The Collected Works of William Morris :: :: University of Virginia Library

And still amid the gurgle of the stream
He heard that music beating round the hill,
And went well pleased, for surely did he deem
In such a land that sound forbode no ill,
And to his heart there gathered great good will
Unto the singers, whoso they might be,
For in his soul grew up felicity.

But now they ceased, the happy notes of men:
The reed-chat's warble and the late bee's drone
The chuckle of the light-foot water-hen
But made the lonely river yet more lone
When the sweet cheery music was all done;
Then faster still he hastened, till he saw
That backward from the stream the hill 'gan draw.

xxvj

But now again, through the fresh lovely eve,
Grown nigher now he heard the music sound
And suddenly the wayward stream did leave
The vine-clad hill, that Bharam followed round
Leaving a level grassy spot of ground
Twixt stream and hill; a very paradise
To Bharam's weary heart and dazzled eyes:

Because a long low rustic house of wood
Was at the end of the green flowery bay
And huge old trees about the meadow stood
And little closes hedged with trellis grey
Cast forth sweet odours on that end of day.
Green was the place, unburnt by any sun,
And scarce could know when showery spring was done.

But midway twixt the river and the house
E'en in the greenest place could Bharam see,
Beneath the over-shadowing elm-tree boughs
Strewn here and there, a goodly company,
And hidden by a thick-leaved bushy tree
He stayed awhile their manner to behold
Striving to make his beating heart more bold.

The music even as these came in sight
Had ceased once more, and he beheld indeed
Garlanded maids in girt-up raiment light
And eager youths, unarmed, in simple weed,
Just ceasing from the dance, as though for need
Of rest awhile, and sighing on the ground
The piper dropped beside his purse of sound.

But from grave elders rose a mingled voice,
And from the dancers laughter lacking breath,
Until the very wind must needs rejoice
At seeing folk so far removed from death,
Since he too much of woe remembereth,
The tireless traveller over town and plain
The bearer of ill news and plague and pain.

xxvij

But now as Bharam gained a little heart
To go to them, somewhat an elder said,
And to his feet the piping man did start,
A damsel set the garland on her head
Cast-down erewhile, and took the flute that led
The dancers, and rose up and 'gainst a tree
Stood leaning, waiting for the minstrelsy.

And all about the fair young people stirred,
And some maids blushing rose unto their feet,
Some sitting still turned with a whispered word
The dear support of some loved arm to meet,
And smiled, remembering the soft song and sweet
That in a while throughout the clear air rung
Alternately 'twixt youths and maidens flung.