J. Tolkien - The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún

139

An ancient adder

evil-swollen,

to breast it bent

and bitter stung him.

Loud cried Gunnar

life forsaking;

harp fell silent,

and heart was still.

140

To the queen that cry came

clear and piercing;

aghast she sat

in guarded bower.

Erp and Eitill

eager called she:

dark their locks were,

dark their glances.

*

141

Pyres they builded

proud and stately;

Hunland’s champions

there high upraised.

A pyre they builded

on the plain standing;

there naked lay

the Niflung lords.

142

Flames were mounting,

fire was roaring,

reek was swirling

ringed with tumult.

Smoke was fading,

sunk was burning;

windblown ashes

were wafted cold.

143

A hall was thronging,

Huns were drinking

the funeral feast

of fallen men.

Foes were vanquished,

fire had burned them;

now Atli was lord

of East and West.

144

Wealth he dealt there,

wounds requiting,

worthy weregild

of warriors slain.

Loud they praised him;

long the drinking,

wild grew the words

of the wine-bemused.

145

Gudrún came forth

goblets bearing:

Gudrún

‘Hail, O Hun-king,

health I bring thee!’

Deep drank Atli,

drained them laughing:

though gold he missed,

yet was Gunnar dead.

Gudrún

146

‘Hail, O Hun-king,

hear me speaking:

My brethren are slain

that I begged of thee.

Erp and Eitill

dost thou ask to look on?

Ask no longer –

their end hath come!

147

Their hearts thou tastest

with honey mingled,

their blood was blent

in the bowls I gave;

those bowls their skulls

bound with silver,

their bones thy hounds

have burst with teeth.’

148

There awful cries

of anguish woke;

their heads men hid

their horror shrouding.

Pale grew Atli,

as one poison-sick,

on his face crashed he

fallen swooning.

149

To bed they brought him

in bower empty,

laid him and left him

to loathsome dream.

Women were wailing,

wolves were howling,

hounds were baying

the hornéd moon.

150

In came Gudrún

with ghastly eyes,

darkly mantled,

dire of purpose.

Gudrún

‘Wake thou, woeful!

Wake from dreaming!’

In his breast the knife

she bitter drave it.

Atli

151

‘Grímhild’s daughter

ghastly-handed,

hounds should tear thee

and to hell send thee!

Stoned and branded

at the stake living

thou shouldst burn and wither

thou born of witch!’

152

Gudrún mocked him,

gasping left him.

Gudrún

‘The doom of burning

is dight for thee!

On pyre the corpse is,

prepared the faggot!

so Atli passeth

earth forsaking.’

153

Fires she kindled,

flames she brandished;

the house was roaring,

hounds were yelping.

Timbers crumbled,

trees and rafters;

there sank and died

slaves and maidens.

154

Smoke was swirling

over sleeping town,

light was lifted

over land and tree.

Women were weeping,

wolves were yammering,

hounds were howling

in the Hun-kingdom.

155

Thus Atli ended

earth forsaking,

to the Niflungs’ bane

the night was come;

of Völsung, Niflung,

of vows broken,

of woe and valour

are the words ended.

*

156

While world lasteth

shall the words linger,

while men are mindful

of the mighty days.

The woe of Gudrún

while world lasteth

till end of days

all shall hearken.

157

Her mind wavered,

her mood grew cold;

her heart withered

and hate sickened.

Life she hated,

yet life took not,

witless wandering

in the woods alone.

158

Over wan rivers,

over woods and forests,

over rocks she roamed

to the roaring sea.

In the waves she cast her,

the waves spurned her;

by the waves sitting

she woe bemoaned.

Gudrún

159

‘Of gold were the days,

gleaming silver,

silver gleaming

ere Sigurd came.

A maid was I then,

a maiden fair;

only dreams vexed me,

dreams of evil.

160

Fell sorrows five

hath fate sent me:

they slew Sigurd,

my sorrow greatest.

In evil loathing

to Atli me gave:

too long lasting

my life’s disease.

161

The heart of Högni

they hewed living:

my heart it hardened,

my hardest woe.

Gunnar heard I

in the grave crying:

my grief most grim

was that ghastly voice.

162

My sons I slew

seared with madness:

keen it bites me

most clinging woe.

There sits beside me

son nor daughter;

the world is empty,

the waves are cold.

163

They slew Sigurd:

my sorrow deepest,

my life’s loathing,

my life’s disease.

Sigurd, Sigurd,

on swift Grani

lay saddle and bridle

and seek for me!

164

Rememberest thou

what on marriage-bed

in love we pledged,

as we laid us down? –

the light I would leave

to look for thee,

from hell thou wouldst ride

and haste to me!’

165

In the waves she cast her,

the waves took her;

in the wan water

her woe was drowned.

While the world lasteth

woe of Gudrún

till the end of days

all shall hearken.

*

166

Thus glory endeth,

and gold fadeth,

on noise and clamours

the night falleth.

Lift up your hearts,

lords and maidens

for the song of sorrow

that was sung of old.

COMMENTARY

on

GUÐRÚNARKVIÐA EN NÝJA

COMMENTARY

on

GUÐRÚNARKVIÐA EN NÝJA

In this commentary Guðrúnarkviða en Nýja is referred to as ‘the Lay of Gudrún’, or where no confusion is possible as ‘the Lay’, and Völsungakviða en Nýja as ‘the Lay of the Völsungs’. As there are no sections in this poem, references are made simply by the numbers of the stanzas.

The subordinate title Dráp Niflunga means ‘The Slaying of the Niflungs’: on this name see the Lay of the Völsungs, VII.8 and note.

The relation of the Lay of Gudrún to its ancient sources is not essentially different from that of the Lay of the Völsungs, but in this case the sources are very largely extant in the poems of the Edda, and the Völsunga Saga is of far less importance. In its content the Lay of Gudrún is essentially a complex interweaving of the Eddaic poems Atlakviða and Atlamál , together with some wholly independent developments.

My father devoted much time and thought to Atlakviða, and prepared a very detailed commentary (the basis for lectures and seminars) on this extraordinarily difficult text. It is a poem that he much admired. Despite its condition, ‘we are in the presence (he wrote) of great poetry that can still move us as poetry. Its style is universally and rightly praised: rapid, terse, vigorous – while maintaining, within its narrow limits, characterization. The poet who wrote it knew how to produce the grim and deadly atmosphere his theme demanded. It lives in the memory as one of the things in the Edda most instinct with that demonic energy and force which one finds in Old Norse verse.’

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