But when the morrow was come he went to his mother and spake: "The shards, the shards of the sword, that thou gleanedst for my sake In the night on the field of slaughter, in the tide when my father fell, Hast thou kept them through sorrow and joyance? hast thou warded them trusty and well? Where hast thou laid them, my mother?" Then she looked upon him and said: "Art thou wroth, O Sigurd my son, that such eyes are in thine head? And wilt thou be wroth with thy mother? do I withstand thee at all?" "Nay," said he, "nought am I wrathful, but the days rise up like a wall Betwixt my soul and the deeds, and I strive to rend them through. * * * * * "Now give me the sword, my mother, that Sigmund gave thee to keep." She said: "I shall give it thee gladly, for fain shall I be of thy praise When thou knowest my careful keeping of that hope of the earlier days." So she took his hand in her hand, and they went their ways, they twain; Till they came to the treasure of queen-folk, the guarded chamber of gain: They were all alone with its riches, and she turned the key in the gold, And lifted the sea-born purple, and the silken web unrolled, And lo, 'twixt her hands and her bosom the shards of Sigmund's sword; No rust-fleck stained its edges, and the gems of the ocean's hoard Were as bright in the hilts and glorious, as when in the Volsungs' hall It shone in the eyes of the earl-folk and flashed from the shielded wall. But Sigurd smiled upon it, and he said: "O Mother of Kings, Well hast thou warded the war-glaive for a mirror of many things, And a hope of much fulfilment: well hast thou given to me The message of my fathers, and the word of thing to be: Trusty hath been thy warding, but its hour is over now: These shards shall be knit together, and shall hear the war-wind blow." * * * * * Then she felt his hands about her as he took the fateful sword, And he kissed her soft and sweetly; but she answered never a word: * * * * * But swift on his ways went Sigurd, and to Regin's house he came, Where the Master stood in the doorway and behind him leapt the flame, And dark he looked and little: no more his speech was sweet, No words on his lip were gathered the Volsung child to greet, Till he took the sword from Sigurd and the shards of the days of old; Then he spake: "Will nothing serve thee save this blue steel and cold, The bane of thy father's father, the fate of all his kin, The baleful blade I fashioned, the Wrath that the Gods would win?" Then answered the eye-bright Sigurd: "If thou thy craft wilt do, Nought save these battle-gleanings shall be my helper true:"