The Story of Sigurd the Volsung and the Fall of the Niblungs. William Morris

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СКАЧАТЬ from the sword-blades' tangle, and often for a space

       Amazed the garth of murder stared deedless on his face;

       Nor back nor forward moved he: but fierce Sinfiotli went

       Where the spears were set the thickest, and sword with sword was blent;

       And great was the death before him, till he slipped in the blood and fell:

       Then the shield-garth compassed Sigmund, and short is the tale to tell;

       For they bore him down unwounded, and bonds about him cast:

       Nor sore hurt is Sinfiotli, but is hoppled strait and fast.

      Then the Goth-folk went to slumber when the hall was washed from blood:

       But a long while wakened Siggeir, for fell and fierce was his mood,

       And all the days of his kingship seemed nothing worth as then

       While fared the son of Volsung as well as the worst of men,

       While yet that son of Signy lay untormented there:

       Yea the past days of his kingship seemed blossomless and bare

       Since all their might had failed him to quench the Volsung kin.

      So when the first grey dawning a new day did begin,

       King Siggeir bade his bondsmen to dight an earthen mound

       Anigh to the house of the Goth-kings amid the fruit-grown ground:

       And that house of death was twofold, for 'twas sundered by a stone

       Into two woeful chambers: alone and not alone

       Those vanquished thralls of battle therein should bide their hour,

       That each might hear the tidings of the other's baleful bower,

       Yet have no might to help him. So now the twain they brought

       And weary-dull was Sinfiotli, with eyes that looked at nought.

       But Sigmund fresh and clear-eyed went to the deadly hall,

       And the song arose within him as he sat within its wall;

       Nor aught durst Siggeir mock him, as he had good will to do,

       But went his ways when the bondmen brought the roofing turfs thereto.

      And that was at eve of the day; and lo now, Signy the white

       Wan-faced and eager-eyed stole through the beginning of night

       To the place where the builders built, and the thralls with lingering hands

       Had roofed in the grave of Sigmund and hidden the glory of lands,

       But over the head of Sinfiotli for a space were the rafters bare.

       Gold then to the thralls she gave, and promised them days full fair

       If they held their peace for ever of the deed that then she did:

       And nothing they gainsayed it; so she drew forth something hid,

       In wrappings of wheat-straw winded, and into Sinfiotli's place

       She cast it all down swiftly; then she covereth up her face

       And beneath the winter starlight she wended swift away.

       But her gift do the thralls deem victual, and the thatch on the hall they lay,

       And depart, they too, to their slumber, now dight was the dwelling of death.

      Then Sigmund hears Sinfiotli, how he cries through the stone and saith:

       "Best unto babe is mother, well sayeth the elder's saw;

       Here hath Signy sent me swine's-flesh in windings of wheaten straw."

      And again he held him silent of bitter words or of sweet;

       And quoth Sigmund, "What hath betided? is an adder in the meat?"

       Then loud his fosterling laughed: "Yea, a worm of bitter tooth,

       The serpent of the Branstock, the sword of thy days of youth!

       I have felt the hilts aforetime; I have felt how the letters run

       On each side of the trench of blood and the point of that glorious one.

       O mother, O mother of kings! we shall live and our days shall be sweet!

       I have loved thee well aforetime, I shall love thee more when we meet."

      Then Sigmund heard the sword-point smite on the stone wall's side,

       And slowly mid the darkness therethrough he heard it gride

       As against it bore Sinfiotli: but he cried out at the last:

       "It biteth, O my fosterer! It cleaves the earth-bone fast!

       Now learn we the craft of the masons that another day may come

       When we build a house for King Siggeir, a strait unlovely home."

      Then in the grave-mound's darkness did Sigmund the king upstand;

       And unto that saw of battle he set his naked hand;

       And hard the gift of Odin home to their breasts they drew;

       Sawed Sigmund, sawed Sinfiotli, till the stone was cleft atwo,

       And they met and kissed together: then they hewed and heaved full hard

       Till lo, through the bursten rafters the winter heavens bestarred!

       And they leap out merry-hearted; nor is there need to say

       A many words between them of whither was the way.

      For they took the night-watch sleeping, and slew them one and all

       And then on the winter fagots they made them haste to fall,

       They pile the oak-trees cloven, and when the oak-beams fail

       They bear the ash and the rowan, and build a mighty bale

       About the dwelling of Siggeir, and lay the torch therein.

       Then they drew their swords and watched it till the flames began to win

       Hard on to the mid-hall's rafters, and those feasters of the folk,

       As the fire-flakes fell among them, to their last of days awoke.

       By the gable-door stood Sigmund, and fierce Sinfiotli stood

       Red-lit by the door of the women in the lane of blazing wood:

       To death each doorway opened, and death was in the hall.

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