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The Collected Works of William Morris

With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris

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“Soon told,” said An; “I followed them afar,
Knowing what thieves those Bathstead skinkers are,

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And at the peat moss where the road doth wind
About the dale, young Thorolf lagged behind;
I saw him take a something from his cloak,
And thrust it down just where the stream doth soak
The softest through the peat; then swift again
Ride on: so when they might not see me plain,
O ho, says I, and comes up to the place,
And here and there I peer with careful face
Until at last I drew this fair thing forth;
—A pity though, the scabbard is of worth!
Clean gone it is.”
Then from his cloak he drew
“The King's Gift” bright and naked. Olaf grew
Joyous thereover, praising An right well.
But Kiartan 'gan to gloom: “Ah, who can tell,”
He muttered, as he took the sword to him,
“But this shall end the troublous tale and dim?—
Well, I at least cast not the sheath away;
Bewail not ye too much, who have to pay
For pleasure gained; his may the worst hap be,
Who best can bear the pain and misery.”