University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
The Collected Works of William Morris

With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris

expand sectionI. 
expand sectionII. 
expand sectionIII, IV, V, VI. 
collapse sectionVII. 
expand section 
collapse section 
  
collapse section 
expand section 
collapse section 
expand sectionXIV. 
expand sectionXVI. 
expand sectionXVII. 
expand sectionXVIII. 
expand sectionXIX. 
expand sectionXXI. 
expand sectionXXII. 
expand sectionXXIV. 
expand sectionXXVII. 
expand sectionXXVIII. 
expand sectionXXXI. 
expand sectionXXXVII. 
expand sectionXL. 
expand sectionXLVII. 
collapse sectionXLVIII. 
  
expand sectionLII. 
expand sectionLIV. 
expand sectionLVII. 
expand sectionLIX. 
expand sectionLXI. 
expand sectionLXII. 
expand sectionLXIII. 
expand sectionLXVI. 
expand sectionLXXIV. 
expand sectionLXXVII. 
expand sectionLXXXII. 
expand sectionLXXXVI. 
expand sectionXC. 
  
expand section 
expand sectionVIII. 
expand sectionXIV. 
expand sectionXVII. 
expand sectionXIX. 
expand sectionXX. 
expand sectionXXVII. 
expand sectionXXVIII. 
expand sectionXXIX. 
expand sectionXXX. 
expand sectionXXXI. 
expand sectionXXXIII. 
expand sectionXLIII. 
expand section 
expand sectionIX. 
expand sectionX. 
expand sectionXII. 
expand sectionXIV. 
expand sectionXV. 
expand sectionXVI. 
expand sectionXVII. 
expand sectionXXI. 
expand sectionXXIV. 

Now stand they aback for the trumpet and the merry minstrelsy,
For they tremble before King Atli, and golden-clad is he,
And his golden crown is heavy and he strides exceeding slow,
With the wise and the mighty about him, through the house of the Niblungs' woe.
There then by the Niblung woman on the throne he sat him down,
And folk heard the gold gear tinkle and the rings of the Eastland crown:
Folk looked on his rich adornment, on King Atli's pride they gazed,
And the bright beams wearied their eyen, by the glory were they dazed;
There the councillors kept silence and the warriors clad in steel,
All men lowly, all men mighty, that had care of Atli's weal;
Yea there in the hall were they waiting for the word to come from his lips,
As they of the merchant-city behold the shield-hung ships
Sweep slow through the windless haven with their gaping heads of gold,
And they know not their nation and names, nor hath aught of their errand been told.