The Collected Works of William Morris With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris |
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 | The Collected Works of William Morris |  |
Hark! his voice mid the glittering benches and the wine-cups of the Earls,
As cold as the wind that bloweth where the winter river whirls,
And the winter sun forgetteth all the promise of the spring:
“Hear ye, O men of the Westlands, hear thou, O Westland King,
I have ridden the scorching highways, I have ridden the mirk-wood blind,
I have sailed the weltering ocean your Westland house to find;
For I am the man called Knefrud with Atli's word in my mouth,
That saith: O noble Gunnar, come thou and be glad in the south,
And rejoice with the Eastland warriors; for the feast for thee is dight,
And the cloths for thy coming fashioned my glorious hall make bright.
Know'st thou not how the sun of the heavens hangs there 'twixt floor and roof,
How the light of the lamp all golden holds dusky night aloof?
How the red wine runs like a river, and the white wine springs as a well,
And the harps are never ceasing of ancient deeds to tell?
Thou shalt come when thy heart desireth, when thou weariest thou shalt go,
And shalt say that no such high-tide the world shall ever know.
Come bare and bald as the desert, and leave mine house again
As rich as the summer wine-burg, and the ancient wheat-sown plain!
Come, bid thy men be building thy store-house greater yet,
And make wide thy stall and thy stable for the gifts thine hand shall get!
Yet when thou art gone from Atli he shall stand by his treasure of gold,
He shall look through stall and stable, he shall ride by field and fold,
And no ounce from the weight shall be lacking, of his beasts shall lack no head,
If no thief hath stolen from Gunnar, if no beast in his land lie dead.
Yea henceforth let our lives be as one, let our wars and our wayfarings blend,
That my name with thine may be told of when the song is sung in the end,
That the ancient war-spent Atli may sit and laugh with delight
O'er thy feet the swift in battle, o'er thine hand uplifted to smite.”
As cold as the wind that bloweth where the winter river whirls,
And the winter sun forgetteth all the promise of the spring:
“Hear ye, O men of the Westlands, hear thou, O Westland King,
I have ridden the scorching highways, I have ridden the mirk-wood blind,
I have sailed the weltering ocean your Westland house to find;
For I am the man called Knefrud with Atli's word in my mouth,
That saith: O noble Gunnar, come thou and be glad in the south,
And rejoice with the Eastland warriors; for the feast for thee is dight,
And the cloths for thy coming fashioned my glorious hall make bright.
Know'st thou not how the sun of the heavens hangs there 'twixt floor and roof,
How the light of the lamp all golden holds dusky night aloof?
How the red wine runs like a river, and the white wine springs as a well,
And the harps are never ceasing of ancient deeds to tell?
Thou shalt come when thy heart desireth, when thou weariest thou shalt go,
And shalt say that no such high-tide the world shall ever know.
Come bare and bald as the desert, and leave mine house again
As rich as the summer wine-burg, and the ancient wheat-sown plain!
Come, bid thy men be building thy store-house greater yet,
And make wide thy stall and thy stable for the gifts thine hand shall get!
Yet when thou art gone from Atli he shall stand by his treasure of gold,
He shall look through stall and stable, he shall ride by field and fold,
And no ounce from the weight shall be lacking, of his beasts shall lack no head,
258
Yea henceforth let our lives be as one, let our wars and our wayfarings blend,
That my name with thine may be told of when the song is sung in the end,
That the ancient war-spent Atli may sit and laugh with delight
O'er thy feet the swift in battle, o'er thine hand uplifted to smite.”
| The Collected Works of William Morris | |