But lo, how the eyes of Sigurd the heart of the guileful behold,
And great is Allfather Odin, and upriseth the Curse of the Gold,
And the Branstock bloometh to heaven from the ancient wondrous root;
The summer hath shone on its blossoms, and Sigurd's Wrath is the fruit.
* * * * *
Then his second stroke struck Sigurd, for the Wrath flashed thin and white,
And 'twixt head and trunk of Regin fierce ran the fateful light;
And there lay brother by brother a faded thing and wan.
But Sigurd cried in the desert: "So far have I wended on!
Dead are the foes of God-home that would blend the good and the ill;
And the World shall yet be famous, and the Gods shall have their will.
Nor shall I be dead and forgotten, while the earth grows worse and worse,
With the blind heart king o'er the people, and binding curse with curse."
_How Sigurd took to him the Treasure of the Elf Andvari._
So Sigurd ate of the heart of Fafnir, and as he ate the longing to be
gone to mighty deeds grew great, and he leapt on Greyfell and sought the
home of the Dweller amid the Gold on the edge of the heath. He strode
through the doorway, and before him lay golden armour, golden coins,
and golden sands from rivers that none but the Dwarfs could mine.
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