"Here are glad men about us, and a joyous folk of war, And they that have loved thee for long, and they that have cherished mine heart; But we twain alone are woeful, as sad folk sitting apart. Ah, if I thy soul might gladden! if thy lips might give me peace! Then belike were we gladdest of all; for I love thee more than these. The cup of goodwill that thou bearest, and the greeting thou wouldst say, Turn these to the cup of thy love, and the words of the troth-plighting day; The love that endureth for ever, and the never-dying troth, To face the Norns' undoing, and the Gods amid their wrath." * * * * * And his clear voice saith: "O Gudrun, now hearken while I swear That the sun shall die for ever and the day no more be fair, Ere I forget thy pity and thine inmost heart of love! Yea, though the Kings be mighty, and the Gods be great above, I will wade the flood and the fire, and the waste of war forlorn, To look on the Niblung dwelling, and the house where thou wert born." Strange seemed the words to Sigurd that his gathering love compelled, And sweet and strange desire o'er his tangled trouble welled. But bright flashed the eyes of Gudrun, and she said: "King, as for me, If thou sawest the heart in my bosom, what oath might better thee? Yet my words thy words shall cherish, as thy lips my lips have done. --Herewith I swear, O Sigurd, that the earth shall hate the sun, And the year desire but darkness, and the blossoms shrink from day, Ere my love shall fail, beloved, or my longing pass away!" So they twain went hand in hand to stand before Giuki and Grimhild and the swart-haired Niblung brethren, and all these were glad-hearted when they marked their joy and goodlihead. Then Sigurd spake noble words of thanks to Giuki for all past kindness, and bade Giuki call him son because he had that day bidden Gudrun to wife, and he sware also to toil for her exalting and for the weal of all the Niblung kin. Thereto Giuki answered glad-hearted, "Hail, Sigurd, son of mine eld!" and called upon Grimhild the Queen to bless him. Thus was Sigurd troth-plight to the white-armed Gudrun, and all men were fain of their love and spake nought but praise of him.