HEREIN IS TOLD OF THE DAYS OF THE NIBLUNGS AFTER THEY SLEW SIGURD, AND OF THEIR WOEFUL NEED AND FALL IN THE HOUSE OF KING ATLI.
Hear now of those Niblung war-kings, how in glorious state they dwell; They do and undo at their pleasure and wear their life-days well; They deal out doom to the people, and their hosts of war array, Nor storm nor wind nor winter their eager swords shall stay: They ride the lealand highways, they ride the desert plain, They cry out kind to the Sea-god and loose the wave-steed's rein: They climb the unmeasured mountains, and gleam on the world beneath, And their swords are the blinding lightning, and their shields are the shadow of death: When men tell of the lords of the Goth-folk, of the Niblungs is their word, All folk in the round world's compass of their mighty fame have heard: They are lords of the Ransom of Odin, the uncounted sea-born Gold, The Grief of the wise Andvari, the Death of the Dwarfs of old, The gleaming Load of Greyfell, the ancient Serpent's Bed, The store of the days forgotten, by the dead heaped up for the dead. Lo, such are the Kings of the Niblungs, but yet they crave and desire Lest the world hold greater than they, lest the Gods and their kindred be higher.
Fair, bright is their hall in the even; still up to the cloudy roof There goeth the glee and the singing while the eagles chatter aloof, And the Gods on the hangings waver in the doubtful wind of night; Still fair are the linen-clad damsels, still are the war-dukes bright; Men come and go in the even; men come and go in the morn; Good tidings with the daybreak, fair fame with the glooming is born: --But no tidings of Sigurd and Brynhild, and whoso remembereth their days Turns back to the toil or the laughter from his words of lamenting or praise, Turns back to the glorious Gunnar, casts hope on the Niblung name, Doeth deeds from the morn to the even, and beareth no burden of shame.
Well wedded is Gunnar the King, and Hogni hath wedded a wife; Fair queens are those wives of the Niblungs, good helpmates in peace and in strife Sweet they sit on the golden high-seat, and Grimhild sitteth beside, And the years have made her glorious, and the days have swollen her pride; She looketh down on the people, from on high she looketh down, And her days have become a wonder, and her redes are wisdom's crown. She saith: Where then are the Gods? what things have they shapen and made More of might than the days I have shapen? of whom shall our hearts be afraid?