But he gazed on the Niblung woman, and the
daughter of his folk, Who sat o'er all unchanging ere the war-cloud over
them broke.
Now nothing might men hearken in the house of
Atli's weal, Save the feet slow tramping onward, and the rattling
of the steel, And the song of the glorious Gunnar, that rang as
clearly now
As the speckled storm-cock singeth from the scant- leaved hawthorn-bough, When the sun is dusking over and the March snow
pelts the land. There stood the mighty Gunnar with sword and
shield in hand, There stood the shieldless Hogni with set unangry
eyes, And watched the wall of war-shields o'er the dead
men's rampart rise, And the white blades flickering nigher, and the
quavering points of war. Then the heavy air of the feast-hall was rent with a
fearful roar, And the turmoil came and the tangle, as the wall
together ran : Uut aloft yet towered the Niblungs, and man toppled
over man, And leapt and struggled to tear them; as whiles
amidst the sea
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