“O fair, O fearless, O mighty, how green are the garths of Kings,
    How soft are the ways before thee to the heart of their war-farings!

    “How green are the garths of King-folk, how fair is the lily and rose
    In the house of the Cloudy People, ’neath the towers of kings and foes!

    “Smite now, smite now in the noontide! ride on through the hosts of
      men! 
    Lest the dear remembrance perish, and today come not again.

    “Is it day?—­But the house is darkling—­But the hand would gather and
      hold,
    And the lips have kissed the cloud-wreath, and a cloud the arms enfold.

    “In the dusk hath the Sower arisen; in the dark hath he cast the seed,
    And the ear is the sorrow of Odin and the wrong, and the nameless need!

    “Ah the hand hath gathered and garnered, and empty is the hand,
    Though the day be full and fruitful mid the drift of the Cloudy Land!

    “Look, look on the drift of the clouds, how the day and the even doth
      grow
    As the long-forgotten dawning that was a while ago!

    “Dawn, dawn, O mighty of men! and why wilt thou never awake,
    When the holy field of the Goth-folk cries out for thy love and thy
      sake?

    “Dawn, now; but the house is silent, and dark is the purple blood
    On the breast of the Queen fair-fashioned; and it riseth up as a flood
    Round the posts of the door beloved; and a deed there lieth therein: 
    The last of the deeds of Sigurd; the worst of the Cloudy Kin—­
    The slayer slain by the slain within the door and without. 
    —­O dawn as the eve of the birth-day!  O dark world cumbered with doubt!

    “Shall it never be day any more, nor the sun’s uprising and growth? 
    Shall the kings of earth lie sleeping and the war-dukes wander in sloth
    Through the last of the winter twilight? is the word of the wise-ones
      said
    Till the five-fold winter be ended and the trumpet waken the dead?

    “Short day and long remembrance! great glory for the earth! 
    O deeds of the Day triumphant!  O word of Sigurd’s worth! 
    It is done, and who shall undo it of all who were ever alive? 
    May the Gods or the high Gods’ masters ’gainst the tale of the
      righteous strive,
    And the deeds to follow after, and all their deeds increase,
    Till the uttermost field is foughten, and Baldur riseth in peace!

    “Cry out, O waste, before him!  O rocks of the wilderness, cry! 
    For tomorn shalt thou see the glory, and the man not made to die! 
    Cry out, O upper heavens!  O clouds beneath the lift! 
    For the golden King shall be riding high-headed midst the drift: 
    The mountain waits and the fire; there waiteth the heart of the wise
    Till the earthly toil is accomplished, and again shall the fire arise;
    And none shall be nigh in the ending and none by his heart shall be
      laid,
    Save the world that he cherished and quickened, and the Day that he
      wakened and made.”