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.
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. 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: 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: 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. But sure from the wise and the simple shall the mighty come to birth; And fair were my fate, beloved, if I be yet on the earth When the world is awaken at last, and from mouth to mouth they tell Of thy love and thy deeds and thy valour, and thy hope that nought can quell. When the boughs of the garden hang heavy with rain And the blackbird reneweth his song, And the thunder departing yet rolleth again, I remember the ending of wrong.
When the day that was dusk while his death was aloof Is ending wide-gleaming and strange For the clearness of all things beneath the world's roof, I call back the wild chance and the change. For once we twain sat through the hot afternoon While the rain held aloof for a while, Till she, the soft-clad, for the glory of June Changed all with the change of her smile.
For her smile was of longing, no longer of glee, And her fingers, entwined with mine own, With caresses unquiet sought kindness of me For the gift that I never had known. Then down rushed the rain, and the voice of the thunder Smote dumb all the sound of the street, And I to myself was grown nought but a wonder, As she leaned down my kisses to meet. That she craved for my lips that had craved her so often, And the hand that had trembled to touch, That the tears filled her eyes I had hoped not to soften In this world was a marvel too much. It was dusk 'mid the thunder, dusk e'en as the night, When first brake out our love like the storm, But no night-hour was it, and back came the light While our hands with each other were warm.
And her smile killed with kisses, came back as at first As she rose up and led me along, And out to the garden, where nought was athirst, And the blackbird renewing his song. Earth's fragrance went with her, as in the wet grass, Her feet little hidden were set; She bent down her head, 'neath the roses to pass, And her arm with the lily was wet. In the garden we wandered while day waned apace And the thunder was dying aloof; Till the moon o'er the minster-wall lifted his face, And grey gleamed out the lead of the roof.
Then we turned from the blossoms, and cold were they grown: In the trees the wind westering moved; Till over the threshold back fluttered her gown, And in the dark house was I loved. There was a lord that hight Maltete, Among great lords he was right great, On poor folk trod he like the dirt, None but God might do him hurt.
Deus est Deus pauperum. With a grace of prayers sung loud and late Many a widow's house he ate; Many a poor knight at his hands Lost his house and narrow lands. He burnt the harvests many a time, He made fair houses heaps of lime; Whatso man loved wife or maid Of Evil-head was sore afraid.
He slew good men and spared the bad; Too long a day the foul dog had, E'en as all dogs will have their day; But God is as strong as man, I say. For a valiant knight, men called Boncoeur, Had hope he should not long endure, And gathered to him much good folk, Hardy hearts to break the yoke. But Boncoeur deemed it would be vain To strive his guarded house to gain; Therefore, within a little while, He set himself to work by guile. He knew that Maltete loved right well Red gold and heavy.
If from hell The Devil had cried, "Take this gold cup," Down had he gone to fetch it up. Twenty poor men's lives were nought To him, beside a ring well wrought. The pommel of his hunting-knife Was worth ten times a poor man's life. A squire new-come from over-sea Boncoeur called to him privily, And when he knew his lord's intent, Clad like a churl therefrom he went. But when he came where dwelt Maltete, With few words did he pass the gate, For Maltete built him walls anew, And, wageless, folk from field he drew.
Now passed the squire through this and that, Till he came to where Sir Maltete sat, And over red wine wagged his beard: Then spoke the squire as one afeard. I keep my heaviest marks therein, For since nought else of wealth had he, I deemed full well he owed it me. Before the moon begins to shine, May all this heap of gold be thine.
For if a great rout he shall see, Will he not hide his wealth from me? The old knight muttered under his breath, "Then mayhap ye shall but ride to death. Take heed, ye shall not long escape. When I come back safe, old carle, perdie, Thine head shall brush the linden-tree. Therewith he rode with his five men, And Boncoeur's spy, for good leagues ten, Until they left the beaten way, And dusk it grew at end of day. There, in a clearing of the wood, Was John's house, neither fair nor good.
In a ragged plot his house anigh, Thin coleworts grew but wretchedly. John-a-Wood in his doorway sat, Turning over this and that, And chiefly how he best might thrive, For he had will enough to live. Green coleworts from a wooden bowl He ate; but careful was his soul, For if he saw another day, Thenceforth was he in Boncoeur's pay. So when he saw how Maltete came, He said, "Beginneth now the game!
When Maltete did this carle behold Somewhat he doubted of his gold, But cried out, "Where is now thy store Thou hast through books of wicked lore? Then said the poor man, right humbly, "Fair lord, this was not made by me, I found it in mine own dry well, And had a mind thy grace to tell. Then Maltete took it in his hand, Nor knew he ought that it used to stand On Boncoeur's cupboard many a day.
But as they passed by John's woodstack, Growled Maltete, "Nothing now doth lack Wherewith to light a merry fire, And give my wizard all his hire. The western sky was red as blood, Darker grew the oaken-wood; "Thief and carle, where are ye gone? Why are we in the wood alone?
The basnets flash from tree to tree; Show me, thou Christ, the way to flee! Boncoeur it was with fifty men; Maltete was but one to ten, And his own folk prayed for grace, With empty hands in that lone place. Then could Maltete howl and cry, Little will he had to die. Soft was his speech, now it was late, But who had will to save Maltete? They brought him to the house again, And toward the road he looked in vain. Lonely and bare was the great highway, Under the gathering moonlight grey. They took off his gilt basnet, That he should die there was no let; They took off his coat of steel, A damned man he well might feel.
He said, "This is but poor men's blood! They brought it him in the cup of gold. He said, "The women I have sold Have wept it full of salt for me; I shall die gaping thirstily. On the threshold of that poor homestead They smote off his evil head; They set it high on a great spear, And rode away with merry cheer. At the dawn, in lordly state, They rode to Maltete's castle-gate. Forthwith opened they the gate, No man was sorry for Maltete. Boncoeur conquered all his lands, A good knight was he of his hands.
Dens est Deus pauperum. Good men he loved, and hated bad; Joyful days and sweet he had; Good deeds did he plenteously; Beneath him folk lived frank and free. He lived long, with merry days; None said aught of him but praise. God on him have full mercy; A good knight merciful was he. The great lord, called Maltete, is dead; Grass grows above his feet and head, And a holly-bush grows up between His rib-bones gotten white and clean.
A carle's sheep-dog certainly Is a mightier thing than he. Till London-bridge shall cross the Nen, Take we heed of such-like men. It was a knight of the southern land Rode forth upon the way When the birds sang sweet on either hand About the middle of the May. But when he came to the lily-close, Thereby so fair a maiden stood, That neither the lily nor the rose Seemed any longer fair nor good. What dost thou weeping here, For the days of May are sweet enow, And the nights of May are dear?
But fast, unseen, the black oars fell That drave to shore the rover's ship. Naught lacketh graves the Northern land If to-day it lack a lovelier man. Naught lacketh the Northland joy gone past If it lack the night and day. They have taken ship and sailed away Across the Southland main; They have sailed by hills were green and gay, A land of goods and gain. They have sailed by sea-cliffs stark and white And hillsides fair enow; They have sailed by lands of little night Where great the groves did grow.
They have sailed by islands in the sea That the clouds lay thick about; And into a main where few ships be Amidst of dread, and doubt. With broken mast and battered side They drave amidst the tempest's heart; But why should death to these betide Whom love did hold so well apart? The flood it drave them toward the strand, The ebb it drew them fro; The swallowing seas that tore the land Cast them ashore and let them go.
A goodly man forsooth he were But for his visage piteous. O love, thou shalt not long be lone. Now kind thou com'st to call me home, Be sure I shall not tarry long. My heart shall beat against thy breast As arms of thine shall comfort me. O was it day, or was it night, As there they told their love again?
The high-tide of the sun's delight, Or whirl of wind and drift of rain? Naught but the wind and sea made moan As hastily she turned her round; From light clouds wept the morn alone, Not the dead corpse upon the ground. And now must he be left behind. She kissed his lips that yet did smile, She kissed his eyes that were not sad: It was up in the morn we rose betimes From the hall-floor hard by the row of limes.
It was dark in the porch, but our scythes we felt, And thrust the whetstone under the belt. Through the cold garden boughs we went Where the tumbling roses shed their scent. And there was the mead by the town-reeve's close Where the hedge was sweet with the wilding rose. While yet the bloom of the swathe was dim The black-bird's bill had answered him.
Ere half of the road to the river was shorn The sunbeam smote the twisted thorn. Now wide was the way 'twixt the standing grass For the townsfolk unto the mote to pass,. While down in the stream the dragon-fly 'Twixt the quivering rushes flickered by;. And though our knives shone sharp and white The swift bleak heeded not the sight.
For the wind was in the blossoming wheat And drave the bees in the lime-boughs sweet. Then loud was the horn's voice drawing near, And it hid the talk of the prattling weir. When wise men stood on the Elders' Mound, And the swords were shining bright around. And now we saw the banners borne On the first of the way that we had shorn; So we laid the scythe upon the sward And girt us to the battle-sword. Now when the swords stood thick and white As the mace reeds stand in the streamless bight,.
When over the new-shorn place of the field Was nought but the steel hood and the shield. The face on the mound shone ruddy and hale, But the hoar hair showed from the hoary mail. And there rose a hand by the ruddy face And shook a sword o'er the peopled place. And there came a voice from the mound and said: And gone are the faces I have known In the street and the booths of the goodly town. Whose are these flocks and whose the neat, And whose the acres of the wheat? Then sank the shouts and again we heard The old voice come from the hoary beard: Whose are the prattling children there, And whose the sunburnt maids and fair?
Whose thralls are ye, hereby that stand, Bearing the freeman's sword in hand? As the thunder rattles along and adown E'en so was the voice of the weaponed town. And there was the steel of the old man's sword, And there was his hollow voice, and his word: Did they hold out hands his gyves to bear? Did their knees his high hall's pavement wear?
Doth he hold the rain in his hollow hand? Hath he cleft this water through the land? 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;. So he spake in a voice was loud and strong: 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. When we come our ways to the Outer Wood We shall be an host both great and good;.
And yet in the Land by the River-side Doth never a thrall or an earl's man bide;. 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. 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.
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. 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: 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.
In the days of the years we dwell in, that wear our lives away? Why, then, and for what are we waiting? O why and for what are we waiting? 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.
That the Dawn and the Day is coming, and forth the Banners go. So swift the hours are moving Unto the time un-proved: Farewell my love unloving, Farewell my love beloved! 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. 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? 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? 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. Then praise the deed that wendeth Through the daylight and the mirth! The tale that never endeth Whoso may dwell on earth. 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. 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. 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!
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.
I am Day; I bring again Life and glory, Love and pain: 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 looked for long am I; Much shall change or e'er I die. Prithee take it not amiss Though I weary thee with bliss.
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. I am Winter, that do keep Longing safe amidst of sleep: Who shall say if I were dead What should be remembered? I bring again Hope of pleasure, rest from pain: Thoughts unsaid 'twixt Life and Death My fruitful silence quickeneth. The fateful slumber floats and flows About the tangle of the rose; But lo!
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 maiden pleasance of the land Knoweth no stir of voice or hand, No cup the sleeping waters fill, The restless shuttle lieth still. 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.
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.
I once a King and chief Now am the tree-bark's thief, Ever 'twixt trunk and leaf Chasing the prey. The Beasts that be In wood and waste, Now sit and see, Nor ride nor haste. 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. 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.
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! 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 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 rushes 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. 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: 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 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.
Two words about the world we see, And nought but Mine and Thine they be. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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.
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 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! Each hour the while my life shall last Remembereth him alone, Such heavy sorrow have I got From our meeting long agone.
O, early in the morning-tide Men cry: 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 in bower were we no sooner laid Than the truth thereof to my father was said. They stood by the door with glaive and spear; 'Hildebrand rise and hasten here! Lord Hildebrand stroked my white white cheek: 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 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. When we came to the dark wood and the shade To raise the tent my true-love bade. No man now shall stand on his feet To love that love, to woo that sweet: Agnes went through the meadows a-weeping, Fowl are a-singing. There stood the hill-man heed thereof keeping. 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: And when the church she stood within To her mother on bench straight did she win. Weird laid he on her, sore sickness he wrought, Fowl are a-singing. That self-same hour to death was she brought. 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 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. 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.
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. 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. As there they sat, the dames and maids, Of his words they took no keep, Only his mother well-beloved Heeded his dreamful sleep. 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. 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! 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. 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! 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: This withal spake the evil nurse, The nighest that she durst: Never cast I one word at thee, Went thy sewing well or ill. O it was Hafbur the King's son Began to sew at last; He sewed 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? 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: 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.
Ne'er in him shall I have a part. Nought but the sound of his gold-wrought horn As he rides to the Thing and fro. Turn hither, O my well-beloved, To thy side I lie so near. 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. That thou shouldst speak this word; He is far away in the east-countries, Warring with knight and lord.
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: 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: 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: 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: 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: But answered thereto young Hafbur Out of a wrathful mind: They followed him, King Hafbur, Thick thronging from the castle-bent: And all who saw him needs must greet And in full piteous wise they went.
But when they came to the fair green mead Where Hafbur was to die, He prayed them hold a little while: For his true-love would he try. Perchance yet may King Siward rue My hanging on the gallows tree. Now of the cloak was Signy ware And sorely sorrow her heart did rive, She thought: Straightway her damsels did she call As weary as she was of mind: Yea and withal spake Signy, She spake a word of price: She set alight to the bower-aloft And it burned up speedily, And her good love and her great heart Might all with eyen see.
It was the King's son Hafbur O'er his shoulder cast his eye, And beheld how Signy's house of maids On a red low stood on high. King Siward looked out of his window fair, In fearful mood enow, For he saw Hafbur hanging on oak And Signy's bower on a low. Out then spake a little page Was clad in kirtle red: Therewithal spake King Siward From rueful heart unfain: O hasten and run to Signy's bower For the life of that sweet thing; Hasten and run to the gallows high, No thief is Hafbur the King.
But when they came to Signy's bower Low it lay in embers red; And when they came to the gallows tree, Hafbur was stark and dead. There stood his sisters by the quern, For the high-noon cakes they needs must earn. Why hangeth the sharp sword at thy side When through the land 'tis the hook goes wide?
The frost and the snow, and St. David's wind, All these that were time out of mind,. He's come to the wild-wood dark and drear, Where never the bird's song doth he hear. He has risen up under the little light Where the noon is as dark as the summer night. Six days therein has he walked alone Till his scrip was bare and his meat was done.
On the seventh morn in the mirk, mirk wood, He saw sight that he deemed was good. Sweet-mouthed she was, and fair he wist; And again in the darksome wood they kissed. Then first in the wood her voice he heard, As sweet as the song of the summer bird. He spake, "Love me as I love thee, And Goldilocks one flesh shall be. She took him cakes of woodland bread: She stroked his breast and his scarlet gear; She spake, "How brave thou art and dear! She shook her head, and laughed, and spake; "Rise up! For thee, not me, I quake. He kissed her face, and cried in mirth: What cometh down the stone-wrought stair That leadeth up to the castle fair?
O Goldilocks, what like is she? But most wondrous fair Of all the women earth doth bear. But up he sprang from the bramble-side, And "O thou fairest one! Then spake the Queen o'er all the crowd, And grim was her speech, and harsh, and loud: And hard she spake, and loud she cried Till the noise of the bickering guests had died.
Then again she spake amidst of the mirk, In a voice like an unoiled wheel at work: Let him bring aback the light and the day, And rich and in peace he shall go his way. I shall sit at the board by the bride-groom's side, And be betwixt him and the bride. I shall eat of his dish and drink of his cup, Until for the bride-bed ye rise up. Then was the Queen's word wailing-wild: Thou shalt sit by my groom till the dawn of night, And then shalt thou wend thy ways aright. Said the voice, "Yet shalt thou swear an oath That free I shall go though ye be loth.
She swore the oath, and then she spake: And e'en therewith the thing was done; There was peace in the hall, and the light of the sun. The Queen smiled o'er the guest-rich board, Although his wine the Maiden poured;. Wondering what new-wrought shape of death Should quench my new love-quickened breath? These words seemed spoken not, but writ As foolish tales through night-dreams flit. And soft they cooed, and sweet they billed Like man and maid with love fulfilled. And she crumbled a share of the spice-loaf brown, And the Swain upon her hand looked down;.
And still he looked on the hands of the Maid, As before the fowl the crumbs she laid. And he murmured low, "O Goldilocks! Were we but amid the wheaten shocks! Then the false Queen knit her brows and laid A fair white hand by the hand of the Maid. But the queen-bird now the carle-bird fed Till all was gone of the sugared bread. Then with wheedling voice for more he craved, And the Maid a share from the spice-loaf shaved;.
And the crumbs within her hollow hand She held where the creeping doves did stand. But Goldilocks, he looked and longed, And saw how the carle the queen-bird wronged. Then was there hubbub wild and strange, And swiftly all things there 'gan change. And though the hall was yet full fair, And bright the sunshine streamed in there,. And all these mopped and mowed and grinned, And sent strange noises down the wind. She crouched against them by the board; And cried the Maid: Out flashed the blade therewith. He saw The foul thing sidelong toward them draw,.
Then Goldilocks cried out and smote, And the sharp blade sheared the evil throat. Ere cried the Maid: And faced the beast, that whined and cried, And shook his head from side to side. Until from kissed and trembling mouth She cried: Her body in his arms was dear: Therewith they saw the tree-dusk lit, Bright grey the great boles gleamed on it. She fawned upon him, face and breast; She said: Sweetly he kissed her, cheek and chin: Then he tore his coat from the woman's hand, And never a moment there did stand. And there rose behind him laughter shrill, And then was the windless wood all still,.
Then stirred the sweetling that he bore, And she slid adown from his arms once more. Nought might he see her well-loved face; But he felt her lips in the mirky place. So 'neath the trees they lay, those twain, And to them the darksome night was gain. And when on their feet they came to stand Swain Goldilocks stretched out his hand. She blushed as red as the sun-sweet rose: That the false Queen dight to slay my heart; And sore indeed was their fleshly smart. Then hand in hand they went their way Till the wood grew light with the outer day.
She kissed her love withal and smiled: And what wilt thou with the woodland may? But how long the time that is worn away! O son, O son, we are blithe and fain; But the autumn drought, and the winter rain,.
Poems by the Way, (first trade edition) London: Reeves and Turner, ; Poems by the Way, HM images from Huntington Library Manuscripts. Free kindle book and epub digitized and proofread by Project Gutenberg.
David's wind, All these that were, time out of mind,. Then never a word spake Goldilocks Till they came adown from the wheaten shocks. Come, love, and look on the Fathers' Hall, And the folk of the kindred one and all! In the fair green-wood where lurks no fear, Where the King's writ runneth not, There dwell they, friends and fellows dear, While summer days are hot, And when the leaf from the oak-tree falls, And winds blow rough and strong, With the carles of the woodland thorps and halls They dwell, and fear no wrong.
Like the seed of midwinter, unheeded, unperished, Like the autumn-sown wheat 'neath the snow lying green, Like the love that o'ertook us, unawares and uncherished, Like the babe 'neath thy girdle that groweth unseen; So the hope of the people now buddeth and groweth, Rest fadeth before it, and blindness and fear; It biddeth us learn all the wisdom it knoweth; It hath found us and held us, and biddeth us hear: O barren sea, thou bitter bird, And a barren tale my ears have heard. Thy father's men were hard thereby In byrny bright and helmet high. O, there was Olaf the lily-rose, As fair as any oak that grows.
O sweet bird, what did he then Among the spears of my father's men?
My true love waiteth me. As well as this dull floor knows my feet, I am not weary yet, my sweet. As once her hand I had, Her lips at last shall make me glad. As once our fingers met, O love, So shall our lips be fain thereof. Be swift to rise and set, O Sun, Lest life 'twixt hope and death be done.
Fair fall thee fowl! Tell tidings true Of deeds that men that day did do. Steingrim before his banner went, And helms were broke and byrnies rent. A doughty man and good at need; Tell men of any other's deed? Where Steingrim through the battle bore Still Olaf went a foot before. O fair with deeds the world doth grow!
Where is my true-love gotten now? Upon the deck beside the mast He lieth now, and sleepeth fast. Heard'st thou before his sleep began That he spake word of any man? Methought of thee he sang a song, But nothing now he saith for long.
And wottest thou where he will wend With the world before him from end to end? Both these were gotten in lawful bed Of Thyrre Denmark's Surety-head. Fair was Knut of face and limb As the breast of the Queen that suckled him. But Harald was hot of hand and heart As lips of lovers ere they part. Knut sat at home in all men's love, But over the seas must Harald rove.