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Atli sent | of old to Gunnar A keen-witted rider, | Knefröth did men call him;
To Gjuki's home came he | and to Gunnar's dwelling, With benches round the hearth, | and to the beer so sweet.
Then the followers, hiding | their falseness, all drank Their wine in the war-hall, | of the Huns' wrath wary;
And Knefröth spake loudly, | his words were crafty, The hero from the south, | on the high bench sitting:
Now Atli has sent me | his errand to ride, On my bit-champing steed | through Myrkwood the secret,
To bid You, Gunnar, | to his benches to come, With helms round the hearth, | and Atli's home seek.
His head turned Gunnar, | and to Hogni he said:
What seeks she to say, | that she sends us a ring, Woven with a wolf's hair? | methinks it gives warning;
In the red ring a hair | of the heath-dweller found I, Wolf-like shall our road be | if we ride on this journey.
The wolves then shall rule | the wealth of the Niflungs, Wolves aged and grey-hued, | if Gunnar is lost,
And black-coated bears | with rending teeth bite, And make glad the dogs, | if Gunnar returns not.
Then let the bold heroes | their bit-champing horses On the mountains gallop, | and through Myrkwood the secret;
All Hunland was shaken | where the hard-souled ones rode, On the whip-fearers fared they | through fields that were green.
Then they saw Atli's halls, | and his watch-towers high, On the walls so lofty | stood the warriors of Buthli;
The hall of the southrons | with seats was surrounded, With targets bound | and shields full bright.
Mid weapons and lances | did Atli his wine In the war-hall drink, | without were his watchmen,
For Gunnar they waited, | if forth he should go, With their ringing spears | they would fight with the ruler.
This their sister saw, | as soon as her brothers Had entered the hall,- | little ale had she drunk:
Betrayed art thou, Gunnar! | what guard hast thou, hero, 'Gainst the plots of the Huns? | from the hall flee swiftly!
Brother, 'twere far better | to have come in byrnie, With thy household helmed, | to see Atli's home,
And to sit in the saddle | all day 'neath the sun, That the sword-norns might weep | for the death-pale warriors,
And the Hunnish shield-maids | might shun not the sword, And send Atli himself | to the den of the snakes;
Now the den of the snakes | for thee is destined.
Then Gunnar they seized, | and they set him in chains, The Burgundians' king, | and fast they bound him.
Hogni slew seven | with sword so keen, And an eighth he flung | in the fire hot;
A hero should fight | with his foemen thus, As Hogni strove | in Gunnar's behalf.
The leader they asked | if his life he fain With gold would buy, | the king of the Goths.
First the heart of Hogni | shall ye lay in my hands, All bloody from the breast | of the bold one cut
With ke-en-biting sword, | from the son of the king.
They cut out the heart | from the breast of Hjalli, On a platter they bore it, | and brought it to Gunnar.
Then Gunnar spake forth, | the lord of the folk:
Here have I the heart | of Hjalli the craven, Unlike to the heart | of Hogni the valiant,
For it trembles still | as it stands on the platter; Twice more did it tremble | in the breast of the man.
Then Hogni laughed | when they cut out the heart Of the living helm-hammerer; | tears he had not.
On a platter they bore it, | and brought it to Gunnar.
Then Gunnar spake forth, | the spear of the Niflungs:
Here have I the heart | of Hogni the valiant, Unlike to the heart | of Hjalli the craven,
Little it trembles | as it lies on the platter, Still less did it tremble | when it lay in his breast.
So distant, Atli, | from all men's eyes, Shalt thou be as thou | are from the gold.
To no one save me | is the secret known Of the Niflungs' hoard, | now Hogni is dead;
Of old there were two, | while we twain were alive, Now is none but I, | for I only am living.
The swift Rhine shall hold | the strife-gold of heroes, That once was the Æsir's, | the wealth of the Niflungs,
In the depths of the waters | the death-rings shall glitter, And not shine on the hands | of the Hunnish men.
Ye shall bring the wagon, | for now is he bound.
Then the champer of bits | drew the chieftain great, The gold-guarder, down | to the place of death.
By the warriors' host | was the living hero Cast in the den | where crawling about
Within were serpents, | but soon did Gunnar With his hand in wrath | on the harp-strings smite;
The strings resounded,- | so shall a hero, A ring-breaker, gold | from his enemies guard.
Then Atli rode | on his earth-treading steed, Seeking his home, | from the slaughter-place;
There was clatter of hoofs | of the steeds in the court, And the clashing of arms | as they came from the field.
Out then came Guthrun | to meeting with Atli, With a golden beaker | as gift to the monarch:
Thou mayst eat now, chieftain, | within thy dwelling, Blithely with Guthrun | young beasts fresh slaughtered.
The drink-heavy ale-cups | of Atli resounded, When there in the hall | the Hunnish youths clamored,
And the warriors bearded, | the brave ones, entered.
Then in came the shining one, | and drink she bore them; Unwilling and bitter | brought she food to the warrior,
Till in scorn to the white-faced | Atli did she speak:
Thou giver of swords, | of thy sons the hearts All heavy with blood | in honey thou hast eaten;
Thou shalt stomach, thou hero, | the flesh of the slain, To eat at thy feast, | and to send to thy followers.
Thou shalt never call | to thy knees again Erp or Eitil, | when merry with ale;
Thou shalt never see | in their seats again The sharers of gold | their lances shaping,
Clipping the manes | or minding their steeds.
There was clamor on the benches, | and the cry of men, The clashing of weapons, | and weeping of the Huns,
Save for Guthrun only, | she wept not ever For her bear-fierce brothers, | or the boys so dear,
So young and so unhappy, | whom with Atli she had.
Unwise then was Atli, | he had drunk to wildness, No weapon did he have, | and of Guthrun bewared not;
With her sword she gave blood | for the bed to drink, With her hel-dealing hand, | and the hounds she loosed,
The thralls she awakened, | and a firebrand threw In the door of the hall; | so vengeance she had.
To the flames she gave all | who yet were within, And from Myrkheim had come | from the *** of Gunnar;
The timbers old fell, | the temple was in flames, The dwelling of the Buthlungs, | and the shield-maids burned,
They were slain in the house, | in the hot flames they sank.
Now the tale is all told, | nor in later time Will a woman in byrnie | avenge so her brothers;
The fair one to three | of the kings of the folk Brought the doom of death | ere herself she died.