Then stark fear fell on the earl-folk, and silent they abide
    Amid the flaming penfold; and again the great voice cried,
    As the Goth-king’s golden pillars grew red amidst the blaze: 
    “Ye women of the Goth-folk, come forth upon your ways;
    And thou, Signy, O my sister, come forth from death and hell,
    That beneath the boughs of the Branstock once more we twain may dwell.”

    Forth came the white-faced women and passed Sinfiotli’s sword,
    Free by the glaive of Odin the trembling pale ones poured,
    But amid their hurrying terror came never Signy’s feet;
    And the pearls of the throne of Siggeir shrunk in the fervent heat.

    Then the men of war surged outward to the twofold doors of bane,
    But there played the sword of Sigmund amidst the fiery lane
    Before the gable door-way, and by the woman’s door
    Sinfiotli sang to the sword-edge amid the bale-fire’s roar,
    And back again to the burning the earls of the Goth-folk shrank: 
    And the light low licked the tables, and the wine of Siggeir drank.

    Lo now to the woman’s doorway, the steel-watched bower of flame,
    Clad in her queenly raiment King Volsung’s daughter came
    Before Sinfiotli’s sword-point; and she said:  “O mightiest son,
    Best now is our departing in the day my grief hath won,
    And the many days of toiling, and the travail of my womb,
    And the hate, and the fire of longing:  thou, son, and this day of
      the doom
    Have long been as one to my heart; and now shall I leave you both,
    And well ye may wot of the slumber my heart is nothing loth;
    And all the more, as, meseemeth, thy day shall not be long
    To weary thee with labour and mingle wrong with wrong. 
    Yea, and I wot that the daylight thine eyes had never seen
    Save for a great king’s murder and the shame of a mighty queen. 
    But let thy soul, I charge thee, o’er all these things prevail
    To make thy short day glorious and leave a goodly tale.”

    She kissed him and departed, and unto Sigmund went
    As now against the dawning grey grew the winter bent: 
    As the night and the morning mingled he saw her face once more,
    And he deemed it fair and ruddy as in the days of yore;
    Yet fast the tears fell from her, and the sobs upheaved her breast: 
    And she said:  “My youth was happy; but this hour belike is best
    Of all the days of my life-tide, that soon shall have an end. 
    I have come to greet thee, Sigmund, then back again must I wend,
    For his bed the Goth-king dighteth:  I have lain therein, time was,
    And loathed the sleep I won there:  but lo, how all things pass,
    And hearts are changed and softened, for lovely now it seems. 
    Yet fear not my forgetting:  I shall see thee in my dreams
    A mighty king of the world