Then spake Gullrond, Giuki's daughter:-- "Surely knew I No love like your love Among all men, On the mold abiding; Naught wouldst thou joy in Without or within doors, O my sister, Save beside Sigurd." Then spake Gudrun, Giuki's daughter:-- "Such was my Sigurd Among the sons of Giuki, As is the king leek O'er the low grass waxing, Or a bright stone Strung on band, Or a pearl of price On a prince's brow. "Once was I counted By the king's warriors Higher than any Of Herjan's mays; Now am I as little As the leaf may be, Amid wind-swept wood, Now when dead, he lieth. "I miss from my seat, I miss from my bed, My darling of sweet speech. Wrought the sons of Giuki, Wrought the sons of Giuki, This sore sorrow; Yea, for their sister Most sore sorrow. "So may your lands Lie waste on all sides, As ye have broken Your bounden oaths! Ne'er shalt thou, Gunnar, The gold have joy of; The dear-bought rings Shall drag thee to death, Whereon thou swarest Oath unto Sigurd. "Ah, in the days bygone, Great mirth in the home-field, When my Sigurd Set saddle on Grani, And they went their ways For the wooing of Brynhild! An ill day, an ill woman, And most ill hap!" Then spake Brynhild, Budli's daughter:-- "May the woman lack Both love and children, Who gained greeting For thee, O Gudrun! Who gave thee this morning Many words!" Then spake Gullrond, Giuki's daughter:-- "Hold peace of such words, Thou hated of all folk! The bane of brave men Hast thou been ever; All waves of ill Wash over thy mind; To seven great kings Hast thou been a sore sorrow, And the death of good-will To wives and women." Then spake Brynhild, Budli's daughter:-- "None but Atli Brought bale upon us; My very brother, Born of Budli. "When we saw in the hall Of the Hunnish people The gold a-gleaming On the kingly Giukings; I have paid for that faring Oft and fully, And for the sight That then I saw." By a pillar she stood And strained its wood to her; From the eyes of Brynhild, Budli's daughter, Flashed out fire, And she snorted forth venom, As the sore wounds she gazed on Of the dead-slain Sigurd. William Morris in 'The Story of the Voelsungs and Niblungs': translated by Magnusson and Morris, London, 1870 THE WAKING OF BRUNHILDE ON THE HINDFELL BY SIGURD From 'The Story of Sigurd the Voelsung,' by William Morris He looketh, and loveth her sore, and he longeth her spirit to move, And awaken her heart to the world, that she may behold him and love. And he toucheth her breast and her hands, and he loveth her passing sore; And he saith, "Awake! I am Sigurd;" but she moveth never the more.