Völsunga Saga/The Second or Ancient Lay of Gudrun
THE SECOND OR ANCIENT LAY OF GUDRUN.
THIODREK the King was in Atli’s house, and had lost there the more part of his men: so there Thiodrek and Gudrun bewailed their troubles one to the other, and she spake and said:—
A may of all maysMy mother reared meBright in bower;Well loved I my brethren,Until that GiukiWith gold arrayed me,With gold arrayed me,And gave me to Sigurd.
Such was my Sigurd,Among the sons of GiukiAs is the green leekO’er the low grass waxen, Or a hart high-limbedOver hurrying deer,Or glede-red goldOver grey silver.
Till me they begrudged,Those my brethren,The fate to have him,Who was first of all men;Nor might they sleep,Nor sit a-dooming,Ere they let slayMy well-loved Sigurd.
Grani ran to the Thing,There was clatter to hear,But never came SigurdHimself thereunto;All the saddle-girt beastsWith blood were besprinkled,As faint with the wayNeath the slayers they went.
Then greeting I wentWith Grani to talk,And with tear-furrowed cheeksI bade him tell all;But drooping laid Grani,His head in the grass,For the steed well wottedOf his master’s slaying.
A long while I wandered,Long my mind wavered,Ere the kings I might askConcerning my king.
Then Gunnar hung head,But Hogni toldOf the cruel slayingOf my Sigurd:“On the water’s far sideLies, smitten to death,The bane of GuttormTo the wolves given over.
“Go, look on Sigurd,On the ways that go southward,There shalt thou hearThe ernes high screaming,The ravens a-croakingAs their meat they crave for;Thou shalt hear the wolves howlingOver thine husband.”
“How hast thou, Hogni,The heart to tell me,Me of joy made empty,Of such misery?Thy wretched heartMay the ravens tearWide over the world,With no men mayst thou wend.”
One thing HogniHad for answer,Fallen from his high heart,Full of all trouble:“More greeting yet,O Gudrun, for thee,If my heart the ravensShould rend asunder!”
Thence I turnedFrom the talk and the troubleTo go a leasing[1]What the wolves had left me;No sigh I madeNo smote hands together,Nor did I wailAs other womenWhen I sat overMy Sigurd slain.
Night methought it,And the moonless dark,When I sat in sorrowOver Sigurd:Better than all thingsI deemed it would beIf they would let meCast my life by,Or burn me upAs they burn the birch-wood.
From the fell I wanderedFive days together,Until the high hallOf Half lay before me;Seven seasons thereI sat with Thora,The daughter of Hacon,Up in Denmark.
My heart to gladdenWith gold she wroughtSouthland hallsAnd swans of the Dane-folk;There had we paintedThe chiefs a-playing;Fair our hands wroughtFolk of the kings.
Red shields we did,Doughty knights of the Huns,Hosts spear-dight, hosts helm-dight,All a high king’s fellows;And the ships of SigmundFrom the land swift sailing;Heads gilt overAnd prows fair graven.
On the cloth we broideredThat tide of their battling,Siggeir and Siggar,South in Fion.
Then heard Grimhild,The Queen of Gothland,How I was abiding,Weighed down with woe;And she thrust the cloth from herAnd called to her sons,And oft and eagerlyAsked them thereof,Who for her sonWould their sister atone,Who for her lord slainWould lay down weregild.
Fain was GunnarGold to lay downAll wrongs to atone for,And Hogni in likewise;Then she asked who was fainOf faring straightly,The steed to saddleTo set forth the wain,The horse to back,And the hawk to fly,To shoot forth the arrowFrom out the yew-bow.
Valdarr the Dane-kingCame with JarisleifEymod the third wentThen went Jarizskar; In kingly wiseIn they wended,The host of the Longbeards;Red cloaks had they,Byrnies short-cut,Helms strong hammered,Girt with glaives,And hair red-gleaming.
Each would give meGifts desired,Gifts desired,Speech dear to my heart,If they might yet,Despite my sorrow,Win back my trust,But in them nought I trusted.
Then brought me GrimhildA beaker to drink of,Cold and bitter,Wrong’s memory to quench;Made great was that drinkWith the might of the earth,With the death-cold seaAnd the blood that Son[2] holdeth.
On that horn’s face were thereAll the kin of lettersCut aright and reddened,How should I rede them rightly? The ling-fish longOf the land of Hadding,Wheat-ears unshorn,And wild things’ inwards.
In that mead were mingledMany ills together,Blood of all the wood,And brown-burnt acorns;The black dew of the hearth,[3]And god-doomed dead beasts’ inwards,And the swine’s liver sodden,For wrongs late done that deadens.
Then waned my memoryWhen that was within me,Of my lord ’mid the hallBy the iron laid low.Three kings cameBefore my kneesEre she herselfFell to speech with me.
“I will give to thee, Gudrun,Gold to be glad with,All the great wealthOf thy father gone from us,Rings of red goldAnd the great hall of Lodver,And all fair hangings leftBy the king late fallen.
“Maids of the HunsWoven pictures to make,And work fair in goldTill thou deem’st thyself glad.Alone shalt thou ruleO’er the riches of Budli,Shalt be made great with gold,And be given to Atli.”
“Never will IWend to a husband,Or wed the brotherOf Queen Brynhild;Naught it beseems meWith the son of BudhKin to bring forth,Or to live and be merry.”
“Nay, the high chiefsReward not with hatred,For take heed that IWas the first in this tale!To thy heart shall it beAs if both these had life,Sigurd and Sigmund,When thou hast borne sons.”
“Naught may I, Grimhild,Seek after gladness,Nor deem aught hopefulOf any high warrior, Since wolf and ravenWere friends together,The greedy, the cruel,O’er great Sigurd’s heart-blood.”
“Of all men that can beFor the noblest of kinThis king have I found,And the foremost of all;Him shalt thou haveTill with eld thou art heavy—Be thou ever unwed,If thou wilt naught of him!”
“Nay, nay, bid me notWith thy words long abidingTo take unto meThat balefullest kin;This king shall bid GunnarBe stung to his bane,And shall cut the heartFrom out of Hogni.
“Nor shall I leave lifeEre the keen lord,The eager in sword-play,My hand shall make end of.”
Grimhild a-weepingTook up the word then, When the sore bale she wottedAwaiting her sons,And the bane hanging overHer offspring beloved.
“I will give thee, moreover,Great lands, many men,Wineberg and Valberg,If thou wilt but have them;Hold them lifelong,And live happy, O daughter!”
“Then him must I takeFrom among kingly men,’Gainst my heart’s desire,From the hands of my kinsfolk;But no joy I lookTo have from that lord:Scarce may my brother’s baneBe a shield to my sons.”
Soon was each warriorSeen on his horse,But the Gaulish womenInto wains were gotten;Then seven days longO’er a cold land we rode,And for seven otherClove we the sea-waves.But with the third sevenO’er dry land we wended.
There the gate-wardensOf the burg, high and wide,Unlocked the barriersEre the burg-garth we rode to.—••••••••••••
Atli woke meWhen meseemed I wasFull evil of heartFor my kin dead slain.
“In such wise did the NornsWake me or now.”—Fain was he to knowOf this ill foreshowing—“That methought, O Gudrun,Giuki’s daughter,That thou setst in my heartA sword wrought for guile.”
“For fires tokening I deem itThat dreaming of iron,But for pride and for lustThe wrath of fair womenAgainst some baleBelike, I shall burn theeFor thy solace and healingThough hateful thou art.”
“In the fair garth methoughtHad saplings fallenE’en such as I wouldShould have waxen ever;Uprooted were these,And reddened with blood,And borne to the bench,And folk bade me eat of them.
“Methought from my hand thenWent hawks a-flyingLacking their meatTo the land of all ill;Methought that their heartsMingled with honey,Swollen with bloodI ate amid sorrow.
“Lo, next two whelpsFrom my hands I loosened,Joyless were both,And both a-howling;And now their fleshBecame naught but corpses,Whereof must I eatBut sore against my will.”
“O’er the prey of the fishersWill folk give doom;From the bright white fishThe heads will they take; Within a few nights,Fey as they are,A little ere dayOf that draught will they eat.”
Ne’er since lay I down,Ne’er since would I sleep,Hard of heart, in my bed:—That deed have I to do.[4]
- ↑ The original has “a vid lesa.” “Leasing” is the word still used for gleaning in many country sides in England.
- ↑ Son was the vessel into which was poured the blood of Quasir, the God of Poetry.
- ↑ This means soot.
- ↑ The whole of this latter part is fragmentary and obscure; there seems wanting to two of the dreams some trivial interpretation by Gudrun, like those given by Hogni to Kostbera in the Saga, of which nature, of course, the interpretation contained in the last stanza but one is, as we have rendered it: another rendering, from the different reading of the earlier edition of Edda (Copenhagen, 1818) would make this refer much more directly to the slaying of her sons by Gudrun.