"Long years, and long years after the tale of men-folk told How up on the Glittering Heath was the house and the dwelling of gold, And within that house was the Serpent, and the Lord of the Fearful Face: Then I wondered sore of the desert; for I thought of the golden place My hands of old had builded; for I knew by many a sign That the Fearful Face was my brother, that the blood of the Worm was mine. "This was ages long ago, and yet in that desert he dwells, Betwixt him and men death lieth, and no man of his semblance tells; But the tale of the great Gold-wallower is never the more outworn. Then came thy kin, O Sigurd, and thy father's father was born, And I fell to the dreaming of dreams, and I saw thine eyes therein, And I looked and beheld thy glory and all that thy sword should win; And I thought that thou shouldst be he, who should bring my heart its rest, That of all the gifts of the Kings thy sword should give me the best. "Ah, I fell to the dreaming of dreams; and oft the gold I saw, And the golden-fashioned Hauberk, clean-wrought without a flaw, And the Helm that aweth the world; and I knew of Fafnir's heart That his wisdom was greater than mine, because he had held him apart, Nor spilt on the sons of men-folk our knowledge of ancient days, Nor bartered one whit for their love, nor craved for the people's praise. "And some day I shall have it all, his gold and his craft and his heart And the gathered and garnered wisdom he guards in the mountains apart. And then when my hand is upon it, my hand shall be as the spring To thaw his winter away and the fruitful tide to bring. It shall grow, it shall grow into summer, and I shall be he that wrought, And my deeds shall be remembered, and my name that once was nought; Yea I shall be Frey, and Thor, and Freyia, and Bragi in one: Yea the God of all that is,--and no deed in the wide world done, But the deed that my heart would fashion: and the songs of the freed from the yoke Shall bear to my house in the heavens the love and the longing of folk; And there shall be no more dying, and the sea shall be as the land, And the world for ever and ever shall be young beneath my hand." Then his eyelids fell, and he slumbered, and it seemed as Sigurd gazed That the flames leapt up in the stithy and about the Master blazed, And his hand in the harp-strings wandered and the sweetness from them poured. Then unto his feet leapt Sigurd and drew his stripling's sword, And he cried: "Awake, O Master, for, lo, the day goes by, And this too is an ancient story, that the sons of men-folk die, And all save fame departeth. Awake! for the day grows late, And deeds by the door are passing, nor the Norns will have them wait."