Are they not as the children of Giuki, that fared afield erewhile
    In hope without contention, mid the youth that knew no guile? 
    Their wedded wives are beside them with faces proud and fair,
    That smile, if the lips smile only, for the Eastland liar is there. 
    Fain the women are of those Brethren, and they seem so gay and kind,
    That again the hope upspringeth of their lords abiding behind.

    But Hogni spake to his brother, and they looked on the liar’s son,
    And clear ran King Gunnar’s laughter as the summer waters run;
    Then the Queens’ hearts fainted within them, and with pain they drew
      their breath;
    For they knew that the King was merry and laughed in the face of death.

    Fair now on the ancient high-seat, and the heart of the Niblung pride,
    Stand those lovely lords of Giuki with their wedded wives beside. 
    And Gunnar cries:  “O maidens, let the cup be in every hand,
    For this morn for a little season we leave our fathers’ land,
    And love we leave behind us, and love abroad we bear,
    And these twain shall meet in a little, and their meeting-tide be fair: 
    Rejoice, O Niblung children, be glad o’er the parting cup! 
    For meseems if the heavens were falling, our spears should hold them
      up.”

    Then he leaped adown from the high-seat and amidst his men he stood,
    And the very joy of God-folk ran through the Niblung blood,
    And the glee of them that die not:  there they drink in their mighty
      hall,
    And glad on the ancient fathers, and the sons of God they call: 
    The hope of their hearts goes upward in the last most awful voice,
    And once more the quivering timbers of the Niblung home rejoice.

    But exceeding proud sits Grimhild, and so wondrous is her state
    That men deem they have never seen her so glorious and so great,
    And she speaks, when again in the feast-hall is there silence save of
      the mail
    And the whispered voice of women, as they tell their latest tale: 

    “Go forth, O Kings, to dominion, and the crown of all your might,
    And the tale from of old foreordered ere the day was begotten of night. 
    For all this is the work of the Norns, though ye leave a woman behind
    Who hath toiled and toiled in the darkness, the road of fate to find: 
    Go glad, O children of Giuki; though scarce ye wot indeed
    Of the labour of your mother to win your glory’s meed. 
    Farewell, farewell, O children, till ye get you back again
    To her that bore you in darkness, and brought you forth in pain! 
    Cast wide the doors for the King-folk, ring out O harpstrings now! 
    For the best e’er born of woman go forth with cloudless brow. 
    Be glad O ancient lintel, O threshold of the door,
    For such another parting shall earth behold no more!”