“What then will ye do?” quoth Atli; “have ye seen the fish in the net?”

    “Eve telleth of deeds,” said Gunnar, “and it is but the morning as
      yet.”

    Said Atli:  “Yea, will ye die? are there no deeds left you to do?”

    “We shall smite with the sword,” said the Niblung, “and tomorn will we
      journey anew.”

    “Craftsmaster Hogni,” said Atli, “where then are the shifts of the
      wise?”

    Said Hogni:  “To smite with the sword, and go glad from the country of
      lies.”

    “So died the fool,” said Atli, “as Hogni dieth today.”

    “Smote the blind and the aimless,” said Hogni, “and Baldur passed
      away.”

    Said Atli:  “Yet may ye live in the wholesome light of the sun,
    And your latter days be as plenteous as the deeds your hands have
      done.”

    “Dost thou hearken, O sword,” said Gunnar, “and yet thou liest in
      peace? 
    When then wilt thou look on the daylight, that the words of the
      mocker may cease?”

    “Thou, Hogni the wise,” said Atli, “art thou weary of wisdom and lore,
    Wilt thou die with these fools of the sword, and be mocked mid the
      blind of the war?”

    “Many things have I learned,” said Hogni, “but today’s task, easy it
      is;
    For men die every hour and they wage no master for this. 
    —­Get hence, thou evil King, thou liar and traitor of kings,
    Lest the edge of my sword be thy portion and not the ruddy rings!”

    Then Atli shrank from before him, and the eyes of his intent,
    And no more words he cast them, but forth from the hall he went,
    And again were the Niblung children alone in the hall of their foes
    With the wan and silent woman:  but without great clamour arose,
    And the clashing of steel against steel, and the crying of man unto
      man,
    And the wind of that summer morning through the Eastland banners ran: 
    Then so loud o’er all was winded a mighty horn of fight,
    That unheard were the shouts of the Niblungs as Gunnar’s sword leapt
      white. 
    But Hogni turned to the great-one who the Niblung trumpet bore,
    And he took the mighty metal, and kissed the brass of war,
    And its shattering blast went forward, and beat back from the
      gable-wall
    And shook the ancient timbers, and the carven work of the hall: 
    Then it was to the Niblung warriors as their very hearts they heard
    Cry out, not glad nor sorry, nor hoping, nor afeard,
    But touched by the hand of Odin, smit with foretaste of the day,
    When the fire shall burn up fooling, and the veil shall fall away;
    When bare-faced, all unmingled, shall the evil stand in the light,
    And men’s deeds shall be nothing doubtful, nor the foe that they shall
      smite.