But men feast in the merry noontide, and glad is the April green That a Volsung looks on the sunlight and the night and the darkness have been. Earls think of marvellous stories, and along the golden strings Flit words of banded brethren and names of war-fain Kings: All the days of the deeds of Sigmund who was born so long ago; All deeds of the glorious Signy, and her tarrying-tide of woe; Men tell of the years of Volsung, and how long agone it was That he changed his life in battle, and brought the tale to pass: Then goeth the word of the Giants, and the world seems waxen old For the dimness of King Rerir and the tale of his warfare told: Yet unhushed are the singers' voices, nor yet the harp-strings cease While yet is left a rumour of the mirk-wood's broken peace, And of Sigi the very ancient, and the unnamed Sons of God, Of the days when the Lords of Heaven full oft the world-ways trod.
So stilleth the wind in the even and the sun sinks down in the sea, And men abide the morrow and the Victory yet to be.
_Sigurd getteth to him the horse that is called Greyfell._
Now waxeth the son of Sigmund in might and goodliness, And soft the days win over, and all men his beauty bless. But amidst the summer season was the Isle-queen Hiordis wed To King Elf the son of the Helper, and fair their life-days sped. Peace lay on the land for ever, and the fields gave good increase, And there was Sigurd waxing mid the plenty and the peace.
Now hath the child grown greater, and is keen and eager of wit And full of understanding, and oft hath he joy to sit Amid talk of weighty matters when the wise men meet for speech; And joyous he is moreover and blithe and kind with each. But Regin the wise craftsmaster heedeth the youngling well, And before the Kings he cometh, and saith such words to tell.
"I have fostered thy youth, King Elf, and thine O Helper of men, And ye wot that such a master no king shall see again; And now would I foster Sigurd; for, though he be none of thy blood, Mine heart of his days that shall be speaketh abundant good."
Then spake the Helper of men-folk: "Yea, do herein thy will: For thou art the Master of Masters, and hast learned me all my skill: But think how bright is this youngling, and thy guile from him withhold; For this craft of thine hath shown me that thy heart is grim and cold, Though three men's lives thrice over thy wisdom might not learn; And I love this son of Sigmund, and mine heart to him doth yearn."