Then his second stroke struck Sigurd, for the Wrath flashed thin and
      white,
    And ’twixt head and trunk of Regin fierce ran the fateful light;
    And there lay brother by brother a faded thing and wan. 
    But Sigurd cried in the desert:  “So far have I wended on! 
    Dead are the foes of God-home that would blend the good and the ill;
    And the World shall yet be famous, and the Gods shall have their will. 
    Nor shall I be dead and forgotten, while the earth grows worse and
      worse? 
    With the blind heart king o’er the people, and binding curse with
      curse.”

    How Sigurd took to him the Treasure of the Elf Andvari.

    Now Sigurd eats of the heart that once in the Dwarf-king lay,
    The hoard of the wisdom begrudged, the might of the earlier day. 
    Then wise of heart was he waxen, but longing in him grew
    To sow the seed he had gotten, and till the field he knew. 
    So he leapeth aback of Greyfell, and rideth the desert bare. 
    And the hollow slot of Fafnir, that led to the Serpent’s lair. 
    Then long he rode adown it, and the ernes flew overhead,
    And tidings great and glorious, of that Treasure of old they said. 
    So far o’er the waste he wended, and when the night was come
    He saw the earth-old dwelling, the dread Gold-wallower’s home: 
    On the skirts of the Heath it was builded by a tumbled stony bent;
    High went that house to the heavens, down ’neath the earth it went. 
    Of unwrought iron fashioned for the heart of a greedy king: 
    ’Twas a mountain, blind without, and within was its plenishing
    But the Hoard of Andvari the ancient, and the sleeping Curse unseen,
    The Gold of the Gods that spared not and the greedy that have been.

    Through the door strode Sigurd the Volsung, and the grey moon and the
      sword
    Fell in on the tawny gold-heaps of the ancient hapless Hoard: 
    Gold gear of hosts unburied, and the coin of cities dead,
    Great spoil of the ages of battle, lay there on the Serpent’s bed: 
    Huge blocks from mid-earth quarried, where none but the Dwarfs have
      mined,
    Wide sands of the golden rivers no foot of man may find
    Lay ’neath the spoils of the mighty and the ruddy rings of yore: 
    But amidst was the Helm of Aweing that the Fear of earth-folk bore,
    And there gleamed a wonder beside it, the Hauberk all of gold,
    Whose like is not in the heavens nor has earth of its fellow told: 
    There Sigurd seeth moreover Andvari’s Ring of Gain,
    The hope of Loki’s finger, the Ransom’s utmost grain;
    For it shone on the midmost gold-heap like the first star set in the
      sky
    In the yellow space of even when moon-rise draweth anigh. 
    Then laughed the Son of Sigmund, and stooped to the golden land,