Complete Works of William Morris, page 486
turning to the handmaid he asked of her the same question. She
replied that in her youth her father had given her the gold ring she
still wore, and which had the magic power of growing cold as the
hours neared daybreak, and such was her dawning sign.
Then did Elf know of their exchange, and he told Hiordis that long
had he loved her and felt pity for her sorrow, and that he would make
her his wife. So that night she sat on the high-seat with the crown
on her head, and dreamt of what had been and what was to be.
So passeth the summer season, and the harvest of the year,
And the latter days of the winter on toward the springtide wear.
STORY OF SIGURD: BOOK II.
REGIN.
Of the birth of Sigurd the son of Sigmund.
Peace lay on the land of the Helper and the house of Elf his son;
There merry men went bedward when their tide of toil was done,
And glad was the dawn’s awakening, and the noontide fair and glad:
There no great store had the franklin, and enough the hireling had;
And a child might go unguarded the length and breadth of the land
With a purse of gold at his girdle and gold rings on his hand.
’Twas a country of cunning craftsmen, and many a thing they wrought,
That the lands of storm desired, and the homes of warfare sought.
But men deemed it o’er-well warded by more than its stems of fight,
And told how its earth-born watchers yet lived of plenteous might.
So hidden was that country, and few men sailed its sea,
And none came o’er its mountains of men-folk’s company.
But fair-fruited, many-peopled, it lies a goodly strip,
‘Twixt the mountains cloudy-headed and the sea-flood’s surging lip,
And a perilous flood is its ocean, and its mountains, who shall tell
What things, in their dales deserted and their wind-swept heaths may dwell.
* * * * *
Again, in the house of the Helper there dwelt a certain man
Beardless and low of stature, of visage pinched and wan:
So exceeding old was Regin, that no son of man could tell
In what year of the days passed over he came to that land to dwell:
But the youth of King Elf had he fostered, and the Helper’s youth thereto,
Yea and his father’s father’s: the lore of all men he knew,
And was deft in every cunning, save the dealings of the sword:
So sweet was his tongue-speech fashioned, that men trowed his every word;
His hand with the harp-strings blended was the mingler of delight
With the latter days of sorrow; all tales he told aright;
The Master of the Masters in the smithying craft was he;
And he dealt with the wind and the weather and the stilling of the sea;
Nor might any learn him leech-craft, for before that race was made,
And that man-folk’s generation, all their life-days had he weighed.
In this land of the Helper and Elf, his son, dwelt Hiordis, and here
her son, the last of the Volsungs, was born. The babe had eyes of
such wondrous brightness that the folk shrank from him, while they
rejoiced over his birth, but his mother spake to the babe as to one
who might understand, and she told him of Sigmund and Volsung, of
their wars and their troubles and their joys. Then she gave him to
her maids to bear him to the kings of the land that they might
rejoice with her.
But there sat the Helper of Men with King Elf and his Earls in the hall,
And they spake of the deeds that had been, and told of the times to befall,
And they hearkened and heard sweet voices and the sound of harps draw nigh,
Till their hearts were exceeding merry and they knew not wherefore or why:
Then, lo, in the hall white raiment, as thither the damsels came,
And amid the hands of the foremost was the woven gold aflame.
“O daughters of earls,” said the Helper, “what tidings then do ye bear?
Is it grief in the merry morning, or joy or wonder or fear?”
Quoth the first: “It is grief for the foemen that the Masters of God-home
would grieve.”
Said the next: “’Tis a wonder of wonders, that the hearkening world shall
believe.”
“A fear of all fears,” said the third, “for the sword is uplifted on men.”
“A joy of all joys,” said the fourth, “once come, and it comes not again!”
* * * * *
“What then hath betid,” said King Elf, “do the high Gods stand in our gate?”
“Nay,” said they, “else were we silent, and they should be telling of fate.”
“Is the bidding come,” said the Helper, “that we wend the Gods to see?”
“Many summers and winters,” they said, “ye shall live on the earth, it may
be.”
* * * * *
“Speak then,” said the ancient Helper, “let the worst and the best be said.”
* * * * *
They said: “The earth is weary: but the tender blade hath sprung,
That shall wax till beneath its branches fair bloom the meadows green;
For the Gods and they that were mighty were glad erewhile with the Queen.”
Said King Elf: “How say ye, women? Of a King new-born do ye tell,
By a God of the Heavens begotten in our fathers’ house to dwell?”
“By a God of the Earth,” they answered; “but greater yet is the son,
Though long were the days of Sigmund, and great are the deeds he hath done.”
Then she with the golden burden to the kingly high-seat stepped
And away from the new-born baby the purple cloths she swept,
And cried: “O King of the people, long mayst thou live in bliss,
As our hearts today are happy! Queen Hiordis sends thee this,
And she saith that the world shall call it by the name that thou shalt name;
Now the gift to thee is given, and to thee is brought the fame.”
Then e’en as a man astonied King Elf the Volsung took,
While his feast-hall’s ancient timbers with the cry of the earl-folk shook;
* * * * *
With the love of many peoples was the wise king smitten through,
As he hung o’er the new-born Volsung: but at last he raised his head,
And looked forth kind o’er his people, and spake aloud and said:
“O Sigmund King of Battle; O man of many days,
Whom I saw mid the shields of the fallen and the dead men’s silent praise,
Lo, how hath the dark tide perished and the dawn of day begun!
And now, O mighty Sigmund, wherewith shall we name thy son?”
But there rose up a man most ancient, and he cried: “Hail Dawn of the Day!
How many things shalt thou quicken, how many shalt thou slay!
How many things shalt thou waken, how many lull to sleep!
How many things shalt thou scatter, how many gather and keep!
O me, how thy love shall cherish, how thine hate shall wither and burn!
How the hope shall be sped from thy right hand, nor the fear to thy left
return!
O thy deeds that men shall sing of! O thy deeds that the Gods shall see!
O SIGURD, Son of the Volsungs, O Victory yet to be!”
Men heard the name and they knew it, and they caught it up in the air,
And it went abroad by the windows and the doors of the feast-hall fair,
It went through street and market; o’er meadow and acre it went,
And over the wind-stirred forest and the dearth of the sea-beat bent,
And over the sea-flood’s welter, till the folk of the fishers heard,
And the hearts of the isle-abiders on the sun-scorched rocks were stirred.
* * * * *
Sigurd getteth to him the horse that is called Greyfell.
Now waxeth the son of Sigmund in might and goodliness,
And soft the days win over, and all men his beauty bless.
But amidst the summer season was the Isle-queen Hiordis wed
To King Elf the son of the Helper, and fair their life-days sped.
Peace lay on the land for ever, and the fields gave good increase,
And there was Sigurd waxing mid the plenty and the peace.
Now hath the child grown greater, and is keen and eager of wit
And full of understanding, and oft hath he joy to sit
Amid talk of weighty matters when the wise men meet for speech;
And joyous he is moreover and blithe and kind with each.
But Regin the wise craftsmaster heedeth the youngling well,
And before the Kings he cometh, and saith such words to tell.
“I have fostered thy youth, King Elf, and thine O Helper of men,
And ye wot that such a master no king shall see again;
And now would I foster Sigurd; for, though he be none of thy blood,
Mine heart of his days that shall be speaketh abundant good.”
Then spake the Helper of men-folk: “Yea, do herein thy will:
For thou art the Master of Masters, and hast learned me all my skill:
But think how bright is this youngling, and thy guile from him withhold;
For this craft of thine hath shown me that thy heart is grim and cold,
Though three men’s lives thrice over thy wisdom might not learn;
And I love this son of Sigmund, and mine heart to him doth yearn.”
Then Regin laughed, and answered: “I doled out cunning to thee;
But nought with him will I measure: yet no cold-heart shall he be,
Nor grim, nor evil-natured: for whate’er my will might frame,
Gone forth is the word of the Norns, that abideth ever the same.
And now, despite my cunning, how deem ye I shall die?”
And they said he would live as he listed, and at last in peace should lie
When he listed to live no longer; so mighty and wise he was.
But again he laughed and answered: “One day it shall come to pass,
That a beardless youth shall slay me: I know the fateful doom;
But nought may I withstand it, as it heaves up dim through the gloom.”
So is Sigurd now with Regin, and he learns him many things;
Yea, all save the craft of battle, that men learned the sons of kings:
The smithying sword and war-coat; the carving runes aright;
The tongues of many countries, and soft speech for men’s delight;
The dealing with the harp-strings, and the winding ways of song.
So wise of heart waxed Sigurd, and of body wondrous strong:
And he chased the deer of the forest, and many a wood-wolf slew,
And many a bull of the mountains: and the desert dales he knew,
And the heaths that the wind sweeps over; and seaward would he fare,
Far out from the outer skerries, and alone the sea-wights dare.
One day did Regin tell Sigurd of deeds done in the past by kings both
bold and wise, and the lad longed, too, to do the like, and his
bright eyes glowed with desire. And Regin told him that he should
follow his Volsung fathers and roam far and wide, leaving the
peace-lovers and home-abiders who had cherished his youth.
This roused Sigurd’s wrath, for he would have nought said against
those who had reared him, but Regin bade him ask for one of the
horses of Gripir, and banished his anger by a song of the deeds of
the Choosers of the Slain. Before the song was finished Sigurd went
to King Elf and asked that he might have authority to seek a horse
from King Gripir.
Then smiled King Elf, and answered: “A long way wilt thou ride,
To where unpeace and troubles and the griefs of the soul abide,
Yea unto the death at the last: yet surely shall thou win
The praise of many a people: so have thy way herein.
Forsooth no more may we hold thee than the hazel copse may hold
The sun of the early dawning, that turneth it all unto gold.”
Then sweetly Sigurd thanked them; and through the night he lay
Mid dreams of many a matter till the dawn was on the way;
Then he shook the sleep from off him, and that dwelling of Kings he left
And wended his ways unto Gripir. On a crag from the mountain reft
Was the house of the old King builded; and a mighty house it was,
Though few were the sons of men that over its threshold would pass:
But the wild ernes cried about it, and the vultures toward it flew,
And the winds from the heart of the mountains searched every chamber
through,
And about were meads wide-spreading; and many a beast thereon,
Yea some that are men-folk’s terror, their sport and pasture won.
So into the hall went Sigurd; and amidst was Gripir set
In a chair of the sea-beast’s tooth; and his sweeping beard nigh met
The floor that was green as the ocean, and his gown was of mountain-gold,
And the kingly staff in his hand was knobbed with the crystal cold.
Now the first of the twain spake Gripir: “Hail King with the eyen bright!
Nought needest thou show the token, for I know of thy life and thy light.
And no need to tell of thy message; it was wafted here on the wind,
That thou wouldst be coming today a horse in my meadow to find:
And strong must he be for the bearing of those deeds of thine that shall be.
Now choose thou of all the way-wearers that are running loose in my lea.”
* * * * *
Then again gat Sigurd outward, and adown the steep he ran
And unto the horse-fed meadow: but lo, a grey-clad man,
One-eyed and seeming ancient, there met him by the way:
And he spake: “Thou hastest, Sigurd; yet tarry till I say
A word that shall well bestead thee: for I know of these mountains well
And all the lea of Gripir, and the beasts that thereon dwell.”
“Wouldst thou have red gold for thy tidings? art thou Gripir’s horse-herd
then?
Nay sure, for thy face is shining like the battle-eager men
My master Regin tells of: and I love thy cloud-grey gown,
And thy visage gleams above it like a thing my dreams have known.”
“Nay whiles have I heeded the horse-kind,” then spake that elder of days,
“And sooth do the sages say, when the beasts of my breeding they praise.
There is one thereof in the meadow, and, wouldst thou cull him out,
Thou shalt follow an elder’s counsel, who hath brought strange things about,
Who hath known thy father aforetime, and other kings of thy kin.”
So Sigurd said, “I am ready; and what is the deed to win?”
He said: “We shall drive the horses adown to the water-side,
That cometh forth from the mountains, and note what next shall betide.”
Then the twain sped on together, and they drave the horses on
Till they came to a rushing river, a water wide and wan;
And the white mews hovered o’er it; but none might hear their cry
For the rush and the rattle of waters, as the downlong flood swept by.
So the whole herd took the river and strove the stream to stem,
And many a brave steed was there; but the flood o’ermastered them:
And some, it swept them down-ward, and some won back to bank,
Some, caught by the net of the eddies, in the swirling hubbub sank;
But one of all swam over, and they saw his mane of grey
Toss over the flowery meadows, a bright thing far away:
Wide then he wheeled about them, then took the stream again
And with the waves’ white horses mingled his cloudy mane.
Then spake the elder of days: “Hearken now, Sigurd, and hear;
Time was when I gave thy father a gift thou shalt yet deem dear,
And this horse is a gift of my giving: — heed nought where thou mayst ride:
For I have seen thy fathers in a shining house abide,
And on earth they thought of its threshold, and the gifts I had to give;
Nor prayed for a little longer, and a little longer to live.”
Then forth he strode to the mountains, and fain was Sigurd now.
To ask him many a matter: but dim did his bright shape grow,
As a man from the litten doorway fades into the dusk of night;
And the sun in the high-noon shone, and the world was exceeding bright.
So Sigurd turned to the river and stood by the wave-wet strand,
And the grey horse swims to his feet and lightly leaps aland,
And the youngling looks upon him, and deems none beside him good.
And indeed, as tells the story, he was come of Sleipnir’s blood,
The tireless horse of Odin: cloud-grey he was of hue,
And it seemed as Sigurd backed him that Sigmund’s son he knew,
So glad he went beneath him. Then the youngling’s song arose
As he brushed through the noontide blossoms of Gripir’s mighty close,
Then he singeth the song of Greyfell, the horse that Odin gave,
