"I lov'd, this is my tale, and died--
The fierce chief hunger'd for my bride--
The spear of Gisli pierc'd my side!
"And she--her love fill'd all my need--
Her vows were sweet and strong as mead;
Look, father--doth my heart still bleed?
"I built her round with shaft and spear,
I kept her mine for one brief year--
She laugh'd above my blood stain'd bier!
"Upon a far and ice-peak'd coast
My galleys by long winds were toss'd--
There Gisli feasted with his host.
"Of warriors triumphant--he
Strode out from harps and revelry;
And sped his shaft above the sea!
"Look, father, doth my heart bleed yet?
His arrow Brynhild's arrow met--
My gallies anchor'd in their rest.
"Again their arrows meet--swift lies
That pierc'd me from their smiling eyes;
How fiercely hard a man's heart dies!
"She false--he false! There came a day
Pierc'd by the fierce chief's spear I lay--
My ghost rose shrieking from its clay.
"I saw on Brynhild's golden vest
The shining locks of Gisli rest;
I sought the Hell-way to the Blest.
"Father, put forth thy hand and tear
Their twin shafts from my heart, all bare
To thee--they rankle death--like there!
* * * * *
Said the voice of Evil to the ear of Good,
"Clasp thou my strong, right hand,
"Nor shall our clasp be known or understood
"By any in the land.
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