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

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">       Nought needest thou show the token, for I know of thy life and thy light.

       And no need to tell of thy message; it was wafted here on the wind,

       That thou wouldst be coming to-day a horse in my meadow to find:

       And strong must he be for the bearing of those deeds of thine that shall be.

       Now choose thou of all the way-wearers that are running loose in my lea,

       And be glad as thine heart will have thee and the fate that leadeth thee on,

       And I bid thee again come hither when the sword of worth is won,

       And thy loins are girt for thy going on the road that before thee lies;

       For a glimmering over its darkness is come before mine eyes."

      Then again gat Sigurd outward, and adown the steep he ran

       And unto the horse-fed meadow: but lo, a grey-clad man,

       One-eyed and seeming-ancient, there met him by the way:

       And he spake: "Thou hastest, Sigurd; yet tarry till I say

       A word that shall well bestead thee: for I know of these mountains well

       And all the lea of Gripir, and the beasts that thereon dwell."

      "Wouldst thou have red gold for thy tidings? art thou Gripir's horse-herd then?

       Nay sure, for thy face is shining like the battle-eager men

       My master Regin tells of: and I love thy cloud-grey gown.

       And thy visage gleams above it like a thing my dreams have known."

      "Nay whiles have I heeded the horse-kind," then spake that elder of days,

       "And sooth do the sages say, when the beasts of my breeding they praise.

       There is one thereof in the meadow, and, wouldst thou cull him out,

       Thou shalt follow an elder's counsel, who hath brought strange things about,

       Who hath known thy father aforetime, and other kings of thy kin."

      So Sigurd said, "I am ready; and what is the deed to win?"

      He said: "We shall drive the horses adown to the water-side,

       That cometh forth from the mountains, and note what next shall betide."

      Then the twain sped on together, and they drave the horses on

       Till they came to a rushing river, a water wide and wan;

       And the white mews hovered o'er it; but none might hear their cry

       For the rush and the rattle of waters, as the downlong flood swept by.

       So the whole herd took the river and strove the stream to stem,

       And many a brave steed was there; but the flood o'ermastered them:

       And some, it swept them down-ward, and some won back to bank,

       Some, caught by the net of the eddies, in the swirling hubbub sank;

       But one of all swam over, and they saw his mane of grey

       Toss over the flowery meadows, a bright thing far away:

       Wide then he wheeled about them, then took the stream again

And with the waves' white horses mingled his cloudy mane.

      Then spake the elder of days: "Hearken now, Sigurd, and hear;

       Time was when I gave thy father a gift thou shalt yet deem dear,

       And this horse is a gift of my giving:—heed nought where thou mayst ride:

       For I have seen thy fathers in a shining house abide,

       And on earth they thought of its threshold, and the gifts I had to give;

       Nor prayed for a little longer, and a little longer to live."

      Then forth he strode to the mountains, and fain was Sigurd now

       To ask him many a matter: but dim did his bright shape grow,

       As a man from the litten doorway fades into the dusk of night;

       And the sun in the high-noon shone, and the world was exceeding bright.

      So Sigurd turned to the river and stood by the wave-wet strand,

       And the grey horse swims to his feet and lightly leaps aland,

       And the youngling looks upon him, and deems none beside him good.

       And indeed, as tells the story, he was come of Sleipnir's blood,

       The tireless horse of Odin: cloud-grey he was of hue,

       And it seemed as Sigurd backed him that Sigmund's son he knew,

       So glad he went beneath him. Then the youngling's song arose

       As he brushed through the noon-tide blossoms of Gripir's mighty close,

       Then he singeth the song of Greyfell, the horse that Odin gave,

       Who swam through the sweeping river, and back through the toppling wave.

Regin telleth Sigurd of his kindred, and of the Gold that was accursed from ancient days.

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