Chapter III: Part 3

Doth he hold the rain in his hollow hand? Hath he cleft this water through the land?

Or doth he stay the summer-tide, And make the winter days abide?

O children, Who is the lord? ye say, Have we heard his name before to-day?

O children, if his name I know, He hight Earl Hugh of the Shivering Low:

For that herald bore on back and breast The Black Burg under the Eagle's Nest."

As the voice of the winter wind that tears At the eaves of the thatch and its emptied ears,

E'en so was the voice of laughter and scorn By the water-side in the mead new-shorn;

And over the garden and the wheat Went the voice of women shrilly-sweet.

But now by the hoary elder stood A carle in raiment red as blood.

Red was his weed and his glaive was white, And there stood Gregory the Wright.

So he spake in a voice was loud and strong: "Young is the day though the road is long;

There is time if we tarry nought at all For the kiss in the porch and the meat in the hall.

And safe shall our maidens sit at home For the foe by the way we wend must come.

Through the three Lavers shall we go And raise them all against the foe.

Then shall we wend the Downland ways, And all the shepherd spearmen raise.

To Cheaping Raynes shall we come adown And gather the bowmen of the town;

And Greenstead next we come unto Wherein are all folk good and true.

When we come our ways to the Outer Wood We shall be an host both great and good;

Yea when we come to the open field There shall be a many under shield.

And maybe Earl Hugh shall lie alow And yet to the house of Heaven shall go.

But we shall dwell in the land we love And grudge no hallow Heaven above.

Come ye, who think the time o'er long Till we have slain the word of wrong!

Come ye who deem the life of fear On this last day hath drawn o'er near!

Come after me upon the road That leadeth to the Erne's abode."

Down then he leapt from off the mound And back drew they that were around

Till he was foremost of all those Betwixt the river and the close.

And uprose shouts both glad and strong As followed after all the throng;

And overhead the banners flapped, As we went on our ways to all that happed.

The fields before the Shivering Low Of many a grief of manfolk know;

There may the autumn acres tell Of how men met, and what befell.

The Black Burg under the Eagle's nest Shall tell the tale as it liketh best.

And sooth it is that the River-land Lacks many an autumn-gathering hand.

And there are troth-plight maids unwed Shall deem awhile that love is dead;

And babes there are to men shall grow Nor ever the face of their fathers know.

And yet in the Land by the River-side Doth never a thrall or an earl's man bide;

For Hugh the Earl of might and mirth Hath left the merry days of Earth;

And we live on in the land we love, And grudge no hallow Heaven above.

THE VOICE OF TOIL

I heard men saying, Leave hope and praying, All days shall be as all have been; To-day and to-morrow bring fear and sorrow, The never-ending toil between.

When Earth was younger mid toil and hunger, In hope we strove, and our hands were strong; Then great men led us, with words they fed us, And bade us right the earthly wrong.

Go read in story their deeds and glory, Their names amidst the nameless dead; Turn then from lying to us slow-dying In that good world to which they led;

Where fast and faster our iron master, The thing we made, for ever drives, Bids us grind treasure and fashion pleasure For other hopes and other lives.

Where home is a hovel and dull we grovel, Forgetting that the world is fair; Where no babe we cherish, lest its very soul perish; Where mirth is crime, and love a snare.

Who now shall lead us, what god shall heed us As we lie in the hell our hands have won? For us are no rulers but fools and befoolers, The great are fallen, the wise men gone.

I heard men saying, Leave tears and praying, The sharp knife heedeth not the sheep; Are we not stronger than the rich and the wronger, When day breaks over dreams and sleep?

Come, shoulder to shoulder ere the world grows older! Help lies in nought but thee and me; Hope is before us, the long years that bore us Bore leaders more than men may be.

Let dead hearts tarry and trade and marry, And trembling nurse their dreams of mirth, While we the living our lives are giving To bring the bright new world to birth.

Come, shoulder to shoulder ere earth grows older! The Cause spreads over land and sea; Now the world shaketh, and fear awaketh, And joy at last for thee and me.

GUNNAR'S HOWE ABOVE THE HOUSE AT LITHEND

Ye who have come o'er the sea to behold this grey minster of lands, Whose floor is the tomb of time past, and whose walls by the toil of dead hands Show pictures amidst of the ruin of deeds that have overpast death, Stay by this tomb in a tomb to ask of who lieth beneath. Ah! the world changeth too soon, that ye stand there with unbated breath, As I name him that Gunnar of old, who erst in the haymaking tide Felt all the land fragrant and fresh, as amidst of the edges he died. Too swiftly fame fadeth away, if ye tremble not lest once again The grey mound should open and show him glad-eyed without grudging or pain. Little labour methinks to behold him but the tale-teller laboured in vain. Little labour for ears that may hearken to hear his death-conquering song, Till the heart swells to think of the gladness undying that overcame wrong. O young is the world yet meseemeth and the hope of it flourishing green, When the words of a man unremembered so bridge all the days that have been, As we look round about on the land that these nine hundred years he hath seen.

Dusk is abroad on the grass of this valley amidst of the hill: Dusk that shall never be dark till the dawn hard on midnight shall fill The trench under Eyiafell's snow, and the grey plain the sea meeteth grey. White, high aloft hangs the moon that no dark night shall brighten ere day, For here day and night toileth the summer lest deedless his time pass away.

THE DAY IS COMING

Come hither, lads, and hearken, for a tale there is to tell, Of the wonderful days a-coming, when all shall be better than well.

And the tale shall be told of a country, a land in the midst of the sea, And folk shall call it England in the days that are going to be.

There more than one in a thousand in the days that are yet to come, Shall have some hope of the morrow, some joy of the ancient home.

For then, laugh not, but listen to this strange tale of mine, All folk that are in England shall be better lodged than swine.

Then a man shall work and bethink him, and rejoice in the deeds of his hand, Nor yet come home in the even too faint and weary to stand.

Men in that time a-coming shall work and have no fear For to-morrow's lack of earning and the hunger-wolf anear.

I tell you this for a wonder, that no man then shall be glad Of his fellow's fall and mishap to snatch at the work he had.

For that which the worker winneth shall then be his indeed, Nor shall half be reaped for nothing by him that sowed no seed.

O strange new wonderful justice! But for whom shall we gather the gain? For ourselves and for each of our fellows, and no hand shall labour in vain.

Then all Mine and all Thine shall be Ours, and no more shall any man crave For riches that serve for nothing but to fetter a friend for a slave.

And what wealth then shall be left us when none shall gather gold To buy his friend in the market, and pinch and pine the sold?

Nay, what save the lovely city, and the little house on the hill, And the wastes and the woodland beauty, and the happy fields we till;

And the homes of ancient stories, the tombs of the mighty dead; And the wise men seeking out marvels, and the poet's teeming head;

And the painter's hand of wonder; and the marvellous fiddle-bow, And the banded choirs of music: all those that do and know.

For all these shall be ours and all men's, nor shall any lack a share Of the toil and the gain of living in the days when the world grows fair.

Ah! such are the days that shall be! But what are the deeds of to-day In the days of the years we dwell in, that wear our lives away?

Why, then, and for what are we waiting? There are three words to speak; WE WILL IT, and what is the foeman but the dream-strong wakened and weak?

O why and for what are we waiting? while our brothers droop and die, And on every wind of the heavens a wasted life goes by.

How long shall they reproach us where crowd on crowd they dwell, Poor ghosts of the wicked city, the gold-crushed hungry hell?

Through squalid life they laboured, in sordid grief they died, Those sons of a mighty mother, those props of England's pride.

They are gone; there is none can undo it, nor save our souls from the curse; But many a million cometh, and shall they be better or worse?

It is we must answer and hasten, and open wide the door For the rich man's hurrying terror, and the slow-foot hope of the poor.

Yea, the voiceless wrath of the wretched, and their unlearned discontent, We must give it voice and wisdom till the waiting-tide be spent.

Come, then, since all things call us, the living and the dead, And o'er the weltering tangle a glimmering light is shed.

Come, then, let us cast off fooling, and put by ease and rest, For the Cause alone is worthy till the good days bring the best.

Come, join in the only battle wherein no man can fail, Where whoso fadeth and dieth, yet his deed shall still prevail.

Ah! come, cast off all fooling, for this, at least, we know: That the Dawn and the Day is coming, and forth the Banners go.

EARTH THE HEALER, EARTH THE KEEPER

So swift the hours are moving Unto the time un-proved: Farewell my love unloving, Farewell my love beloved!

What! are we not glad-hearted? Is there no deed to do? Is not all fear departed And Spring-tide blossomed new?

The sails swell out above us, The sea-ridge lifts the keel; For They have called who love us, Who bear the gifts that heal:

A crown for him that winneth, A bed for him that fails, A glory that beginneth In never-dying tales.

Yet now the pain is ended And the glad hand grips the sword, Look on thy life amended And deal out due award.

Think of the thankless morning, The gifts of noon unused; Think of the eve of scorning, The night of prayer refused.

And yet. The life before it, Dost thou remember aught, What terrors shivered o'er it Born from the hell of thought?

And this that cometh after: How dost thou live, and dare To meet its empty laughter, To face its friendless care?

In fear didst thou desire, At peace dost thou regret, The wasting of the fire, The tangling of the net.

Love came and gat fair greeting; Love went; and left no shame. Shall both the twilights meeting The summer sunlight blame?

What! cometh love and goeth Like the dark night's empty wind, Because thy folly soweth The harvest of the blind?

Hast thou slain love with sorrow? Have thy tears quenched the sun? Nay even yet to-morrow Shall many a deed be done.

This twilight sea thou sailest, Has it grown dim and black For that wherein thou failest, And the story of thy lack?

Peace then! for thine old grieving Was born of Earth the kind, And the sad tale thou art leaving Earth shall not leave behind.

Peace! for that joy abiding Whereon thou layest hold Earth keepeth for a tiding For the day when this is old.

Thy soul and life shall perish, And thy name as last night's wind; But Earth the deed shall cherish That thou to-day shalt find.

And all thy joy and sorrow So great but yesterday, So light a thing to-morrow, Shall never pass away.

Lo! lo! the dawn-blink yonder, The sunrise draweth nigh, And men forget to wonder That they were born to die.

Then praise the deed that wendeth Through the daylight and the mirth! The tale that never endeth Whoso may dwell on earth.

ALL FOR THE CAUSE

Hear a word, a word in season, for the day is drawing nigh, When the Cause shall call upon us, some to live, and some to die!

He that dies shall not die lonely, many an one hath gone before; He that lives shall bear no burden heavier than the life they bore.

Nothing ancient is their story, e'en but yesterday they bled, Youngest they of earth's beloved, last of all the valiant dead.

E'en the tidings we are telling was the tale they had to tell, E'en the hope that our hearts cherish, was the hope for which they fell.

In the grave where tyrants thrust them, lies their labour and their pain, But undying from their sorrow springeth up the hope again.

Mourn not therefore, nor lament it, that the world outlives their life; Voice and vision yet they give us, making strong our hands for strife.

Some had name, and fame, and honour, learn'd they were, and wise and strong; Some were nameless, poor, unlettered, weak in all but grief and wrong.

Named and nameless all live in us; one and all they lead us yet Every pain to count for nothing, every sorrow to forget.

Hearken how they cry, "O happy, happy ye that ye were born In the sad slow night's departing, in the rising of the morn.

"Fair the crown the Cause hath for you, well to die or well to live Through the battle, through the tangle, peace to gain or peace to give."

Ah, it may be! Oft meseemeth, in the days that yet shall be, When no slave of gold abideth 'twixt the breadth of sea to sea,

Oft, when men and maids are merry, ere the sunlight leaves the earth, And they bless the day beloved, all too short for all their mirth,

Some shall pause awhile and ponder on the bitter days of old, Ere the toil of strife and battle overthrew the curse of gold;

Then 'twixt lips of loved and lover solemn thoughts of us shall rise; We who once were fools defeated, then shall be the brave and wise.

There amidst the world new-builded shall our earthly deeds abide, Though our names be all forgotten, and the tale of how we died.

Life or death then, who shall heed it, what we gain or what we lose? Fair flies life amid the struggle, and the Cause for each shall choose.

Hear a word, a word in season, for the day is drawing nigh, When the Cause shall call upon us, some to live, and some to die!

PAIN AND TIME STRIVE NOT

What part of the dread eternity Are those strange minutes that I gain, Mazed with the doubt of love and pain, When I thy delicate face may see, A little while before farewell?

What share of the world's yearning-tide That flash, when new day bare and white Blots out my half-dream's faint delight, And there is nothing by my side, And well remembered is farewell?

What drop in the grey flood of tears That time, when the long day toiled through, Worn out, shows nought for me to do, And nothing worth my labour bears The longing of that last farewell?

What pity from the heavens above, What heed from out eternity, What word from the swift world for me? Speak, heed, and pity, O tender love, Who knew'st the days before farewell!

DRAWING NEAR THE LIGHT

Lo, when we wade the tangled wood, In haste and hurry to be there, Nought seem its leaves and blossoms good, For all that they be fashioned fair.

But looking up, at last we see The glimmer of the open light, From o'er the place where we would be: Then grow the very brambles bright.

So now, amidst our day of strife, With many a matter glad we play, When once we see the light of life Gleam through the tangle of to-day.

VERSES FOR PICTURES

DAY

I am Day; I bring again Life and glory, Love and pain: Awake, arise! from death to death Through me the World's tale quickeneth.

SPRING

Spring am I, too soft of heart Much to speak ere I depart: Ask the Summer-tide to prove The abundance of my love.

SUMMER

Summer looked for long am I; Much shall change or e'er I die. Prithee take it not amiss Though I weary thee with bliss.

AUTUMN

Laden Autumn here I stand Worn of heart, and weak of hand: Nought but rest seems good to me, Speak the word that sets me free.

WINTER

I am Winter, that do keep Longing safe amidst of sleep: Who shall say if I were dead What should be remembered?

NIGHT

I am Night: I bring again Hope of pleasure, rest from pain: Thoughts unsaid 'twixt Life and Death My fruitful silence quickeneth.

FOR THE BRIAR ROSE

THE BRIARWOOD

The fateful slumber floats and flows About the tangle of the rose; But lo! the fated hand and heart To rend the slumberous curse apart!

THE COUNCIL ROOM

The threat of war, the hope of peace, The Kingdom's peril and increase Sleep on, and bide the latter day, When Fate shall take her chain away.

THE GARDEN COURT

The maiden pleasance of the land Knoweth no stir of voice or hand, No cup the sleeping waters fill, The restless shuttle lieth still.

THE ROSEBOWER

Here lies the hoarded love, the key To all the treasure that shall be; Come fated hand the gift to take, And smite this sleeping world awake.

ANOTHER FOR THE BRIAR ROSE

O treacherous scent, O thorny sight, O tangle of world's wrong and right, What art thou 'gainst my armour's gleam But dusky cobwebs of a dream?

Beat down, deep sunk from every gleam Of hope, they lie and dully dream; Men once, but men no more, that Love Their waste defeated hearts should move.

Here sleeps the world that would not love! Let it sleep on, but if He move Their hearts in humble wise to wait On his new-wakened fair estate.

O won at last is never late! Thy silence was the voice of fate; Thy still hands conquered in the strife; Thine eyes were light; thy lips were life.

THE WOODPECKER

I once a King and chief Now am the tree-bark's thief, Ever 'twixt trunk and leaf Chasing the prey.

THE LION

The Beasts that be In wood and waste, Now sit and see, Nor ride nor haste.

THE FOREST

PEAR-TREE

By woodman's edge I faint and fail; By craftsman's edge I tell the tale.

CHESTNUT-TREE

High in the wood, high o'er the hall, Aloft I rise when low I fall.

OAK-TREE

Unmoved I stand what wind may blow. Swift, swift before the wind I go.

POMONA

I am the ancient Apple-Queen, As once I was so am I now. For evermore a hope unseen, Betwixt the blossom and the bough.

Ah, where's the river's hidden Gold! And where the windy grave of Troy? Yet come I as I came of old, From out the heart of Summer's joy.

FLORA

I am the handmaid of the earth, I broider fair her glorious gown, And deck her on her days of mirth With many a garland of renown.

And while Earth's little ones are fain And play about the Mother's hem, I scatter every gift I gain From sun and wind to gladden them.

THE ORCHARD

Midst bitten mead and acre shorn, The world without is waste and worn,

But here within our orchard-close, The guerdon of its labour shows.

O valiant Earth, O happy year That mocks the threat of winter near,

And hangs aloft from tree to tree The banners of the Spring to be.

TAPESTRY TREES

OAK

I am the Roof-tree and the Keel; I bridge the seas for woe and weal.

FIR

High o'er the lordly oak I stand, And drive him on from land to land.

ASH

I heft my brother's iron bane; I shaft the spear, and build the wain.

YEW

Dark down the windy dale I grow, The father of the fateful Bow.

POPLAR

The war-shaft and the milking-bowl I make, and keep the hay-wain whole.

OLIVE

The King I bless; the lamps I trim; In my warm wave do fishes swim.

APPLE-TREE

I bowed my head to Adam's will; The cups of toiling men I fill.

VINE

I draw the blood from out the earth; I store the sun for winter mirth.

ORANGE-TREE

Amidst the greenness of my night, My odorous lamps hang round and bright.

FIG-TREE

I who am little among trees In honey-making mate the bees.

MULBERRY-TREE

Love's lack hath dyed my berries red: For Love's attire my leaves are shed.

PEAR-TREE

High o'er the mead-flowers' hidden feet I bear aloft my burden sweet.

BAY

Look on my leafy boughs, the Crown Of living song and dead renown!

THE FLOWERING ORCHARD

SILK EMBROIDERY

Lo silken my garden, and silken my sky, And silken my apple-boughs hanging on high; All wrought by the Worm in the peasant carle's cot On the Mulberry leafage when summer was hot!

THE END OF MAY

How the wind howls this morn About the end of May, And drives June on apace To mock the world forlorn And the world's joy passed away And my unlonged-for face! The world's joy passed away; For no more may I deem That any folk are glad To see the dawn of day Sunder the tangled dream Wherein no grief they had. Ah, through the tangled dream Where others have no grief Ever it fares with me That fears and treasons stream And dumb sleep slays belief Whatso therein may be. Sleep slayeth all belief Until the hopeless light Wakes at the birth of June More lying tales to weave, More love in woe's despite, More hope to perish soon.

THE HALF OF LIFE GONE

The days have slain the days, and the seasons have gone by And brought me the summer again; and here on the grass I lie As erst I lay and was glad ere I meddled with right and with wrong. Wide lies the mead as of old, and the river is creeping along By the side of the elm-clad bank that turns its weedy stream; And grey o'er its hither lip the quivering rashes gleam. There is work in the mead as of old; they are eager at winning the hay, While every sun sets bright and begets a fairer day. The forks shine white in the sun round the yellow red-wheeled wain, Where the mountain of hay grows fast; and now from out of the lane Comes the ox-team drawing another, comes the bailiff and the beer, And thump, thump, goes the farmer's nag o'er the narrow bridge of the weir. High up and light are the clouds, and though the swallows flit So high o'er the sunlit earth, they are well a part of it, And so, though high over them, are the wings of the wandering herne; In measureless depths above him doth the fair sky quiver and burn; The dear sun floods the land as the morning falls toward noon, And a little wind is awake in the best of the latter June. They are busy winning the hay, and the life and the picture they make If I were as once I was, I should deem it made for my sake; For here if one need not work is a place for happy rest, While one's thought wends over the world north, south, and east and west.

There are the men and the maids, and the wives and the gaffers grey Of the fields I know so well, and but little changed are they Since I was a lad amongst them; and yet how great is the change! Strange are they grown unto me; yea I to myself am strange. Their talk and their laughter mingling with the music of the meads Has now no meaning to me to help or to hinder my needs, So far from them have I drifted. And yet amidst of them goes A part of myself, my boy, and of pleasure and pain he knows, And deems it something strange, when he is other than glad. Lo now! the woman that stoops and kisses the face of the lad, And puts a rake in his hand and laughs in his laughing face. Whose is the voice that laughs in the old familiar place? Whose should it be but my love's, if my love were yet on the earth? Could she refrain from the fields where my joy and her joy had birth, When I was there and her child, on the grass that knew her feet 'Mid the flowers that led her on when the summer eve was sweet?

No, no, it is she no longer; never again can she come And behold the hay-wains creeping o'er the meadows of her home; No more can she kiss her son or put the rake in his hand That she handled a while agone in the midst of the haymaking band. Her laughter is gone and her life; there is no such thing on the earth, No share for me then in the stir, no share in the hurry and mirth. Nay, let me look and believe that all these will vanish away, At least when the night has fallen, and that she will be there 'mid the hay, Happy and weary with work, waiting and longing for love. There will she be, as of old, when the great moon hung above, And lightless and dead was the village, and nought but the weir was awake; There will she rise to meet me, and my hands will she hasten to take, And thence shall we wander away, and over the ancient bridge By many a rose-hung hedgerow, till we reach the sun-burnt ridge And the great trench digged by the Romans: there then awhile shall we stand, To watch the dawn come creeping o'er the fragrant lovely land, Till all the world awaketh, and draws us down, we twain, To the deeds of the field and the fold and the merry summer's gain.

Ah thus, only thus shall I see her, in dreams of the day or the night, When my soul is beguiled of its sorrow to remember past delight. She is gone. She was and she is not; there is no such thing on the earth But e'en as a picture painted; and for me there is void and dearth That I cannot name or measure. Yet for me and all these she died, E'en as she lived for awhile, that the better day might betide. Therefore I live, and I shall live till the last day's work shall fail. Have patience now but a little and I will tell you the tale Of how and why she died, And why I am weak and worn, And have wandered away to the meadows and the place where I was born; But here and to-day I cannot; for ever my thought will stray To that hope fulfilled for a little and the bliss of the earlier day. Of the great world's hope and anguish to-day I scarce can think; Like a ghost, from the lives of the living and their earthly deeds I shrink. I will go adown by the water and over the ancient bridge, And wend in our footsteps of old till I come to the sun-burnt ridge, And the great trench digged by the Romans; and thence awhile will I gaze, And see three teeming counties stretch out till they fade in the haze; And in all the dwellings of man that thence mine eyes shall see, What man as hapless as I am beneath the sun shall be?

O fool, what words are these? Thou hast a sorrow to nurse, And thou hast been bold and happy; but these, if they utter a curse, No sting it has and no meaning, it is empty sound on the air. Thy life is full of mourning, and theirs so empty and bare, That they have no words of complaining; nor so happy have they been That they may measure sorrow or tell what grief may mean.

And thou; thou hast deeds to do, and toil to meet thee soon; Depart and ponder on these through the sun-worn afternoon.

MINE AND THINE

FROM A FLEMISH POEM OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY

Two words about the world we see, And nought but Mine and Thine they be. Ah! might we drive them forth and wide With us should rest and peace abide; All free, nought owned of goods and gear, By men and women though it were. Common to all all wheat and wine Over the seas and up the Rhine. No manslayer then the wide world o'er When Mine and Thine are known no more. Yea, God, well counselled for our health, Gave all this fleeting earthly wealth A common heritage to all, That men might feed them therewithal, And clothe their limbs and shoe their feet And live a simple life and sweet. But now so rageth greediness That each desireth nothing less Than all the world, and all his own; And all for him and him alone.

THE LAY OF CHRISTINE

TRANSLATED FROM THE ICELANDIC

Of silk my gear was shapen, Scarlet they did on me, Then to the sea-strand was I borne And laid in a bark of the sea. _O well were I from the World away._

Befell it there I might not drown, For God to me was good; The billows bare me up a-land Where grew the fair green-wood. _O well were I from the World away._

There came a Knight a-riding With three swains along the way, And he took me up, the little-one, On the sea-sand as I lay. _O well were I from the World away._

He took me up, and bare me home To the house that was his own, And there bode I so long with him That I was his love alone. _O well were I from the World away._

But the very first night we lay abed Befell his sorrow and harm, That thither came the King's ill men, And slew him on mine arm. _O well were I from the World away._

There slew they Adalbright the King, Two of his swains slew they, But the third sailed swiftly from the land Sithence I saw him never a day. _O well were I from the World away._

O wavering hope of this world's bliss, How shall men trow in thee? My Grove of Gems is gone away For mine eyes no more to see! _O well were I from the World away._

Each hour the while my life shall last Remembereth him alone, Such heavy sorrow have I got From our meeting long agone. _O well were I from the World away._

O, early in the morning-tide Men cry: "Christine the fair, Art thou well content with that true love Thou sittest loving there?" _O well were I from the World away._

"Ah, yea, so well I love him, And so dear my love shall be, That the very God of Heaven aloft Worshippeth him and me. _O well were I from the World away._

"Ah, all the red gold I have got Well would I give to-day, Only for this and nothing else From the world to win away." _O well were I from the World away._

"Nay, midst all folk upon the earth Keep thou thy ruddy gold, And love withal the mighty lord That wedded thee of old." _O well were I from the World away._

HILDEBRAND AND HELLELIL

TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH

Hellelil sitteth in bower there, _None knows my grief but God alone,_ And seweth at the seam so fair, _I never wail my sorrow to any other one._

But there whereas the gold should be With silk upon the cloth sewed she.

Where she should sew with silken thread The gold upon the cloth she laid.

So to the Queen the word came in That Hellelil wild work doth win.

Then did the Queen do furs on her And went to Hellelil the fair.

"O swiftly sewest thou, Hellelil, Yet nought but mad is thy sewing still!"

"Well may my sewing be but mad Such evil hap as I have had.

My father was good king and lord, Knights fifteen served before his board.

He taught me sewing royally, Twelve knights had watch and ward of me.

Well served eleven day by day, To folly the twelfth did me bewray.

And this same was hight Hildebrand, The King's son of the English Land.

But in bower were we no sooner laid Than the truth thereof to my father was said.

Then loud he cried o'er garth and hall: 'Stand up, my men, and arm ye all!

'Yea draw on mail and dally not, Hard neck lord Hildebrand hath got!'

They stood by the door with glaive and spear; 'Hildebrand rise and hasten here!'

Lord Hildebrand stroked my white white cheek: 'O love, forbear my name to speak.

'Yea even if my blood thou see, Name me not, lest my death thou be.'

Out from the door lord Hildebrand leapt, And round about his good sword swept.

The first of all that he slew there Were my seven brethren with golden hair.

Then before him stood the youngest one, And dear he was in the days agone.

Then I cried out: 'O Hildebrand, In the name of God now stay thine hand.

'O let my youngest brother live Tidings hereof to my mother to give!'

No sooner was the word gone forth Than with eight wounds fell my love to earth.

My brother took me by the golden hair, And bound me to the saddle there.

There met me then no littlest root, But it tore off somewhat of my foot.

No littlest brake the wild-wood bore, But somewhat from my legs it tore.

No deepest dam we came unto But my brother's horse he swam it through

But when to the castle gate we came, There stood my mother in sorrow and shame.

My brother let raise a tower high, Bestrewn with sharp thorns inwardly.

He took me in my silk shirt bare And cast me into that tower there.

And wheresoe'er my legs I laid Torment of the thorns I had.

Wheresoe'er on feet I stood The prickles sharp drew forth my blood.

My youngest brother me would slay, But my mother would have me sold away.

A great new bell my price did buy In Mary's Church to hang on high.

But the first stroke that ever it strake My mother's heart asunder brake."

So soon as her sorrow and woe was said, _None knows my grief but God alone,_ In the arm of the Queen she sat there dead, _I never tell my sorrow to any other one._

THE SON'S SORROW

FROM THE ICELANDIC

The King has asked of his son so good, "Why art thou hushed and heavy of mood? _O fair it is to ride abroad._ Thou playest not, and thou laughest not; All thy good game is clean forgot."

"Sit thou beside me, father dear, And the tale of my sorrow shalt thou hear.

Thou sendedst me unto a far-off land, And gavest me into a good Earl's hand.

Now had this good Earl daughters seven, The fairest of maidens under heaven.

One brought me my meat when I should dine, One cut and sewed my raiment fine.

One washed and combed my yellow hair, And one I fell to loving there.

Befell it on so fair a day, We minded us to sport and play.

Down in a dale my horse bound I, Bound on my saddle speedily.

Bright red she was as the flickering flame When to my saddle-bow she came.

Beside my saddle-bow she stood, 'To flee with thee to my heart were good.'

Kind was my horse and good to aid, My love upon his back I laid.

We gat us from the garth away, And none was ware of us that day.

But as we rode along the sand Behold a barge lay by the land.

So in that boat did we depart, And rowed away right glad at heart.

When we came to the dark wood and the shade To raise the tent my true-love bade.

Three sons my true-love bore me there, And syne she died who was so dear.

A grave I wrought her with my sword, With my fair shield the mould I poured.

First in the mould I laid my love, Then all my sons her breast above.

And I without must lie alone; So from the place I gat me gone."

No man now shall stand on his feet To love that love, to woo that sweet: _O fair it is to ride abroad._

AGNES AND THE HILL-MAN

TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH

Agnes went through the meadows a-weeping, _Fowl are a-singing._ There stood the hill-man heed thereof keeping. _Agnes, fair Agnes!_ "Come to the hill, fair Agnes, with me, The reddest of gold will I give unto thee!"

Twice went Agnes the hill round about, Then wended within, left the fair world without.

In the hillside bode Agnes, three years thrice told o'er, For the green earth sithence fell she longing full sore.

There she sat, and lullaby sang in her singing, And she heard how the bells of England were ringing.

Agnes before her true-love did stand: "May I wend to the church of the English Land?"

"To England's Church well mayst thou be gone, So that no hand thou lay the red gold upon.

"So that when thou art come the churchyard anear, Thou cast not abroad thy golden hair.

"So that when thou standest the church within, To thy mother on bench thou never win.

"So that when thou hearest the high God's name, No knee unto earth thou bow to the same."

Hand she laid on all gold that was there, And cast abroad her golden hair.

And when the church she stood within, To her mother on bench straight did she win.

And when she heard the high God's name, Knee unto earth she bowed to the same.

When all the mass was sung to its end, Home with her mother dear did she wend.

"Come, Agnes, into the hillside to me, For thy seven small sons greet sorely for thee!"

"Let them greet, let them greet, as they have will to do; For never again will I hearken thereto!"

Weird laid he on her, sore sickness he wrought, _Fowl are a-singing._ That self-same hour to death was she brought. _Agnes, fair Agnes!_

KNIGHT AAGEN AND MAIDEN ELSE

TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH

It was the fair knight Aagen To an isle he went his way, And plighted troth to Else, Who was so fair a may.

He plighted troth to Else All with the ruddy gold, But or ere that day's moon came again Low he lay in the black, black mould.

It was the maiden Else, She was fulfilled of woe When she heard how the fair knight Aagen In the black mould lay alow.

Uprose the fair knight Aagen, Coffin on back took he, And he's away to her bower, Sore hard as the work might be.

With that same chest on door he smote, For the lack of flesh and skin; "O hearken, maiden Else, And let thy true-love in!"

Then answered maiden Else, "Never open I my door, But and if thou namest Jesu's name As thou hadst might before."

"O hearken, maiden Else, And open thou thy door, For Jesu's name I well may name As I had might before!"

Then uprose maiden Else, O'er her cheek the salt tears ran, Nor spared she into her very bower To welcome that dead man.

O, she's taken up her comb of gold And combed adown her hair, And for every hair she combed adown There fell a weary tear.

"Hearken thou, knight Aagen, Hearken, true-love, and tell, If down-adown in the black, black earth Thou farest ever well?"

"O whenso thou art joyous, And the heart is glad in thee, Then fares it with my coffin That red roses are with me.

"But whenso thou art sorrowful And weary is thy mood, Then all within my coffin Is it dreadful with dark blood.

"Now is the red cock a-crowing, To the earth adown must I; Down to the earth wend all dead folk, And I wend in company.

"Now is the black cock a-crowing, To the earth must I adown, For the gates of Heaven are opening now, Thereto must I begone."

Uprose the fair knight Aagen, Coffin on back took he, And he's away to the churchyard now, Sore hard as the work might be.

But so wrought maiden Else, Because of her weary mood, That she followed after own true love All through the mirk wild wood.

But when the wood was well passed through, And in the churchyard they were, Then was the fair knight Aagen Waxen wan of his golden hair.

And when therefrom they wended And were the church within, Then was the fair knight Aagen Waxen wan of cheek and chin.

"Hearken thou, maiden Else, Hearken, true-love, to me, Weep no more for thine own troth-plight, However it shall be!

"Look thou up to the heavens aloft, To the little stars and bright, And thou shalt see how sweetly It fareth with the night!"

She looked up to the heavens aloft, To the little stars bright above. The dead man sank into his grave, Ne'er again she saw her love.

Home then went maiden Else, Mid sorrow manifold, And ere that night's moon came again She lay alow in the mould.

HAFBUR AND SIGNY

TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH.

King Hafbur and King Siward They needs must stir up strife, All about the sweetling Signy Who was so fair a wife. _O wilt thou win me then, or as fair a maid as I be?_

It was the King's son Hafbur Woke up amid the night, And 'gan to tell of a wondrous dream In swift words nowise light.

"Me-dreamed I was in heaven Amid that fair abode, And my true-love lay upon mine arm And we fell from cloud to cloud."

As there they sat, the dames and maids Of his words they took no keep, Only his mother well-beloved Heeded his dreamful sleep.

"Go get thee gone to the mountain, And make no long delay; To the elve's eldest daughter For thy dream's areding pray."

So the King's son, even Hafbur, Took his sword in his left hand, And he's away to the mountain To get speech of that Lily-wand.

He beat thereon with hand all bare, With fingers small and fine, And there she lay, the elve's daughter, And well wotted of that sign.

"Bide hail, Elve's sweetest daughter, As on skins thou liest fair, I pray thee by the God of Heaven My dream arede thou clear.

"Me-dreamed I was in heaven, Yea amid that fair abode, And my true-love lay upon mine arm And we fell from cloud to cloud."

"Whereas thou dreamed'st thou wert in heaven, So shalt thou win that may; Dreamed'st thou of falling through the clouds, So falls for her thy life away."

"And if it lieth in my luck To win to me that may, In no sorrow's stead it standeth me For her to cast my life away."

Lord Hafbur lets his hair wax long, And will have the gear of mays, And he rideth to King Siward's house And will well learn weaving ways.

Lord Hafbur all his clothes let shape In such wise as maidens do, And thus he rideth over the land King Siward's daughter to woo.

Now out amid the castle-garth He cast his cloak aside, And goeth forth to the high-bower Where the dames and damsels abide.

Hail, sit ye there, dames and damsels, Maids and queens kind and fair, And chiefest of all to the Dane-King's daughter If she abideth here!

"Hail, sittest thou, sweet King's daughter, A-spinning the silken twine, It is King Hafbur sends me hither To learn the sewing fine."

Hath Hafbur sent thee here to me? Then art thou a welcome guest, And all the sewing that I can Shall I learn thee at my best.

"And all the sewing that I can I shall learn thee lovingly, Out of one bowl shalt thou eat with me, And by my nurse shalt thou lie."

"King's children have I eaten with, And lain down by their side: Must I lie abed now with a very nurse? Then woe is me this tide!"

"Nay, let it pass, fair maiden! Of me gettest thou no harm, Out of one bowl shalt thou eat with me And sleep soft upon mine arm."

There sat they, all the damsels, And sewed full craftily; But ever the King's son Hafbur With nail in mouth sat he.

They sewed the hart, they sewed the hind, As they run through the wild-wood green, Never gat Hafbur so big a bowl But the bottom soon was seen.

In there came the evil nurse In the worst tide that might be: "Never saw I fair maiden Who could sew less craftily.

"Never saw I fair maiden Seam worse the linen fine, Never saw I noble maiden Who better drank the wine."

This withal spake the evil nurse, The nighest that she durst: "Never saw I yet fair maiden Of drink so sore athirst.

"So little a seam as ever she sews Goes the needle into her mouth, As big a bowl as ever she gets Out is it drunk forsooth.

"Ne'er saw I yet in maiden's head Two eyes so bright and bold, And those two hands of her withal Are hard as the iron cold."

"Hearken, sweet nurse, whereso thou art, Why wilt thou mock me still? Never cast I one word at thee, Went thy sewing well or ill.

"Still wilt thou mock, still wilt thou spy; Nought such thou hast of me, Whether mine eyes look out or look in Nought do they deal with thee."

O it was Hafbur the King's son Began to sew at last; He sowed the hart, and he sewed the hind, As they flee from the hound so fast.

He sewed the lily, and he sewed the rose, And the little fowls of the air; Then fell the damsels a-marvelling, For nought had they missed him there.

Day long they sewed till the evening, And till the long night was deep, Then up stood dames and maidens And were fain in their beds to sleep.

So fell on them the evening-tide, O'er the meads the dew drave down, And fain was Signy, that sweet thing, With her folk to bed to be gone.

Therewith asked the King's son Hafbur, "And whatten a bed for me?" "O thou shalt sleep in the bower aloft, And blue shall thy bolster be."

She went before, sweet Signy, O'er the high-bower's bridge aright, And after her went Hafbur Laughing from heart grown light.

Then kindled folk the waxlights, That were so closely twined, And after them the ill nurse went With an ill thought in her mind.

The lights were quenched, the nurse went forth, They deemed they were alone: Lord Hafbur drew off his kirtle red, Then first his sword outshone.

Lord Hafbur mid his longing sore Down on the bed he sat: I tell you of my soothfastness, His byrny clashed thereat.

Then spake the darling Signy, Out of her heart she said, "Never saw I so rough a shirt Upon so fair a maid."

She laid her hand on Hafbur's breast With the red gold all a-blaze: "Why wax thy breasts in no such wise As they wax in other mays?"

"The wont it is in my father's land For maids to ride to the Thing, Therefore my breasts are little of growth Beneath the byrny-ring."

And there they lay through the night so long, The King's son and the may, In talk full sweet, but little of sleep, So much on their minds there lay.

"Hearken, sweet maiden Signy, As here alone we lie, Who is thy dearest in the world, And lieth thine heart most nigh?"

"O there is none in all the world Who lieth so near to my heart As doth the bold King Hafbur: Ne'er in him shall I have a part.

"As doth the bold King Hafbur That mine eyes shall never know: Nought but the sound of his gold-wrought horn As he rides to the Thing and fro."

"O, is it Hafbur the King's son That thy loved heart holdeth dear? Turn hither, O my well-beloved, To thy side I lie so near."

"If thou art the King's son Hafbur, Why wilt thou shame me, love, Why ridest thou not to my father's garth With hound, and with hawk upon glove?"

"Once was I in thy father's garth, With hound and hawk and all; And with many mocks he said me nay, In such wise did our meeting fall."

All the while they talked together They deemed alone they were, But the false nurse ever stood close without, And nought thereof she failed to hear.

O shame befall that evil nurse, Ill tidings down she drew, She stole away his goodly sword, But and his byrny new.

She took to her his goodly sword, His byrny blue she had away, And she went her ways to the high bower Whereas King Siward lay.

"Wake up, wake up, King Siward! Over long thou sleepest there, The while the King's son Hafbur Lies abed by Signy the fair."

"No Hafbur is here, and no King's son, That thou shouldst speak this word; He is far away in the east-countries, Warring with knight and lord.

"Hold thou thy peace, thou evil nurse, And lay on her no lie, Or else tomorn ere the sun is up In the bale-fire shall ye die."

"O hearken to this, my lord and king, And trow me nought but true; Look here upon his bright white sword, But and his byrny blue!"

Then mad of mind waxed Siward, Over all the house 'gan he cry, "Rise up, O mighty men of mine, For a hardy knight is anigh:

"Take ye sword and shield in hand, And look that they be true; For Hafbur the King hath guested with us; Stiffnecked he is, great deeds to do."

So there anigh the high-bower door They stood with spear and glaive "Rise up, rise up, Young Hafbur, Out here we would thee have!"

That heard the goodly Signy, And she wrang her hands full sore: "Hearken and heed, O Hafbur, Who stand without by the door!"

Thank and praise to the King's son Hafbur, Manly he played and stout! None might lay hand upon him While the bed-post yet held out.

But they took him, the King's son Hafbur, And set him in bolts new wrought; Then lightly he rent them asunder, As though they were leaden and nought.

Out and spake the ancient nurse, And she gave a rede of ill; "Bind ye him but in Signy's hair. So shall hand and foot lie still.

"Take ye but one of Signy's hairs Hafbur's hands to bind, Ne'er shall he rend them asunder, His heart to her is so kind."

Then took they two of Signy's hairs Bonds for his hands to be, Nor might he rive them asunder, So dear to his heart was she.

Then spake the sweetling Signy As the tears fast down her cheek did fall: "O rend it asunder, Hafbur, That gift to thee I give withal."

Now sat the-King's son Hafbur Amidst the castle-hall, And thronged to behold him man and maid, But the damsels chiefest of all.

They took him, the King's son Hafbur, Laid bolts upon him in that place, And ever went Signy to and fro, The weary tears fell down apace.

She speaketh to him in sorrowful mood: "This will I, Hafbur, for thee, Piteous prayer for thee shall make My mother's sisters three.