SIGURTHARKVITHA EN SKAMMA

SIGURTHARKVITHA EN SKAMMA
THE SHORT LAY OF SIGURTH
Of old did Sigurth   |   Gjuki seek,
The Volsung young,   |   in battles victor;
Well he trusted   |   the brothers twain,
With mighty oaths   |   among them sworn.
A maid they gave him,   |   and jewels many,
Guthrun the young,   |   the daughter of Gjuki;
They drank and spake   |   full many a day,
Sigurth the young   |   and Gjuki’s sons.
Thereafter went they   |   Brynhild to woo,
And so with them   |   did Sigurth ride,
The Volsung young,   |   in battle valiant,—
Himself would have had her   |   if all he had seen.
The southern hero   |   his naked sword,
Fair-flashing, let   |   between them lie;
(Nor would he come   |   the maid to kiss;)
The Hunnish king   |   in his arms ne’er held
The maiden he gave   |   to Gjuki’s sons.
Ill she had known not   |   in all her life,
And nought of the sorrows   |   of men she knew;
Blame she had not,   |   nor dreamed she should bear it,
But cruel the fates   |   that among them came.
By herself at the end   |   of day she sat,
And in open words   |   her heart she uttered:
“I shall Sigurth have,   |   the hero young,
E’en though within   |   my arms he die.
“The word I have spoken;   |   soon shall I rue it,
His wife is Guthrun,   |   and Gunnar’s am I;
Ill Norns set for me   |   long desire.”
Oft did she go   |   with grieving heart
On the glacier’s ice   |   at even-tide,
When Guthrun then   |   to her bed was gone,
And the bedclothes Sigurth   |   about her laid.
“(Now Gjuki’s child   |   to her lover goes,)
And the Hunnish king   |   with his wife is happy;
Joyless I am   |   and mateless ever,
Till cries from my heavy   |   heart burst forth.”
In her wrath to battle   |   she roused herself:
“Gunnar, now   |   thou needs must lose
Lands of mine   |   and me myself,
No joy shall I have   |   with the hero ever.
“Back shall I fare   |   where first I dwelt,
Among the kin   |   that come of my race,
To wait there, sleeping   |   my life away,
If Sigurth’s death   |   thou shalt not dare,
(And best of heroes   |   thou shalt not be.)
“The son shall fare   |   with his father hence,
And let not long   |   the wolf-cub live;
Lighter to pay   |   is the vengeance-price
After the deed   |   if the son is dead.”
Sad was Gunnar,   |   and bowed with grief,
Deep in thought   |   the whole day through;
Yet from his heart   |   it was ever hid
What deed most fitting   |   he should find,
(Or what thing best   |   for him should be,
Or if he should seek   |   the Volsung to slay,
For with mighty longing   |   Sigurth he loved.)
Much he pondered   |   for many an hour;
Never before   |   was the wonder known
That a queen should thus   |   her kingdom leave;
In counsel then   |   did he Hogni call,
(For him in truest   |   trust he held.)
“More than all   |   to me is Brynhild,
Buthli’s child,   |   the best of women;
My very life   |   would I sooner lose
Than yield the love   |   of yonder maid.
“Wilt thou the hero   |   for wealth betray?
’Twere good to have   |   the gold of the Rhine,
And all the hoard   |   in peace to hold,
And waiting fortune   |   thus to win.”
Few the words   |   of Hogni were:
“Us it beseems not   |   so to do,
To cleave with swords   |   the oaths we swore,
The oaths we swore   |   and all our vows.
“We know no mightier   |   men on earth
The while we four   |   o’er the folk hold sway,
And while the Hunnish   |   hero lives,
Nor higher kinship   |   the world doth hold.
“If sons we five   |   shall soon beget,
Great, methinks,   |   our race shall grow;
Well I see   |   whence lead the ways;
Too bitter far   |   is Brynhild’s hate.”
Gunnar spake:
“Gotthorm to wrath   |   we needs must rouse,
Our younger brother,   |   in rashness blind;
He entered not   |   in the oaths we swore,
The oaths we swore   |   and all our vows.”
It was easy to rouse   |   the reckless one.
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   |   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
The sword in the heart   |   of Sigurth stood.
In vengeance the hero   |   rose in the hall,
And hurled his sword   |   at the slayer bold;
At Gotthorm flew   |   the glittering steel
Of Gram full hard   |   from the hand of the king.
The foeman cleft   |   asunder fell,
Forward hands   |   and head did sink,
And legs and feet   |   did backward fall.
Guthrun soft   |   in her bed had slept,
Safe from care   |   at Sigurth’s side;
She woke to find   |   her joy had fled,
In the blood of the friend   |   of Freyr she lay.
So hard she smote   |   her hands together
That the hero rose up,   |   iron-hearted:
“Weep not, Guthrun,   |   grievous tears,
Bride so young,   |   for thy brothers live.
“Too young, methinks,   |   is my son as yet,
He cannot flee   |   from the home of his foes;
Fearful and deadly   |   the plan they found,
The counsel new   |   that now they have heeded.
“No son will ride,   |   though seven thou hast,
To the Thing as the son   |   of their sister rides;
Well I see   |   who the ill has worked,
On Brynhild alone   |   lies the blame for all.
“Above all men   |   the maiden loved me,
Yet false to Gunnar   |   I ne’er was found;
I kept the oaths   |   and the kinship I swore;
Of his queen the lover   |   none may call me.”
In a swoon she sank   |   when Sigurth died;
So hard she smote   |   her hands together
That all the cups   |   in the cupboard rang,
And loud in the courtyard   |   cried the geese.
Then Brynhild, daughter   |   of Buthli, laughed,
Only once,   |   with all her heart,
When as she lay   |   full loud she heard
The grievous wail   |   of Gjuki’s daughter.
Then Gunnar, monarch   |   of men, spake forth:
“Thou dost not laugh,   |   thou lover of hate,
In gladness there,   |   or for aught of good;
Why has thy face   |   so white a hue,
Mother of ill?   |   Foredoomed thou art.
“A worthier woman   |   wouldst thou have been
If before thine eyes   |   we had Atli slain;
If thy brother’s bleeding   |   body hadst seen
And the bloody wounds   |   that thou shouldst bind.”
Brynhild spake:
“None mock thee, Gunnar!   |   thou hast mightily fought,
But thy hatred little   |   doth Atli heed;
Longer than thou,   |   methinks, shall he live,
And greater in might   |   shall he ever remain.
“To thee I say,   |   and thyself thou knowest,
That all these ills   |   thou didst early shape;
No bonds I knew,   |   nor sorrow bore,
And wealth I had   |   in my brother’s home.
“Never a husband   |   sought I to have,
Before the Gjukungs   |   fared to our land;
Three were the kings   |   on steeds that came,—
Need of their journey   |   never there was.
“To the hero great   |   my troth I gave
Who gold-decked sat   |   on Grani’s back;
Not like to thine   |   was the light of his eyes,
(Nor like in form   |   and face are ye,)
Though kingly both   |   ye seemed to be.
“And so to me   |   did Atli say
That share in our wealth   |   I should not have,
Of gold or lands,   |   if my hand I gave not;
(More evil yet,   |   the wealth I should yield,)
The gold that he   |   in my childhood gave me,
(The wealth from him   |   in my youth I had.)
“Oft in my mind   |   I pondered much
If still I should fight,   |   and warriors fell,
Brave in my byrnie,   |   my brother defying;
That would wide   |   in the world be known,
And sorrow for many   |   a man would make.
“But the bond at last   |   I let be made,
For more the hoard   |   I longed to have,
The rings that the son   |   of Sigmund won;
No other’s treasure   |   e’er I sought.
“One alone   |   of all I loved,
Nor changing heart   |   I ever had;
All in the end   |   shall Atli know,
When he hears I have gone   |   on the death-road hence.”
    *    *    *    *    *    *
“Never a wife   |   of fickle will
Yet to another   |   man should yield.
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   |   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
So vengeance for all   |   my ills shall come.”
Up rose Gunnar,   |   the people’s ruler,
And flung his arms   |   round her neck so fair;
And all who came,   |   of every kind,
Sought to hold her   |   with all their hearts.
But back she cast   |   all those who came,
Nor from the long road   |   let them hold her;
In counsel then   |   did he Hogni call:
“Of wisdom now   |   full great is our need.
“Let the warriors here   |   in the hall come forth,
Thine and mine,   |   for the need is mighty,
If haply the queen   |   from death they may hold,
Till her fearful thoughts   |   with time shall fade.”
(Few the words   |   of Hogni were:)
“From the long road now   |   shall ye hold her not,
That born again   |   she may never be!
Foul she came   |   from her mother forth,
And born she was   |   for wicked deeds,
(Sorrow to many   |   a man to bring.)”
From the speaker gloomily   |   Gunnar turned,
For the jewel-bearer   |   her gems was dividing;
On all her wealth   |   her eyes were gazing,
On the bond-women slain   |   and the slaughtered slaves.
Her byrnie of gold   |   she donned, and grim
Was her heart ere the point   |   of her sword had pierced it;
On the pillow at last   |   her head she laid,
And, wounded, her plan   |   she pondered o’er.
“Hither I will   |   that my women come
Who gold are fain   |   from me to get;
Necklaces fashioned   |   fair to each
Shall I give, and cloth,   |   and garments bright.”
Silent were all   |   as so she spake,
And all together   |   answer made:
“Slain are enough;   |   we seek to live,
Not thus thy women   |   shall honor win.”
Long the woman,   |   linen-decked, pondered,—
—Young she was,—   |   and weighed her words:
“For my sake now   |   shall none unwilling
Or loath to die   |   her life lay down.
“But little of gems   |   to gleam on your limbs
Ye then shall find   |   when forth ye fare
To follow me,   |   or of Menja’s wealth.
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   |   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
“Sit now, Gunnar!   |   for I shall speak
Of thy bride so fair   |   and so fain to die;
Thy ship in harbor   |   home thou hast not,
Although my life   |   I now have lost.
“Thou shalt Guthrun requite   |   more quick than thou
thinkest,
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   |   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
Though sadly mourns   |   the maiden wise
Who dwells with the king,   |   o’er her husband dead.
“A maid shall then   |   the mother bear;
Brighter far   |   than the fairest day
Svanhild shall be,   |   or the beams of the sun.
“Guthrun a noble   |   husband thou givest,
Yet to many a warrior   |   woe will she bring,
Not happily wedded   |   she holds herself;
Her shall Atli   |   hither seek,
(Buthli’s son,   |   and brother of mine.)
“Well I remember   |   how me ye treated
When ye betrayed me   |   with treacherous wiles;
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   |   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
Lost was my joy   |   as long as I lived.
“Oddrun as wife   |   thou fain wouldst win,
But Atli this   |   from thee withholds;
Yet in secret tryst   |   ye twain shall love;
She shall hold thee dear,   |   as I had done
If kindly fate   |   to us had fallen.
“Ill to thee   |   shall Atli bring,
When he casts thee down   |   in the den of snakes.
“But soon thereafter   |   Atli too
His life, methinks,   |   as thou shalt lose,
(His fortune lose   |   and the lives of his sons;)
Him shall Guthrun,   |   grim of heart,
With the biting blade   |   in his bed destroy.
“It would better beseem   |   thy sister fair
To follow her husband   |   first in death,
If counsel good   |   to her were given,
Or a heart akin   |   to mine she had.
“Slowly I speak,—   |   but for my sake
Her life, methinks,   |   she shall not lose;
She shall wander over   |   the tossing waves,
To where Jonak rules   |   his father’s realm.
“Sons to him   |   she soon shall bear,
Heirs therewith   |   of Jonak’s wealth;
But Svanhild far   |   away is sent,
The child she bore   |   to Sigurth brave.
“Bikki’s word   |   her death shall be,
For dreadful the wrath   |   of Jormunrek;
So slain is all   |   of Sigurth’s race,
And greater the woe   |   of Guthrun grows.
“Yet one boon   |   I beg of thee,
The last of boons   |   in my life it is:
Let the pyre be built   |   so broad in the field
That room for us all   |   will ample be,
(For us who slain   |   with Sigurth are.)
“With shields and carpets   |   cover the pyre,
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   |   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
Shrouds full fair,   |   and fallen slaves,
And besides the Hunnish   |   hero burn me.
“Besides the Hunnish   |   hero there
Slaves shall burn,   |   full bravely decked,
Two at his head   |   and two at his feet,
A brace of hounds   |   and a pair of hawks,
For so shall all   |   be seemly done.
“Let between us   |   lie once more
The steel so keen,   |   as so it lay
When both within   |   one bed we were,
And wedded mates   |   by men were called.
“The door of the hall   |   shall strike not the heel
Of the hero fair   |   with flashing rings,
If hence my following   |   goes with him;
Not mean our faring   |   forth shall be.
“Bond-women five   |   shall follow him,
And eight of my thralls,   |   well-born are they,
Children with me,   |   and mine they were
As gifts that Buthli   |   his daughter gave.
“Much have I told thee,   |   and more would say
If fate more space   |   for speech had given;
My voice grows weak,   |   my wounds are swelling;
Truth I have said,   |   and so I die.”