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SONGS FROM THE EDDA.
Yea, a goodly stem
Shall surely wax.
—But I clearly see
In what wise it standeth,
Brynhild’s sore urging
O’ermuch on thee beareth.

“Guttorm shall we
Get for the slaying,
Our younger brother
Bare of wisdom;
For he was out of
All the oaths sworn,
All the oaths sworn,
And the plighted troth.”

Easy to rouse him
Who of naught recketh!
—Deep stood the sword
In the heart of Sigurd.

There, in the hall,
Gat the high-hearted vengeance;
For he cast his sword
At the reckless slayer:
Out at Guttorm
Flew Gram the mighty,
The gleaming steel
From Sigurd’s hand.