Upstood the Earls of Siggeir, and each man drew anigh And deemed his time was coming for a glorious gain and high; But for all their mighty shaping and their deeds in the battle-wood, No looser in the Branstock that gift of Odin stood. Then uprose Volsung's homemen, and the fell-abiding folk; And the yellow-headed shepherds came gathering round the Oak, And the searchers of the thicket and the dealers with the oar: And the least and the worst of them all was a mighty man of war. But for all their mighty shaping, and the struggle and the strain Of their hands, the deft in labour, they tugged thereat in vain; And still as the shouting and jeers, and the names of men and the laughter Beat backward from gable to gable, and rattled o'er roof-tree and rafter, Moody and still sat Siggeir; for he said: "They have trained me here As a mock for their woodland bondsmen; and yet shall they buy it dear." Now the tumult sank a little, and men cried on Volsung the King And his sons, the hedge of battle, to try the fateful thing. So Volsung laughed, and answered: "I will set me to the toil, Lest these my guests of the Goth-folk should deem I fear the foil. Yet nought am I ill-sworded, and the oldest friend is best; And this, my hand's first fellow, will I bear to the grave-mound's rest, Nor wield meanwhile another: Yea, this shall I have in hand When mid the host of Odin in the Day of Doom I stand." Therewith from his belt of battle he raised the golden sheath, And showed the peace-strings glittering about the hidden death: Then he laid his hand on the Branstock, and cried: "O tree beloved, I thank thee of thy good-heart that so little thou art moved: Abide thou thus, green bower, when I am dead and gone And the best of all my kindred a better day hath won!" Then as a young man laughed he, and on the hilts of gold His hand, the battle-breaker, took fast and certain hold, And long he drew and strained him, but mended not the tale, Yet none the more thereover his mirth of heart did fail; But he wended to the high-seat and thence began to cry: "Sons I have gotten and cherished, now stand ye forth to try; Lest Odin tell in God-home how from the way he strayed, And how to the man he would not he gave away his blade." So therewithal rose Rerir, and wasted might and main; Then Gunthiof, and then Hunthiof, they wearied them in vain; Nought was the might of Agnar; nought Helgi could avail; Sigi the tall and Solar no further brought the tale, Nor Geirmund the priest of the temple, nor Gylfi of the wood.