About him throng the sword-men, and they shout as the war-fain cry
    In the heart of the bitter battle when their hour is come to die,
    And they cast themselves upon him, as on some wide-shielded man
    That fierce in the storm of Odin upreareth edges wan.

    With the bound man swift is the steel:  sore tremble the sons of the
      wise,
    And their hearts grow faint within them; yet no man hideth his eyes
    As the edges deal with the mighty:  nor dreadful is he now,
    For the mock from his mouth hath faded, and the threat hath failed
      from his brow,
    And his face is as great and Godlike as his fathers of old days,
    As fair as an image fashioned in remembrance of their praise: 
    But fled is the spirit of Hogni, and every deed he did,
    The seed of the world it lieth, in the hand of Odin hid.

    On the gold is the heart of Hogni, and men bear it forth to the King,
    As he sits in the hall of his triumph mid the glee and the
      harp-playing: 
    Lo, the heart of a son of Giuki! and Gunnar liveth yet,
    And the white unangry Gudrun by the Eastland King is set: 
    Upriseth the soul of Atli, and his breast is swollen with pride,
    And he laughs in the face of Gunnar and the woman set by his side: 
    Then he looks on his living earls, and they cast their cry to the roof,
    And it clangs o’er the woeful city and wails through the night aloof;
    All the world of man-folk hearkeneth, and hath little joy therein,
    Though the men of the East in glory high-tide with Atli win.

    But fair is the face of Gunnar as the token draweth anigh;
    And he saith:  “O heart of Hogni, on the gold indeed dost thou lie,
    And as little as there thou quakest far less wert thou wont to quake
    When thou lay’st in the breast of the mighty, and wert glad for his
      gladness’ sake,
    And wert sorry with his sorrow; O mighty heart, farewell! 
    Farewell for a little season, till thy latest deed I tell.”

    Then was Gunnar silent a little, and the shout in the hall had died,
    And he spoke as a man awakening, and turned on Atli’s pride. 
    “Thou all-rich King of the Eastlands, e’en such a man might I be
    That I might utter a word, and the heart should be glad in thee,
    And I should live and be sorry; for I, I only am left
    To tell of the ransom of Odin, and the wealth from the toiler reft. 
    Lo, once it lay in the water, hid, deep adown it lay,
    Till the Gods were grieved and lacking, and men saw it and the day: 
    Let it lie in the water once more, let the Gods be rich and in peace! 
    But I at least in the world from the words and the babble shall cease.”