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SONGS FROM THE EDDA.
“But Brynhild he bade
To the helm to betake her,
And said that Death-chooser
She should become;
And that no better
Might ever be born
Into the world,
If fate would not spoil it.
To the helm to betake her,
And said that Death-chooser
She should become;
And that no better
Might ever be born
Into the world,
If fate would not spoil it.
“Brynhild in bower
Sewed at her broidery,
Folk she had
And fair lands about her;
Earth lay a-sleeping,
Slept the heavens aloft
When Fafnir’s-bane
The burg first saw.
Sewed at her broidery,
Folk she had
And fair lands about her;
Earth lay a-sleeping,
Slept the heavens aloft
When Fafnir’s-bane
The burg first saw.
“Then was war waged
With the Welsh-wrought sword
And the burg all broken
That Brynhild owned;
Nor wore long space,
E’en as well might be,
Ere all those wiles
Full well she knew.
With the Welsh-wrought sword
And the burg all broken
That Brynhild owned;
Nor wore long space,
E’en as well might be,
Ere all those wiles
Full well she knew.
“Hard and dreadful
Was the vengeance she drew down,
So that all we
Have woe enow.
Was the vengeance she drew down,
So that all we
Have woe enow.
