The Collected Works of William Morris With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III, IV, V, VI. |
| VII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XII. |
 | XIV. |
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| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XXI. |
| XXIV. |
 | CHAPTER LV. DEPARTURE FROM SILVERDALE.
The Collected Works of William Morris |  |
388
CHAPTER LV. DEPARTURE FROM SILVERDALE.
[Songs extracted from the prose narrative.]
[Back again to the dear Dale where born was the kindred]
[The kindred.]
Back again to the dear Dale where born was the kindred,
Here wend we all living, and liveth our mirth.
Here afoot fares our joyance, whatever men hindred,
Through all wrath of the heavens, all storms of the earth.
Here wend we all living, and liveth our mirth.
Here afoot fares our joyance, whatever men hindred,
Through all wrath of the heavens, all storms of the earth.
O true, we have left here a part of our treasure,
The ashes of stout ones, the stems of the shield;
But the bold lives they spended have sown us new pleasure,
Fair tales for the telling in fold and on field.
The ashes of stout ones, the stems of the shield;
But the bold lives they spended have sown us new pleasure,
Fair tales for the telling in fold and on field.
For as oft as we sing of their edges' upheaving,
When the yellowing windows shine forth o'er the night,
Their names unforgotten with song interweaving
Shall draw forth dear drops from the depths of delight.
When the yellowing windows shine forth o'er the night,
Their names unforgotten with song interweaving
Shall draw forth dear drops from the depths of delight.
Or when down by our feet the grey sickles are lying,
And behind us is curling the supper-tide smoke,
No whit shall they grudge us the joyance undying,
Remembrance of men that put from us the yoke.
And behind us is curling the supper-tide smoke,
No whit shall they grudge us the joyance undying,
Remembrance of men that put from us the yoke.
When the huddle of ewes from the fells we have driven,
And we see down the Dale the grey reach of the roof,
We shall tell of the gift in the battle-joy given,
All the fierceness of friends that drave sorrow aloof.
And we see down the Dale the grey reach of the roof,
We shall tell of the gift in the battle-joy given,
All the fierceness of friends that drave sorrow aloof.
389
Once then we lamented, and mourned them departed;
Once only, no oftener. Henceforth shall we fling
Their names up aloft, when the merriest hearted
To the Fathers unseen of our life-days we sing.
Once only, no oftener. Henceforth shall we fling
Their names up aloft, when the merriest hearted
To the Fathers unseen of our life-days we sing.
Then was there silence in the ranks of men; and many
murmured the names of the fallen as they fared on their way
from out the Market-place of Silver-stead. Then once more
Redesman and his mates took up the song:
murmured the names of the fallen as they fared on their way
from out the Market-place of Silver-stead. Then once more
Redesman and his mates took up the song:
Come tell me, O friends, for whom bideth the maiden
Wet-foot from the river-ford down in the Dale?
For whom hath the goodwife the ox-waggon laden
With the babble of children, brown-handed and hale?
Wet-foot from the river-ford down in the Dale?
For whom hath the goodwife the ox-waggon laden
With the babble of children, brown-handed and hale?
Come tell me for what are the women abiding,
Till each on the other aweary they lean?
Is it loitering of evil that thus they are chiding,
The slow-footed bearers of sorrow unseen?
Till each on the other aweary they lean?
Is it loitering of evil that thus they are chiding,
The slow-footed bearers of sorrow unseen?
Nay, yet were they toiling if sorrow had worn them,
Or hushed had they bided with lips parched and wan.
The birds of the air other tidings have borne them—
How glad through the wood goeth man beside man.
Or hushed had they bided with lips parched and wan.
The birds of the air other tidings have borne them—
How glad through the wood goeth man beside man.
Then fare forth, O valiant, and loiter no longer
Than the cry of the cuckoo when May is at hand;
Late waxeth the spring-tide, and daylight grows longer,
And nightly the star-street hangs high o'er the land.
Than the cry of the cuckoo when May is at hand;
Late waxeth the spring-tide, and daylight grows longer,
And nightly the star-street hangs high o'er the land.
Many lives, many days for the Dale do ye carry;
When the Host breaketh out from the thicket unshorn,
It shall be as the sun that refuseth to tarry
On the crown of all mornings, the Midsummer morn.
When the Host breaketh out from the thicket unshorn,
It shall be as the sun that refuseth to tarry
On the crown of all mornings, the Midsummer morn.
390
[And yet what is this, and why fare ye so slowly]
[The kindred.]
And yet what is this, and why fare ye so slowly,
While our echoing halls of our voices are dumb,
And abideth unlitten the hearth-brand the holy,
And the feet of the kind fare afield till we come?
While our echoing halls of our voices are dumb,
And abideth unlitten the hearth-brand the holy,
And the feet of the kind fare afield till we come?
For not yet through the wood and its tangle ye wander;
Now skirt we no thicket, no path by the mere;
Far aloof for our feet leads the Dale-road out yonder;
Full fair is the morning, its doings all clear.
Now skirt we no thicket, no path by the mere;
Far aloof for our feet leads the Dale-road out yonder;
Full fair is the morning, its doings all clear.
There is nought now our feet on the highway delaying
Save the friend's loving-kindness, the sundering of speech;
The well-willer's word that ends words with the saying,
The loth to depart while each looketh on each.
Save the friend's loving-kindness, the sundering of speech;
The well-willer's word that ends words with the saying,
The loth to depart while each looketh on each.
Fare on then, for nought are ye laden with sorrow;
The love of this land do ye bear with you still.
In two Dales of the earth for to-day and to-morrow
Is waxing the oak-tree of peace and good-will.
The love of this land do ye bear with you still.
In two Dales of the earth for to-day and to-morrow
Is waxing the oak-tree of peace and good-will.
| CHAPTER LV. DEPARTURE FROM SILVERDALE.
The Collected Works of William Morris | |