To his ears there came a murmur of far seas beneath the wind
    And the tramp of fierce-eyed warriors through the outland forest blind;
    The sound of hosts of battle, cries round the hoisted shield,
    Low talk of the gathered wise-ones in the Goth-folk’s holy field: 
    So the thought in a little moment through King Elf the mighty ran
    Of the years and their building and burden, and toil of the sons of
      man,
    The joy of folk and their sorrow, and the hope of deeds to do: 
    With the love of many peoples was the wise king smitten through,
    As he hung o’er the new-born Volsung:  but at last he raised his head,
    And looked forth kind o’er his people, and spake aloud and said: 

    “O Sigmund King of Battle; O man of many days,
    Whom I saw mid the shields of the fallen and the dead men’s silent
      praise,
    Lo, how hath the dark tide perished and the dawn of day begun! 
    And now, O mighty Sigmund, wherewith shall we name thy son?”

    But there rose up a man most ancient, and he cried:  “Hail Dawn of
      the Day! 
    How many things shalt thou quicken, how many shalt thou slay! 
    How many things shalt thou waken, how many lull to sleep! 
    How many things shalt thou scatter, how many gather and keep! 
    O me, how thy love shall cherish, how thine hate shall wither and burn! 
    How the hope shall be sped from thy right hand, nor the fear to thy
      left return! 
    O thy deeds that men shall sing of!  O thy deeds that the Gods shall
      see! 
    O SIGURD, Son of the Volsungs, O Victory yet to be!”

    Men heard the name and they knew it, and they caught it up in the air,
    And it went abroad by the windows and the doors of the feast-hall fair,
    It went through street and market; o’er meadow and acre it went,
    And over the wind-stirred forest and the dearth of the sea-beat bent,
    And over the sea-flood’s welter, till the folk of the fishers heard,
    And the hearts of the isle-abiders on the sun-scorched rocks were
      stirred.

    But the Queen in her golden chamber, the name she hearkened and knew
    And she heard the flock of the women, as back to the chamber they drew,
    And the name of Sigurd entered, and the body of Sigurd was come,
    And it was as if Sigmund were living and she still in her lovely home;
    Of all folk of the world was she well, and a soul fulfilled of rest
    As alone in the chamber she wakened and Sigurd cherished her breast.

    But men feast in the merry noontide, and glad is the April green
    That a Volsung looks on the sunlight and the night and the darkness
      have been. 
    Earls think of marvellous stories, and along the golden strings
    Flit words of banded brethren and names of war-fain Kings: 
    All the days of the deeds