Wilt thou thrust my gift away, and shame the hand of a queen?"

So he took the cup from her fingers, and pondered over it long,
And thought on the labour that should be, and the wrong that
amendeth wrong.

Then spake Sigmund the King: "O son, what aileth thine heart,
When the earls of men are merry, and thrust all care apart?"

But he said: "I have looked in the cup, and I see the deadly snare."

"Well seen it is," quoth Sigmund, "but thy burden I may bear."
And he took the beaker and drained it, and the song rose up in the
hall;
And fair bethought King Sigmund his latter days befall.

But again came Borghild the Queen and stood with the cup in her hand,
And said: "They are idle liars, those singers of every land
Who sing how thou fearest nothing; for thou losest valour and might,
And art fain to live for ever."
Then she stretched forth her fingers white,
And he took the cup from her hand, nor drank, but pondered long
Of the toil that begetteth toil, and the wrong that beareth wrong.

But Sigmund turned him about, and he said: "What aileth thee, son?
Shall our life-days never be merry, and our labour never be done?"

But Sinfiotli said: "I have looked, and lo there is death in the cup."

And the song, and the tinkling of harp-strings to the roof-tree