Völsunga Saga/The Song of Atli
THE SONG OF ATLI.
GUDRUN, Giuki’s daughter, avenged her brethren, as is told far and wide: first she slew the sons of Atli, and then Atli himself; and she burned the hall thereafter, and all the household with it: and about these matters is this song made:—
In days long goneSent Atli to GunnarA crafty one riding,Knefrud men called him;To Giuki’s garth came he,To the hall of Gunnar,To the benches gay-dight,And the gladsome drinking.
There drank the great folk’Mid the guileful one’s silence,Drank wine in their fair hall:The Huns’ wrath they feared,When Knefrud criedIn his cold voice. As he sat on the high seat,That man of the Southland:
“Atli has sent meRiding swift on his errandsOn the bit-griping steedThrough dark woodways unbeaten,To bid thee, King Gunnar,Come to his fair benchWith helm well-adorned,To the home of King Atli.
“Shields shall ye have thereAnd spears ashen-shafted,Helms ruddy with gold,And hosts of the Huns;Saddle-gear silver-gilt,Shirts red as blood,The hedge of the warwife,And horses bit-griping.
“And he saith he will give youGnitaheath widespread,And whistling spearsAnd prows well-gilded,Mighty wealthWith the stead of Danpi,And that noble woodMen name the Murkwood.”
Then Gunnar turned headAnd spake unto Hogni:“What rede from thee, high one,Since such things we hear?No gold know IOn Gnitaheath,That we for our partsHave not portion as great.
“Seven halls we haveFulfilled of swords,And hilts of goldEach sword there has;My horse is the best,My blade is the keenest;Fair my bow o’er the bench is,Gleams my byrny with gold;Brightest helm, brightest shield,From Kiar’s dwelling ere brought—Better all things I haveThan all things of the Huns.”
Hogni said.
“What mind has our sisterThat a ring she hath sent usIn weed of wolves clad?Bids she not to be wary?For a wolf’s hair I foundThe fair ring wreathed about;Wolf beset shall the way beIf we wend on this errand.”
No sons whetted Gunnar,Nor none of his kin,Nor learned men nor wise men,Nor such as were mighty.Then spake GunnarE’en as a king should speak,Glorious in mead-hallFrom great heart and high:
“Rise up now, Fiornir,Forth down the benchesLet the gold-cups of great onesPass in hands of my good-men!Well shall we drink wine,Draughts dear to our hearts,Though the last of all feastsIn our fair house this be!
“For the wolves shall ruleO’er the wealth of the Niblungs,With the pine-woods’ wardensIf Gunnar perish:And the black-felled bearsWith fierce teeth shall biteFor the glee of the dog-kind,If again comes not Gunnar.”
Then good men never shamed,Greeting aloud,Led the great king of menFrom the garth of his home;And cried the fair sonOf Hogni the king: “Fare happy, O Lords,Whereso your hearts lead you!”
Then the bold knightsLet their bit-griping steedsWend swift o’er the fells,Tread the murk-wood unknown,All the Hunwood was shakingAs the hardy ones fared there;O’er the green meads they urgedTheir steeds shy of the goad.
Then Atli’s land saw they;Great towers and strong,And the bold men of Bikki,Aloft on the burg:The Southland folks’ hallSet with benches about,Dight with bucklers well bounden,And bright white shining shields.
There drank Atli,The awful Hun king,Wine in his fair hall;Without were the warders,Gunnar’s folk to have heed of,Lest they had fared thitherWith the whistling spearWar to wake ’gainst the king.
But first came their sisterAs they came to the hall, Both her brethren she met,With beer little gladdened:“Bewrayed art thou, Gunnar!What dost thou great kingTo deal war to the Huns?Go thou swift from the hall!
“Better, brother, hadst thouFared here in thy byrnyThan with helm gaily dightLooked on Atli’s great house:Thou hadst sat then in saddleThrough days bright with the sunFight to awakenAnd fair fields to redden:
“O’er the folk fate makes paleShould the Norn’s tears have fallen,The shield-mays of the HunsShould have known of all sorrow;And King Atli himselfTo worm-close should be brought;But now is the worm-closeKept but for thee.”
Then spake GunnarGreat ’mid the people:“Over-late sisterThe Niblungs to summon;A long way to seekThe helping of warriors, The high lords unshamed,From the hills of the Rhine!”••••••••
Seven Hogni beat downWith his sword sharp-grinded,And the eighth man he thrustAmidst of the fire.Ever so shall famed warriorFight with his foemen,As Hogni foughtFor the hand of Gunnar.
But on Gunnar they fell,And set him in fetters,And bound hard and fastThat friend of Burgundians;Then the warrior they askedIf he would buy life,Buy life with goldThat king of the Goths.
Nobly spake Gunnar,Great lord of the Niblungs;“Hogni’s bleeding heart firstShall he in mine hand,Cut from the breastOf the bold-riding lord,With bitter-sharp knifeFrom the son of the king.”
With guile the great oneWould they beguile,On the wailing thrallLaid they hand unwares,And cut the heartFrom out of Hjalli,Laid it bleeding on trencherAnd bare it to Gunnar.
“Here have I the heartOf Hjalli the trembler,Little like the heartOf Hogni the hardy:As much as it tremblethLaid on the trencher,By the half more it trembledIn the breast of him hidden.”
Then laughed HogniWhen they cut the heart from him,From the crest-smith yet quick,Little thought he to quail.The hard acorn of thoughtFrom the high king they took,Laid it bleeding on trencherAnd bare it Gunnar.
“Here have I the heartOf Hogni the hardy,Little like to the heartOf Hijalli the trembler. Howso little it quakethLaid here on the dish,Yet far less it quakedIn the breast of him laid.
“So far mayst thou bideFrom men’s eyen, O Atli,As from that treasureThou shalt abide!
“Behold in my heartIs hidden for everThat hoard of the Niblungs,Now Hogni is dead.Doubt threw me two waysWhile the twain of us lived,But all that is goneNow I live on alone.
“The great Rhine shall ruleO’er the hate-raising treasure,That gold of the Niblungs,The seed of the gods:In the weltering waterShall that wealth lie a-gleaming,Or it shine on the handsOf the children of Huns!”
Then cried Atli,King of the Hun-folk,“Drive forth your wains nowThe slave is fast bounden.” And straightly thenceThe bit-shaking steedsDrew the hoard-warden,The war-god to his death.
Atli the great king,Rode upon Glaum,With shields set round about,And sharp thorns of battle:Gudrun, bound by wedlockTo these, victory made gods of,Held back her tearsAs the hall she ran into.
“Let it fare with thee, Atli,E’en after thine oaths swornTo Gunnar full often;Yea, oaths sworn of old time,By the sun sloping southward,By the high burg of Sigty,By the fair bed of rest,By the red ring of Ull!”
Now a host of menCast the high king aliveInto a closeCrept o’er withinWith most foul worms,Fulfilled of all venom,Ready grave to digIn his doughty heart.
Wrathful-hearted he smoteThe harp with his hand,Gunnar laid there alone;And loud rang the strings.—In such wise everShould hardy ring-scattererKeep gold from all folkIn the garth of his foemen.
Then Atli would wendAbout 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 roseFrom 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 onesEntered therein,From a murk den new-come,From the murder of Gunnar.
Then hastened the sweet-facedDelight of the shield-folk,Bright in the fair hall,Wine to bear to them:The dreadful womanGave dainties withalTo the lords pale with fate,Laid strange word upon Atli:
“The hearts of thy sonsHast thou eaten, sword-dealer,All bloody with deathAnd drenched with honey:In most heavy moodBrood o’er venison of men!Drink rich draughts therewith,Down the high benches send it!
“Never callest thou nowFrom henceforth to thy kneeFair Erp or fair Eitil,Bright-faced with the drink;Never seest thou them nowAmidmost 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 simpleOnce gotten with Atli.••••••••••••
The seed of goldSowed the swan-bright woman,Rings of red goldShe gave to the house-carls;Fate let she wax,Let the bright gold flow forth,In naught spared that womanThe store-houses’ wealth,
Atli unawareWas a-weary with drink;No weapon had he,No heeding of Gudrun—Ah, the play would be better,When in soft wise they twain Would full often embraceBefore the great lords!
To the bed with sword-pointBlood gave she to drinkWith 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 allWho 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 downAll the stead of the Budlungs.
Wide told of is this—Ne’er sithence in the world,Thus fared bride clad in byrnyFor her brothers’ avenging;For behold, this fair womanTo three kings of the people,Hath brought very deathOr ever she died!