Then he raiseth the cup for Gunnar, and men see his glad face shine
    As he crieth hail and glory o’er the bubbles of the wine;
    And they drink to the lives of the brethren, and men of the latter
      earth
    May not think of the height of their hall-glee, or measure out their
      mirth: 
    So they feast in the undark even to the midmost of the night. 
    Till at last, with sleep unwearied, they weary with delight,
    And pass forth to the beds blue-covered, and leave the hearth acold: 
    They sleep; in the hall grown silent scarce glimmereth now the gold: 
    For the moon from the world is departed, and grey clouds draw across,
    To hide the dawn’s first promise and deepen earthly loss. 
    The lone night draws to its death, and never another shall fall
    On those sons of the feastful warriors in the Niblungs’ holy hall.

    How the Niblungs fare to the Land of King Atli.

    Now when the house was silent, and all men in slumber lay,
    And yet two hours were lacking of the dawning-tide of day,
    The sons of his foster-mother doth the heart-wise Hogni find;
    In the dead night, speaking softly, he showeth them his mind,
    And they wake and hearken and heed him, and arise from the bolster
      blue,
    Nor aught do their stout hearts falter at the deed he bids them do. 
    So he and they go softly while all men slumber and sleep,
    And they enter the treasure-houses, and come to their midmost heap;
    But so rich in the night it glimmers that the brethren hold their
      breath,
    While Hogni laugheth upon it:—­long it lay on the Glittering Heath,
    Long it lay in the house of Reidmar, long it lay ’neath the waters wan;
    But no long while hath it tarried in the houses and dwellings of man.

    Nor long these linger before it; they set their hands to the toil,
    And uplift the Bed of the Serpent, the Seed of murder and broil;
    No word they speak in their labour, but bear out load on load
    To great wains that out in the fore-court for the coming Gold abode: 
    Most huge were the men, far mightier than the mightiest fashioned now,
    But the salt sweat dimmed their eyesight and flooded cheek and brow
    Ere half the work was accomplished; and by then the laden wains
    Came groaning forth from the gateway, dawn drew on o’er the plains;
    And the ramparts of the people, those walls high-built of old,
    Stood grey as the bones of a battle in a dale few folk behold: 
    But in haste they goad the yoke-beasts, and press on and make no
      speech,
    Though the hearts are proud within them and their eyes laugh each at
      each.