So she sped to Sigurd, but chill fear
fell on her beholding him, for he was dight in the Helm of Aweing and
his golden hauberk, and the Wrath lay on his knees, neither would he
then speak to Brynhild.
So that heavy night passed away and there was but little sleep in the
abode of the Niblungs. And with the dawn Sigurd arose and sought
Brynhild's chamber where she lay as one dead. Like a pillar of light
he stood in the sunshine and the Wrath rattled by his side. And
Brynhild looked on him and said: "Art thou come to behold me?
Thou--the mightiest and the worst of my betrayers." Then for very
grief the breast of Sigurd heaved so that the rings of his byrny burst
asunder and he cried: "O live, Brynhild beloved! For hereafter shalt
thou know of the snare and the lie that entrapped us and the
measureless grief of my soul." "It is o'erlate," said Brynhild, "for I
may live no longer and the gods have forgotten the earth." And in such
despair must he leave her.
_Of the slaying of Sigurd the Volsung._
Then at high noon Brynhild sent for Gunnar and sought to whet him to
the slaying of Sigurd, for to such hatred was her love turned.
"I look upon thee," said Brynhild, "I know thy race and thy name,
Yet meseems the deed thou sparest, to amend thine evil and shame."
"Nought, nought," he said, "may amend it, save the hungry eyeless sword,
And the war without hope or honour, and the strife without reward.
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