| ||
Home | Site Index | Heithinn Idea Contest | | ||
Völsunga Saga Page 37
Now a host of men Cast the high king alive Into a close Crept o'er within With most foul worms, Fulfilled of all venom, Ready grave to dig In his doughty heart. Wrathful-hearted he smote The harp with his hand, Gunnar laid there alone; And loud rang the strings. -- In such wise ever Should hardy ring-scatterer Keep gold from all folk In the garth of his foeman. Then Atli would wend About his wide land, On his steed brazen shod, Back from the murder. Din there was in the garth, All thronged with the horses; High the weapon-song rose From men come from the heath. Out then went Gudrun, 'Gainst Atli returning, With a cup gilded over, To greet the land's ruler; "Come, then, and take it, King glad in thine hall, From Gudrun's hands, For the hell-farers groan not!" Clashed the beakers of Atli, Wine-laden on bench, As in hall there a-gathered, The Huns fell a-talking, And the long-bearded eager ones Entered therein, From a murk den new-come, From the murder of Gunnar. Then hastened the sweet-faced Delight of the shield-folk, Bright in the fair hall, Wine to bear to them: The dreadful woman Gave dainties withal To the lords pale with fate, Laid strange word upon Atli: "The hearts of thy sons Hast thou eaten, sword-dealer, All bloody with death And drenched with honey: In most heavy mood Brood o'er venison of men! Drink rich draughts therewith, Down the high benches send it! "Never callest thou now From henceforth to thy knee Fair Erp or fair Eiril, Bright-faced with the drink; Never seest thou them now Amidmost the seat, Scattering the gold, Or shafting of spears; Manes trimming duly, Or driving steeds forth!" Din arose from the benches, Dread song of men was there, Noise 'mid the fair hangings, As all Hun's children wept; All saving Gudrun, Who never gat greeting, For her brethren bear-hardy For her sweet sons and bright, The young ones, the simple Once gotten with Atli. ***** ***** The seed of gold Sowed the swan-bright woman, Rings of red gold She gave to the house-carls; Fate let she wax, Let the bright gold flow forth, In naught spared that woman The store-houses' wealth. Atli unaware Was a-weary with drink; No weapon had he, No heeding of Gudrun -- Ah, the pity would be better, When in soft wise they twain Would full often embrace Before the great lords! To the bed with sword-point Blood gave she to drink With a hand fain of death, And she let the dogs loose: Then in from the hall-door -- -- Up waked the house-carls -- Hot brands she cast, Gat revenge for her brethren. To the flame gave she all Who therein might be found; Fell adown the old timbers, Reeked all treasure-houses; There the shield-mays were burnt, Their lives' span brought to naught; In the fierce fire sank down All the stead of the Budlungs. Wide told of is this -- Ne'er sithence in the world, Thus fared bride clad in byrny For her brothers' avenging; For behold, this fair woman To three kings of the people, Hath brought very death Or ever she died! << Previous Page Next Page >>
© 2004-2007 Northvegr. Most of the material on this site is in the public domain. However, many people have worked very hard to bring these texts to you so if you do use the work, we would appreciate it if you could give credit to both the Northvegr site and to the individuals who worked to bring you these texts. A small number of texts are copyrighted and cannot be used without the author's permission. Any text that is copyrighted will have a clear notation of such on the main index page for that text. Inquiries can be sent to info@northvegr.org. Northvegr™ and the Northvegr symbol are trademarks and service marks of the Northvegr Foundation. |
|