Directory:EPIC & SAGA


BY long roads rides Sigurd, till he comes at the last up on to Hindfell, and wends his way south to the land of the Franks; and he sees before him on the fell a great light, as of fire burning, and flaming up even unto the heavens; and when he came thereto, lo a shieldhung castle before him, and a banner on the topmost thereof: into the castle went Sigurd, and saw one lying there asleep, and all-armed. Therewith he takes the helm from off the head of him, and sees that it no man, but a woman; and she was clad in a byrny as closely set on her as though it had grown to her flesh; so he rent it from the collar downwards; and then the sleeves thereof, and ever the sword bit on it as if it were cloth. Then said Sigurd that overlong had she lain asleep; but she asked—

“What thing of great might is it that has prevailed to rend my byrny, and draw me from my sleep?”

Even as sings the song〖The stanzas on the two following pages were inserted here from Sigdrifasmál by the translators.〗

What bit on the byrny,

Why breaks my sleep away,

Who has turned from me

My wan tormenting?

“Ah, is it so, that here is come Sigurd Sigmundson, bearing Fafnir's helm on his head and Fafnir's bane in his hand?”

Then answered Sigurd—

Sigmund's son

With Sigurd's sword

E'en now rent down

The raven's wall.

“Of the Volsung's kin is he who has done the deed; but now I have heard that thou art daughter of a mighty king, and folk have told us that thou wert lovely and full of lore, and now I will try the same.”

Then Brynhild sang—

Long have I slept

  And slumbered long,

Many and long are the woes of mankind,

  By the might of Odin

  Must I bide helpless

To shake from off me the spells of slumber.

   Hail to the day come back!

  Hail, sons of the daylight!

Hail to thee, dark night, and thy daughter!

  Look with kind eyes a-down,

  On us sitting here lonely,

And give unto us the gain that we long for.

   Hail to the Æsir,

  And the sweet Asyniur!〖Goddesses.〗

Hail to the fair earth fulfilled of plenty!

  Fair words, wise hearts,

  Would we win from you,

And healing hands while life we hold.”

Then Brynhild speaks again and says, “Two kings fought, one hight Helm Gunnar, an old man, and the greatest of warriors, and Odin had promised the victory unto him; but his foe was Agnar, or Audi's brother: and so I smote down Helm Gunnar in the fight; and Odin, in vengeance for that deed, struck the sleep-thorn into me, and said that I should never again have the victory, but should be given away in marriage; but there-against I vowed a vow, that never would I wed one who knew the name of fear.”

Then said Sigurd, “Teach us the lore of mighty matters!”

She said, “Belike thou cannest more skill in all than I; yet will I teach thee; yea, and with thanks, if there be aught of my cunning that will in anywise pleasure thee, either of runes or of other matters that are the root of things; but now let us drink together, and may the Gods give to us twain a good day, that thou mayst win good help and fame from my wisdom, and that thou mayst hereafter mind thee of that which we twain speak together.”

Then Brynhild filled a beaker and bore it to Sigurd, and gave him the drink of love, and spake—

“Beer bring I to thee,

Fair fruit of the byrnies' clash,

Mixed is it mightily,

Mingled with fame,

Brimming with bright lays

And pitiful runes,

Wise words, sweet words,

Speech of great game.

Runes of war know thou,

If great thou wilt be!

Cut them on hilt of hardened sword,

Some on the brand's back,

Some on its shining side,

Twice name Tyr therein.

Sea-runes good at need,

Learnt for ship's saving,

For the good health of the swimming horse;

On the stern cut them,

Cut them on the rudder-blade

And set flame to shaven oar:

Howso big be the sea-hills,

How so blue beneath,

Hail from the main then comest thou home.

Word-runes learn well

If thou wilt that no man

Pay back grief for the grief thou gavest;

Wind thou these,

Weave thou these,

Cast thou these all about thee,

At the Thing,

Where folk throng,

Unto the full doom faring.

Of ale-runes know the wisdom

If thou wilt that another's wife

Should not bewray thine heart that trusteth:

Cut them on the mead-horn,

On the back of each hand,

And nick an N upon thy nail.

Ale have thou heed

To sign from all harm

Leek lay thou in the liquor,

Then I know for sure

Never cometh to thee,

Mead with hurtful matters mingled.

Help-runes shalt thou gather

If skill thou wouldst gain

To loosen child from low-laid mother;

Cut be they in hands hollow,

Wrapped the joints round about;

Call for the Good-folks' gainsome helping.

Learn the bough-runes wisdom

If leech-lore thou lovest;

And wilt wot about wounds' searching

On the bark be they scored;

On the buds of trees

Whose boughs look eastward ever.

Thought-runes shalt thou deal with

If thou wilt be of all men

Fairest-souled wight, and wisest,

These areded

These first cut

These first took to heart high Hropt.

On the shield were they scored

That stands before the shining God,

On Early-waking's ear,

On All-knowing's hoof,

On the wheel which runneth

Under Rognir's chariot;

On Sleipnir's jaw-teeth,

On the sleigh's traces.

On the rough bear's paws,

And on Bragi's tongue,

On the wolf's claws,

And on eagle's bill,

On bloody wings,

And bridge's end;

On loosing palms,

And pity's path:

On glass, and on gold,

And on goodly silver,

In wine and in wort,

And the seat of the witch-wife;

On Gungnir's point,

And Grani's bosom;

On the Norn's nail,

And the neb of the night-owl.

All these so cut,

Were shaven and sheared,

And mingled in with holy mead,

And sent upon wide ways enow;

Some abide with the Elves,

Some abide with the Æsir,

Or with the wise Vanir,

Some still hold the sons of mankind.

These be the book-runes,

And the runes of good help,

And all the ale-runes,

And the runes of much might;

To whomso they may avail,

Unbewildered unspoilt;

They are wholesome to have:

Thrive thou with these then.

When thou hast learnt their lore,

Till the Gods end thy life-days.

Now shalt thou choose thee

E'en as choice is bidden,

Sharp steel's root and stem,

Choose song or silence;

See to each in thy heart,

All hurt has been heeded.”

Then answered Sigurd—

“Ne'er shall I flee,

Though thou wottest me fey;

Never was I born for blenching,

Thy loved rede will I

Hold aright in my heart

Even as long as I may live.”

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