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

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СКАЧАТЬ that is left me for the work I have to win,

       Though nought it be but the speaking of a word ere the worst begin.

       For that which I spake aforetime, the seed of a boding drear,

       It hath sprung, it hath blossomed and born rank harvest of the spear;

       Siggeir hath dight the death-snare; he hath spread the shielded net.

       But ye come ere the hour appointed, and he looks not to meet you yet.

       Now blest be the wind that wafted your sails here over-soon,

       For thus have I won me seaward 'twixt the twilight and the moon,

       To pray you for all the world's sake turn back from the murderous shore.

       —Ah take me hence, my father, to see my land once more!"

      Then sweetly Volsung kissed her: "Woe am I for thy sake,

       But earth the word hath hearkened, that yet unborn I spake;

       How I ne'er would turn me backward from the sword or the fire of bale;

       —I have held that word till today, and today shall I change the tale?

       And look on these thy brethren, how goodly and great are they,

       Wouldst thou have the maidens mock them, when this pain hath past away

       And they sit at the feast hereafter, that they feared the deadly stroke?

       Let us do our day's work deftly for the praise and the glory of folk;

       And if the Norns will have it that the Volsung kin shall fail,

       Yet I know of the deed that dies not, and the name that shall ever avail."

      But she wept as one sick-hearted: "Woe's me for the hope of the morn!

       Yet send me not back unto Siggeir and the evil days and the scorn:

       Let me bide the death as ye bide it, and let a woman feel

       That hope of the death of battle and the rest of the foeman's steel."

      "Nay nay," he said, "go backward: this too thy fate will have;

       For thou art the wife of a king, and many a matter may'st save.

       Farewell! as the days win over, as sweet as a tale shall it grow,

       This day when our hearts were hardened; and our glory thou shalt know,

       And the love wherewith we loved thee mid the battle and the wrack."

      She kissed them and departed, and mid the dusk fared back,

       And she sat that eve in the high-seat; and I deem that Siggeir knew

       The way that her feet had wended, and the deed she went to do:

       For the man was grim and guileful, and he knew that the snare was laid

       For the mountain bull unblenching and the lion unafraid.

      But when the sun on the morrow shone over earth and sea

       Ashore went the Volsung Children a goodly company,

       And toward King Siggeir's dwelling o'er heath and holt they went

       But when they came to the topmost of a certain grassy bent,

       Lo there lay the land before them as thick with shield and spear

       As the rich man's wealthiest acre with the harvest of the year.

       There bade King Volsung tarry and dight the wedge-array;

       "For duly," he said, "doeth Siggeir to meet his guests by the way."

       So shield by shield they serried, nor ever hath been told

       Of any host of battle more glorious with the gold;

       And there stood the high King Volsung in the very front of war;

       And lovelier was his visage than ever heretofore.

       As he rent apart the peace-strings that his brand of battle bound

       And the bright blade gleamed to the heavens, and he cast the sheath to the ground.

      Then up the steep came the Goth-folk, and the spear-wood drew anigh,

       And earth's face shook beneath them, yet cried they never a cry;

       And the Volsungs stood all silent, although forsooth at whiles

       O'er the faces grown earth-weary would play the flickering smiles,

       And swords would clink and rattle: not long had they to bide,

       For soon that flood of murder flowed round the hillock-side;

       Then at last the edges mingled, and if men forebore the shout,

       Yet the din of steel and iron in the grey clouds rang about;

       But how to tell of King Volsung, and the valour of his folk!

       Three times the wood of battle before their edges broke;

       And the shield-wall, sorely dwindled and reft of the ruddy gold,

       Against the drift of the war-blast for the fourth time yet did hold.

       But men's shields were waxen heavy with the weight of shafts they bore,

       And the fifth time many a champion cast earthward Odin's door

       And gripped the sword two-handed; and in sheaves the spears came on.

       And at last the host of the Goth-folk within the shield-wall won,

       And wild was the work within it, and oft and o'er again

       Forth brake the sons of Volsung, and drave the foe in vain;

       For the driven throng still thickened, till it might not give aback.

       But fast abode King Volsung amid the shifting wrack

       In the place where once was the forefront: for he said: "My feet are old,

       And if I wend on further there is nought more to behold

       Than this that I see about me."—Whiles drew his foes away

       And stared across the corpses that before his sword-edge lay.

       But nought he followed after: then needs must they in front

       Thrust on by the thickening spear-throng come up to bear the brunt,

       Till all his limbs were weary and his body rent and torn:

       Then he cried: "Lo now, Allfather, is not the swathe well shorn?

       Wouldst СКАЧАТЬ