Hark now, on the morrow morning how the blast of the mighty horn From the builded Burg of the Niblungs goes over the acres shorn, And the roads are gay with the riders, and the bull in the stall is left, And the plough is alone in the furrow, and the wedge in the hole half-cleft; And late shall the ewes be folded, and the kine come home to the pail, And late shall the fires be litten in the outmost treeless dale: For men fare to the gate of Giuki and the ancient cloudy hall, And therein are the earls assembled and the kings wear purple and pall, And the flowers are spread beneath them, and the bench-cloths beaten with gold; And the walls are strange and wondrous with the noble stories told: For new-hung is the ancient dwelling with the golden spoils of the south, And men seem merry for ever, and the praise is in each man's mouth, And the name of Sigurd the Volsung, the King and the Serpent's Bane, Who exalteth the high this morning and blesseth the masters of gain: For men drink the bridal of Sigurd and the white-armed Niblung maid, And the best with the best shall be mingled, and the gold with the gold o'erlaid. So, fair in the hall is the feasting and men's hearts are uplifted on high, And they deem that the best of their life-days are surely drawing anigh, As now, one after other, uprise the scalds renowned, And their well-beloved voices awake the hoped-for sound, In the midmost of the high-tide, and the joy of feasting lords. Then cometh a hush and a waiting, and the light of many swords Flows into the hall of Giuki by the doorway of the King, And amid those flames of battle the war-clad warriors bring The Cup of daring Promise and the hallowed Boar of Son, And men's hearts grow big with longing and great is the hope-tide grown; For bright the Son of Sigmund ariseth by the board And unwinds the knitted peace-strings that hamper Regin's Sword: Then fierce is the light on the high-seat as men set down the Cup Anigh the hand of Sigurd, and the edges blue rise up, And fall on the hallowed Wood-beast: as a trump of the woeful war Rings the voice of the mighty Volsung as he speaks the words of yore: