afnir's death that he
alone might live and fashion the world after his evil will.

And the seventh: "Arise, O Sigurd, lest the hour be overlate!
For the sun in the mid-noon shineth, and swift is the hand of Fate:
Arise! lest the world run backward and the blind heart have its will,
And once again be tangled the sundered good and ill;
Lest love and hatred perish, lest the world forget its tale,
And the Gods sit deedless, dreaming, in the high-walled heavenly vale."

Then swift ariseth Sigurd, and the Wrath in his hand is bare,
And he looketh, and Regin sleepeth, and his eyes wide-open glare;
But his lips smile false in his dreaming, and his hand is on the sword;
For he dreams himself the Master and the new world's fashioning-lord,
And his dream hath forgotten Sigurd, and the King's life lies in the pit;
He is nought; Death gnaweth upon him, while the Dwarfs in mastery sit.

But lo, how the eyes of Sigurd the heart of the guileful behold,
And great is Allfather Odin, and upriseth the Curse of the Gold,
And the Branstock bloometh to heaven from the ancient wondrous root;
The summer hath shone on its blossoms, and Sigurd's Wrath is the fruit.

* * * * *

Then his second stroke struck Sigurd, for the Wrath flashed thin and white,
And 'twixt head and trunk of Regin fierce ran the fateful light;
And there lay brother by brother a faded thing and wan.
But Sigurd cried in the desert: "So far have I wended on!
Dead are the foes of God-home that would blend the good and the ill;
And the World shall yet be famous, and the Gods shall have their will.
Nor shall I be dead and forgotten, while the earth grows worse and worse,
With the blind heart king o'er the people, and binding curse with curse."

_How Sigurd took to him the Treasure of the Elf Andvari._

So Sigurd ate of the heart of Fafnir, and as he ate the longing to be
gone to mighty deeds grew great, and he leapt on Greyfell and sought the
home of the Dweller amid the Gold on the edge of the heath. He strode
through the doorway, and before him lay golden armour, golden coins,
and golden sands from rivers that none but the Dwarfs could mine. But
more wonderful than all other treasures were the Helm of Aweing, and the
Hauberk all of gold, while on top of the midmost heap, gleaming like
the brightest star in the sky, lay the ring of Andvari.

Sigurd put on the helm and the hauberk, and dragged