| | In days long gone |
| Sent Atli to Gunnar |
| A crafty one riding, |
| Knefrud men called him; |
| To Giuki’s garth came he, |
| To the hall of Gunnar, |
| To the benches gay-dight, |
| And the gladsome drinking. |
| |
| There drank the great folk |
| ’Mid the guileful one’s silence, |
| Drank wine in their fair hall: |
| The Huns’ wrath they feared, |
| When Knefrud cried |
| In his cold voice, |
| As he sat on the high seat, |
| That man of the Southland: |
| |
| “Atli has sent me |
| Riding swift on his errands |
| On the bit-griping steed |
| Through dark woodways unbeaten, |
| To bid thee, King Gunnar, |
| Come to his fair bench |
| With helm well-adorned, |
| To the home of King Atli. |
| |
| “Shields shall ye have there |
| And spears ashen-shafted, |
| Helms ruddy with gold, |
| And hosts of the Huns; |
| Saddle-gear silver-gilt, |
| Shirts red as blood, |
| The hedge of the warwife, |
| And horses bit-griping. |
| |
| “And he saith he will give you |
| Gnitaheath widespread, |
| And whistling spears |
| And prows well-gilded, |
| Mighty wealth |
| With the stead of Danpi, |
| And that noble wood |
| Men name the Murkwood.” |
| |
| Then Gunnar turned head |
| And spake unto Hogni: |
| “What rede from thee, high one, |
| Since such things we hear? |
| No gold know I |
| On Gnitaheath, |
| That we for our parts |
| Have not portion as great. |
| |
| “Seven halls we have |
| Fulfilled of swords, |
| And hilts of gold |
| Each sword there has; |
| My horse is the best, |
| My blade is the keenest; |
| Fair my bow o’er the bench is, |
| Gleams my byrny with gold; |
| Brightest helm, brightest shield, |
| From Kiar’s dwelling ere brought— |
| Better all things I have |
| Than all things of the Huns.” |
| |
| HOGNI SAID
“What mind has our sister |
| That a ring she hath sent us |
| In weed of wolves clad? |
| Bids she not to be wary? |
| For a wolf’s hair I found |
| The fair ring wreathed about; |
| Wolf beset shall the way be |
| If we wend on this errand.” |
| |
| No sons whetted Gunnar, |
| Nor none of his kin, |
| Nor learned men nor wise men, |
| Nor such as were mighty. |
| Then spake Gunnar |
| E’en as a king should speak, |
| Glorious in mead-hall |
| From great heart and high: |
| |
| “Rise up now, Fiornir, |
| Forth down the benches |
| Let the gold-cups of great ones |
| Pass in hands of my good-men! |
| Well shall we drink wine, |
| Draughts dear to our hearts, |
| Though the last of all feasts |
| In our fair house this be! |
| |
| “For the wolves shall rule |
| O’er the wealth of the Niblungs, |
| With the pine-woods’ wardens |
| If Gunnar perish: |
| And the black-felled bears |
| With fierce teeth shall bite |
| For the glee of the dog-kind, |
| If again comes not Gunnar.” |
| |
| Then good men never shamed, |
| Greeting aloud, |
| Led the great king of men |
| From the garth of his home; |
| And cried the fair son |
| Of Hogni the king: |
| “Fare happy, O Lords, |
| Whereso your hearts lead you!” |
| |
| Then the bold knights |
| Let their bit-griping steeds |
| Wend swift o’er the fells, |
| Tread the murk-wood unknown, |
| All the Hunwood was shaking |
| As the hardy ones fared there; |
| O’er the green meads they urged |
| Their steeds shy of the goad. |
| |
| Then Atli’s land saw they; |
| Great towers and strong, |
| And the bold men of Bikki, |
| Aloft on the burg: |
| The Southland folks’ hall |
| Set with benches about, |
| Dight with bucklers well bounden, |
| And bright white shining shields. |
| |
| There drank Atli, |
| The awful Hun king, |
| Wine in his fair hall; |
| Without were the warders, |
| Gunnar’s folk to have heed of, |
| Lest they had fared thither |
| With the whistling spear |
| War to wake ’gainst the king. |
| |
| But first came their sister |
| As they came to the hall, |
| Both her brethren she met, |
| With beer little gladdened: |
| “Bewrayed art thou, Gunnar! |
| What dost thou great king |
| To deal war to the Huns? |
| Go thou swift from the hall! |
| |
| “Better, brother, hadst thou |
| Fared here in thy byrny |
| Than with helm gaily dight |
| Looked on Atli’s great house: |
| Thou hadst sat then in saddle |
| Through days bright with the sun |
| Fight to awaken |
| And fair fields to redden: |
| |
| “O’er the folk fate makes pale |
| Should the Norn’s tears have fallen, |
| The shield-mays of the Huns |
| Should have known of all sorrow; |
| And King Atli himself |
| To worm-close should be brought; |
| But now is the worm-close |
| Kept but for thee.” |
| |
| Then spake Gunnar |
| Great ’mid the people: |
| “Over-late sister |
| The Niblungs to summon; |
| A long way to seek |
| The helping of warriors, |
| The high lords unshamed, |
| From the hills of the Rhine!” |
| |
| Seven Hogni beat down |
| With his sword sharp-grinded, |
| And the eighth man he thrust |
| Amidst of the fire. |
| Ever so shall famed warrior |
| Fight with his foemen, |
| As Hogni fought |
| For the hand of Gunnar. |
| |
| But on Gunnar they fell, |
| And set him in fetters, |
| And bound hard and fast |
| That friend of Burgundians; |
| Then the warrior they asked |
| If he would buy life, |
| Buy life with gold |
| That king of the Goths. |
| |
| Nobly spake Gunnar, |
| Great lord of the Niblungs; |
| “Hogni’s bleeding heart first |
| Shall lie in mine hand, |
| Cut from the breast |
| Of the bold-riding lord, |
| With bitter-sharp knife |
| From the son of the king.” |
| |
| With guile the great one |
| Would they beguile, |
| On the wailing thrall |
| Laid they hand unwares, |
| And cut the heart |
| From out of Hjalli, |
| Laid it bleeding on trencher |
| And bare it to Gunnar. |
| |
| “Here have I the heart |
| Of Hjalli the trembler, |
| Little like the heart |
| Of Hogni the hardy, |
| As much as it trembleth |
| Laid on the trencher, |
| By the half more it trembled |
| In the breast of him hidden.” |
| |
| Then laughed Hogni |
| When they cut the heart from him, |
| From the crest-smith yet quick, |
| Little thought he to quail |
| The hard acorn of thought |
| From the high king they took, |
| Laid it bleeding on trencher |
| And bare it Gunnar. |
| |
| “Here have I the heart |
| Of Hogni the hardy, |
| Little like to the heart |
| Of Hjalli the trembler. |
| Howso little it quaketh |
| Laid here on the dish, |
| Yet far less it quaked |
| In the breast of him laid. |
| |
| “So far mayst thou bide |
| From men’s eyen, O Atli, |
| As from that treasure |
| Thou shalt abide! |
| |
| “Behold in my heart |
| Is hidden for ever |
| That hoard of the Niblungs, |
| Now Hogni is dead. |
| Doubt threw me two ways |
| While the twain of us lived, |
| But all that is gone |
| Now I live on alone. |
| |
| “The great Rhine shall rule |
| O’er the hate-raising treasure, |
| That gold of the Niblungs, |
| The seed of the gods: |
| In the weltering water |
| Shall that wealth lie a-gleaming, |
| Or it shine on the hands |
| Of the children of Huns!” |
| |
| Then cried Atli, |
| King of the Hun-folk, |
| “Drive forth your wains now |
| The slave is fast bounden.” |
| And straightly thence |
| The bit-shaking steeds |
| Drew the hoard-warden, |
| The war-god to his death. |
| |
| Atli the great king, |
| Rode upon Glaum, |
| With shields set round about, |
| And sharp thorns of battle: |
| Gudrun, bound by wedlock |
| To these, victory made gods of, |
| Held back her tears |
| As the hall she ran into. |
| |
| “Let it fare with thee, Atli, |
| E’en after thine oaths sworn |
| To Gunnar full often; |
| Yea, oaths sworn of old time, |
| By the sun sloping southward, |
| By the high burg of Sigty, |
| By the fair bed of rest, |
| By the red ring of Ull!” |
| |
| Now a host of men |
| Cast the high king alive |
| Into a close |
| Crept o’er within |
| With most foul worms, |
| Fulfilled of all venom, |
| Ready grave to dig |
| In his doughty heart. |
| |
| Wrathful-hearted he smote |
| The harp with his hand, |
| Gunnar laid there alone; |
| And loud rang the strings— |
| In such wise ever |
| Should hardy ring-scatterer |
| Keep gold from all folk |
| In the garth of his foemen. |
| |
| Then Atli would wend |
| About his wide land, |
| On his steed brazen-shod, |
| Back from the murder. |
| Din there was in the garth, |
| All thronged with the horses; |
| High the weapon-song rose |
| From men come from the heath. |
| |
| Out then went Gudrun, |
| ’Gainst Atli returning, |
| With a cup gilded over, |
| To greet the land’s ruler; |
| “Come, then, and take it, |
| King glad in thine hall, |
| From Gudrun’s hands, |
| For the hell-farers groan not!” |
| |
| Clashed the beakers of Atli, |
| Wine-laden on bench, |
| As in hall there a-gathered, |
| The Huns fell a-talking, |
| And the long-bearded eager ones |
| Entered therein, |
| From a murk den new-come, |
| From the murder of Gunnar. |
| |
| Then hastened the sweet-faced |
| Delight of the shield-folk, |
| Bright in the fair hall, |
| Wine to bear to them: |
| The dreadful woman |
| Gave dainties withal |
| To the lords pale with fate, |
| Laid strange word upon Atli: |
| |
| “The hearts of thy sons |
| Hast thou eaten, sword-dealer, |
| All bloody with death |
| And drenched with honey: |
| In most heavy mood |
| Brood o’er venison of men! |
| Drink rich draughts therewith, |
| Down the high benches send it! |
| |
| “Never callest thou now |
| From henceforth to thy knee |
| Fair Erp or fair Eitil, |
| Bright-faced with the drink; |
| Never seest thou them now |
| Amidmost the seat, |
| Scattering the gold, |
| Or shafting of spears; |
| Manes trimming duly, |
| Or driving steeds forth!” |
| |
| Din arose from the benches, |
| Dread song of men was there, |
| Noise ‘mid the fair hangings, |
| As all Hun’s children wept; |
| All saving Gudrun, |
| Who never gat greeting, |
| For her brethren bear-hardy, |
| For her sweet sons and bright, |
| The young ones, the simple |
| Once gotten with Atli. |
| |
| The seed of gold |
| Sowed the swan-bright woman, |
| Rings of red gold |
| She gave to the house carls; |
| Fate let she wax, |
| Let the bright gold flow forth, |
| In naught spared that woman |
| The store-houses’ wealth. |
| |
| Atli unaware |
| Was a-weary with drink; |
| No weapon had he, |
| No heeding of Gudrun— |
| Ah, the play would be better, |
| When in soft wise they twain |
| Would full often embrace |
| Before the great lords! |
| |
| To the bed with sword-point |
| Blood gave she to drink |
| With a hand fain of death, |
| And she let the dogs loose: |
| Then in from the hall-door— |
| —Up waked the house-carls— |
| Hot brands she cast, |
| Gat revenge for her brethren. |
| |
| To the flame gave she all |
| Who therein might be found; |
| Fell adown the old timbers, |
| Reeked all treasure-houses; |
| There the shield-mays were burnt, |
| Their lives’ span brought to naught; |
| In the fierce fire sank down |
| All the stead of the Budlungs. |
| |
| Wide told of is this— |
| Ne’er sithence in the world, |
| Thus fared bride clad in byrny |
| For her brothers’ avenging; |
| For behold, this fair woman |
| To three kings of the people, |
| Hath brought very death |
| Or ever she died! |
