No great way down from the burg-gate, anigh to the hallowed field,
    There lieth a lake in the river as round as Odin’s shield,
    A black pool huge and awful:  ten long-ships of the most
    Therein might wager battle, and the sunken should be lost
    Beyond all hope of diver, yea, beyond the plunging lead;
    On either side its rock-walls rise up to a mighty head,
    But by green slopes from the meadows ’tis easy drawing near
    To the brow whence the dark-grey rampart to the water goeth sheer: 
    ’Tis as if the Niblung River had cleft the grave-mound through
    Of the mightiest of all Giants ere the Gods’ work was to do;
    And indeed men well might deem it, that fearful sights lie hid
    Beneath the unfathomed waters, the place to all forbid;
    No stream the black deep showeth, few winds may search its face,
    And the silver-scaled sea-farers love nought its barren space.

    There now the Niblung War-king and the foster-brethren twain
    Lead up their golden harvest and stay it wain by wain,
    Till they hang o’er the rim scarce balanced:  no glance they cast below
    To the black and awful waters well known from long ago,
    But they cut the yoke-beasts’ traces, and drive them down the slopes,
    Who rush through the widening daylight, and bellow forth their hopes
    Of the straw-stall and the barley:  but the Niblungs turn once more,
    Hard toil the warrior cart-carles for the garnering of their store,
    And shoulder on the wain-wheels o’er the edge of the grimly wall,
    And stand upright to behold it, how the waggons plunge and fall.

    Down then and whirling outward the ruddy Gold fell forth,
    As a flame in the dim grey morning, flashed out a kingdom’s worth,
    Then the waters, roared above it, the wan water and the foam
    Flew up o’er the face of the rock-wall as the tinkling Gold fell home,
    Unheard, unseen for ever, a wonder and a tale,
    Till the last of earthly singers from, the sons of men shall fail: 
    Then the face of the further waters a widening ripple rent
    And forth from hollow places strange sounds as of talking went,
    And loud laughed Hogni in answer; but not so long he stayed
    As that half the oily ripple in long sleepy coils was laid,
    Or the lapping fallen silent in the water-beaten caves;
    Scarce streamward yet were drifting the foam-heaps o’er the waves. 
    When betwixt the foster-brethren down the slopes King Hogni strode
    Toward the ancient Burg of his fathers, as a man that casteth a load: 
    No word those fellows had spoken since he whispered low and light
    O’er the beds of the foster-brethren in the dead hour of the night,
    But his face was proud and glorious as he strode the war-gate through,
    And went up to his kingly chamber, and the golden bed he knew,
    And lay down and slept by his help-mate as a play-spent child might
      sleep
    In some franklin’s wealthy homestead, in the room the nurses keep.