"How long, O all-wise Brynhild, like the dead wilt thou abide, Nor speak to thy lord and thy husband and the man that rode thy Fire, And mocked at the bane of King-folk to accomplish thy desire? I deem thou sickenest, Brynhild, with the love of a mighty-one, The foe, the King's supplanter, he that so long hath shone Mid the honour of our fathers, and the lovely Niblung house, Like a serpent amidst of the treasure that the day makes glorious."
Yet never a word she answered, nor unto the great King turned, Till through all the patience of King-folk the flame of his anger burned, And his voice was the rattling thunder, as he cried across the bed:
"O who art thou, fearful woman? art thou one of the first of the dead? Hast thou long ago seen and hated the tide of the Niblung praise, And clad thee in flesh twice over for the bane of our happy days? Art thou come from the far-off country that none may live and behold For the bane of the King of the Niblungs, and of Sigurd lord of the Gold?"
Then she raised herself on her elbow and turned her eyes on the King: "O tell me, Gunnar," she said, "that thou gavest Andvari's Ring To thy sister the white-armed Gudrun!--thou, not thy captain of war, The son of the God-born Volsungs, the Lord of the Treasure of yore! O swear it that I may live! that I may be glad in thine hall, And weave with the wisdom of women, and broider the purple and pall, And look in thy face at the chess-play, and drink of thy carven cup, And whisper a word in season when the voice of the wise goes up, And speak thee the speech of kindness by the hallowed Niblung hearth. O swear it, King of the Niblungs, lest thine honour die of the dearth! O swear it, lord I have wedded, lest mine honour come to nought, And I be but a wretch and a bondmaid for a year's embracing bought!"
Till his heart hath heard her meaning at the golden bed he stares, And the last of the words she speaketh flit empty past his ears; For he knows that the tale of the night-tide hath been told and understood, And now of her shame was he deeming e'en worse than Brynhild would. So he turns from her face and the chamber with his glory so undone, That he saith the Gods did evil when the mighty work they won, And wrought the Burg of the Niblungs, and fashioned his fathers' days, And led them on to the harvest of the deeds and the people's praise. And nought he sees to amend it, save the hungry eyeless sword, And the war without hope or honour, and the strife without reward.