~ Poetry by me ~
Gudrun and Brynhild II
In the alliterative meter "ljoðháttr"
"Would you gloat that he´s dead? How dare you enter!
Begone, you ghoul of a woman!
Ill you bore that I had wed him,
so you turned our gladness to grief.
Your fault it is he lies fallen and gored,
and Hogni´s hand was your tool.
Your jealous raving, your raging hate:
I curse your passions so cruel!"
"With deceit you lured my love from me,
by might of foul spells and magic!
You made this falcon marry a dove
to gain his gold for your brothers.
Should Fafnir´s Bane thus fettered be
to Burgundy´s baleful house?
Better it seems that slain he lies
than breathing to be your groom."
"To make Sigmund´s son forsake you, Brynhild,
magic I needed none.
Grim is your heart as as the glaciers of Iceland,
your hate as hot as a geyser.
Raw are your manners, your raven-hair coarse:
Who´d want to have you as a wife?
I gave to Sigurd my sweetest care,
you always stirred him to strife."
"The depth of our love that you dared to disturb,
Gudrun, you never will know.
It serves you right to sorrow and weep,
to wring your slim hands and to wail.
The splendid hero, the husband you miss,
not ever was he your own.
With kiss and pledge he had plighted his troth
to me, and but me for all time.
My soul´s own darling swore to me thus,
our witnesses were the stars;
in death this man is mine again--
you mourn, but with mirth I laugh:
Our wedding bed will be the pyre,
by Sigurd´s side I will burn;
the roaring flame less fierce than my wish
to be at last his bride."
© 2006 Michaela
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