"Thy word is good," quoth Gunnar, "a happy word indeed: Lo, how shall I fear a woman, who have played with kings in my need? Yea, how may I speak of my sister, save well remembering How goodly she was aforetime, how fair in everything, How kind in the days passed over, how all fulfilled of love For the glory of the Niblungs, and the might that the world shall move? She shall see my face and Hogni's, she shall yearn to do our will, And the latter days of her brethren with glory shall fulfil."
Then Grimhild laughed and answered: "Today then shalt thou ride To the dwelling of Thora the Queen, for there doth thy sister abide."
As she spake came the wise-heart Hogni, and that speech of his mother he heard, And he said: "How then are ye saying a new and wonderful word, That ye meddle with Gudrun's sorrow, and her grief of heart awake? Will ye draw out a dove from her nest, and a worm to your hall-hearth take?"
"What then," said his brother Gunnar, "shall we thrust by Atli's word? Shall we strive, while the world is mocking, with the might of the Eastland sword, While the wise are mocking to see it, how the great devour the great?"
"O wise-heart Hogni," said Grimhild, "wilt thou strive with the hand of fate, And thrust back the hand of Odin that the Niblung glory will crown? Wert thou born in a cot-carle's chamber, or the bed of a King's renown?"
"I know not, I know not," said Hogni, "but an unsure bridge is the sea, And such would I oft were builded betwixt my foeman and me. I know a sorrow that sleepeth, and a wakened grief I know, And the torment of the mighty is a strong and fearful foe."
They spake no word before him; but he said: "I see the road; I see the ways we must journey--I have long cast off the load, The burden of men's bearing wherein they needs must bind All-eager hope unseeing with eyeless fear and blind: So today shall my riding be light; nor now, nor ever henceforth Shall men curse the sword of Hogni in the tale of the Niblung worth."
Therewith he went out from before them, and through chamber and hall he cried On the best of the Niblung earl-folk, for that now the Kings would ride: Soon are all men assembled, and their shields are fresh and bright, Nor gold their raiment lacketh; then the strong-necked steeds they dight, They dight the wain for Grimhild, and she goeth up therein, And the well-clad girded maidens have left the work they win, To sit by the Mother of Kings and make her glory great: Then to horse get the Kings of the Niblungs, and ride out by the ancient gate; And amidst its dusky hollows stir up the sound of swords: Forth then from the hallowed houses ride on those war-fain lords, Till they come to the dales deserted, and the woodland waste and drear; There the wood-wolves shrink before them, fast flee the forest-deer, And the stony wood-ways clatter as the Niblung host goes by. Adown by the feet of the mountains that eve in sleep they lie, And arise on the morrow-morning and climb the mountain-pass, And the sunless hollow places, and the slopes that hate the grass. So they cross the hither ridges and ride a stony bent Adown to the dale of Thora, and the country of content; By the homes of a simple people, by cot and close they go, Till they come to Thora's dwelling; but fair it stands and low Amidst of orchard-closes, and round about men win Fair work in field and garden, and sweet are the sounds therein.