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At Tuillemont, an English gentleman once told me he had the misfortune to sleep one night where all the people's heads were full of the Emperor, who had dined there the day before; and some wise fellow of the place wrote these lines under his picture: Ingreditur magnus magno de Cæsare Cæsar, Thenas, sub signo Cervi, sua prandia sumit.
So at nightfall, thenas Sigrun came to the mound, she sang: SIGRUN: Here now would he come, If to come he were minded; Sigmund's offspring From the halls of Odin. O me the hope waneth Of Helgi's coming; For high on the ash-boughs Are the ernes abiding, And all folk drift Toward the Thing of the dreamland.
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