So through the silent city by the Norns their feet are brought,
    Till lo, on a hill’s uprising a huge house they behold,
    And a hall with gates all brazen, and roof of ruddy gold: 
    Then they know the house of Atli, and they trow that sooth it is
    That the Lord of such a dwelling may give his guest-folk bliss: 
    Then they loosen the swords in their scabbards, and upraise a mighty
      shout,
    And the trumpet of the Niblungs through the lonely street rings out
    And stilleth the wind in the wall-nook:  but hark, as its echoes die,
    How forth from that hall of the Eastlands comes the sound of
      minstrelsy,
    And the brazen doors swing open:  but the Niblungs are at the door,
    And the bidden guests of Atli o’er the fateful threshold pour;
    There the music faileth before them, till its sound is over and done,
    And fair in the city behind them lies the flood of the morning sun: 
    No man of the Niblungs murmureth, none biddeth turn aback
    And still their hands are empty, and sleep the edges of wrack.

    Huge, dim is the hall of Atli, and faint and far aloof,
    As stars in the misty even, yet hang the lamps in the roof,
    And but little daylight toucheth the walls and the hangings of gold: 
    No King and no earl-folk’s children do the bidden guests behold,
    Till they look aloft to the high-seat, and lo, a woman alone,
    A white queen crowned, and silent as the ancient shapen stone
    That men find in the dale deserted, as beneath the moon they wend,
    When they weary even to slumber, and the journey draws to an end. 
    Chill then are the hearts of the warriors, for they know how they look
      on a queen,
    That Gudrun well-beloved of the days that once have been;
    Then were men that murmured on Sigurd, and as in some dream of the
      night
    They looked, but the left hand failed them, and there came no help
      from the right.

    But forth stood the mighty Gunnar, and men heard his kingly voice
    As he spake:  “O child of my father, I see thee again and rejoice,
    Though I wot not where I have wended, or where thou dwellest on earth,
    Or if this be the dead men’s dwelling, or the hall of Atli’s mirth!”

    She stirred not, nothing she answered:  but forth stood Hogni the King,
    Clear, sharp, in the house of the stranger did the voice of the
      fearless ring: 
    “O sister, O daughter of Giuki, O child of my mother’s womb,
    By what death shall the Niblungs perish, what day is the day of their
      doom?”

    Forth then from the lips of Gudrun a dreadful voice was borne: 
    “Ye shall die to-day, O brethren, at the hands of a King forsworn.”