cup is blended, and the very heart of ruth:
Yet meseems thy words are merrier than thine inmost soul this eve;
Nay, cast away thy sorrow, lest the Kings of battle grieve!"

She smiled and departed from him, and there in the cloudy hall
To the feast of their glad returning the Niblung children fall;
And far o'er the flowery lealand the shepherds of the plain
Behold the litten windows, and know that Kings are fain.

So fares the tale of Sigurd through all kingdoms of the earth,
And the tale is told of his doings by the utmost ocean's girth;
And fair feast the merchants deem it to warp their sea-beat ships
High up the Niblung River, that their sons may hear his lips
Shed fair words o'er their ladings and the opened southland bales;
Then they get them aback to their countries, and tell how all men's
tales
Are nought, and vain and empty in setting forth his grace,
And the unmatched words of his wisdom, and the glory of his face.
Came the wise men too from the outlands, and the lords of singers'
fame,
That men might know hereafter the deeds that knew his name;
And all these to their lands departed, and bore aback his love,
And cherished the tree of his glory, and lived glad in the joy thereof.

But men say that howsoever all other folk of earth
Loved Sigmund's son rejoicing, and were bettered of their mirth,
Yet ever the white-armed Gudrun, the dark-haired Niblung Maid,
From the barren heart of sorrow her love upon him laid:
He rejoiceth, and she droopeth; he speaks and hushed is she;
He beholds the world's days coming, nought but Sigurd may she see;
He is wise and her wisdom falters; he is kind, and harsh and strange
Comes the voice from her bosom laden, and her woman's mercies change.
He longs, and she sees his longing, and her heart grows cold as a
sword,
And her heart is the ravening fire, and the fretting sorrows' hoard.

Ah, shall she not wander away to the wilds and the wastes of the deer,
Or down to the measureless sea-flood, and the mountain marish drear?
Nay, still shall she bide and behold him in the ancient happy place,
And speak soft as the other women with wise and queenly face.
Woe worth the while for her sorrow, and her hope of life forlorn!
--Woe worth the while for her loving, and the day when she was born!

_Of the Cup of evil drink that Grimh