GUDRUN.
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n King Olaf's bridal nightShines the moon with tender light,And across the chamber streamsIts tide of dreams. At the fatal midnight hour,When all evil things have power,In the glimmer of the moonStands Gudrun. Close against her heaving breast,Something in her hand is pressed;Like an icicle, its sheenIs cold and keen. On the cairn are fixed her eyesWhere her murdered father lies,And a voice remote and drearShe seems to hear. What a bridal night is this!Cold will be the dagger's kiss;Laden with the chill of deathIs its breath. Like the drifting snow she sweepsTo the couch where Olaf sleeps;Suddenly he wakes and stirs,His eyes meet hers. "What is that," King Olaf said,"Gleams so bright above thy head?Wherefore standest thou so whiteIn pale moonlight?" "'Tis the bodkin that I wearWhen at night I bind my hair;It woke me falling on the floor;'Tis nothing more." "Forests have ears, and fields have eyes;Often treachery lurking liesUnderneath the fairest hair!Gudrun beware!" Ere the earliest peep of mornBlew King Olaf's bugle-horn;And forever sundered rideBridegroom and bride!
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