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

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      So round about the Branstock they feast in the gleam of the gold;

       And though the deeds of man-folk were not yet waxen old,

       Yet had they tales for songcraft, and the blossomed garth of rhyme;

       Tales of the framing of all things and the entering in of time

       From the halls of the outer heaven; so near they knew the door.

       Wherefore uprose a sea-king, and his hands that loved the oar

       Now dealt with the rippling harp-gold, and he sang of the shaping of earth,

       And how the stars were lighted, and where the winds had birth,

       And the gleam of the first of summers on the yet untrodden grass.

       But e'en as men's hearts were hearkening some heard the thunder pass

       O'er the cloudless noontide heaven; and some men turned about

       And deemed that in the doorway they heard a man laugh out.

       Then into the Volsung dwelling a mighty man there strode,

       One-eyed and seeming ancient, yet bright his visage glowed:

       Cloud-blue was the hood upon him, and his kirtle gleaming-grey

       As the latter morning sundog when the storm is on the way:

       A bill he bore on his shoulder, whose mighty ashen beam

       Burnt bright with the flame of the sea and the blended silver's gleam.

       And such was the guise of his raiment as the Volsung elders had told

       Was borne by their fathers' fathers, and the first that warred in the wold.

      So strode he to the Branstock nor greeted any lord,

       But forth from his cloudy raiment he drew a gleaming sword,

       And smote it deep in the tree-bole, and the wild hawks overhead

       Laughed 'neath the naked heaven as at last he spake and said:

       "Earls of the Goths, and Volsungs, abiders on the earth,

       Lo there amid the Branstock a blade of plenteous worth!

       The folk of the war-wand's forgers wrought never better steel

       Since first the burg of heaven uprose for man-folk's weal.

       Now let the man among you whose heart and hand may shift

       To pluck it from the oakwood e'en take it for my gift.

       Then ne'er, but his own heart falter, its point and edge shall fail

       Until the night's beginning and the ending of the tale.

       Be merry Earls of the Goth-folk, O Volsung Sons be wise,

       And reap the battle-acre that ripening for you lies:

       For they told me in the wild wood, I heard on the mountain side,

       That the shining house of heaven is wrought exceeding wide,

       And that there the Early-comers shall have abundant rest

       While Earth grows scant of great ones, and 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:

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