So forbear, if ye wander hood-winked, nor for nothing slay and be slain;

For I know not what to tell you of the dead that live again.'

So he saith in the midst of the foemen with his warflame reared on high,

But all about and around him goes up a bitter cry From the iron men of Atli, and the bickering of the

steel

Sends a roar up to the roof-ridge, and the Niblung war-ranks reel

Behind the steadfast Gunnar: but lo! have ye seen

the corn,

While yet men grind the sickle, by the wind-streak overborne

When the sudden rain sweeps downward, and summer groweth black,

And the smitten wood-side roareth 'neath the driving thunder-wrack?

So before the wise-heart Hogni shrank the champions of the East,

As his great voice shook the timbers in the hall of Atli's feast.

There he smote, and beheld not the smitten, and by nought were his edges stopped;

He smote, and the dead were thrust from him; a hand with its shield he lopped;

There met him Alti's marshal, and his arm at the shoulder he shred;

Three swords were upreared against him of the best of the kin of the dead;

And he struck off a head to the rightward, and his sword through a throat he thrust,

But the third stroke fell on his helm-crest, and he stooped to the ruddy dust,

And uprose as the ancient Giant, and both his hands

were wet:

Red then was the world to his eyen, as his hand to the labour he set;

Swords shook and fell in his pathway, huge bodies leapt and fell,

Harsh grided shield and war-helm like the tempestsmitten bell,

And the war-cries ran together, and no man his brother knew,

And the dead men loaded the living, as he went the war-wood through;

And man 'gainst man was huddled, till no sword rose to smite,

And clear stood the glorious Hogni in an island of the fight,

And there ran a river of death 'twixt the Niblung and his foes,

And therefrom the terror of men and the wrath of the Gods arose.

GUNNAR

Now fell the sword of Gunnar, and rose up red in the air,

And hearkened the song of the Niblung, as his voice rang glad and clear,

And rejoiced and leapt at the Eastmen, and cried as it met the rings

Of a Giant of King Atli and a murder-wolf of kings; But it quenched its thirst in his entrails, and knew the heart in his breast,

And hearkened the praise of Gunnar, and lingered not to rest,

But fell upon Atli's brother, and stayed not in his

brain;

Then he fell, and the King leapt over, and clave a neck atwain,

And leapt o'er the sweep of a pole-axe, and thrust a lord in the throat,

And King Atli's banner-bearer through shield and hauberk smote;

Then he laughed on the huddled East-folk, and against their war-shields drave

While the white swords tossed about him, and that archer's skull he clave

Whom Atli had bought in the Southlands for many a pound of gold;

And the dark-skinned fell upon Gunnar, and over his war-shield rolled,

And cumbered his sword for a season, and the many blades fell on,

And sheared the cloudy helm-crest and rents in his hauberk won,

And the red blood ran from Gunnar; till that Giuki's sword outburst,

As the fire-tongue from the smoulder that the leafy heap hath nursed,

And unshielded smote King Gunnar, and sent the

Niblung song

Through the quaking stems of battle in the hall of Atli's wrong:

Then he rent the knitted war-hedge till by Hogni's side he stood,

And kissed him amidst of the spear-hail, and their cheeks were wet with blood.

Then on came the Niblung bucklers, and they drave the East-folk home,

As the bows of the oar-driven long-ship beat off the waves in foam:

They leave their dead behind them, and they come to the doors and the wall,

And a few last spears from the fleeing amidst their shield-hedge fall:

But the doors clash to in their faces, as the fleeing rout they drive,

And fain would follow after; and none is left alive
In the feast-hall of King Atli, save those fishes of

the net,

And the white and silent woman above the slaughter

set.

Then biddeth the heart-wise Hogni, and men to the windows climb,

And uplift the war-grey corpses, dead drift of the stormy time,

And cast them adown to their people: thence they come aback and say

That scarce shall ye see the houses, and no whit the wheel-worn way

For the spears and shields of the Eastlands that the merchant city throng;

And back to the Niblung burg-gate the way seemed weary-long.

Yet passeth hour on hour, and the doors they watch and ward

But a long while hear no mail-clash, nor the ringing of the sword;

Then droop the Niblung children, and their wounds are waxen chill,

And they think of the burg by the river, and the builded holy hill,

And their eyes are set on Gudrun as of men who would beseech;

But unlearned are they in craving, and know not dastard's speech.

Then doth Giuki's first-begotten a deed most fair to be told,

For his fair harp Gunnar taketh, and the warp of silver and gold;

With the hand of a cunning harper he dealeth with the strings,

And his voice in their midst goeth upward, as of ancient days he sings,

Of the days before the Niblungs, and the days that shall be yet;

Till the hour of toil and smiting the warrior hearts

forget,

Nor hear the gathering foemen, nor the sound of swords aloof: