“Where then was my glory and my happy life, and the hope of the days fresh born every day, though never dying?  Where then was life, and Thiodolf that once had lived?

  “But now all is changed once more; I loved thee never so well as now, and great is my grief that we must sunder, and the pain of farewell wrings my heart.  Yet since I am once more Thiodolf the Mighty, in my heart there is room for joy also.  Look at me, O Wood-Sun, look at me, O beloved! tell me, am I not fair with the fairness of the warrior and the helper of the folk?  Is not my voice kind, do not my lips smile, and mine eyes shine?  See how steady is mine hand, the friend of the folk!  For mine eyes are cleared again, and I can see the kindreds as they are, and their desire of life and scorn of death, and this is what they have made me myself.  Now therefore shall they and I together earn the merry days to come, the winter hunting and the spring sowing, the summer haysel, the ingathering of harvest, the happy rest of midwinter, and Yuletide with the memory of the Fathers, wedded to the hope of the days to be.  Well may they bid me help them who have holpen me!  Well may they bid me die who have made me live!

  “For whereas thou sayest that I am not of their blood, nor of their adoption, once more I heed it not.  For I have lived with them, and eaten and drunken with them, and toiled with them, and led them in battle and the place of wounds and slaughter; they are mine and I am theirs; and through them am I of the whole earth, and all the kindreds of it; yea, even of the foemen, whom this day the edges in mine hand shall smite.

  “Therefore I will bear the Hauberk no more in battle; and belike my body but once more: so shall I have lived and death shall not have undone me.

  “Lo thou, is not this the Thiodolf whom thou hast loved? no changeling of the Gods, but the man in whom men have trusted, the friend of Earth, the giver of life, the vanquisher of death?”

  And he cast himself upon her, and strained her to his bosom and kissed her, and caressed her, and awoke the bitter-sweet joy within her, as he cried out:

  “O remember this, and this, when at last I am gone from thee!”

  But when they sundered her face was bright, but the tears were on it, and she said: “O Thiodolf, thou wert fain hadst thou done a wrong to me so that I might forgive thee; now wilt thou forgive me the wrong I have done thee?”

  “Yea,” he said, “Even so would I do, were we both to live, and how much more if this be the dawn of our sundering day!  What hast thou done?”

  She said: “I lied to thee concerning the Hauberk when I said that no evil weird went with it: and this I did for the saving of thy life.”

  He laid his hand fondly on her head, and spake smiling: “Such is the wont of the God-kin, because they know not the hearts of men.  Tell me all the truth of it now at last.”

  She said:

  “Hear then the tale of the Hauberk and the truth there is to tell:

There was a maid of the God-kin, and she loved a man right well,

Who unto the battle was wending; and she of her wisdom knew

That thence to the folk-hall threshold should come back but a very few;

And she feared for her love, for she doubted that of these he should not be;

So she wended the wilds lamenting, as I have lamented for thee;

And many wise she pondered, how to bring her will to pass

(E’en as I for thee have pondered), as her feet led over the grass,

Till she lifted her eyes in the wild-wood, and lo! she stood before

The Hall of the Hollow-places; and the Dwarf-lord stood in the door

And held in his hand the Hauberk, whereon the hammer’s blow

The last of all had been smitten, and the sword should be hammer now.

Then the Dwarf beheld her fairness, and the wild-wood many-leaved

Before his eyes was reeling at the hope his heart conceived;

So sorely he longed for her body; and he laughed before her and cried,

‘O Lady of the Disir, thou farest wandering wide

Lamenting thy belovиd and the folk-mote of the spear,

But if amidst of the battle this child of the hammer he bear

He shall laugh at the foemen’s edges and come back to thy lily breast

And of all the days of his life-time shall his coming years be best.’

Then she bowed adown her godhead and sore for the Hauberk she prayed;

But his greedy eyes devoured her as he stood in the door and said;

‘Come lie in mine arms!  Come hither, and we twain the night to wake!

And then as a gift of the morning the Hauberk shall ye take.’

So she humbled herself before him, and entered into the cave,

The dusky, the deep-gleaming, the gem-strewn golden grave.

But he saw not her girdle loosened, or her bosom gleam on his love,

For she set the sleep-thorn in him, that he saw, but might not move,

Though the bitter salt tears burned him for the anguish of his greed;

And she took the hammer’s offspring, her unearned morning meed,

And went her ways from the rock-hall and was glad for her warrior’s sake.

But behind her dull speech followed, and the voice of the hollow spake:

‘Thou hast left me bound in anguish, and hast gained thine heart’s desire;

Now I would that the dewy night-grass might be to thy feet as the fire,

And shrivel thy raiment about thee, and leave thee bare to the flame,

And no way but a fiery furnace for the road whereby ye came!

But since the folk of God-home we may not slay nor smite,

And that fool of the folk that thou lovest, thou hast saved in my despite,

Take with thee, thief of God-home, this other word I say:

Since the safeguard wrought in the ring-mail I may not do away

I lay this curse upon it, that whoso weareth the same,

Shall save his life in the battle, and have the battle’s shame;

He shall live through wrack and ruin, and ever have the worse,

And drag adown his kindred, and bear the people’s curse.’

  “Lo, this the tale of the Hauberk, and I knew it for the truth:

And little I thought of the kindreds; of their day I had no ruth;

For I said, They are doomed to departure; in a little while must they wane,

And nought it helpeth or hindreth if I hold my hand or refrain.