnar shall never now be born: 
    Each day-spring the white Gudrun on Sigurd’s glory cries,
    All eves she wails on Sigurd when the fair sun sinks and dies!”

    “Thou sayest sooth,” said Hogni, “one day we twain shall wend
    To the gate of the Eastland Atli, that our tale may have an end. 
    Long time have I looked for the journey, and marvelled at the day,
    With what eyes I shall look on Sigurd, what words his mouth shall say.”