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The Collected Works of William Morris

With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris

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Yes, there the hills stood, there Lax-river ran
Down to the sea; still thrall and serving-man
Came home from fold and hayfield to the hall,
And still did Olaf's cheery deep voice call
Over the mead-horns; danced the fiddle-bow,
And twanged the harp-strings, and still sweet enow
Were measured words, as some one skilled in song
Told olden tales of war, and love, and wrong.
—And Bodli's face from hall and board was gone,
And Gudrun's arms were round him, as alone
They lay, all unrebuked that hour, unless
The dawn, that glimmered on the wretchedness
Of Kiartan's lone and sleepless night, should creep
Cold-footed o'er their well-contented sleep,
And whisper, “Sleep on, lapse of time is here
Death's brother, and the very Death is near!”