to deal with the cumber and wrong.
Bid me therefore to sit by thy side, for behold I wend on my way,
And the gates swing-to behind me, and each day of mine is a day
With deeds in the eve and the morning, nor deeds shall the noontide
lack;
To the right and the left none calleth, and no voice crieth aback."

"Come, kin of the Gods," said Gripir, "come up and sit by my side,
That we twain may be glad as the fearless, and they that have nothing
to hide:
I have wrought out my will and abide it, and I sit ungrieved and alone,
I look upon men and I help not; to me are the deeds long done
As those of today and tomorrow: for these and for those am I glad;
But the Gods and men are the framers, and the days of my life I have
had."

Then Sigurd came unto Gripir, and he kissed the wise-one's face,
And they sat in the high-seat together, the child and the elder of
days;
And they drank of the wine of King-folk, and were joyful each of each,
And spake for a while of matters that are meet for King-folk's speech;
The deeds of men that have been and Kin of the Kings of the earth;
And Gripir told of the outlands, and the mid-world's billowy girth,
And tales of the upper heaven were mingled with his talk,
And the halls where the Sea-Queen's kindred o'er the gem-strewn
pavement walk,
And the innermost parts of the earth, where they lie, the green and
the blue,
And the red and the glittering gem-stones that of old the Dwarf-kind
knew.

Long Sigurd sat and marvelled at the mouth that might not lie,
And the eyes no God had blinded, and the lone heart raised on high,
Then he rose from the gleaming high-seat, and the rings of battle rang
And the sheathed Wrath was hearkening and a song of war it sang,
But Sigurd spake unto Gripir:
"Long and lovely are thy days,
And thy years fulfilled of wisdom, and thy feet on the unhid ways,
And the guileless heart of the great that knoweth not anger nor pain:
So once hath a man been fashioned and shall not be again.
But for me hath been foaled the war-horse, the grey steed swift as
the cloud,
And for me were the edges smithied, and the Wrath cries out aloud;
And a voice hath called from the darkness, and I ride to the
Glittering Heath;
To smite on the door of Destruction, and waken the war