“O who art thou, and wherefore, and why art thou in the path?”

    Then he turned to the ash-grey Serpent, and grovelled low on the
      ground,
    And he drank of that pool of the blood where the stones of the wild
      were drowned,
    And long he lapped as a dog; but when he arose again,
    Lo, a flock of the mountain-eagles that drew to the feastful plain;
    And he turned and looked on Sigurd, as bright in the sun he stood,
    A stripling fair and slender, and wiped the Wrath of the blood.

    But Regin cried:  “O Dwarf-kind, O many-shifting folk,
    O shapes of might and wonder, am I too freed from the yoke,
    That binds my soul to my body a withered thing forlorn,
    While the short-lived fools of man-folk so fair and oft are born? 
    Now swift in the air shall I be, and young in the concourse of kings,
    If my heart shall come to desire the gain of earthly things.”

    And he looked and saw how Sigurd was sheathing the Flame of War,
    And the eagles screamed in the wind, but their voice came faint from
      afar: 
    Then he scowled, and crouched and darkened, and came to Sigurd and
      spake: 
    “O child, thou hast slain my brother, and the Wrath is alive and
      awake.”

    “Thou sayest sooth,” said Sigurd, “thy deed and mine is done: 
    But now our ways shall sunder, for here, meseemeth, the sun
    Hath but little of deeds to do, and no love to win aback.”

    Then Regin crouched before him, and he spake:  “Fare on to the wrack! 
    Fare on to the murder of men, and the deeds of thy kindred of old! 
    And surely of thee as of them shall the tale be speedily told. 
    Thou hast slain thy Master’s brother, and what wouldst thou say
      thereto,
    Were the judges met for the judging and the doom-ring hallowed due?”

    Then Sigurd spake as aforetime:  “Thy deed and mine it was,
    And now our ways shall sunder, and into the world will I pass.”

    But Regin darkened before him, and exceeding grim was he grown,
    And he spake:  “Thou hast slain my brother, and wherewith wilt thou
      atone?”

    “Stand up, O Master,” said Sigurd, “O Singer of ancient days,
    And take the wealth I have won thee, ere we wend on the sundering ways. 
    I have toiled and thou hast desired, and the Treasure is surely anear,
    And thou hast wisdom to find it, and I have slain thy fear.”

    But Regin crouched and darkened:  “Thou hast slain my brother,” he said.

    “Take thou the Gold,” quoth Sigurd, “for the ransom of my head!”

    Then Regin crouched and darkened, and over the earth he hung;
    And he said:  “Thou hast slain my brother, and the Gods are yet but
      young.”

    Bright Sigurd towered above him, and the Wrath cried out in the sheath,
    And Regin writhed against it as the adder turns on death;
    And he spake:  “Thou hast slain my brother, and today shalt thou be my
      thrall: 
    Yea a King shall be my cook-boy and this heath my cooking-hall.”