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 But he gazed on the Niblung woman, and the

daughter of his folk, Who sat o'er all unchanging ere the war-cloud over

them broke.

Now nothing might men hearken in the house of

Atli's weal, Save the feet slow tramping onward, and the rattling

of the steel, And the song of the glorious Gunnar, that rang as

clearly now

As the speckled storm-cock singeth from the scant- leaved hawthorn-bough, When the sun is dusking over and the March snow

pelts the land. There stood the mighty Gunnar with sword and

shield in hand, There stood the shieldless Hogni with set unangry

eyes, And watched the wall of war-shields o'er the dead

men's rampart rise, And the white blades flickering nigher, and the

quavering points of war. Then the heavy air of the feast-hall was rent with a

fearful roar, And the turmoil came and the tangle, as the wall

together ran : Uut aloft yet towered the Niblungs, and man toppled

over man, And leapt and struggled to tear them; as whiles

amidst the sea

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