So swift the hours are movingUnto 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 departedAnd 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 beginnethIn never-dying tales.
Yet now the pain is endedAnd the glad hand grips the sword,Look on thy life amendedAnd 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 itBorn from the hell of thought?
And this that cometh after:How dost thou live, and dareTo 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 meetingThe summer sunlight blame?
What! cometh love and goethLike the dark night’s empty wind,Because thy folly sowethThe harvest of the blind?
Hast thou slain love with sorrow?Have thy tears quenched the sun?Nay even yet to-morrowShall many a deed be done.
This twilight sea thou sailest,Has it grown dim and blackFor that wherein thou failest,And the story of thy lack?
Peace then! for thine old grievingWas born of Earth the kind,And the sad tale thou art leavingEarth shall not leave behind.
Peace! for that joy abidingWhereon thou layest holdEarth keepeth for a tidingFor 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 cherishThat thou to-day shalt find.
And all thy joy and sorrowSo 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 wonderThat they were born to die.
Then praise the deed that wendethThrough the daylight and the mirth!The tale that never endethWhoso 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 burdenheavier 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 sorrowspringeth 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 yetEvery pain to count for nothing,every sorrow to forget.
Hearken how they cry, “O happy,happy ye that ye were bornIn 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 liveThrough 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 ponderon the bitter days of old,Ere the toil of strife and battleoverthrew the curse of gold;
Then ’twixt lips of loved and loversolemn thoughts of us shall rise;We who once were fools defeated,then shall be the brave and wise.
There amidst the world new-buildedshall 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!
What part of the dread eternityAre 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-tideThat flash, when new day bare and whiteBlots 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 tearsThat time, when the long day toiled through,Worn out, shows nought for me to do,And nothing worth my labour bearsThe 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 seeThe 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 lifeGleam through the tangle of to-day.
Day.
I am Day; I bring againLife and glory, Love and pain:Awake, arise! from death to deathThrough me the World’s tale quickeneth.
Spring.
Spring am I, too soft of heartMuch to speak ere I depart:Ask the Summer-tide to proveThe abundance of my love.
Summer.
Summer looked for long am I;Much shall change or e’er I die.Prithee take it not amissThough I weary thee with bliss.
Autumn.
Laden Autumn here I standWorn 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 keepLonging safe amidst of sleep:Who shall say if I were deadWhat should be remembered?
Night.
I am Night: I bring againHope of pleasure, rest from pain:Thoughts unsaid ’twixt Life and DeathMy fruitful silence quickeneth.
The Briarwood.
The fateful slumber floats and flowsAbout the tangle of the rose;But lo! the fated hand and heartTo rend the slumberous curse apart!
The Council Room.
The threat of war, the hope of peace,The Kingdom’s peril and increaseSleep on, and bide the latter day,When fate shall take her chain away.
The Garden Court.
The maiden pleasance of the landKnoweth 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 keyTo 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 gleamBut dusky cobwebs of a dream?
Beat down, deep sunk from every gleamOf hope, they lie and dully dream;Men once, but men no more, that LoveTheir waste defeated hearts should move.
Here sleeps the world that would not love!Let it sleep on, but if He moveTheir hearts in humble wise to waitOn 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 chiefNow am the tree-bark’s thief,Ever ’twixt trunk and leafChasing the prey.
The Beasts that beIn wood and waste,Now sit and see,Nor ride nor haste.
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.
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.
I am the handmaid of the earth,I broider fair her glorious gown,And deck her on her days of mirthWith many a garland of renown.
And while Earth’s little ones are fainAnd play about the Mother’s hemI scatter every gift I gainFrom sun and wind to gladden them.
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 yearThat mocks the threat of winter near,
And hangs aloft from tree to treeThe banners of the Spring to be.
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-bowlI 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 treesIn 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 feetI bear aloft my burden sweet.
Bay.
Look on my leafy boughs, the CrownOf living song and dead renown!
Silk Embroidery.
Lo silken my garden,and silken my sky,And silken my apple-boughshanging on high;All wrought by the Wormin the peasant carle’s cotOn the Mulberry leafagewhen summer was hot!
How the wind howls this mornAbout the end of May,And drives June on apaceTo mock the world forlornAnd the world’s joy passed awayAnd my unlonged-for face!The world’s joy passed away;For no more may I deemThat any folk are gladTo see the dawn of daySunder the tangled dreamWherein no grief they had.Ah, through the tangled dreamWhere others have no griefEver it fares with meThat fears and treasons streamAnd dumb sleep slays beliefWhatso therein may be.Sleep slayeth all beliefUntil the hopeless lightWakes at the birth of JuneMore 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 byAnd brought me the summer again;and here on the grass I lieAs erst I lay and was gladere I meddled with right and with wrong.Wide lies the mead as of old,and the river is creeping alongBy the side of the elm-clad bankthat turns its weedy stream;And grey o’er its hither lipthe quivering rushes gleam.There is work in the mead as of old;they are eager at winning the hay,While every sun sets brightand begets a fairer day.The forks shine white in the sunround the yellow red-wheeled wain,Where the mountain of hay grows fast;and now from out of the laneComes the ox-team drawing another,comes the bailiff and the beer,And thump, thump, goes the farmer’s nago’er the narrow bridge of the weir.High up and light are the clouds,and though the swallows flitSo 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 himdoth the fair sky quiver and burn;The dear sun, floods the landas the morning falls toward noon,And a little wind is awakein 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 workis a place for happy rest,While one’s thought wends over the worldnorth, south, and east and west.
* * * * *
There are the men and the maids,and the wives and the gaffers greyOf the fields I know so well,and but little changed are theySince 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 minglingwith the music of the meadsHas now no meaning to meto help or to hinder my needs,So far from them have I drifted.And yet amidst of them goesA 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 stoopsand kisses the face of the lad,And puts a rake in his handand laughs in his laughing face.Whose is the voice that laughsin 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 fieldswhere 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 onwhen the summer eve was sweet?
* * * * *
No, no, it is she no longer;never again can she comeAnd behold the hay-wains creepingo’er the meadows of her home;No more can she kiss her sonor put the rake in his handThat she handled a while agonein 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 believethat 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 bridgeBy many a rose-hung hedgerow,till we reach the sun-burnt ridgeAnd the great trench digged by the Romans:there then awhile shall we stand,To watch the dawn come creepingo’er the fragrant lovely land,Till all the world awaketh,and draws us down, we twain,To the deeds of the field and the foldand 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 sorrowto remember past delight.She is gone. She was and she is not;there is no such thing on the earthBut e’en as a picture painted;and for me there is void and dearthThat 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 livetill the last day’s work shall fail.Have patience now but a littleand I will tell you the taleOf how and why she died,and why I am weak and worn,And have wandered away to the meadowsand the place where I was born;But here and to-day I cannot;for ever my thought will strayTo that hope fulfilled for a littleand the bliss of the earlier day.Of the great world’s hope and anguishto-day I scarce can think;Like a ghost, from the lives of the livingand their earthly deeds I shrink.I will go adown by the waterand over the ancient bridge,And wend in our footsteps of oldtill 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 countiesstretch out till they fade in the haze;And in all the dwellings of manthat thence mine eyes shall see,What man as hapless as I ambeneath 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 beenThat they may measure sorrowor tell what grief may mean.And thou, thou hast deeds to do,and toil to meet thee soon;Depart and ponder on thesethrough the sun-worn afternoon.
Two words about the world we see,And nought but Mine and Thine they be.Ah! might we drive them forth and wideWith 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 wineOver the seas and up the Rhine.No manslayer then the wide world o’erWhen Mine and Thine are known no more.Yea, God, well counselled for our health,Gave all this fleeting earthly wealthA common heritage to all,That men might feed them therewithal,And clothe their limbs and shoe their feetAnd live a simple life and sweet.But now so rageth greedinessThat each desireth nothing lessThan 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 borneAnd 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-landWhere grew the fair green-wood.O well were I from the World away.
There came a Knight a-ridingWith three swains along the wayAnd 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 homeTo the house that was his own,And there bode I so long with himThat I was his love alone.O well were I from the World away.
But the very first night we lay abedBefell 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 landSithence 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 awayFor mine eyes no more to see!O well were I from the World away.
Each hour the while my life shall lastRemembereth him alone,Such heavy sorrow have I gotFrom our meeting long agone.O well were I from the World away.
O, early in the morning-tideMen cry: “Christine the fair,Art thou well content with that true loveThou 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 aloftWorshippeth him and me.O well were I from the World away.
“Ah, all the red gold I have gotWell would I give to-day,Only for this and nothing elseFrom the world to win away.”O well were I from the World away.
“Nay, midst all folk upon the earthKeep thou thy ruddy gold,And love withal the mighty lordThat wedded thee of old.”O well were I from the World away.
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 beWith silk upon the cloth sewed she.
Where she should sew with silken threadThe gold upon the cloth she laid.
So to the Queen the word came inThat Hellelil wild work doth win.
Then did the Queen do furs on herAnd went to Hellelil the fair.
“O swiftly sewest thou, Hellelil,Yet nought but mad is thy sewing still!”
“Well may my sewing be but madSuch 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 laidThan 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 thereWere 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 liveTidings hereof to my mother to give!’
No sooner was the word gone forthThan 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 untoBut 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 bareAnd cast me into that tower there.
And wheresoe’er my legs I laidTorment of the thorns I had.
Wheresoe’er on feet I stoodThe prickles sharp drew forth my blood.
My youngest brother me would slayBut my mother would have me sold away.
A great new bell my price did buyIn Mary’s Church to hang on high.
But the first stroke that ever it strakeMy 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 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 flameWhen 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 sandBehold 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 shadeTo 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 feetTo love that love, to woo that sweet:O fair it is to ride abroad.
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 anearThou cast not abroad thy golden hair.
“So that when thou standest the church withinTo 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 withinTo 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 endHome 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!
It was the fair knight AagenTo an isle he went his way,And plighted troth to Else,Who was so fair a may.
He plighted troth to ElseAll with the ruddy gold,But or ere that day’s moon came againLow he lay in the black, black mould.
It was the maiden Else,She was fulfilled of woeWhen she heard how the fair knight AagenIn 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 nameAs thou hadst might before.”
“O hearken, maiden Else,And open thou thy door,For Jesu’s name I well may nameAs I had might before!”
Then uprose maiden Else,O’er her cheek the salt tears ran,Nor spared she into her very bowerTo welcome that dead man.
O, she’s taken up her comb of goldAnd combed adown her hair,And for every hair she combed adownThere fell a weary tear.
“Hearken thou, knight Aagen,Hearken, true-love, and tell,If down-adown in the black, black earthThou farest ever well?”
“O whenso thou art joyous,And the heart is glad in thee,Then fares it with my coffinThat red roses are with me.
“But whenso thou art sorrowfulAnd weary is thy mood,Then all within my coffinIs 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 loveAll through the mirk wild wood.
But when the wood was well passed through,And in the churchyard they were,Then was the fair knight AagenWaxen wan of his golden hair.
And when therefrom they wendedAnd were the church within,Then was the fair knight AagenWaxen 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 sweetlyIt fareth with the night!”
She looked up to the heavens aloft,To the little stars bright aboveThe 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 againShe lay alow in the mould.
King Hafbur & King SiwardThey needs must stir up strife,All about the sweetling SignyWho 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 HafburWoke up amid the night,And ’gan to tell of a wondrous dreamIn swift words nowise light.
“Me-dreamed I was in HeavenAmid that fair abode,And my true-love lay upon mine armAnd 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-belovedHeeded his dreamful sleep.
“Go get thee gone to the mountain,And make no long delay;To the elve’s eldest daughterFor 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 mountainTo 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 HeavenMy dream arede thou clear.
“Me-dreamed I was in heaven,Yea amid that fair abode,And my true-love lay upon mine armAnd 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 luckTo win to me that may,In no sorrow’s stead it standeth meFor 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 houseAnd will well learn weaving ways.
Lord Hafbur all his clothes let shapeIn such wise as maidens do,And thus he rideth over the landKing Siward’s daughter to woo.
Now out amid the castle-garthHe cast his cloak aside,And goeth forth to the high-bowerWhere 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 daughterIf she abideth here!
“Hail, sittest thou, sweet King’s daughter,A-spinning the silken twine,It is King Hafbur sends me hitherTo learn the sewing fine.”
Hath Hafbur sent thee here to me?Then art thou a welcome guest,And all the sewing that I canShall I learn thee at my best.
“And all the sewing that I canI 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 meAnd sleep soft upon mine arm.”
There sat they, all the damsels,And sewed full craftily;But ever the King’s son HafburWith 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 bowlBut the bottom soon was seen.
In there came the evil nurseIn the worst tide that might be:“Never saw I fair maidenWho could sew less craftily.
“Never saw I fair maidenSeam worse the linen fine,Never saw I noble maidenWho better drank the wine.”
This withal spake the evil nurse,The nighest that she durst:“Never saw I yet fair maidenOf drink so sore athirst.
“So little a seam as ever she sewsGoes the needle into her mouth,As big a bowl as ever she getsOut is it drunk forsooth.
“Ne’er saw I yet in maiden’s headTwo eyes so bright and bold,And those two hands of her withalAre 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 inNought do they deal with thee.”
O it was Hafbur the King’s sonBegan 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 maidensAnd 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 aloftAnd blue shall thy bolster be.”
* * * * *
She went before, sweet Signy,O’er the high bower’s bridge aright,And after her went HafburLaughing from heart grown light.
Then kindled folk the waxlights,That were so closely twined,And after them the ill nurse wentWith 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 soreDown 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 shirtUpon so fair a maid.”
She laid her hand on Hafbur’s breastWith the red gold all a-blaze:“Why wax thy breasts in no such wiseAs they wax in other mays?”
“The wont it is in my father’s landFor maids to ride to the Thing,Therefore my breasts are little of growthBeneath 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 worldWho lieth so near to my heartAs doth the bold King Hafbur:Ne’er in him shall I have a part.
“As doth the bold King HafburThat mine eyes shall never know:Nought but the sound of his gold-wrought hornAs he rides to the Thing and fro.”
“O, is it Hafbur the King’s sonThat 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 garthWith 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 togetherThey 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 bowerWhereas King Siward lay.
“Wake up, wake up, King Siward!Over long thou sleepest there,The while the King’s son HafburLies 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 upIn 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 doorThey stood with spear and glaive;“Rise up, rise up, Young Hafbur,Out here we would thee have!”
That heard the goodly SignyAnd 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 himWhile 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 hairsHafbur’s hands to bind,Ne’er shall he rend them asunderHis heart to her is so kind.”
Then took they two of Signy’s hairsBonds for his hands to be,Nor might he rive them asunderSo dear to his heart was she.
Then spake the sweetling SignyAs 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 HafburAmidst 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 makeMy mother’s sisters three.
“For my father’s mind stands fast in this,To do thee to hang upon the boughOn the topmost oak in the morning-tideWhile the sun is yet but low.”
But answered thereto young HafburOut of a wrathful mind:“Of all heeds I heeded, this was the last,To be prayed for by womankind.
“But hearken, true-love Signy,Good heart to my asking turn,When thou seest me swing on oaken-boughThen let thy high-bower burn.”
Then answered the noble Signy,So sore as she must moan,“God to aid, King’s son Hafbur,Well will I grant thy boon.”
* * * * *
They followed him, King Hafbur,Thick thronging from the castle-bent:And all who saw him needs must greetAnd in full piteous wise they went.
But when they came to the fair green meadWhere Hafbur was to die,He prayed them hold a little while:For his true-love would he try.
“O hang me up my cloak of red,That sight or my ending let me see.Perchance yet may King Siward rueMy hanging on the gallows tree.”
Now of the cloak was Signy wareAnd sorely sorrow her heart did rive,She thought: “The ill tale all is told,No longer is there need to live.”
Straightway her damsels did she callAs weary as she was of mind:“Come, let us go to the bower aloftGame and glee for a while to find.”
Yea and withal spake Signy,She spake a word of price:“To-day shall I do myself to deathAnd meet Hafbur in Paradise.
“And whoso there be in this our houseLord Hafbur’s death that wrought,Good reward I give them nowTo red embers to be brought.
“So many there are in the King’s garthOf Hafbur’s death shall be glad;Good reward for them to loseThe trothplight mays they had.”
She set alight to the bower-aloftAnd it burned up speedily,And her good love and her great heartMight all with eyen see.
* * * * *
It was the King’s son HafburO’er his shoulder cast his eye,And beheld how Signy’s house of maidsOn a red low stood on high.
“Now take ye down my cloak of red,Let it lie on the earth a-cold;Had I ten lives of the world for one,Nought of them all would I hold.”
King Siward looked out of his window fair,In fearful mood enow,For he saw Hafbur hanging on oakAnd Signy’s bower on a low.
Out then spake a little pageWas clad in kirtle red:“Sweet Signy burns in her bower aloft,With all her mays unwed.”
Therewithal spake King SiwardFrom rueful heart unfain:“Ne’er saw I two King’s children erstSuch piteous ending gain.
“But had I wist or heard it toldThat love so strong should be,Ne’er had I held those twain apartFor all Denmark given me.
O hasten and run to Signy’s bowerFor 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 bowerLow it lay in embers red;And when they came to the gallows tree,Hafbur was stark and dead.
They took him the King’s son Hafbur,Swathed him in linen white,And laid him in the earth of ChristBy Signy his delight.O wilt thou win me then,or as fair a maid as I be?
It was Goldilocks woke up in the mornAt the first of the shearing of the corn.
There stood his mother on the hearthAnd of new-leased wheat was little dearth.
There stood his sisters by the quern,For the high-noon cakes they needs must earn.
“O tell me Goldilocks my son,Why hast thou coloured raiment on?”
“Why should I wear the hodden greyWhen I am light of heart to-day?”
“O tell us, brother, why ye wearIn reaping-tide the scarlet gear?
Why hangeth the sharp sword at thy sideWhen through the land ’tis the hook goes wide?”
“Gay-clad am I that men may knowThe freeman’s son where’er I go.
The grinded sword at side I bearLest I the dastard’s word should hear.”
“O tell me Goldilocks my son,Of whither away thou wilt be gone?”
“The morn is fair and the world is wideAnd here no more will I abide.”
“O Brother, when wilt thou come again?”“The autumn drought, and the winter rain,
The frost and the snow, and St. David’s wind,All these that were time out of mind,
All these a many times shall beEre the Upland Town again I see.”
“O Goldilocks my son, farewell,As thou wendest the world ’twixt home and hell!”
“O brother Goldilocks, farewell,Come back with a tale for men to tell!”
* * * * *
So ’tis wellaway for Goldilocks,As he left the land of the wheaten shocks.
He’s gotten him far from the Upland Town,And he’s gone by Dale and he’s gone by Down.
He’s come to the wild-wood dark and drear,Where never the bird’s song doth he hear.
He has slept in the moonless wood and dimWith never a voice to comfort him.
He has risen up under the little lightWhere the noon is as dark as the summer night.
Six days therein has he walked aloneTill 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.
It was as one sees a flower a-bloomIn the dusky heat of a shuttered room.
He deemed the fair thing far aloof,And would go and put it to the proof.
But the very first step he made from the placeHe met a maiden face to face.
Face to face, and so close was sheThat their lips met soft and lovingly.
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.
“O thou fair man with the golden head,What is the name of thee?” she said.
“My name is Goldilocks,” said he;“O sweet-breathed, what is the name of thee?”
“O Goldilocks the Swain,” she said,“My name is Goldilocks the Maid.”
He spake, “Love me as I love thee,And Goldilocks one flesh shall be.”
She said, “Fair man, I wot not howThou lovest, but I love thee now.
But come a little hence away,That I may see thee in the day.
For hereby is a wood-lawn clearAnd good for awhile for us it were.”
Therewith she took him by the handAnd led him into the lighter land.
* * * * *
There on the grass they sat adown.Clad she was in a kirtle brown.
In all the world was never maidSo fair, so evilly arrayed.
No shoes upon her feet she hadAnd scantly were her shoulders clad;
Through her brown kirtle’s rents full wideShone out the sleekness of her side.
An old scrip hung about her neck,Nought of her raiment did she reck.
No shame of all her rents had she;She gazed upon him eagerly.
She leaned across the grassy spaceAnd put her hands about his face.
She said: “O hunger-pale art thou,Yet shalt thou eat though I hunger now.”
She took him apples from her scrip,She kissed him, cheek and chin and lip.
She took him cakes of woodland bread:“Whiles am I hunger-pinched,” she said.
She had a gourd and a pilgrim shell;She took him water from the well.
She stroked his breast and his scarlet gear;She spake, “How brave thou art and dear!”
Her arms about him did she wind;He felt her body dear and kind.
* * * * *
“O love,” she said, “now two are one,And whither hence shall we be gone?”
“Shall we fare further than this wood,”Quoth he, “I deem it dear and good?”
She shook her head, and laughed, and spake;“Rise up! For thee, not me, I quake.
Had she been minded me to slaySure she had done it ere to-day.
But thou: this hour the crone shall knowThat thou art come, her very foe.
No minute more on tidings wait,Lest e’en this minute be too late.”
She led him from the sunlit green,Going sweet-stately as a queen.
There in the dusky wood, and dim,As forth they went, she spake to him:
“Fair man, few people have I seenAmidst this world of woodland green:
But I would have thee tell me nowIf there be many such as thou.”
“Betwixt the mountains and the sea,O Sweet, be many such,” said he.
Athwart the glimmering air and dimWith wistful eyes she looked on him.
“But ne’er an one so shapely madeMine eyes have looked upon,” she said.
He kissed her face, and cried in mirth:“Where hast thou dwelt then on the earth?”
“Ever,” she said, “I dwell aloneWith a hard-handed cruel crone.
And of this crone am I the thrallTo serve her still in bower and hall;
And fetch and carry in the wood,And do whate’er she deemeth good.
But whiles a sort of folk there comeAnd seek my mistress at her home;
But such-like are they to beholdAs make my very blood run cold.
Oft have I thought, if there be noneOn earth save these, would all were done!
Forsooth, I knew it was nought so,But that fairer folk on earth did grow.
But fain and full is the heart in meTo know that folk are like to thee.”
Then hand in hand they stood awhileTill her tears rose up beneath his smile.
And he must fold her to his breastTo give her heart a while of rest.
Till sundered she and gazed about,And bent her brows as one in doubt.
She spake: “The wood is growing thin,Into the full light soon shall we win.
Now crouch we that we be not seen,Under yon bramble-bushes green.”
Under the bramble-bush they layBetwixt the dusk and the open day.
* * * * *
“O Goldilocks my love, look forthAnd let me know what thou seest of worth.”
He said: “I see a house of stone,A castle excellently done.”
“Yea,” quoth she, “There doth the mistress dwellWhat next thou seest shalt thou tell.”
“What lookest thou to see come forth?”“Maybe a white bear of the North.”
“Then shall my sharp sword lock his mouth.”“Nay,” she said, “or a worm of the South.”
“Then shall my sword his hot blood cool.”“Nay, or a whelming poison-pool.”
“The trees its swelling flood shall stay,And thrust its venomed lip away.”
“Nay, it may be a wild-fire flashTo burn thy lovely limbs to ash.”
“On mine own hallows shall I call,And dead its flickering flame shall fall.”
“O Goldilocks my love, I fearThat ugly death shall seek us here.
Look forth, O Goldilocks my love,That I thine hardy heart may prove.
What cometh down the stone-wrought stairThat leadeth up to the castle fair?”
“Adown the doorward stair of stoneThere cometh a woman all alone.”
“Yea, that forsooth shall my mistress be:O Goldilocks, what like is she?”
“O fair she is of her array,As hitherward she wends her way.”
“Unlike her wont is that indeed:Is she not foul beneath her weed?”
“O nay, nay! But most wondrous fairOf all the women earth doth bear.”
“O Goldilocks, my heart, my heart!Woe, woe! for now we drift apart.”
But up he sprang from the bramble-side,And “O thou fairest one!” he cried:
And forth he ran that Queen to meet,And fell before her gold-clad feet.
About his neck her arms she cast,And into the fair-built house they passed.
And under the bramble-bushes layUnholpen, Goldilocks the may.
* * * * *
Thenceforth a while of time there wore,And Goldilocks came forth no more.
Throughout that house he wandered wide,Both up and down, from side to side.
But never he saw an evil crone,But a full fair Queen on a golden throne.
Never a barefoot maid did he see,But a gay and gallant company.
He sat upon the golden throne,And beside him sat the Queen alone.
Kind she was, as she loved him well,And many a merry tale did tell.
But nought he laughed, nor spake again,For all his life was waste and vain.
Cold was his heart, and all afraidTo think on Goldilocks the Maid.
* * * * *
Withal now was the wedding dightWhen he should wed that lady bright.
The night was gone, and the day was upWhen they should drink the bridal cup.
And he sat at the board beside the Queen,Amidst of a guest-folk well beseen.
But scarce was midmorn on the hall,When down did the mirk of midnight fall.
Then up and down from the board they ran,And man laid angry hand on man.
There was the cry, and the laughter shrill,And every manner word of ill.
Whoso of men had hearkened it,Had deemed he had woke up over the Pit.
Then spake the Queen o’er all the crowd,And grim was her speech, and harsh, and loud:
“Hold now your peace, ye routing swine,While I sit with mine own love over the wine!
For this dusk is the very deed of a foe,Or under the sun no man I know.”
And hard she spake, and loud she criedTill 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:
“Whoso would have a goodly gift,Let him bring aback the sun to the lift.
Let him bring aback the light and the day,And rich and in peace he shall go his way.”
Out spake a voice was clean and clear:“Lo, I am she to dight your gear;
But I for the deed a gift shall gain,To sit by Goldilocks the Swain.
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:“E’en so must it be, thou Angel’s child.
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 oathThat free I shall go though ye be loth.”
“How shall I swear?” the false Queen spake:“Wherewith the sure oath shall I make?”
“Thou shalt swear by the one eye left in thine head,And the throng of the ghosts of the evil dead.”
She swore the oath, and then she spake:“Now let the second dawn awake.”
And e’en therewith the thing was done;There was peace in the hall, and the light of the sun.
And again the Queen was calm and fair,And courteous sat the guest-folk there.
Yet unto Goldilocks it seemedAs if amidst the night he dreamed;
As if he sat in a grassy place,While slim hands framed his hungry face;
As if in the clearing of the woodOne gave him bread and apples good;
And nought he saw of the guest-folk gay,And nought of all the Queen’s array.
Yet saw he betwixt board and door,A slim maid tread the chequered floor.
Her gown of green so fair was wrought,That clad her body seemed with nought
But blossoms of the summer-tide,That wreathed her, limbs and breast and side.
And, stepping towards him daintily,A basket in her hand had she.
And as she went, from head to feet,Surely was she most dainty-sweet.
Love floated round her, and her eyesGazed from her fairness glad and wise;
But babbling-loud the guests were grown;Unnoted was she and unknown.
* * * * *
Now Goldilocks she sat beside,But nothing changed was the Queenly bride;
Yea too, and Goldilocks the SwainWas grown but dull and dazed again.
The Queen smiled o’er the guest-rich board,Although his wine the Maiden poured;
Though from his dish the Maiden ate,The Queen sat happy and sedate.
But now the Maiden fell to speakFrom lips that well-nigh touched his cheek:
“O Goldilocks, dost thou forget?Or mindest thou the mirk-wood yet?
Forgettest thou the hunger-painAnd all thy young life made but vain?
How there was nought to help or aid,But for poor Goldilocks the Maid?”
She murmured, “Each to each we two,Our faces from the wood-mirk grew.
Hast thou forgot the grassy place,And love betwixt us face to face?
Hast thou forgot how fair I deemedThy face? How fair thy garment seemed?
Thy kisses on my shoulders bare,Through rents of the poor raiment there?
My arms that loved thee nought unkissedAll o’er from shoulder unto wrist?
Hast thou forgot how brave thou wert,Thou with thy fathers’ weapon girt;