sang of, and the hour of the hardy and wise,
    When the last of the living shall perish, and the first of the dead
      shall arise,
    And the torch shall be lit in the daylight, and God unto man shall
      pray,
    And the heart shall cry out for the hand in the fight of the uttermost
      day.

    So he sang, and beheld not Gudrun, save as long ago he saw
    His sister, the little maiden of the face without a flaw: 
    But wearily Hogni beheld her, and no change in her face there was,
    And long thereon gazed Hogni, and set his brows as the brass,
    Though the hands of the King were weary, and weak his knees were grown. 
    And he felt as a man unholpen in a waste land wending alone.

    Now the noon was long passed over when again the rumour arose,
    And through the doors cast open flowed in the river of foes: 
    They flooded the hall of the murder, and surged round that rampart of
      dead;
    No war-duke ran before them, no lord to the onset led,
    But the thralls shot spears at adventure, and shot out shafts from
      afar,
    Till the misty hall was blinded with the bitter drift of war: 
    Few and faint were the Niblung children, and their wounds were waxen
      acold,
    And they saw the Hell-gates open as they stood in their grimly hold: 

    Yet thrice stormed out King Hogni, thrice stormed out Gunnar the King,
    Thrice fell they aback yet living to the heart of the fated ring;
    And they looked and their band was little, and no man but was wounded
      sore,
    And the hall seemed growing greater, such hosts of foes it bore,
    So tossed the iron harvest from wall to gilded wall;
    And they looked and the white-clad Gudrun sat silent over all.

    Then the churls and thralls of the Eastland howled out as wolves
      accurst,
    But oft gaped the Niblungs voiceless, for they choked with anger and
      thirst;
    And the hall grew hot as a furnace, and men drank their flowing blood,
    Men laughed and gnawed on their shield-rims, men knew not where they
      stood
    And saw not what was before them; as in the dark men smote,
    Men died heart-broken, unsmitten; men wept with the cry in the throat,
    Men lived on full of war-shafts, men cast their shields aside
    And caught the spears to their bosoms; men rushed with none beside,
    And fell unarmed on the foemen, and tore and slew in death: 
    And still down rained the arrows as the rain across the heath;
    Still proud o’er all the turmoil stood the Kings of Giuki born,
    Nor knit were the brows of Gunnar, nor his song-speech overworn;
    But Hogni’s mouth kept silence, and oft his heart went forth
    To the long, long day of the darkness, and the end of worldly worth.