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

A King of the Goths there was as tells my tale
Men called Hermanaric, a man of might
Whose fortune midst all trouble did prevail;
High soared his joyful spirit many a night
Of battle won beneath his banner bright;
Bowed knees he knew, and trembling outstretched hands,
And shouts of welcome to new-conquered lands.

But now at last he sat him down in peace
Fain to forget that there was more to win,
Doubtful in dealing with his late-gained ease,
Mid the wide borders of his land, wherein
Whate'er there was of woe or fear or sin
But reached him when his great men bade him choose
If they should slay or save or bind or loose.

Now mid his highest lords a man there was
Of forty summers, fair of speech and mien,
Well-liking, deft to bring all things to pass
That by the King's eyes they might so be seen
As though Hermanaric the Goth had been
The King of Paradise, and no more wrong
Than God, to give account to weak or strong.

Black-haired this lord was, thin-lipped, stern of brow,
As one fulfilled of justice; so when he

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Gave mercy unto one beat down enow,
Strange sweetness seemed in that benignity
Wherewith his freed heart bade the wretch go free.
Folk trembled at his name, prayed for him, deemed
His death a hope that scarcely might be dreamed.

But whatsoe'er he was to other folk,
This lord called Bikki, to the King he grew
His right hand, yea his will, who, ere he spoke
The very thought his heart was big with knew;
Bold to do things the King had scarce dared do,
Yet would have done—no flatterer of the King,
Outspoken, fearing neither man nor thing.

The King had seen him kind, and knew his word
A thing ne'er broken: when the last great strife
Was quenched in one huge battle Bikki's sword,
When every minute with all loss was rife,
Had been unto the King the hope of life,
And his calm heart had made full victory
Bloom from the barren sword-encompassed tree.

So by the King's hands well-nigh Bikki ruled,
Yet in such wise that not to any there
It showed as though the King was much befooled,
And he, nigh sixty winters old, must bear,
As he was well content, both foul and fair,
Curses and blessings, seeming still to be
The God that gave both bliss and misery.

Yet one there was that had no wish to praise
The state of Bikki, e'en the King's one son,
A fair man in the spring-time of his days,
Who for his youth's sake few great deeds had done
And therewithal was strangely looked upon,
Unloved, unfeared, unknown by most of folk
Not kindly, men said, haughty when he spoke.

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Unknown as he might be, yet was it so
That Bikki knew him, and he none the less,
As one unwitting, Bikki's heart did know
Which thing with all despair would him oppress
At whiles, and whiles would prick him to redress
The wrong that God upon the world had cast
And raise the burden from men's hearts at last.

For praise and love he longed for overmuch;
No sluggard was he, yet with such a soul
As pleasure somewhat overquick did touch,
As over-soon felt pain's cloud o'er it roll;
And much he lacked clear sight of any goal,
And lacked withal the power of lasting hate
Of being to any as relentless fate.

Note of these men too, that though Randver felt
The bright day darken when his foe drew nigh,
And though in Bikki's cruel heart there dwelt
Most strong intent to sweep his enemy
From out his path, yet scarce to any eye
Seemed Bikki to the prince but frank and kind,
Though somewhat sullen Randver did they find.

Now in these days it fell out that the King
Would hold a great feast: thereat Bikki was
And Randver the King's son, and everything
In the most mirthful wise was brought to pass,
Till gleamed the summer moonlight through the glass,
Then mid a pleasant lull of the feast's noise
Unto the King cried Bikki in high voice:

“In merry days, O King, we dwell with thee
E'en as this day, and wide around thy land
Is richly dowered with all felicity,
And all thy foes lie quiet neath thy hand,
And all men praise thee, praying that still may stand

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Thy wise dominion; yet no God thou art;
Despite thy wealth one day must thou depart.

“And though we doubt not that, if this thy son
Shall live to reign when thou art fallen asleep,
Then neath the guiding hand of such an one
Our honour and our good-hap we shall keep,
Yet is he one alone—not over-deep
The sword need pierce, o'er-deep the arrow fly
For all thy race to perish utterly.”

The King signed with his hand, as down the hall
A murmur rose, and smiled, and spake in turn:
“Meseems, O Bikki, that my thoughts do fall
From out thy lips; either the wine doth burn
Within me past its wont now, or I yearn
At waking-tides to see upon my bed
Hope of more sons, some fair Queen's goodlihead.

“Speak out, O friend, what more thou hast to say,
For pleasant seems thy face, and well I know
Thou art not one to cast thy words away,
And as thou hast beheld my longing grow,
So unto me art thou good friend enow
A fair fulfilment thereunto to seek;
Speak out the name thy heart hath bade thee speak.”

“O King,” said Bikki, “scarce without the sound
Of harp and fiddle should I speak the name
Thou bidst me name—but bid the girls fill round
At least, and drink one cup unto the fame
Of one who feared not iron nor the flame,
Nor words of men, nor love to madness grown—
Sigurd, the best man that the world has known!”

Up stood the King, and through the hall there rang
A mighty shout; for fresh in each man's mind

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That memory was; so mid the beakers' clang
Folk drank thereto, and brave and true and kind
Men 'gan to feel: but as one deaf and blind
Sat Randver, with his hand about his cup,
While to the roof men's boastful glee rolled up.

Then turned Hermanaric unto him and said:
“Grudgest thou then the fame of such an one,
Or me the late-come bliss of being well-wed
Unto his kin?—for as my friend's words run
That is the deed meseems that must be done—
Rise up for shame, man, lest I deem thee yet
No son that ever erst I did beget!”

Then Randver rose and said with troubled face,
In low voice: “Sigurd, wheresoe'er thou art
I drink to thee!—who in such happy case
Abode that thou wert loved, nor diedst apart
From her who was the nighest to thine heart—
So fell the shadows from thee—would that I
None otherwise than thus might live and die!”

Sourly his father looked on him, then turned
To Bikki, and said: “Yet methought, men tell
Of Sigurd that his young child slain was burned
Beside him on the fire, when that befell
Which long had been foretold for him; for well
The Niblungs willed none should be left behind
To grow up keeping their ill deed in mind.”

“Yea,” Bikki said, “so was it that there died
A man-child with him, but when Gudrun lay
Over her husband dead, within her side
There lay a child unborn—fair was the day
That saw her first, eighteen years past away—
A fair day in despite the tears and woe,
The tangled misery that she woke unto.”

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Again the King spake: “Dreadful tales we heard
Of Gudrun wed to Atli, and how he
Entrapped the guileful Niblungs unafeared,
And how they died: and how at last that she
Slew both her children in her misery,
And of his own hall filled with swirling fire
Made for King Atli royal funeral pyre.”

“Yea,” Bikki said, “such tale may one deem true,
Yet know for sure that on the yellow sand
She stood, not able any more to wail,
And foiled in gaining death, her cold white hand
And wet arm round her babe, in the fair land
Of Jonakur: because, folk say, the sea
Would nowise end her life and misery.

“There the King wedded her, and there e'en now
She dwelleth: and the sea-drenched white-lipped child
Of that sad morn, fairer each day did grow
Till over her the Queen who ne'er had smiled
For many a year, is grown all kind and mild
Since of her babe Swanhild the Gods had care;
And in that court sweet pass the days and fair.”

Then the King smiled and said: “Hearkenest thou, son,
To what our counsellor saith, and deemest thou
That it were good we wedded such an one,
Daughter of Sigurd, were she fair enow
To look down from the throne, when, helm on brow,
And spear in hand the Goths go forth to war,
Wondering how fair the maids of Heaven are?”

As Randver reddened, struggling with some word,
And the King's wrath seemed rising once again,
Bikki broke in: “Nay fear ye nought, fair lord,
That she of Sigurd should be come in vain!
She is so fair, folk say, that men are fain

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She should not die or change—it shameth me
Somewhat to speak of such-like things to thee:

“For thou art old, I battered with much war,
And worn with thought of counselling thee at need,
Judging of men, all things that weary are,
And through all toil perchance nowhither lead:
And yet, Lord Randver, unto thee indeed
Meet might it be to hearken what folk say,
Poets and wandering folk, of this fair may!”

A troubled frown gathered on Randver's brow
At Bikki's words, but nought he answered him,
Who spake: “Time was I had been fain enow
To hear of poets' guess of hidden limb
And swaying of the silk-clad body slim,
And what they say of hands like lily-flowers
Dealing a-morning with the golden showers

“Of hair that God shall never make again;
Their tale of lips too fair to love, of eyes
So bright that to behold them is a pain,
Of what it is to see the fall and rise
Of her fair fragrant bosom; what surprise
Of joy shall greet the happy man she loves,
When through the clouds the moon of midnight moves.”

Randver sat moody-silent, and no less
The King withal, who smiling stroked his beard
Till at the last he woke from thoughtfulness,
And cried: “Well now that I thy tale have heard,
It seems a fair tale: neither are we feared
Of this King's saying nay to our desire
Since for the maiden scarce may he look higher.

“But let tomorn bring counsel, and more words
Concerning this last stem of a great race.

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Drink to our fortune, son!—and ye, fair lords,
In all the earth let there be one glad place
Whatso of trouble the world without may chase
Through these fair hours of night that heed us not—
Drink and be glad for all that we have got!”

So wore the feast through to an end: but when
The next morn came then withal Randver knew
That the King sat among his wisest men
In council: but the prince went not thereto
Nor was he summoned, for the days were few
Whereon the King would call him to the board
O'er which the great men dealt the treasured word.

But when noon came the King for Randver sent
Who found him lonely; and all eagerly
He 'gan to tell him of his full intent
How Swanhild in his kingly bed should lie:
“Lo son,” he said, “swift draweth eld anigh,
And I would live my life nor waste the days
Yet left me ere I travel on dark ways:

“Therefore tomorrow a fair company
Shall take ship here, and in a noble keel
Make for King Jonak's land across the sea
Bearing great gifts, as coming not to steal
The maid, but in a royal fashion deal
With her and hers; and now my will it is
That thou and Bikki speed my hope in this.”

Now Randver reddened as the King made end,
And answered slowly: “Meet it is that I,
O father, on thine errands still should wend,
And bear aloft thy might and majesty;
Yet mindst thou not how in the haven lie
Things wherein thou too once wouldst have delight,
Fair long-ships with no maidens' pillows dight?

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“Mindest thou not how word thou gavest me
That in what embers of the old strife burn,
Quickening our life yet, I myself should be
The captain and the leader? Sore I yearn
Among hard things a goodly name to earn;
For mid thy peaceful glory here I dwell
Mocked of myself by unrest none can tell.

“Mocked of myself—and, to speak out my heart,
Scarce looked upon by thee or any one
In such a wise, as well befits the part
That I should play on earth: with little done
Amid folk wont to see great marvels won—
Let me go, father, for the world is wide;
As lief would I be from my death to hide

“In homespun cloak as in a cloak of gold!”
His voice rose as he spake, and at the last
Nought wavering did there seem in him or cold:
But o'er the King's wide face a shadow passed
Of puzzled wrath; that no less faded fast
Before his son's eyes; and he smiled and said:
“Nowise the good-heart of our kin is dead;

“And well meseems is that—I have enow
To bring my bride home: in the days bygone
I should make such words just e'en as thou
Nor borne, when aught of fame was to be won,
To go my father's errands—I have done
As an old man in asking thee for this:
Go, son, and grudge me not a little bliss—

“A little bliss such as my life knew not
The sooth to say ere I began to think
That after all my fame might be forgot
Or I at best into dull death must sink—
All blessings on thee! Would I had to drink

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The cup the Fates have filled for thee anew!
Go forth O son, be happy, strong and true.”

Then Randver spake in a low voice and grave,
“All hail my father, and tomorrow morn
Two fleets shall stem together the green wave
At the haven's mouth, and unto days unborn
Shall each go its own way and ere the corn
The plain is green with now is garnered in
I hope a little change of life to win.

“Farewell in love, O father, if again
I see thy face it may be I shall speak
Words that my lips this day should speak in vain:
O farewell! think if I have been too weak
Through all the coils that mar our life to break,
Yet have I been too strong that with blind eyes
I should help weave our web of miseries.”

Then spake the King: “I know not of this word
What thou wouldst mean by it; once more I say
Good hap go with thy counsel and thy sword—
And yet again, meeter for thee to stay
Until thou mightest go upon thy way
After high feast and good gifts as is meet
For a son of the Goths and lord of a fair fleet.”

“Nay,” Randver said, “thou wottest well that we
Have waited but a week for wind and now
The wind is fair—hold thou no feast for me,
Pinch not thy treasury to help my show—
Keep all thy gifts until my fame shall grow,
For now a banner and a name is all
I need wherewith to conquer or to fall.”

They kissed and parted; Randver to the quays
And tumult of the shipmen passed; the King

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Sat silent thinking over long-past days
And gazing at the ghost of many a thing
That once was full of life—till hurrying
O'er his departure thither Bikki came
And thoughtfully the King called out his name,

And when he drew [nigh] said: “Did Randver pass
From out the palace?” “Yea,” he said, “and I
Rejoiced to see him blithesome as he was
As in the porch he passed me hurriedly;
Most well content he seemeth certainly
To go a-wooing for thee, yet belike
Fair blows one day his gilded sword shall strike.”

“Nay, Bikki,” said the King, “and is it so?
Thou growest envious—I have done him wrong:
High words he spake e'en now and needs must go
His own ways and not mine. His heart is strong
To win all glory mighty men among
And I am glad of him and so being glad
Must lose the sight of him that once I had

“Whenas I deemed him but of little worth.”
Then Bikki smiled. “Nay, me thou wrongest withal
Who ever deemed that all the fame of earth
Into the lap of thee and thine would fall
And therefore have so served thee: this I call
A happy day whereon he doth begin
E'en greater fame than thou belike to win.

“Moreover in despite thy word, not ill
I deem it that this marvel of thy wife
(For surely few days shall that wish fulfill)
Should meet him not first mid an idle life,
Idle yet with desire of high things rife—
Thou deemedst him of little worth saidst thou?
Ever I deemed him wise and great enow:

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“Knewest thou ever dastard's or fool's heart
Go with such eyes as in the head of him
Are set: or hast thou seen a coward's part
Played by a man so wrought in every limb?
Trust me those eyes shall yet make fair eyes dim.
But all is well now—brave and amorous
Wise, fain of fame, well shall he prop thine house.”

Well pleased the King smiled e'en as Bikki went
From out the chamber—who at eve that day
Came upon Randver on the quays, intent
On furnishing his fleet in the best way
That might be, and light of heart and gay
He seemed indeed, as one at last set free
From tangling trouble and uncertainty.

A cloud came o'er his face as Bikki drew
Anigh him, and his cheek grew somewhat red
As though he wotted that the other knew
His inmost thought; but Bikki spake and said:
“Fair sight to me to see the goodlihead
Of this thy fleet! Thou lookest a great chief;
I look to hear of deeds past man's belief.”

By a great open arm-chest Randver stood
And his right hand amid the mail-rings played,
A vague blind hate curdled his eager blood
As he looked up to Bikki now and said
With a half smile: “If all be rightly weighed
This journey shall in after days become
More famed than mine—this bringing the may home.”

“Yea,” Bikki said, “yet as thou art my friend
More than my King's son, so much will I say,
That would the thing were well brought to an end,
And I as heart-whole as I am today!
I have heard tell of men who cast all life away

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For such a hope as when I lie asleep
Betwixt my troth and vague desire will creep.”

Randver stared wild at him. “Thou meanest then
That thou amid thy five and forty years
Shouldst turn stark traitor, be a tale to men!
Bethink thee, Bikki, that thy King's son wears
A sword, and of the axe the headsman bears—
Or art thou grown so great that thou art king,
Lord of my father, me and everything?”

Bikki smiled calmly: “When the deed is done
Then slay me: but behold I told this tale to thee
Because in good sooth still I deemed thee one
Too wise to long too much for sovereignty,
And therefore, thought I, goeth he over sea
Because he deems holding a war-ship's helm
An easier thing than ruling a great realm.

“But if thou art less wise than I had thought
And thinkest to come back unto this land
To rule it when thy sire is come to naught,
Then wiser had it been to glove thine hand
And in the court of Jonakur to stand
Wooing fair Swanhild for thy father's bed.
Come, art thou wroth when all my word is said?”

There Randver stood a short while silently
The swift thoughts busy in his inmost mind:
Somewhat too glad to see the back of me
My father seemed—Bikki is left behind,
Hermanaric's heart grows day by day more blind—
Yea and may happen I may yet prevail
And death is left me even though I fail.

Then Bikki spake: “The thing that erst I said
Whenas I deemed that thou wert prince no more,

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No more thy father's heir, I scarce should dread
If thou went'st with me—and behold full sore
I cling to life nor would that all were o'er
For a youth's longing—neither durst I say
Unto the King what thee I tell today.”

Then Randver laughed aloud. “I deemed thee wise—
Nor know what madman's dream this is that thou
Shouldst tell me of a love for unseen eyes
Grown in an hour within thine heart; ere now
I deemed no wind maids' love to thee might blow.”
Then Bikki said: “Belike a dream it was
That brought this strange desire of mine to pass.

“Medreamed that on my bed last night I lay
And heard a moaning slowly drawing near,
And through the open door there came a may
Bewailing her, more fair than aught is fair
Who seemed unto my inmost heart more dear
Than mine own life. She held out hands to me
And showed her slim wrists shackled cruelly

“And moaned, ‘O Bikki thine hand forged me these
And who shall free me?’ On mine heart withal
Came thronging thick a crowd of memories
Of fair deeds undone, proffered love let fall
All barren to the earth—and musical
Mine own rough voice seemed grown now as I said:
‘In all wise would I help thy drearihead—

“‘For thou art Swanhild.’ Then she smiled on me
In piteous wise, and with bare hands I wrought,
As dreams will have it, till I set her free;
And then she kissed me and it passes thought
To tell how sweet that was till day made nought
Of all my gladness. Nay but well thou sayst
I am a fool to strive such bliss to taste.”

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Then Randver thought, Lies is it, nought but lies
Belike—and yet men tell strange tales of love,
And this man, forger of all miseries,
Who knows but somewhat might his hard heart move?
And lies or truth nowise doth it behove
A man to flee from fate and they meseems
Would have me to the end dream out these dreams.

Then he spake out: “What counsel givest thou
For me to follow? for thou knowest I deem
That the King gave right joyous leave e'en now
For my departing; neither will a dream
Hold back the word of dastard if I seem
To choose for my ease' sake to go with thee.”
“Nay,” Bikki said, “easy the thing shall be:

“Take thou tonight thy due seat at the board
And in meanwhile shall I have seen the King,
So say thou nought till he takes up the word,
Then answer at thy best e'en to such thing
As he shall say. Yea thou art wise to cling
To what the Fates have given into thy life—
Hard to build up great state from daily life.”

He went therewith, and Randver left alone
Felt listless, restless, full of a vague fear;
A petty thing the world to him was grown,
And yet he felt as great days drew anear—
Great days great joy and woe with them to bear—
And yet withal foiled, beaten did he feel
And fresh defeat upon him seemed to steal.

Most glorious was the feast that night in hall
When all the glories of his days bygone
Hermanaric seemed about him to recall;
Yea with the spirit of old battles won
Men's hearts seemed raised aloft, old banners shone

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From wall and pillar and old war-cries rang
Amid the melodies the minstrels sang.

There sat Hermanaric, ruddy, wide of face,
His yellow white-streaked hair and beard spread wide
Over his gold gown; keen adown the place
Gazed his grey eyes, unruffled fearless pride
All wrath and selfwill in his face did hide;
Great was the hand that had so oft prevailed
In dreadful fight, long fingered, almond-nailed.

Uneasily did Randver gaze at him
As toward his place he went, and in his heart
The morn's clear vision now had grown all dim,
And in a net he seemed to play his part
In a strange land where by some devilish art
All that he had of good seemed turned to ill,
A petty peevish deedless dreamer still.

Dream-like the feast went on—as in a dream
At last he heard the King say: “O fair son,
True is it that this morning we did deem
That whereas thou wert fain to get thee gone
From our foes' hands to win what might be won,
Thy wish was worthy of our name, yet now
Again a choice we give thee. So choose thou:

“Choose when thou once again hast heard me say
That gain we deem [it] that thy lips should speak
The words our heart has for the matchless may
Our counsellor tells of. Sure not far to seek
Hereafter shall times be to help the weak
And beat adown the strong. Yet make thy choice,
And either way well may thy heart rejoice.”

And now when Randver rose to meet the King
His iron scabbard clashed against the board,

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And a pang took his heart, for in its ring
Seemed unto him a warning word,
And o'er his heart strange thoughts unbidden poured
And he grew dizzy, till across a space
Of gold and fair things he saw Bikki's face.

And then, what say I? even as a blank
Waiting for somewhat did his vexed heart grow
And all the tumult of his spirit sank.
Within himself he said, Scarce did I know
This man's power erst. Yet did he feel as though
Something there was that craved for help from him,
And with vague pity did his eyes wax dim.

“O father,” said he, at the last, “I choose
E'en that which seemeth to be most thy will,
My hope of glory at this tide to lose
The better all thy glory to fulfill:
And yet account me fain as ever still
To try myself amid the sweep of swords,
Nor deem my morning's speech but wind and words.”

A short laugh laughed the King and said: “O son
Thanked be thou, as thy deeds shall be thy worth.”
Then fierce wrath fell on Randver, all alone,
Deserted did he feel amid the mirth
Wherewith the hall rang, and a hollow dearth
Of all desire and hope there seemed to be,
On coming days he brooded balefully.

And he alone, he thought, was in such mood
Of all men there, though the King once or twice
Cast looks at him that boded nothing good,
And Bikki glanced at him with eager eyes
Not noted of him: so in mirthful wise
Passed on the feast triumphant to its end,
And somewhat nearer death did all men wend.