The Story of the Volsungs

CHAPTER XXXI. Of the Lamentation of Gudrun over Sigurd’s...

Gu­drun of old days Drew near to dy­ing As she sat in sor­row Over Sig­urd; Yet she sighed not Nor smote hand on hand, Nor wailed she aught As oth­er wom­en.

Then went earls to her. Full of all wis­dom, Fain help to deal To her dread­ful heart: Hushed was Gu­drun Of wail, or greet­ing, But with a heavy woe Was her heart a-​break­ing.

Bright and fair Sat the great earls’ brides, Gold ar­rayed Be­fore Gu­drun; Each told the tale Of her great trou­ble, The bit­ter­est bale She erst abode.

Then spake Gi­aflaug, Giu­ki’s sis­ter: “Lo up­on earth I live most love­less Who of five mates Must see the end­ing, Of daugh­ters twain And three sis­ters, Of brethren eight, And abide be­hind lone­ly.”

Naught gat Gu­drun Of wail and greet­ing, So heavy was she For her dead hus­band, So dread­ful-​heart­ed For the King laid dead there.

Then spake Her­borg Queen of Hun­land — “Cru­eller tale Have I to tell of, Of my sev­en sons Down in the South­lands, And the eighth man, my mate, Felled in the death-​mead.

“Fa­ther and moth­er, And four broth­ers, On the wide sea The winds and death played with; The bil­lows beat On the bul­wark boards.

“Alone must I sing o’er them, Alone must I ar­ray them, Alone must my hands deal with Their de­part­ing; And all this was In one sea­son’s wear­ing, And none was left For love or so­lace.

“Then was I bound A prey of the bat­tle, When that same sea­son Wore to its end­ing; As a tir­ing may Must I bind the shoon Of the duke’s high dame, Ev­ery day at dawn­ing.

“From her jeal­ous hate Gat I heavy mock­ing, Cru­el lash­es She laid up­on me, Nev­er met I Bet­ter mas­ter Or mis­tress wors­er In all the wide world.”

Naught gat Gu­drun Of wail or greet­ing, So heavy was she For her dead hus­band, So dread­ful-​heart­ed For the King laid dead there.

Then spake Gull­rond, Giu­ki’s daugh­ter — “O fos­ter-​moth­er, Wise as thou mayst be, Naught canst thou bet­ter The young wife’s bale.” And she bade un­cov­er The dead King’s corpse.

She swept the sheet Away from Sig­urd, And turned his cheek To­wards his wife’s knees — “Look on thy loved one Lay lips to his lips, E’en as thou wert cling­ing To thy king alive yet!”

Once looked Gu­drun — One look on­ly, And saw her lord’s locks Ly­ing all bloody, The great man’s eyes Glazed and dead­ly, And his heart’s bul­wark Bro­ken by sword-​edge.

Back then sank Gu­drun, Back on the bol­ster, Loosed was her head ar­ray, Red did her cheeks grow, And the rain-​drops ran Down over her knees.

Then wept Gu­drun, Giu­ki’s daugh­ter, So that the tears flowed Through the pil­low; As the geese with­al That were in the home­field, The fair fowls the may owned, Fell a-​scream­ing.

Then spake Gull­rond, Giu­ki’s daugh­ter — “Sure­ly knew I No love like your love Among all men, On the mould abid­ing; Naught wouldst thou joy in With­out or with­in doors, O my sis­ter, Save be­side Sig­urd.”

Then spake Gu­drun, Giu­ki’s daugh­ter — “Such was my Sig­urd Among the sons of Giu­ki, As is the king leek O’er the low grass wax­ing, Or a bright stone Strung on band, Or a pearl of price On a prince’s brow.

“Once was I count­ed By the king’s war­riors High­er than any Of Her­jan’s mays; Now am I as lit­tle As the leaf may be, Amid wind-​swept wood Now when dead he li­eth.

I miss from my seat, I miss from my bed, My dar­ling of sweet speech. Wrought the sons of Giu­ki, Wrought the sons of Giu­ki, This sore sor­row, Yea, for their sis­ter, Most sore sor­row.

“So may your lands Lie waste on all sides, As ye have bro­ken Your bound­en oaths! Ne’er shalt thou, Gun­nar, The gold have joy of; The dear-​bought rings Shall drag thee to death, Where­on thou swarest Oath un­to Sig­urd.

Ah, in the days by-​gone Great mirth in the home­field When my Sig­urd Set sad­dle on Grani, And they went their ways For the woo­ing of Bryn­hild! An ill day, an ill wom­an, And most ill hap!”

Then spake Bryn­hild, Budli’s daugh­ter — “May the wom­an lack Both love and chil­dren, Who gained greet­ing For thee, O Gu­drun! Who gave thee this morn­ing Many words!”

Then spake Gull­rond, Giu­ki’s daugh­ter — “Hold peace of such words Thou hat­ed of all folk! The bane of brave men Hast thou been ev­er, All waves of ill Wash over thy mind, To sev­en great kings Hast thou been a sore sor­row, And the death of good will To wives and wom­en.”

Then spake Bryn­hild, Budli’s daugh­ter — “None but Atli Brought bale up­on us, My very broth­er Born of Budli.

When we saw in the hall Of the Hun­nish peo­ple The gold a-​gleam­ing On the king­ly Giuk­ings; I have paid for that far­ing Oft and Full, And for the sight That then I saw.”

By a pil­lar she stood And strained its wood to her; From the eyes of Bryn­hild, Budli’s daugh­ter, Flashed out fire, And she snort­ed forth ven­om, As the sore wounds she gazed on Of the dead-​slain Sig­urd.

END­NOTES: (1) This chap­ter is the Ed­da­ic po­em, called the first Lay of Gu­drun, in­sert­ed here by the trans­la­tors.