Then was Sigurd stirred by his glory, and he strove with the swaddling of
Death;
He turned in the pit on the highway, and the grave of the Glittering Heath;
He laughed and smote with the laughter and thrust up over his head.
And smote the venom asunder and clave the heart of Dread;
Then he leapt from the pit and the grave, and the rushing river of blood,
And fulfilled with the joy of the War-God on the face of earth he stood
With red sword high uplifted, with wrathful glittering eyes;
And he laughed at the heavens above him for he saw the sun arise,
And Sigurd gleamed on the desert, and shone in the new-born light,
And the wind in his raiment wavered, and all the world was bright.
But there was the ancient Fafnir, and the Face of Terror lay
On the huddled folds of the Serpent, that were black and ashen-grey
In the desert lit by the sun; and those twain looked each on each,
And forth from the Face of Terror went a sound of dreadful speech:
"Child, child, who art thou that hast smitten? bright child, of whence is
thy birth?"
"I am called the Wild-thing Glorious, and alone I wend on the earth."
* * * * *
"What master hath taught thee of murder?--Thou hast wasted Fafnir's day."
"I, Sigurd, knew and desired, and the bright sword learned the way.
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