The Story of Sigurd the Volsung and the Fall of the Niblungs | Page 4

fadeth from its best, And fadeth from its midward and groweth poor
and vile:-- All hail to thee King Volsung! farewell for a little while!"
So sweet his speaking sounded, so wise his words did seem, That
moveless all men sat there, as in a happy dream
We stir not lest we
waken; but there his speech had end, And slowly down the hall-floor,
and outward did he wend; And none would cast him a question or
follow on his ways, For they knew that the gift was Odin's, a sword for
the world to praise.
But now spake Volsung the King: "Why sit ye silent and still? Is the
Battle-Father's visage a token of terror and ill? Arise O Volsung
Children, Earls of the Goths arise,
And set your hands to the hilts as
mighty men and wise! Yet deem it not too easy; for belike a fateful
blade
Lies there in the heart of the Branstock for a fated warrior
made."
Now therewith spake King Siggeir: "King Volsung give me a grace To
try it the first of all men, lest another win my place And mere

chance-hap steal my glory and the gain that I might win."
Then somewhat laughed King Volsung, and he said: "O Guest, begin;
Though herein is the first as the last, for the Gods have long to live,
Nor hath Odin yet forgotten unto whom the gift he would give."
Then forth to the tree went Siggeir, the Goth-folk's mighty lord, And
laid his hand on the gemstones, and strained at the glorious sword Till
his heart grew black with anger; and never a word he said As he
wended back to the high-seat: but Signy waxed blood-red When he sat
him adown beside her; and her heart was nigh to break For the shame
and the fateful boding: and therewith King Volsung spake:
"Thus comes back empty-handed the mightiest King of Earth, And how
shall the feeble venture? yet each man knows his worth; And today
may a great beginning from a little seed upspring To o'erpass many a
great one that hath the name of King: So stand forth free and unfree;
stand forth both most and least: But first ye Earls of the Goth-folk, ye
lovely lords we feast."
Upstood the Earls of Siggeir, and each man drew anigh
And deemed
his time was coming for a glorious gain and high; But for all their
mighty shaping and their deeds in the battle-wood, No looser in the
Branstock that gift of Odin stood.
Then uprose Volsung's homemen,
and the fell-abiding folk; And the yellow-headed shepherds came
gathering round the Oak, And the searchers of the thicket and the
dealers with the oar: And the least and the worst of them all was a
mighty man of war. But for all their mighty shaping, and the struggle
and the strain Of their hands, the deft in labour, they tugged thereat in
vain; And still as the shouting and jeers, and the names of men and the
laughter
Beat backward from gable to gable, and rattled o'er roof-tree
and rafter,
Moody and still sat Siggeir; for he said: "They have
trained me here As a mock for their woodland bondsmen; and yet shall
they buy it dear."
Now the tumult sank a little, and men cried on Volsung the King And
his sons, the hedge of battle, to try the fateful thing. So Volsung

laughed, and answered: "I will set me to the toil, Lest these my guests
of the Goth-folk should deem I fear the foil. Yet nought am I
ill-sworded, and the oldest friend is best; And this, my hand's first
fellow, will I bear to the grave-mound's rest,
Nor wield meanwhile
another: Yea this shall I have in hand When mid the host of Odin in the
Day of Doom I stand."
Therewith from his belt of battle he raised the golden sheath, And
showed the peace-strings glittering about the hidden death: Then he
laid his hand on the Branstock, and cried: "O tree beloved, I thank thee
of thy good-heart that so little thou art moved: Abide thou thus, green
bower, when I am dead and gone
And the best of all my kindred a
better day hath won!"
Then as a young man laughed he, and on the hilts of gold His hand, the
battle-breaker, took fast and certain hold, And long he drew and
strained him, but mended not the tale, Yet none the more thereover his
mirth of heart did fail; But he wended to the high-seat and thence began
to cry:
"Sons I have gotten and cherished, now stand ye forth to try; Lest Odin
tell in God-home how from the way he strayed, And how to the man he
would not he gave away his blade." So therewithal rose Rerir, and
wasted might