Völsunga Saga/The Lay called the Short Lay of Sigurd
THE LAY CALLED THE SHORT LAY OF SIGURD.
Sigurd of yore,Sought the dwelling of Giuki,As he fared, the young Volsung,After fight won;Troth he tookFrom the two brethren;Oath swore they betwixt them,Those bold ones of deed.
A may they gave to himAnd wealth manifold,Gudrun the young,Giuki’s daughter:They drank and gave doomMany days together,Sigurd the young,And the sons of Giuki.
Until they wendedFor Brynhild’s wooing,Sigurd a-ridingAmidst their rout;The wise young VolsungWho knew of all ways—Ah! he had wed her,Had fate so willed it.
Southlander SigurdA naked sword,Bright, well grinded,Laid betwixt them;No kiss he wonFrom the fair woman,Nor in arms of hisDid the Hun King hold her,Since he gat the young maidFor the son of Giuki.
No lack in her lifeShe wotted of now,And at her death-dayNo dreadful thingFor a shame indeedOr a shame in seeming;But about and betwixtWent baleful fate.
Alone, abroad,She sat of an evening, Of full many thingsShe fell a-talking:“O for my Sigurd!I shall have death,Or my fair, my lovely,Laid in mine arms.
“For the word once spoken,I sorrow sorely—His queen is Gudrun,I am wed to Gunnar;The dread Norns wrought for usA long while of woe.”
Oft with heart deepIn dreadful thoughts,O’er ice-fields and ice-hillsShe fared a-night time,When he and GudrunWere gone to their fair bed,And Sigurd wrappedThe bed-gear round her.
“Ah! now the Hun KingHis queen in arms holdeth,While love I go lacking,And all things longed forWith no delightBut in dreadful thought.”
These dreadful thingsThrust her toward murder:——“Listen, Gunnar,For thou shalt loseMy wide lands,Yea, me myself!Never love I my life,With thee for my lord—
“I will fare back thitherFrom whence I came,To my nighest kinAnd those that know meThere shall I sitSleeping my life away,Unless thou slayestSigurd the Hun King,Making thy might moreE’en than his might was!
“Yea, let the son fareAfter the fatherAnd no young wolfA long while nourish!For on each man liethVengeance lighter,And peace shall be surerIf the son live not.”
Adrad was Gunnar,Heavy-hearted was he, And in doubtful moodDay-long he sat.For naught he wotted,Nor might see clearlyWhat was the seemliestOf deeds to set hand to;What of all deedsWas best to be done:For he minded the vowsSworn to the Volsung,And the sore wrongTo be wrought against Sigurd.
Wavered his mindA weary while,No wont it wasOf those days worn by,That queens should fleeFrom the realms of their kings.
“Brynhild to meIs better than all,The child of BudliIs the best of women.Yea, and my lifeWill I lay down,Ere I am twinnedFrom that woman’s treasure.”
He bade call HogniTo the place where he bided; With all the trust that might be,Trowed he in him.
“Wilt thou bewray SigurdFor his wealth’s sake?Good it is to ruleO’er the Rhine’s metal;And well contentGreat wealth to wield,Biding in peaceAnd blissful days.”
One thing alone Hogni Had for an answer:“Such doings for usAre naught seemly to do;To rend with swordOaths once sworn,Oaths once sworn,And troth once plighted.
“Nor know we on mould,Men of happier days,The while we fourRule over the folk;While the bold in battle,The Hun King, bides living.
“And no nobler kinShall be known afield,If our five sonsWe long may foster; Yea, a goodly stemShall surely wax.—But I clearly seeIn what wise it standeth,Brynhild’s sore urgingO’ermuch on thee beareth.
“Guttorm shall weGet for the slaying,Our younger brotherBare of wisdom;For he was out ofAll the oaths sworn,All the oaths sworn,And the plighted troth.”
Easy to rouse himWho of naught recketh!—Deep stood the swordIn the heart of Sigurd.
There, in the hall,Gat the high-hearted vengeance;For he cast his swordAt the reckless slayer:Out at GuttormFlew Gram the mighty,The gleaming steelFrom Sigurd’s hand.
Down fell the slayerSmitten asunder;The heavy headAnd the hands fell one way,But the feet and such likeAback where they stood.
Gudrun was sleepingSoft in the bed,Empty of sorrowBy the side of Sigurd:When she awokeWith all pleasure gone,Swimming in bloodOf Frey’s beloved.
So sore her handsShe smote together,That the great-heartedGat raised in bed;—“O Gudrun, weep notSo woefully,Sweet lovely bride,For thy brethren live for thee!
“A young child have IFor heritor;Too young to win forthFrom the house of his foes.— Black deeds and illHave they been a-doing,Evil redeHave they wrought at last.
“Late, late, rideth with themUnto the Thing,Such sister’s son,Though seven thou bear,——But well I wotWhich way all goeth;Alone wrought BrynhildThis bale against us.
“That maiden loved meFar before all men,Yet wrong to GunnarI never wrought;Brotherhood I heededAnd all bounden oaths,That none should deem meHis queen’s darling.”
Weary sighed Gudrun,As the king gat ending,And so sore her handsShe smote together,That the cups arowRang out therewith,And the geese cried on highThat were in the homefield.
Then laughed BrynhildBudli’s daughter,Once, once only,From out her heart;When to her bedWas borne the soundOf the sore greetingOf Giuki’s daughter.
Then, quoth Gunnar,The king, the hawk-bearer,“Whereas, thou laughest,O hateful woman,Glad on thy bed,No good it betokeneth:Why lackest thou elseThy lovely hue?Feeder of foul deeds,Fey do I deem thee,
“Well worthy art thouBefore all women,That thine eyes should seeAtli slain of us;That thy brother’s woundsThou shouldst see a-bleeding,That his bloody hurtsThine hands should bind.”
“No man blameth thee, Gunnar,Thou hast fulfilled death’s measure But naught Atli fearethAll thine ill will;Life shall he lay downLater than ye,And still bear more mightAloft than thy might.
“I shall tell thee, Gunnar,Though well the tale thou knowest,In what early daysYe dealt abroad your wrong:Young was I then,Worn with no woe,Good wealth I hadIn the house of my brother!
“No mind had IThat a man should have me,Or ever ye Giukings,Rode into our garth;There ye sat on your steedsThree kings of the people——Ah! that that faringHad never befallen!
“Then spake AtliTo me apart,And said that no wealthHe would give unto me,Neither gold nor lands If I would not be wedded;Nay, and no partOf the wealth apportioned,Which in my first daysHe gave me duly;Which in my first daysHe counted down.
“Wavered the mindWithin me then,If to fight I should fallAnd the felling of folk,Bold in byrnyBecause of my brother;A deed of fameHad that been to all folk,But to many a manSorrow of mind.
“So I let all sinkInto peace at the last:More grew I mindedFor the mighty treasure,The red-shining ringsOf Sigmund’s son;For no man’s weaith elseWould I take unto me.
“For myself had I givenTo that great kingWho sat amid goldOn the back of Grani: Nought were his eyenLike to your eyen,Nor in any wiseWent his visage with yours;Though ye might deem youDue kings of men.
“One I loved,One, and none other,The gold-decked mayHad no doubtful mind;Thereof shall AtliWot full surely,When he getteth to knowI am gone to the dead.
“Far be it from me,Feeble and wavering,Ever to loveAnother’s love——Yet shall my woeBe well avenged.”
Up rose Gunnar,The great men’s leader,And cast his armsAbout the queen’s neck;And all went nighOne after other,With their whole heartsHer heart to turn.
But then all theseFrom her neck she thrust,Of her long journeyNo man should let her.
Then called he HogniTo have talk with him:“Let all folk goForth into the hall,Thine with mine——O need sore and mighty!—To wot if we yetMy wife’s parting may stay.Till with time’s wearingSome hindrance wax.”
One answer HogniHad for all;“Nay, let hard needHave rule thereover,And no man let herOf her long journey!Never born again,May she come back thence!
“Luckless she cameTo the lap of her mother,Born into the worldFor utter woe,To many a manFor heart-whole mourning.”
Upraised he turnedFrom the talk and the trouble,To where the gem-fieldDealt out goodly treasure;As she looked and beheldAll the wealth that she had,And the hungry bondmaids,And maids of the hall.
With no good in her heartShe donned her gold byrny,Ere she thrust the sword-pointThrough the midst of her body:On the bolster’s far sideSank she adown,And, smitten with sword,Still bethought her of redes.
“Let all come forthWho are fain the red gold,Or things less worthyTo win from my hands;To each one I giveA necklace gilt over,Wrought hangings and bed-gear,And bright woven weed.”
All they kept silence,And thought what to speak,Then all at onceAnswer gave: “Full enow are death-doomed,Fain are we to live yet,Maids of the hallAll meet work winning.”
From her wise heart at lastThe linen-clad damsel,The one of few yearsGave forth the word:“I will that none drivenBy hand or by word,For our sake should loseWell-loved life.
“Thou on the bones of youSurely shall burn,Less dear treasureAt your departingNor with Menia’s Meal[1]Shall ye come to see me.”
“Sit thee down, Gunnar,A word must I say to theeOf the life’s ruinOf thy lightsome bride——Nor shall thy shipSwim soft and sweetlyFor all that ILay life adown.
“Sooner than ye might deemShall ye make peace with Gudrun,For the wise womanShall lull in the young wifeThe hard memoryOf her dead husband.
“There is a may bornReared by her mother,Whiter and brighterThan is the bright day;She shall be Swanhild,She shall be Sunbeam.
“Thou shalt give GudrunUnto a great one,Noble, well-praisedOf the world’s folk;Not with her goodwill,Or love shalt thou give her;Yet will AtliCome to win her,My very brother,Born of Budi.
—“Ah! many a memoryOf how ye dealt with me,How sorely, how evillyYe ever beguiled me,How all pleasure left meThe while my life lasted!—
“Fain wilt thou beOddrun to win,But thy good likingShall Atli let;But in secret wiseShall ye win together,And she shall love theeAs I had loved thee,If in such wiseFate had willed it.
“But with all illShall Atli sting thee,Into the strait worm-closeShall he cast thee.
“But no long spaceShall slip awayEre Atli tooAll life shall lose.Yea, all his wealWith the life of his sons,For a dreadful bedDights Gudrun for him,From a heart sore laden,With the sword’s sharp edge.
“More seemly for Gudrun,Your very sister,In death to wend afterHer love first wed; Had but good redeTo her been given,Or if her heartHad been like to my heart.
—“Faint my speech groweth—But for our sakeNe’er shall she loseHer life beloved;The sea shall have her,High billows bear herForth unto Jonakr’sFair land of his fathers.
“There shall she bear sons,Stays of a heritage,Stays of a heritage,Jonakr’s sons;And Swanhild shall sheSend from the land,That may born of her,The may born of Sigurd.
“Her shall biteThe rede of Bikki,Whereas for no goodWins Jormunrek life;And so is clean perishedAll the kin of Sigurd,Yea, and more greeting,And more for Gudrun.
“And now one prayerYet pray I of thee—The last word of mineHere in the world—So broad on the fieldBe the burg of the deadThat fair space may be leftFor us all to lie down,All those that diedAt Sigurd’s death!
“Hang round that burgFair hangings and shields,Web by Gauls woven,And folk of the Gauls:There burn the Hun KingLying beside me.
“But on the other sideBurn by the Hun KingThose who served meStrewn with treasure;Two at the head,And two at the feet,Two hounds therewith,And two hawks moreover:Then is all dealtWith even dealing.
“Lay there amidst usThe ring-dight metal, The sharp-edged steel,That so lay erst;When we both togetherInto one bed went,And were called by the nameOf man and wife.
“Never, then, belikeShall clash behind himValhall’s bright doorWith rings bedight:And if my fellowshipFolloweth after,In no wretched wiseThen shall we wend.
“For him shall followMy five bondmaids,My eight bondsmen,No borel folk:Yea, and my fosterer,And my father’s dowerThat Budli of old daysGave to his dear child.
“Much have I spoken,More would I speak,If the sword would give meSpace for speech;But my words are waning,My wounds are swelling—Naught but truth have I told——And now make I ending.”
- ↑ “Menia’s Meal—” periphrasis for gold.