And the house was rent and ragged and open to the sky. 
    But lo, when I came to the doorway, great silence brooded there,
    Nor bat nor owl would haunt it, nor the wood-wolves drew anear. 
    Then I went to the pillared hall-stead, and lo, huge heaps of gold,
    And to and fro amidst them a mighty Serpent rolled: 
    Then my heart grew chill with terror, for I thought on the wont of
      our race,
    And I, who had lost their cunning, was a man in a deadly place,
    A feeble man and a swordless in the lone destroyer’s fold;
    For I knew that the Worm was Fafnir, the Wallower on the Gold.

    “So I gathered my strength and fled, and hid my shame again
    Mid the foolish sons of men-folk; and the more my hope was vain,
    The more I longed for the Treasure, and deliv’rance from the yoke: 
    And yet passed the generations, and I dwelt with the short-lived folk.

    “Long years, and long years after, the tale of men-folk told
    How up on the Glittering Heath was the house and the dwelling of gold,
    And within that house was the Serpent, and the Lord of the Fearful
      Face: 
    Then I wondered sore of the desert; for I thought of the golden place
    My hands of old had builded; for I knew by many a sign
    That the Fearful Face was my brother, that the blood of the Worm was
      mine. 
    This was ages long ago, and yet in that desert he dwells,
    Betwixt him and men death lieth, and no man of his semblance tells;
    But the tale of the great Gold-wallower is never the more outworn. 
    Then came thy kin, O Sigurd, and thy father’s father was born,
    And I fell to the dreaming of dreams, and I saw thine eyes therein,
    And I looked and beheld thy glory and all that thy sword should win;
    And I thought that thou shouldst be he, who should bring my heart its
      rest,
    That of all the gifts of the Kings thy sword should give me the best.

    “Ah, I fell to the dreaming of dreams; and oft the gold I saw,
    And the golden-fashioned Hauberk, clean-wrought without a flaw,
    And the Helm that aweth the world; and I knew of Fafnir’s heart
    That his wisdom was greater than mine, because he had held him apart,
    Nor spilt on the sons of men-folk our knowledge of ancient days,
    Nor bartered one whit for their love, nor craved for the people’s
      praise.

    “And some day I shall have it all, his gold and his craft and his heart
    And the gathered and garnered wisdom he guards in the mountains apart
    And then when my hand is upon it, my hand shall be as the spring
    To thaw his winter away and the fruitful tide to bring. 
    It shall grow, it shall grow into summer, and I shall be he that
      wrought,
    And my deeds shall be remembered, and my name that once was nought;
    Yea I shall be Frey, and Thor,