It was a wild dreary tract of country that, which bore the name of Niflung's Heath.According to tradition, the young Niflung, son of Hogni, the last of his race, had there ended darkly a sad and unsuccessful life.Many ancient grave-stones were still standing round about; and in the few oak-trees scattered here and there over the plain, huge eagles had built their nests.The beating of their heavy wings as they fought together, and their wild screams, were heard far off in more thickly-peopled regions; and at the sound children would tremble in their cradles, and old men quake with fear as they slumbered over the blazing hearth.
As the seventh night, the last before the day of combat, was just beginning, two large armies were seen descending from the hills in opposite directions; that which came from the west was commanded by Eric the Aged, that from the east by Biorn of the Fiery Eyes.They appeared thus early in compliance with the custom which required that adversaries should always present themselves at the appointed field of battle before the time named, in order to prove that they rather sought than dreaded the fight.Folko forthwith pitched on the most convenient spot the tent of blue samite fringed with gold, which he carried with him to shelter his gentle lady; whilst Sintram, in the character of herald, rode over to Jarl Eric to announce to him that the beauteous Gabrielle of Montfaucon was present in the army of the knight Biorn, and would the next morning be present as a judge of the combat.
Jarl Eric bowed low on receiving this pleasing message; and ordered his bards to strike up a lay, the words of which ran as follows:--"Warriors bold of Eric's band, Gird your glittering armour on, Stand beneath to-morrow's sun, In your might.
Fairest dame that ever gladden'd Our wild shores with beauty's vision, May thy bright eyes o'er our combat, Judge the right!
Tidings of yon noble stranger Long ago have reach'd our ears, Wafted upon southern breezes, O'er the wave.
Now midst yonder hostile ranks, In his warlike pride he meets us, Folko comes! Fight, men of Eric, True and brave!"These wondrous tones floated over the plain, and reached the tent of Gabrielle.It was no new thing to her to hear her knight's fame celebrated on all sides; but now that she listened to his praises bursting forth in the stillness of night from the mouth of his enemies, she could scarce refrain from kneeling at the feet of the mighty chieftain.But he with courteous tenderness held her up, and pressing his lips fervently on her soft hand, he said, "My deeds, 0lovely lady, belong to thee, and not to me!"Now the night had passed away, and the east was glowing; and on Niflung's Heath there was waving, and resounding, and glowing too.
