Then drank the Eastland Atli as he looked in Gudrun’s face,
    And beheld no wrath against him, and no hate of the coming days;
    Then he spake:  “O mighty woman, this day the feast shall be
    For the heritance of Atli, and the gain of mine and me: 
    For this day the Eastland people such great dominion win,
    That a world to their will new-fashioned ’neath their glory shall
      begin. 
    Yet, since the mighty are fallen, and kings are gone from earth,
    Let these at the feast be remembered, and their ancient deeds of worth. 
    So I bid thee, O King’s Daughter, sit by Atli at the feast,
    To praise thy kin departed and Atli’s weal increased;
    And the heirship-feast and the death-feast today shall be as one;
    And then shalt thou wake tomorrow with all thy mourning done,
    And all thy will accomplished, and thy glory great and sure. 
    That for ever and for ever shall the tale thereof endure.”

    He spake in the sunny morning, and Gudrun answered and said: 
    “Thou hast bidden me feast, O Atli, and thy will shall be obeyed: 
    And well I thank thee, great-one, for the gifts thine hand would give;
    For who shall gainsay the mighty, and the happy Kings that live? 
    Thou hast swallowed the might of the Niblungs, and their glory lieth
      in thee: 
    Live long, and cherish thy wealth, that the world may wonder and see!”

    Therewith to the bower of queens the Niblung wendeth her way,
    And in all the glory of women the folk her body array: 
    Forth she comes with the crown on her head and the ivory rod in her
      hand,
    With queens for her waiting-women, and the hope of many a land: 
    There she goes in that wonder of houses when the high-tide of Atli is
      dight,
    And her face is as fair as the sea, and her eyen are glittering bright.

    By Atli’s side she sitteth, o’er the earls they twain are set,
    And shields of the ancient wise-ones on the wall are hanging yet,
    And the golden sun of the roof-sky, the sun of Atli’s pride,
    Through the beams where day but glimmers casts red light far and wide: 
    The beakers clash thereunder, the red wine murmureth speech,
    And the eager long-beard warriors cast praises each to each
    Of the blossoming tree of the Eastland:—­and tomorrow shall be as
      today,
    Yea, even more abundant, and all foes have passed away.

    It was then in the noon-tide moment; o’er the earth high hung the sun,
    When the song o’er the mighty Niblungs in a stranger-house was begun,
    And their deeds were told by the foemen, and the names of hope they had
    Rang sweet in the hall of the murder to make King Atli glad: 
    It is little after the noon-tide when thereof they sing no more,
    Nor tell of the strife that has been, and the leaping flames of war,
    And the vengeance lulled for ever and the wrath that shall never awake: 
    For where is the kin of Hogni, and who liveth for Gunnar’s sake?