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SONGS FROM THE EDDA.
His feet fell he to moving,
Fell to speak to himself
The waster of men,
Still turned in his mind
What on the bough
Those twain would be saying,
The raven and erne,
As they rode their ways homeward.
Fell to speak to himself
The waster of men,
Still turned in his mind
What on the bough
Those twain would be saying,
The raven and erne,
As they rode their ways homeward.
But Brynhild awoke,
Budli’s daughter,
May of the shield-folk,
A little ere morning:
“Thrust ye on, hold ye back,
—Now all harm is wrought,—
To tell of my sorrow,
Or to let all slip by me?”
Budli’s daughter,
May of the shield-folk,
A little ere morning:
“Thrust ye on, hold ye back,
—Now all harm is wrought,—
To tell of my sorrow,
Or to let all slip by me?”
All kept silence
After her speaking,
None might know
That woman’s mind,
Or why she must weep
To tell of the work
That laughing once
Of men she prayed.
After her speaking,
None might know
That woman’s mind,
Or why she must weep
To tell of the work
That laughing once
Of men she prayed.
Brynhild spake.
In dreams, O Gunnar,
Grim things fell on me;
Dead-cold the hall was,
And my bed was a-cold,
Grim things fell on me;
Dead-cold the hall was,
And my bed was a-cold,
