Then all rejoiced at his word till the swords on the bucklers rang, And adown from the red-gold Treasure the Son of Sigmund sprang, And he took the hand of Giuki, and kissed him soft and sweet, And spake: "Hail, ancient of days! for thou biddest me things most meet, And thou knowest the good from the evil: few days are over and gone Since my father was old in the world ere the deed of my making was won; But Sigmund the Volsung he was, full ripe of years and of fame; And I, who have never beheld him, am Sigurd called of name; Too young in the world am I waxen that a tale thereof should be told, And yet have I slain the Serpent, and gotten the Ancient Gold, And broken the bonds of the weary, and ridden the Wavering Fire. But short is mine errand to tell, and the end of my desire: For peace I bear unto thee, and to all the kings of the earth, Who bear the sword aright, and are crowned with the crown of worth; But unpeace to the lords of evil, and the battle and the death; And the edge of the sword to the traitor, and the flame to the slanderous breath: And I would that the loving were loved, and I would that the weary should sleep, And that man should hearken to man, and that he that soweth should reap. Now wide in the world would I fare, to seek the dwellings of Kings, For with them would I do and undo, and be heart of their warfarings; So I thank thee, lord, for thy bidding, and here in thine house will I bide, And learn of thine ancient wisdom till forth to the field we ride." Glad then was the murmur of folk, for the tidings had gone forth, And its breath had been borne to the Niblungs, and the tale of Sigurd's worth. But the King said: "Welcome, Sigurd, full fair of deed and of word! And here mayst thou win thee fellows for the days of the peace and the sword; For not lone in the world have I lived, but sons from my loins have sprung, Whose deeds with the rhyme are mingled, and their names with the people's tongue." Then he took his hand in his hand, and into the hall they passed, And great shouts of salutation to the cloudy roof were cast; And they rang from the glassy pillars, and the Gods on the hangings stirred, And afar the clustering eagles on the golden roof-ridge heard, And cried out on the Sword of the Branstock as they cried in the other days: Then the harps rang out in the hall, and men sang in Sigurd's praise * * * * *