Then said Herborg, The Queen of Hunaland: I have a harder Sorrow to tell; My seven sons And my eighth husband Fell among the slain In the southern lands. My father and mother, My four brothers; The wind played with them On the deep; The wave dashed them Against the gunwale. I myself had to wash, I myself had to bury, I myself had to handle Their corpses; All that I suffered In one year, And no man Gave me help. The same year I became a bondwoman;[351] I had to dress, And to tie the shoes Of a hersir’s wife Every morning. She threatened me Because of jealousy, And struck me with Hard blows; Nowhere found I A better house-master Nor anywhere A worse housewife. Still Gudrun Could not weep, So sad was she For her dead husband And heavy-hearted O’er the king’s corpse. Then said Gullrönd, The daughter of Gjuki: Little comfort Canst thou, foster-mother, Wise though thou art, Give the young wife. She bid them uncover The king’s corpse. She drew the sheet Off Sigurd And threw it on the ground, Before the knees of the wife:— Look on thy beloved one, Put thy mouth to his lips, As if thou did’st embrace The living king. Gudrun looked At him once; She saw his hair Dripping with blood; The flashing eyes Of the king were dead; His breast[352] Was cut with a sword. Then Gudrun sank down Upon the pillow; Loose was her hair, Flushed was her cheek And a tear-drop Fell on her knee.