e it. Then King Volsung, laughing, seized
the hilt, and drew with all his strength; but the sword held still in
the wood of Odin's tree. And one by one the nine sons of Volsung tugged
and strained in vain; and each was greeted with shouts and laughter, as,
ashamed and beaten, he wended to his seat again. Then, at last, Sigmund,
the youngest son, stood up, and laid his hand upon the ruddy hilt,
scarce thinking to try what all had failed to do. When, lo! the blade
came out of the tree as if therein it had all along lain loose. And
Sigmund raised it high over his head, and shook it, and the bright flame
that leaped from its edge lit up the hall like the lightning's gleaming;
and the Volsungs and their guests rent the air with cheers and shouts of
gladness. For no one among all the men of the mid-world was more worthy
of Odin's gift than young Sigmund the brave."

But the rest of Mimer's story would be too long to tell you now; for he
and his young apprentice sat for hours by the dying coals, and talked of
Siegfried's kinfolk,--the Volsung kings of old. And he told how Siggeir,
the Goth king, was wedded to Signy the fair, the only daughter of
Volsung, and the pride of the old king's heart; and how he carried
her with him to his home in the land of the Goths; and how he coveted
Sigmund's sword, and plotted to gain it by guile; and how, through
presence of friendship, he invited the Volsung kings to visit him in
Gothland, as the guests of himself and Signy; and how he betrayed and
slew them, save Sigmund alone, who escaped, and for long years lived an
outlaw in the land of his treacherous foe. And then he told how Sigmund
afterwards came back to his own country of the Volsungs; and how his
people welcomed him, and he became a mighty king, such as the world had
never known before; and how, when he had grown old, and full of years
and honors, he went out with his earls and fighting-men to battle
against the hosts of King Lyngi the Mighty; and how, in the midst of the
fight, when his sword had hewn down numbers of the foe, and the end of
the strife and victory seemed near, an old man, one eyed and bearded,
and wearing a cloud-gray cloak, stood up before him in the din, and
his sword was broken in pieces, and he fell dead on the heap of the
slain.[EN#4] And, when Mimer had finished his tale, his dark face seemed
to grow darker, and his twinkling eyes grew brighter, as he cried out in
a tone of despair and hopeless yearning,--

"