Then upright by the bed of the Niblungs for a moment doth she stand, And the blade flasheth bright in the chamber, but no more they hinder her hand Than if a God were smiting to rend the world in two: Then dulled are the glittering edges, and the bitter point cleaves through The breast of the all-wise Brynhild, and her feet from the pavement fail, And the sigh of her heart is hearkened mid the hush of the maidens' wail. Chill, deep is the fear upon them, but they bring her aback to the bed, And her hand is yet on the hilts, and sidelong droopeth her head. Then there cometh a cry from withoutward, and Gunnar's hurrying feet Are swift on the kingly threshold, and Brynhild's blood they meet. Low down o'er the bed he hangeth and hearkeneth for her word, And her heavy lids are opened to look on the Niblung lord, And she saith: "I pray thee a prayer, the last word in the world I speak, That ye bear me forth to Sigurd, and the hand my hand would seek; The bale for the dead is builded, it is wrought full wide on the plain, It is raised for Earth's best Helper, and thereon is room for twain: Ye have hung the shields about it, and the Southland hangings spread, There lay me adown by Sigurd and my head beside his head." * * * * * Then they took the body of Brynhild in the raiment that she wore, And out through the gate of the Niblungs the holy corpse they bore, And thence forth to the mead of the people, and the high-built shielded bale; Then afresh in the open meadows breaks forth the women's wail When they see the bed of Sigurd and the glittering of his gear; And fresh is the wail of the people as Brynhild draweth anear, And the tidings go before her that for twain the bale is built, That for twain is the oak-wood shielded and the pleasant odours spilt.