POETRY. 631 
“ Now Prince, shalt thou perish, if vengeance be due 
“‘ To love disappointed, though faithful and true! 
‘*¢ Though gallant thou rid’st to the battle afar, 
«¢ Though foremost thy steed in the red fields of war, 
‘‘ Like the death-breathing blast of the pestilent night 
‘* My hate shall o’ertake thee, my fury shall smite!” 
He left her desponding ; then sadly she rose, 
Like a lily all pale, from the couch of her woes : 
Stream’d loosely the ringlets of jet o’er her breast, 
And her eyes’ ray was languid, with sorrow opprest ; 
Yet lovely she moved, like the silvery beam 
Of the moon-light that kisses the slow-gliding stream. 
She sought Gunnar’s chamber, awhile by his side 
Stood mournfully pensive, then sternly she cried : 
“‘ To thee have I pledg’d my firm oath as thy bride, 
** And, Gunnar, I hate thee! yet be it not said, 
“‘ That Budela’s proud daughter her faith has betray’d. 
“‘ To thee (woe the hour!) by the vengeance of heaven 
‘“* The flower of my youth and my fealty was given. ° 
‘* Nor mortal shall dare with the breath of frail love 
“‘ The heart of ill-fated Brynhilda to move. 
‘‘ But never again shall I rest on thy bed, 
** And ne’er on my breast shalt thou pillow thy head, 
“ Till slain by thy steel, in the night’s silent hour, 
“« The treacherous Sigurd lies stiff in his gore : 
‘¢ Till by treason he falls, who by treason has left 
“ Brynhilda of joy and of honour bereft.” 
Sad Gunnar, what strife thy fond bosom must rend! 
First gaze on her beauty, then think of thy friend ! 
The slumber of midnight has sealed his bold eyes, 
In the arms of Gudruna defenceless he lies. 
’Tis done; in his blood the cold warrior is found, 
But breathless his murderer lies on the ground. 
Though gored and expiring, ere lifeless he fell, _ 
Stout Sigurd’s arm sent his assassin to hell, 
Mid the night’s baneful gloom, see the torches that glare! 
The mourners that give their wild locks to the air! 
She has mounted the funeral pile with the slain, 
With her slaves, with her women, a loud shrieking train. 
The fairest, the noblest for honour and truth, 
In the prime of her glory, the bloom of her youth. 
The fire shall consume them, the living and dead, 
And in one lofty mound their cold ashes be laid. 
