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The Collected Works of William Morris

With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris

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“Thou art the strangest of the sons of men,”
Said Kiartan, with a puzzled look. “Come now,
Leave off thy riddles, clear thy troubled brow,
And let me think of thee as in time past,
When ever a most merry lad thou wast!
Why talkest thou of plotting? True and leal
I deem thee ever as the well-tried steel

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That hangs beside thee; neither cross at all
Our fond desires. Though whatso thing may fall
Still shall I trust thee.”
His own face grew grave
As o'er his heart there swept a sudden wave
Of the old thoughts. But Bodli said: “O friend,
Forgive my face fair looks and foul; I wend
Back to our kin and land, that gladdens me.
I leave thee here behind across the sea,
That makes me sad and sour.”
He did not raise
His eyes up midst his words, or meet the gaze
Kiartan bent on him, till again he said:
“Olaf shall hear of all the goodlihead
Thou gainest here. Thy brethren shall be glad
That thou such honour from all men hast had.
Oswif the Wise no doubt I soon shall see—
What shall I say to him?”
Then steadily
Gazed Kiartan on him. “Tell Gudrun all this
Thou knowest of, my honour and my bliss;
Say we shall meet again!”
No more they spake,
But kissed and parted; either's heart did ache
A little while with thought of the old days;
Then Bodli to the future turned his gaze,
Unhappy and remorseful, knowing well
How ill his life should go whate'er befell.
But Kiartan, left behind, being such a man
As through all turns of fortune never can
Hold truce with fear or sorrow, lived his life
Not ill content with all the change and strife.