{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/morris/ep1/ep103.htm","path":"neu/morris/ep1/ep103.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/morris/ep1/ep103.htm","text":"The Earthly Paradise, (March-August), by William Morris, [1868]\nCERTAIN gentlemen and mariners of Norway, having considered all that they had heard of the Earthly Paradise, set sail to find it, and after many troubles and the lapse of many years came old men to some Western land, of which they had never before heard: there they died, when they had dwelt there certain years, much honoured of the strange people.\nFORGET six counties overhung with smoke,\n Forget the snorting steam and piston stroke,\n Forget the spreading of the hideous town;\n Think rather of the pack-horse on the down,\n And dream of London, small, and white, and clean,\n The clear Thames bordered by its gardens green;\n Think, that below bridge the green lapping waves\n Smite some few keels that bear Levantine staves,\n Cut from the yew wood on the burnt-up hill,\n And pointed jars that Greek hands toiled to fill,\n And treasured scanty spice from some far sea,\n Florence gold cloth, and Ypres napery,\n And cloth of Bruges, and hogsheads of Guienne;\n While nigh the thronged wharf Geoffrey Chaucer's pen\n Moves over bills of lading\u2014mid such times\n Shall dwell the hollow puppets of my rhymes. p. 4\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A nameless city in a distant sea,\n White as the changing walls of fa\u00ebrie,\n Thronged with much people clad in ancient guise\n I now am fain to set before your eyes;\n There, leave the clear green water and the quays,\n And pass betwixt its marble palaces,\n Until ye come unto the chiefest square;\n A bubbling conduit is set midmost there,\n And round about it now the maidens throng,\n With jest and laughter, and sweet broken song,\n Making but light of labour new begun\n While in their vessels gleams the morning sun.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On one side of the square a temple stands,\n Wherein the gods worshipped in ancient lands\n Still have their altars, a great market-place\n Upon two other sides fills all the space,\n And thence the busy hum of men comes forth;\n But on the cold side looking toward the north\n A pillared council-house may you behold,\n Within whose porch are images of gold,\n Gods of the nations who dwelt anciently\n About the borders of the Grecian sea.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Pass now between them, push the brazen door,\n And standing on the polished marble floor\n Leave all the noises of the square behind;\n Most calm that reverent chamber shall ye find,\n Silent at first, but for the noise you made\n When on the brazen door your hand you laid p. 5\n To shut it after you\u2014but now behold\n The city rulers on their thrones of gold,\n Clad in most fair attire, and in their hands\n Long carven silver-banded ebony wands;\n Then from the dais drop your eyes and see\n Soldiers and peasants standing reverently\n Before those elders, round a little band\n Who bear such arms as guard the English land,\n But battered, rent, and rusted sore, and they,\n The men themselves, are shrivelled, bent, and grey;\n And as they lean with pain upon their spears\n Their brows seem furrowed deep with more than years;\n For sorrow dulls their heavy sunken eyes,\n Bent are they less with time than miseries.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Pondering on them the city grey-beards gaze\n Through kindly eyes, midst thoughts of other days,\n And pity for poor souls, and vague regret\n For all the things that might have happened yet,\n Until, their wonder gathering to a head,\n The wisest man, who long that land has led,\n Breaks the deep silence, unto whom again\n A wanderer answers. Slowly as in pain,\n And with a hollow voice as from a tomb\n At first he tells the story of his doom,\n But as it grows and once more hopes and fears,\n Both measureless, are ringing round his ears,\n His eyes grow bright, his seeming days decrease,\n For grief once told brings somewhat back of peace. p. 6\nTHE ELDER OF THE CITY.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From what unheard-of world, in what strange keel,\n Have ye come hither to our commonweal?\n No barbarous race, as these our peasants say,\n But learned in memories of a long-past day,\n Speaking, some few at least, the ancient tongue\n That through the lapse of ages still has clung\n To us, the seed of the Ionian race.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Speak out and fear not; if ye need a place\n Wherein to pass the end of life away,\n That shall ye gain from us from this same day,\n Unless the enemies of God ye are;\n We fear not you and yours to bear us war,\n And scarce can think that ye will try again\n Across the perils of the shifting plain\n To seek your own land whereso that may be:\n For folk of ours bearing the memory\n Of our old land, in days past oft have striven\n To reach it, unto none of whom was given\n To come again and tell us of the tale,\n Therefore our ships are now content to sail,\n About these happy islands that we know.\nTHE WANDERER.\nMasters, I have to tell a tale of woe,\n A tale of folly and of wasted life,\n Hope against hope, the bitter dregs of strife,\n Ending, where all things end, in death at last: p. 7\n So if I tell the story of the past,\n Let it be worth some little rest, I pray,\n A little slumber ere the end of day.\nNo wonder if the Grecian tongue I know,\n Since at Byzantium many a year ago\n My father bore the twibil valiantly;\n There did he marry, and get me, and die,\n And I went back to Norway to my kin,\n Long ere this beard ye see did first begin\n To shade my mouth, but nathless not before\n Among the Greeks I gathered some small lore,\n And standing midst the V\u00e6ringers, still heard\n From this or that man many a wondrous word;\n For ye shall know that though we worshipped God,\n And heard mass duly, still of Swithiod\n The Greater, Odin and his house of gold,\n The noble stories ceased not to be told;\n These moved me more than words of mine can say\n E\u2019en while at Micklegarth my folks did stay;\n But when I reached one dying autumn-tide\n My uncle's dwelling near the forest side,\n And saw the land so scanty and so bare,\n And all the hard things men contend with there,\n A little and unworthy land it seemed,\n And yet the more of Asagard I dreamed,\n And worthier seemed the ancient faith of praise.\nBut now, but now\u2014when one of all those days p. 8\n Like Lazarus' finger on my heart should be\n Breaking the fiery fixed eternity,\n But for one moment\u2014could I see once more\n The grey-roofed sea-port sloping towards the shore,\n Or note the brown boats standing in from sea,\n Or the great dromond swinging from the quay,\n Or in the beech-woods watch the screaming jay\n Shoot up betwixt the tall trunks, smooth and grey\u2014\n Yea, could I see the days before distress\n When very longing was but happiness.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Within our house there was a Breton squire\n Well learned, who fail'd not to fan the fire\n That evermore unholpen burned in me\n Strange lands and things beyond belief to see;\n Much lore of many lands this Breton knew;\n And for one tale I told, he told me two.\n He, counting Asagard a new-told thing,\n Yet spoke of gardens ever blossoming\n Across the western sea where none grew old,\n E\u2019en as the books at Micklegarth had told,\n And said moreover that an English knight\n Had had the Earthly Paradise in sight,\n And heard the songs of those that dwelt therein,\n But entered not, being hindered by his sin.\n Shortly, so much of this and that he said\n That in my heart the sharp barb entered,\n And like real life would empty stories seem,\n And life from day to day an empty dream. p. 9\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Another man there was, a Swabian priest,\n Who knew the maladies of man and beast,\n And what things helped them; he the stone still sought\n Whereby base metal into gold is brought,\n And strove to gain the precious draught, whereby\n Men live midst mortal men yet never die;\n Tales of the Kaiser Redbeard could he tell\n Who neither went to Heaven nor yet to Hell,\n When from that fight upon the Asian plain\n He vanished, but still lives to come again\n Men know not how or when; but I listening\n Unto this tale thought it a certain thing\n That in some hidden vale of Swithiod\n Across the golden pavement still he trod.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But while our longing for such things so grew,\n And ever more and more we deemed them true,\n Upon the land a pestilence there fell\n Unheard-of yet in any chronicle,\n And, as the people died full fast of it,\n With these two men it chanced me once to sit,\n This learned squire whose name was Nicholas,\n And Swabian Laurence, as our manner was;\n For could we help it scarcely did we part\n From dawn to dusk: so heavy, sad at heart,\n We from the castle yard beheld the bay\n Upon that ne\u2019er-to-be-forgotten day;\n Little we said amidst that dreary mood\n And certes nought that we could say was good. p. 10\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It was a bright September afternoon,\n The parched-up beech trees would be yellowing soon;\n The yellow flowers grown deeper with the sun\n Were letting fall their petals one by one;\n No wind there was, a haze was gathering o\u2019er\n The furthest bound of the faint yellow shore;\n And in the oily waters of the bay\n Scarce moving aught some fisher-cobles lay,\n And all seemed peace; and had been peace indeed\n But that we young men of our life had need,\n And to our listening ears a sound was borne\n That made the sunlight wretched and forlorn\u2014\n \u2014The heavy tolling of the minster bell\u2014\n And nigher yet a tinkling sound did tell\n That through the streets they bore our Saviour Christ\n By dying lips in anguish to be kissed.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At last spoke Nicholas, \"How long shall we\n Abide here, looking forth into the sea\n Expecting when our turn shall come to die?\n Fair fellows, will ye come with me and try\n Now at our worst that long desired quest,\n Now\u2014when our worst is death, and life our best.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Nay, but thou know\u2019st,\" I said, \"that I but wait\n The coming of some man, the turn of fate,\n To make this voyage\u2014but I die meanwhile\n For I am poor, though my blood be not vile,\n Nor yet for all his lore doth Laurence hold\n Within his crucibles aught like to gold; p. 11\n And what hast thou, whose father driven forth\n By Charles of Blois, found shelter in the North?\n But little riches as I needs must deem.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Well,\" said he, \"things are better than they seem,\n For \u2019neath my bed an iron chest I have\n That holdeth things I have made shift to save\n E\u2019en for this end; moreover, hark to this,\n In the next firth a fair long ship there is\n Well victualled, ready even now for sea,\n And I may say it \u2019longeth unto me;\n Since Marcus Erling, late its owner, lies\n Dead at the end of many miseries,\n And little Kirstin, as thou well mayst know,\n Would be content throughout the world to go\n If I but took her hand, and now still more\n Hath heart to leave this poor death-stricken shore.\n Therefore my gold shall buy us Bordeaux swords\n And Bordeaux wine as we go oceanwards.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"What say ye, will ye go with me to-night,\n Setting your faces to undreamed delight,\n Turning your backs unto this troublous hell,\n Or is the time too short to say farewell?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Not so,\" I said, \"rather would I depart\n Now while thou speakest, never has my heart\n Been set on anything within this land.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then said the Swabian, \"Let us now take hand\n And swear to follow evermore this quest\n Till death or life have set our hearts at rest.\" p. 12\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So with joined hands we swore, and Nicholas said,\n \"To-night, fair friends, be ye apparelled\n To leave this land, bring all the arms ye can\n And such men as ye trust, my own good man\n Guards the small postern looking towards St. Bride,\n And good it were ye should not be espied,\n Since mayhap freely ye should not go hence,\n Thou Rolf in special, for this pestilence\n Makes all men hard and cruel, nor are they\n Willing that folk should \u2019scape if they must stay:\n Be wise; I bid you for a while farewell,\n Leave ye this stronghold when St. Peter's bell\n Strikes midnight, all will surely then be still,\n And I will bide you at King Tryggve's hill\n Outside the city gates.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Each went his way\n Therewith, and I the remnant of that day\n Gained for the quest three men that I deemed true,\n And did such other things as I must do,\n And still was ever listening for the chime\n Half maddened by the lazy lapse of time,\n Yea, scarce I thought indeed that I should live\n Till the great tower the joyful sound should give\n That set us free: and so the hours went past,\n Till startled by the echoing clang at last\n That told of midnight, armed from head to heel\n Down to the open postern did I steal,\n Bearing small wealth\u2014this sword that yet hangs here\n Worn thin and narrow with so many a year, p. 13\n My father's axe that from Byzantium,\n With some few gems my pouch yet held, had come,\n Nought else that shone with silver or with gold.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But by the postern gate could I behold\n Laurence the priest all armed as if for war,\n And my three men were standing not right far\n From off the town-wall, having some small store\n Of arms and furs and raiment: then once more\n I turned, and saw the autumn moonlight fall\n Upon the new-built bastions of the wall,\n Strange with black shadow and grey flood of light,\n And further off I saw the lead shine bright\n On tower and turret-roof against the sky,\n And looking down I saw the old town lie\n Black in the shade of the o\u2019er-hanging hill,\n Stricken with death, and dreary, but all still\n Until it reached the water of the bay,\n That in the dead night smote against the quay\n Not all unheard, though there was little wind.\n But as I turned to leave the place behind,\n The wind's light sound, the slowly falling swell,\n Were hushed at once by that shrill-tinkling bell,\n That in that stillness jarring on mine ears,\n With sudden jangle checked the rising tears,\n And now the freshness of the open sea\n Seemed ease and joy and very life to me.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So greeting my new mates with little sound,\n We made good haste to reach King Tryggve's mound,\n And there the Breton Nicholas beheld. p. 14\n Who by the hand fair Kirstin Erling held,\n And round about them twenty men there stood,\n Of whom the more part on the holy rood\n Were sworn till death to follow up the quest,\n And Kirstin was the mistress of the rest.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Again betwixt us was there little speech,\n But swiftly did we set on toward the beach, .\n And coming there our keel, the Fighting Man,\n We boarded, and the long oars out we ran,\n And swept from out the firth, and sped so well\n That scarcely could we hear St. Peter's bell\n Toll one, although the light wind blew from land;\n Then hoisting sail southward we \u2019gan to stand,\n And much I joyed beneath the moon to see\n The lessening land that might have been to me\n A kindly giver of wife, child, and friend,\n And happy life, or at the worser end\n A quiet grave till doomsday rend the earth.\nNight passed, day dawned, and we grew full of mirth\n As with the ever-rising morning wind\n Still further lay our threatened death behind,\n Or so we thought: some eighty men we were,\n Of whom but fifty knew the shipman's gear,\n The rest were uplanders; midst such of these\n As knew not of our quest, with promises\n Went Nicholas dealing florins round about,\n With still a fresh tale for each new man's doubt,\n Till all were fairly won or seemed to be p. 15\n To that strange desperate voyage o\u2019er the sea.\nNow if ye ask me from what land I come\n With all my folly,\u2014Viken is my home\n Where Tryggve Olaf's son and Olaf's sire\n Lit to the ancient Gods the sacred fire,\n Unto whose line am I myself akin,\n Through him who Astrid in old time did win,\n King Olaf's widow: let all that go by,\n Since I was born at least to misery.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now Nicholas came to Laurence and to me\n To talk of what he deemed our course should be,\n To whom agape I listened, since I knew\n Nought but old tales, nor aught of false and true\n Amid these, for but one kind seemed to be\n The Vineland voyage o\u2019er the unknown sea\n And Swegder's search for Godheim, when he found\n The entrance to a new world underground;\n But Nicholas o\u2019er many books had pored\n And this and that thing in his mind had stored,\n And idle tales from true report he knew.\n \u2014Would he were living now, to tell to you\n This story that my feeble lips must tell!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now he indeed of Vineland knew full well,\n Both from my tales where truth perchance touched lies,\n And from the ancient written histories;\n But now he said, \"The land was good enow\n That Leif the son of Eric came unto, p. 16\n But this was not our world, nay scarce could be\n The door into a place so heavenly\n As that we seek, therefore my rede is this,\n That we to gain that sure abode of bliss\n Risk dying in an unknown landless sea;\n Although full certainly it seems to me\n All that we long for there we needs must find.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Therefore, O friends, if ye are of my mind,\n When we are passed the French and English strait\n Let us seek news of that desired gate\n To immortality and blessed rest\n Within the landless waters of the west,\n But still a little to the southward steer.\n Certes no Greenland winter waits us there,\n No year-long night, but rather we shall find\n Spice-trees set waving by the western wind,\n And gentle folk who know no guile at least,\n And many a bright-winged bird and soft-skinned beast,\n For gently must the year upon them fall.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Now since the Fighting Man is over small\n To hold the mighty stores that we shall need,\n To turn as now to Bremen is my rede,\n And there to buy a new keel with my gold,\n And fill her with such things as she may hold;\n And thou thenceforward, Rolf, her lord shalt be,\n Since thou art not unskilled upon the sea.\"\nBut unto me most fair his saying seemed,\n For of a land unknown to all I dreamed, p. 17\n And certainly by some warm sea I thought\n That we the soonest thereto should be brought.\n Therefore with mirth enow passed every day\n Till in the Weser stream at last we lay\n Hearkening the bells of Bremen ring to mass,\n For on a Sunday morn our coming was.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There in a while to chaffer did we fall,\n And of the merchants bought a dromond tall\n They called the Rose-Garland, and her we stored\n With such like victuals as we well might hoard,\n And arms and raiment; also there we gained\n Some few men more by stories true and feigned,\n And by that time, now needing nought at all,\n We weighed, well armed, with good hope not to fall\n Into the hands of rovers of the sea,\n Since at that time had we heard certainly\n Edward of England drew all men to him,\n And that his fleet held whatso keel could swim\n From Jutland to Land's End; for all that, we\n Thought it but wise to keep the open sea\n And give to warring lands a full wide berth;\n Since unto all of us our lives seemed worth\n A better purchase than they erst had been.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So it befell that we no sail had seen\n Till the sixth day at morn, when we drew near\n The land at last and saw the French coast clear,\u2014\n The high land over Guines our pilot said.\n There at the day-break, we, apparelled p. 18\n Like merchant ships in seeming, now perforce\n Must meet a navy drawing thwart our course,\n Whose sails and painted hulls not far away\n Rolled slowly o\u2019er the leaden sea and grey,\n Beneath the night-clouds by no sun yet cleared;\n But we with anxious hearts this navy neared,\n For we sailed deep and heavy, and to fly\n Would nought avail since we were drawn so nigh,\n And fighting, must we meet but certain death.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Soon with amazement did I hold my breath\n As from the wide bows of the Rose-Garland,\n I saw the sun, new risen o\u2019er the land,\n Light up the shield-hung side of keel on keel,\n Their sails like knights\u2019 coats, and the points of steel\n Glittering from waist and castle and high top.\n And well indeed awhile my heart might stop\n As heading all the crowded van I saw,\n Huge, swelling out without a crease or flaw,\n A sail where, on the quartered blue and red,\n In silk and gold right well apparelled,\n The lilies gleamed, the thin gaunt leopards glared\n Out toward the land where even now there flared\n The dying beacons. Ah, with such an one\n Could I from town to town of France have run\n To end my life upon some glorious day\n Where stand the banners brighter than the May\n Above the deeds of men, as certainly\n This king himself has full oft wished to die.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And who knows now beneath what field he lies, p. 19\n Amidst what mighty bones of enemies?\n Ah, surely it had been a glorious thing\n From such a field to lead forth such a king,\n That he might live again with happy days,\n And more than ever win the people's praise.\n Nor had it been an evil lot to stand\n On the worse side, with people of the land\n \u2019Gainst such a man, when even this might fall,\n That it might be my luck some day to call\n My battle-cry o\u2019er his low lying head,\n And I be evermore remembered.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Well as we neared and neared, such thoughts I had\n Whereby perchance I was the less a-drad\n Of what might come, and at the worst we deemed\n They would not scorn our swords; but as I dreamed\n Of fair towns won and desperate feats of war,\n And my old follies now were driven afar\n By that most glorious sight, a loud halloo\n Came down the wind, and one by me who knew\n The English tongue cried that they bade us run\n Close up and board, nor was there any one\n Who durst say nay to that, so presently\n Both keels were underneath the big ship's lee;\n While Nicholas and I together passed\n Betwixt the crowd of archers by the mast\n Unto the poop, where \u2019neath his canopy\n The king sat, eyeing us as we drew nigh.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Broad-browed he was, hook-nosed, with wide grey eyes p. 20\n No longer eager for the coming prize,\n But keen and steadfast, many an ageing line,\n Half hidden by his sweeping beard and fine,\n Ploughed his thin cheeks, his hair was more than grey,\n And like to one he seemed whose better day\n Is over to himself, though foolish fame\n Shouts louder year by year his empty name.\n Unarmed he was, nor clad upon that morn\n Much like a king, an ivory hunting-horn\n Was slung about him, rich with gems and gold,\n And a great white ger-falcon did he hold\n Upon his fist; before his feet there sat\n A scrivener making notes of this or that\n As the king bade him, and behind his chair\n His captains stood in armour rich and fair;\n And by his side unhelmed, but armed, stood one\n I deemed none other than the prince his son;\n For in a coat of England was he clad,\n And on his head a coronel he had.\n Tall was he, slim, made apt for feats of war,\n A splendid lord, yea, he seemed prouder far\n Than was his sire, yet his eyes therewithal\n With languid careless glance seemed wont to fall\n On things about, as though he deemed that nought\n Could fail unbidden to do all his thought.\n But close by him stood a war-beaten knight,\n Whose coat of war bore on a field of white\n A sharp red pile, and he of all men there\n Methought would be the one that I should fear p. 21\n If I led men.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But midst my thoughts I heard\n The king's voice as the high seat now we neared,\n And knew his speech because in French it was,\n That erewhile I had learnt of Nicholas.\n \"Fair sirs, what are ye? for on this one day,\n I rule the narrow seas mine ancient way.\n Me seemeth in the highest bark I know\n The Flemish handiwork, but yet ye show\n Unlike to merchants, though your ships are deep\n And slowly through the water do ye creep;\n And thou, fair sir, seem\u2019st journeying from the north\n With peltries Bordeaux-ward? Nay then go forth\n Thou wilt not harm us: yet if ye be men\n Well-born and warlike, these are fair days, when\n The good heart wins more than the merchant keeps,\n And safest still in steel the young head sleeps;\n And here are banners thou mayest stand beneath\n And not be shamed either in life or death\u2014\n What, man, thou reddenest, wouldst thou say me no,\n If underneath my banner thou shouldst go?\n Nay, thou mayest speak, or let thy fellow say\n What he is stuffed with, be it yea or nay.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For as he spoke my fellow gazed on me\n With something like to fear, and hurriedly\n As I bent forward, thrust me on one side,\n And scarce the king's last word would he abide\n But \u2019gan to say, \"Sire, from the north we come,\n Though as for me far nigher is my home. p. 22\n Thy foes, my Lord, drove out my kin and me,\n Ere yet thine armed hand was upon the sea;\n Chandos shall surely know my father's name,\n Loys of Dinan, which ill-luck, sword, and flame,\n Lord Charles of Blois, the French king, and the pest\n In this and that land now have laid to rest,\n Except for me alone. And now, my Lord,\n If I shall seem to speak an idle word\n To such as thou art, pardon me therefore;\n But we, part taught by ancient books and lore,\n And part by what, nor yet so long ago,\n This man's own countrymen have come to do,\n Have gathered hope to find across the sea\n A land where we shall gain felicity\n Past tongue of man to tell of; and our life\n Is not so sweet here, or so free from strife,\n Or glorious deeds so common, that, if we\n Should think a certain path at last to see\n To such a place, men then could think us wise\n To turn away therefrom, and shut our eyes,\n Because at many a turning here and there\n Swift death might lurk, or unaccustomed fear.\n O King, I pray thee in this young man's face\n Flash not thy banner, nor with thy frank grace\n Tear him from life; but go thy way, let us\n Find hidden death, or life more glorious\n Than thou durst think of, knowing not the gate\n Whereby to flee from that all-shadowing fate.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"O King, since I could walk a yard or twain, p. 23\n Or utter anything but cries of pain,\n Death was before me; yea, on the first morn\n That I remember aught, among the corn\n I wandered with my nurse, behind us lay\n The walls of Vannes, white in the summer day,\n The reapers whistled, the brown maidens sung,\n As on the wain the topmost sheaf they hung,\n The swallow wheeled above high up in air,\n And midst the labour all was sweet and fair;\n When on the winding road between the fields\n I saw a glittering line of spears and shields,\n And pleased therewith called out to some one by\n E\u2019en as I could; he scarce for fear could cry\n 'The French, the French!' and turned and ran his best\n Toward the town gates, and we ran with the rest,\n I wailing loud who knew not why at all,\n But ere we reached the gates my nurse did fall,\n I with her, and I wondered much that she\n Just as she fell should still lie quietly;\n Nor did the coloured feathers that I found\n Stuck in her side, as frightened I crawled round,\n Tell me the tale, though I was sore afeard\n At all the cries and wailing that I heard.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"I say, my Lord, that arrow-flight now seems\n The first thing rising clear from feeble dreams,\n And that was death; and the next thing was death,\n For through our house all spoke with bated breath\n And wore black clothes, withal they came to me\n A little child, and did off hastily p. 24\n My shoon and hosen, and with that I heard\n The sound of doleful singing, and afeard\n Forebore to question, when I saw the feet\n Of all were bare, like mine, as toward the street\n We passed, and joined a crowd in such-like guise\n Who through the town sang woeful litanies,\n Pressing the stones with feet unused and soft,\n And bearing images of saints aloft,\n In hope \u2019gainst hope to save us from the rage\n Of that fell pest, that as an unseen cage\n Hemmed France about, and me and such as me\n They made partakers of their misery.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Lo death again, and if the time served now\n Full many another picture could I show\n Of death and death, and men who ever strive\n Through every misery at least to live.\n The priest within the minster preaches it,\n And brooding o\u2019er it doth the wise man sit\n Letting life's joys go by. Well, blame me then,\n If I who love this changing life of men,\n And every minute of whose life were bliss\n Too great to long for greater, but for this\u2014\n Mock me, who take this death-bound life in hand\n And risk the rag to find a happy land,\n Where at the worst death is so far away\n No man need think of him from day to day\u2014\n Mock me, but let us go, for I am fain\n Our restless road, the landless sea, to gain.\" p. 25\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His words nigh made me weep, but while he spoke\n I noted how a mocking smile just broke\n The thin line of the Prince's lips, and he\n Who carried the afore-named armoury\n Puffed out his wind-beat cheeks and whistled low:\n But the king smiled, and said, \"Can it be so?\n I know not, and ye twain are such as find\n The things whereto old kings must needs be blind.\n For you the world is wide\u2014but not for me,\n Who once had dreams of one great victory\n Wherein that world lay vanquished by my throne,\n And now, the victor in so many an one,\n Find that in Asia Alexander died\n And will not live again; the world is wide\n For you I say,\u2014for me a narrow space\n Betwixt the four walls of a fighting place.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Poor man, why should I stay thee; live thy fill,\n Of that fair life, wherein thou seest no ill\n But fear of that fair rest I hope to win\n One day, when I have purged me of my sin.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Farewell, it yet may hap that I a king\n Shall be remembered but by this one thing,\n That on the morn before ye crossed the sea\n Ye gave and took in common talk with me;\n But with this ring keep memory of the morn,\n O Breton, and thou Northman, by this horn\n Remember me, who am of Odin's blood,\n As heralds say: moreover it were good\n Ye had some lines of writing \u2019neath my seal, p. 26\n Or ye might find it somewhat hard to deal\n With some of mine, who pass not for a word\n Whate\u2019er they deem may hold a hostile sword.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So as we kneeled this royal man to thank,\n A clerk brought forth two passes sealed and blank,\n And when we had them, with the horn and ring,\n With few words did we leave the noble king,\n And as adown the gangway steps we passed,\n We saw the yards swing creaking round the mast,\n And heard the shipman's ho, for one by one\n The van outsailed before, by him had run\n E\u2019en as he stayed for us, and now indeed\n Of his main battle must he take good heed:\n But as from off the mighty side we pushed,\n And in between us the green water rushed,\n I heard his scalds strike up triumphantly\n Some song that told not of the weary sea,\n But rather of the mead and fair green-wood,\n And as we leaned o\u2019er to the wind, I stood\n And saw the bright sails leave us, and soon lost\n The pensive music by the strong wind tossed\n From wave to wave, then turning I espied\n Glittering and white upon the weather side\n The land he came from, o\u2019er the bright green sea,\n Scarce duller than the land upon our lee,\n For now the clouds had fled before the sun\n And the bright autumn day was well begun.\n Then I cried out for music too, and heard p. 27\n The minstrels sing some well-remembered word,\n And while they sung, before me still I gazed,\n Silent with thought of many things, and mazed\n With many longings; when I looked again\n To see those lands, nought but the restless plain\n With some far-off small fisher-boat was left;\n A little hour for evermore had reft\n The sight of Europe from my helpless eyes,\n And crowned my store of hapless memories.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sit friends, and tell your tale which seems to us\n Shall be a strange tale and a piteous,\n Nor shall it lack our pity for its woe,\n Nor ye due thanks for all the things ye show\n Of kingdoms nigh forgot that once were great,\n And small lands come to glorious estate.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But, sirs, ye faint, behold these maidens stand\n Bearing the blood of this our sunburnt land\n In well-wrought cups,\u2014drink now of this, that while\n Ye poor folk wandered, had from fortune's smile\n Abode your coming, hidden none the less\n Below the earth from summer's happiness.\nTHE WANDERERS.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Fair sirs, we thank you, hoping we have cone\n Through many wanderings to a quiet home\n Befitting dying men\u2014Good health and peace p. 28\n To you and to this land, and fair increase\n Of everything that ye can wish to have!\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But to my tale: A fair south-east wind drave\n Our ships for ten days more, and ever we\n Sailed mile for mile together steadily,\n But the tenth day I saw the Fighting Man\n Brought up to wait me, and when nigh I ran\n Her captain hailed me, saying that he thought\n That we too far to northward had been brought,\n And we must do our southing while we could,\n So as his will to me was ever good\n In such like things, we changed our course straightway,\n And as we might till the eleventh day\n Stretched somewhat south, then baffling grew the wind,\n But as we still were ignorant and blind\n Nor knew our port, we sailed on helplessly\n O\u2019er a smooth sea, beneath a lovely sky,\n And westward ever, but no signs of land\n All through these days we saw on either hand,\n Nor indeed hoped to see, because we knew\n Some watery desert we must journey through,\n That had been huge enough to keep all men\n From gaining that we sought for until then.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yet when I grew downcast, I did not fail\n To call to mind, how from our land set sail\n A certain man, and, after he had passed\n Through many unknown seas, did reach at last p. 29\n A rocky island's shore one foggy day,\n And while a little off the land he lay\n As in a dream he heard the folk call out\n In his own tongue, but mazed and all in doubt\n He turned therefrom, and afterwards in strife\n With winds and waters, much of precious life\n He wasted utterly, for when again\n He reached his port after long months of pain,\n Unto Biarmeland he chanced to go,\n And there the isle he left so long ago\n He knew at once, where many Northmen were.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And such a fate I could not choose but fear\n For us sometimes; and sometimes when at night\n Beneath the moon I watched the foam fly white\n From off our bows, and thought how weak and small\n Showed the Rose-Garland's mast that looked so tall\n Beside the quays of Bremen; when I saw\n With measured steps the watch on toward me draw,\n And in the moon the helmsman's peering face,\n And \u2019twixt the cordage strained across my place\n Beheld the white sail of the Fighting Man\n Lead down the pathway of the moonlight wan\u2014\n Then when the ocean seemed so measureless\n The very sky itself might well be less,\n When midst the changeless piping of the wind,\n The intertwined slow waves pressed on behind\n Rolled o\u2019er our wake and made it nought again,\n Then would it seem an ill thing and a vain\n To leave the hopeful world that we had known, p. 30\n When all was o\u2019er, hopeless to die alone\n Within this changeless world of waters grey.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But hope would come back to me with the day,\n The talk of men, the viol's quivering strings,\n Would bring my heart to think of better things.\n Nor were our folk down-hearted through all this;\n For partly with the hope of that vague bliss\n Were they made happy, partly the soft air\n And idle days wherethrough we then did fare\n Were joy enow to rude sea-faring folk.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But this our ease at last a tempest broke\n And we must scud before it helplessly,\n Fearing each moment lest some climbing sea\n Should topple o\u2019er our poop and end us there,\n Nathless we \u2019scaped, and still the wind blew fair\n For what we deemed was our right course; but when\n On the third eve, we, as delivered men,\n Took breath because the gale was now blown out,\n And from our rolling deck we looked about\n Over the ridges of the dark grey seas,\n And saw the sun, setting in golden ease,\n Smile out at last from out the just-cleared sky\n Over the ocean's weltering misery,\n Still nothing of the Fighting Man we saw,\n Which last was seen when the first gusty flaw\n Smote them and us; but nothing would avail\n To mend the thing, so onward did we sail,\n But slowly, through the moonlit night and fair, p. 31\n With all sails set that we could hoist in air,\n And rolling heavily at first, for still\n Each wave came on a glittering rippled hill,\n And lifting us aloft, showed from its height\n The waste of waves, and then to lightless night\n Dropped us adown, and much ado had we\n To ride unspilt the wallow of the sea.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But the sun rose up in a cloudless sky,\n And from the east the wind blew cheerily,\n And southwest still we steered; till on a day\n As nigh the mast deep in dull thoughts I lay,\n I heard a shout, and turning could I see\n One of the shipmen hurrying fast to me\n With something in his 1 and, who cast adown\n Close to my hand a mass of sea-weed brown\n Without more words, then knew I certainly\n The wrack, that oft before I had seen lie\n In sandy bights of Norway, and that eve\n Just as the sun the ridgy sea would leave,\n Shore birds we saw, that flew so nigh, we heard\n Their hoarse loud voice that seemed a heavenly word.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then all were glad, but I a fool and young\n Slept not that night, but walked the deck and sung\n Snatches of songs, and verily I think\n I thought next morn of some fresh stream to drink.\n What say I? next morn did I think to be\n Set in my godless fair eternity.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sirs, ye are old, and ye have seen perchance p. 32\n Some little child for very gladness dance\n Over a scarcely-noticed worthless thing,\n Worth more to him than ransom of a king,\n Did not a pang of more than pity take\n Your heart thereat, not for the youngling's sake,\n But for your own, for man that passes by,\n So like to God, so like the beasts that die.\u2014\n Lo, sirs, my pity for myself is such,\n When like an image that my hand can touch\n My old self grows unto myself grown old.\n \u2014Sirs, I forget my story is not told.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Next morn more wrack we saw, more birds, but still\n No land as yet either for good or ill,\n But with the light increased the favouring breeze,\n And smoothly did we mount the ridgy seas.\n Then as a-nigh the good ship's stern I stood\n Gazing adown, a piece of rough-hewn wood\n On a wave's crest I saw, and loud I cried,\n \"Drift-wood! drift-wood!\" and one from by my side,\n Maddened with joy, made for the shrouds, and clomb\n Up to the top to look on his new home,\n For sure he thought the green earth soon to see;\n But gazing thence about him, presently\n He shouted out, \"a sail astern, a sail!\"\n Freshening the hope that now had 'gun to fail\n Of seeing our fellows with the earth new found;\n Wherefore we shortened sail, and sweeping round\n The hazy edges of the sea and sky p. 33\n Soon from the deck could see that sail draw nigh,\n Half fearful lest she yet might chance to be\n The floating house of some strange enemy,\n Till on her sail we could at last behold\n The ruddy lion with the axe of gold,\n And Marcus Erling's sign set corner-wise,\n The green, gold-fruited tree of Paradise.\n \u2014Ah, what a meeting as she drew anigh,\n Greeted with ringing shouts and minstrelsy;\n Alas, the joyful fever of that day,\n When all we met still told of land that lay\n Not far ahead! Yet at our joyous feast\n A word of warning spoke the Swabian priest\n To me and Nicholas, for, \"O friends,\" he said,\n \"Right welcome is the land that lies ahead\n To us who cannot turn, and in this air,\n Washed by this sea, it cannot but be fair,\n And good for us poor men I make no doubt;\n Yet, fellows, must I warn you not to shout\n Ere we have left the troublous wood behind\n Wherein we wander desperate and blind:\n Think what may dwell there! Call to mind the tale\n We heard last winter o\u2019er the Yule-tide ale,\n When that small, withered, black-eyed Genoese\n Told of the island in the outer seas\n He and his fellows reached upon a tide,\n And how, as lying by a streamlet's side,\n With ripe fruits ready unto every hand,\n They lacked not for fair women of the land, p. 34\n The devils came and slew them, all but him,\n Who, how he scarce knew, made a shift to swim\n Off to his ship: nor must ye, fellows, fear\n Such things alone, for mayhap men dwell here\n Who worship dreadful gods, and sacrifice\n Poor travellers to them in such horrid wise\n As I have heard of; or let this go by,\n Yet we may chance to come to slavery,\n Or all our strength and weapons be too poor\n To conquer such beasts as the unknown shore\n May breed; or set all these ill things aside,\n It yet may be our lot to wander wide\n Through many lands before at last we come\n Unto the gates of our enduring home.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But what availed such warning unto us\n Who by this change made nigh delirious\n Spake wisdom outward from the teeth, but thought\n That in a little hour we should be brought\n Unto that bliss our hearts were set upon,\n That more than very Heaven we now had won.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Well, the next morn unto our land we came,\n And even now my cheeks grow red with shame,\n To think what words I said to Nicholas,\n (Since on that night in the great ship I was,)\n Asking him questions, as if he were God,\n Or at the least in that fair land had trod,\n And knew it well, and still he answered me p. 35\n As some great doctor in theology\n Might his poor scholar, asking him of heaven.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But unto me next morn the grace was given\n To see land first, and when men certainly\n That blessed sight of all sights could descry,\n All hearts were melted, and with happy tears,\n Born of the death of all our doubts and fears,\n Yea, with loud weeping, each did each embrace\n For joy that we had gained the glorious place.\n Then must the minstrels sing, then must they play\n Some joyous strain to welcome in the day,\n But for hot tears could see nor bow nor string,\n Nor for the rising sobs make shift to sing;\n Yea, some of us in that first ecstasy\n For joy of \u2019scaping death went near to die.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then might be seen how hard is this world's lot\n When such a marvel was our grief forgot,\n And what a thing the world's joy is to bear,\n When on our hearts the broken bonds of care\n Had left such scars, no man of us could say\n The burning words upon his lips that lay;\n Since, trained to hide the depths of misery,\n Amidst that joy no more our tongues were free.\n Ah, then it was indeed when first I knew,\n When all our wildest dreams seemed coming true,\n And we had reached the gates of Paradise\n And endless bliss, at what unmeasured price\n Man sets his life, and drawing happy breath,\n I shuddered at the once familiar death. p. 36\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Alas, the happy day! the foolish day!\n Alas, the sweet time, too soon passed away!\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Well, in a while I gained the Rose Garland,\n And as toward shore we steadily did stand\n With all sail set, the wind, which had been light,\n Since the beginning of the just past night,\n Failed utterly, and the sharp ripple slept,\n Then toiling hard forward our keels we swept,\n Making small way, until night fell again,\n And then, although of landing we were fain,\n Needs must we wait, but when the sun was set\n Then the cool night a light air did beget,\n And \u2019neath the stars slowly we moved along,\n And found ourselves within a current strong\n At daybreak, and the land beneath our lee.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There a long line of breakers could we see,\n That on a yellow sandy beach did fall,\n And then a belt of grass, and then a wall\n Of green trees, rising dark against the sky.\n Not long we looked, but anchored presently\n A furlong from the shore, and then, all armed,\n Into the boats the most part of us swarmed,\n And pulled with eager hands unto the beach,\n But when the seething surf our prow did reach\n From off the bows I leapt into the sea\n Waist deep, and, wading, was the first to be\n Upon that land; then to the flowers I ran,\n And cried aloud like to a drunken man p. 37\n Words without meaning, whereof none took heed,\n For all across the yellow beach made speed\n To roll among the fair flowers and the grass.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But when our folly somewhat tempered was,\n And we could talk like men, we thought it good\n To try if we could pierce the thick black wood,\n And see what men might dwell in that new land;\n But when we entered it, on either hand\n Uprose the trunks, with underwood entwined\n Making one thicket, thorny, dense, and blind;\n Where with our axes, labouring half the day,\n We scarcely made some half a rod of way;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Therefore, we left that place and tried again,\n Yea, many times, but yet was all in vain;\n So to the ships we went, when we had been\n A long way in our arms, nor yet had seen\n A sign of man, but as for living things,\n Gay birds with many-coloured crests and wings,\n Conies anigh the beach, and while we hacked\n Within the wood, grey serpents, yellow-backed,\n And monstrous lizards; yea, and one man said\n That \u2019midst the thorns he saw a dragon's head;\n And keeping still his eyes on it he felt\n For a stout shaft he had within his belt;\n But just as he had got it to the string\n And drawn his hand aback, the loathly thing\n Vanished away, and how he could not tell.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now spite of all, little our courage fell, p. 38\n For this day's work, nay rather, all things seemed\n To show that we no foolish dream had dreamed\u2014\n The pathless, fearful sea, the land that lay\n So strange, so hard to find, so far away,\n The lovely summer air, the while we knew\n That unto winter now at home it grew,\n The flowery shore, the dragon-guarded wood,\n So hard to pierce\u2014each one of these made good\n The foolish hope that led us from our home,\n That we to other misery might come.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now next morn when the tide began to flow\n We weighed, and somewhat northward did we go\n Coasting that land, and every now and then\n We went ashore to try the woods again,\n But little change we found in them, until\n Inland we saw a bare and scarped white hill\n Rise o\u2019er their tops, and going further on\n Until a broad green river's mouth we won,\n And entering there ran up it with the flood,\n For it was deep although \u2019twixt walls of wood\n Darkly enough its shaded stream did flow,\n And high trees hid the hill we saw just now.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So as we peered about from side to side\n A path upon the right bank we espied\n Through the thick wood, and mooring hastily\n Our ships unto the trunks of trees thereby,\n Laurence and I with sixty men took land\n With bow or cutting sword or bill in hand, p. 39\n And bearing food to last till the third day;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But with the others there did Nicholas stay\n To guard the ships, with whom was Kirstin still,\n Who now seemed pining for old things and ill,\n Spite of the sea-breeze and the lovely air.\n But as for us, we followed up with care\n A winding path, looking from left to right\n Lest any deadly thing should come in sight;\n And certainly our path a dragon crossed\n That in the thicket presently we lost;\n And some men said a leopard they espied,.\n And further on we heard a beast that cried;\n Serpents we saw, like those we erst had seen,,\n And many-coloured birds, and lizards green,\n And apes that chattered from amidst the trees..\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So on we went until a dying breeze\n We felt upon our faces, and soon grew\n The forest thinner, till at last we knew .\n The great scarped hill, which if we now could scale\n The sight of much far country would avail;\n But coming there we climbed it easily,\n For though escarped and rough toward the sea,\n The beaten path we followed led us round\n To where a soft and grassy slope we found,\n And there it forked, one arm led up the hill\n Another through the forest wound on still;\n Which last we left, in good hope soon to see\n Some signs of man, which happened presently;\n For two-thirds up the hill we reached a space p. 40\n Levelled by man's hand in the mountain's face,\n And there a rude shrine stood, of unhewn stones\n Both walls and roof, with a great heap of bones\n Piled up outside it: there awhile we stood\n In doubt, for something there made cold our blood,\n Till brother Laurence, with a whispered word,\n Crossed himself thrice, and drawing forth his sword\n Entered alone, but therewith presently\n From the inside called out aloud to me\n To follow, so I trembling, yet went in\n To that abode of unknown monstrous sin,\n And others followed: therein could we see,\n Amidst the gloom by peering steadily,\n An altar of rough stones, and over it\n We saw a god of yellow metal sit,\n A cubit long, which Laurence with his tongue\n Had touched and found pure gold; withal there hung\n Against the wall men's bodies brown and dry,\n Which gaudy rags of raiment wretchedly\n Did wrap about, and all their heads were wreathed\n With golden chaplets; and meanwhile we breathed\n A heavy, faint, and sweet spice-laden air,\n As though that incense late were scattered there.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But from that house of devils soon we passed\n Trembling and pale, Laurence the priest, the last,\n And got away in haste, nor durst we take\n Those golden chaplets for their wearers\u2019 sake,\n Or that grim golden devil whose they were;\n Yet for the rest, although they brought us fear p. 41\n They did but seem to show our heaven anigh\n Because we deemed these might have come to die\n In seeking it, being slain for fatal sin.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And now we set ourselves in haste to win\n Up to that mountain's top, and on the way\n Looked backward oft upon the land that lay\n Beneath the hill, and still on every hand\n The forest seemed to cover all the land,\n But that some four leagues off we saw a space\n Cleared of the trees, and in that open place\n Houses we seemed to see, and rising smoke\n That told where dwelt the unknown, unseen folk.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But when at last the utmost top we won\n A dismal sight our eyes must look upon;\n The mountain's summit, levelled by man's art,\n Was hedged by high stones set some yard apart\n All round a smooth paved space, and midst of these\n We saw a group of well-wrought images,\n Or so they seemed at first, who stood around\n An old hoar man laid on the rocky ground\n Who seemed to live as yet; now drawing near\n We saw indeed what things these figures were;\n Dead corpses, by some deft embalmer dried,\n And on this mountain after they had died\n Set up like players on a yule-tide feast;\n Here stood a hunter, with a spotted beast\n Most like a leopard, writhing up his spear;\n Nigh the old man stood one as if drawn near\n To give him drink, and on each side his head p. 42\n Two damsels daintily apparelled;\n And then again, nigh him who bore the cup,\n Were two who \u2019twixt them bore a litter up\n As though upon a journey he should go,\n And round about stood men with spear and bow,\n And painted targets as the guard to all,\n Headed by one beyond man's stature tall,\n Who, half turned round, as though he gave the word;\n Seemed as he once had been a mighty lord.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But the live man amid the corpses laid,\n Turning from side to side, some faint word said\n Now and again, but kept his eyes shut fast,\n And we when from the green slope we had passed\n On to this dreadful stage, awe-struck and scared,\n Awhile upon the ghastly puppets stared,\n Then trembling, with drawn swords, came close anigh\n To where the hapless ancient man did lie,\n Who at the noise we made now oped his eyes\n And fixing them upon us did uprise,\n And with a fearful scream stretched out his hand,\n While upright on his head his hair did stand\n For very terror, while we none the less\n Were rooted to the ground for fearfulness,\n And scarce our weapons could make shift to hold.\n But as we stood and gazed, over he rolled\n Like a death-stricken bull, and there he lay,\n With his long-hoarded life quite past away.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then in our hearts did wonder conquer fear,\n And to the dead men did we draw anear p. 43\n And found them such-like things as I have said,\n But he, their master, was apparelled\n Like to those others that we saw e\u2019en now\n Hung up within the dreary house below.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Right little courage had we there to stay,\n So down the hill again we took our way,\n When looking landward thence we had but seen,\n All round about, the forest dull and green,\n Pierced by the river where our ships we left,\n And bounded by far-off blue mountains, cleft\n By passes here and there; but we went by\n The chapel of the gold god silently,\n For doubts had risen in our hearts at last\n If yet the bitterness of death were past.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But having come again into the wood,\n We there took council whether it were good\n To turn back to the ships, or push on still\n Till we had reached the place that from the hill\n We had beheld, and since the last seemed best\n Onward we marched, scarce staying to take rest\n And eat some food, for feverish did we grow\n For haste the best or worst of all to know.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Along the path that, as I said before,\n Led from the hill, we went, and laboured sore\n To gain the open ere the night should fall,\n But yet in vain, for like a dreary pall\n Cast o\u2019er the world, the darkness hemmed us in,\n And though we struggled desperately to win p. 44\n From out the forest through the very night,\n Yet did that labour so abate our might,\n We thought it good to rest among the trees,\n Nor come on those who might be enemies\n In the thick darkness, neither did we dare\n To light a fire lest folk should slay us there\n Mazed and defenceless; so the one half slept\n As they might do, the while the others kept\n Good guard in turn; and as we watched we heard\n Sounds that might well have made bold men afeard,\n And cowards die of fear, but we, alone,\n Apart from all, such desperate men were grown,\n If we should fail to win our Paradise,\n That common life we now might well despise.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So by the day-break on our way we were\n When we had seen to all our fighting gear;\n And soon we came unto that open space,\n And here and there about a grassy place\n Saw houses scattered, neither great nor fair,\n For they were framed of trees as they grew there,\n And walled with wattle-work from tree to tree;\n And thereabout beasts unknown did we see,\n Four-footed, tame; and soon a man came out\n From the first house, and with a startled shout\n Took to his heels, and soon from far and near,\n The folk swarmed out, and still as in great fear\n Gave us no second look, but ran their best,\n And they being clad but lightly for the rest,\n To follow them seemed little mastery. p. 45.\n So to their houses gat we speedily\n To see if we might take some loiterer;\n And some few feeble folk we did find there,\n Though most had fled, and unto these with pain\n We made some little of our meaning plain,\n And sent an old man forth into the wood\n To show his fellows that our will was good.\n Who going from us came back presently\n His message done, and with him two or three\n The boldest of his folk, and they in turn\n A little of us by our signs did learn,\n Then went their way: and so at last all fear\n Was laid aside, and thronging they drew near\n To look upon us; and at last came one\n Who had upon his breast a golden sun,\n And in strange glittering gay attire was clad;\n He let us know our coming made him glad,\n And bade us come with him; so thereon we,\n Thinking him some one in authority,\n Rose up and followed him, who with glad face\n Led us through closer streets of that strange place,\n And brought us lastly to a shapely hall\n Round and high-roofed, held up with tree trunks tall,\n And midst his lords the barbarous king sat there.\n Gold-crowned, in strange apparel rich and fair,\n Whereat we shuddered, for we saw that he\n Was clad like him that erewhile we did see\n Upon the hill, and like those other ones\n Hung in the dismal shrine of unhewn stones. p. 46\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yet nought of evil did he seem to think,\n But bade us sit by him and eat and drink,\n So eating did we speak by signs meanwhile\n Each unto each, and they would laugh and smile\n As folk well-pleased; and with them all that day\n Well feasted, learning some things did we stay.\n And sure of all the folk I ever saw\n These were the gentlest: if they had a law\n We knew not then, but still they seemed to be\n Like the gold people of antiquity.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now when we tried to ask for that good land,\n Eastward and seaward did they point the hand;\n Yet if they knew what thing we meant thereby\n We knew not; but when we for our reply\n Said that we came thence, they made signs to say\n They knew it well, and kneeling down they lay\n Before our feet, as people worshipping.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But we, though somewhat troubled at this thing,\n Failed not to hope, because it seemed to us\n That this so simple folk and virtuous,\n So happy midst their dreary forest bowers,\n Showed at the least a better land than ours,\n And some yet better thing far onward lay.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Amidst all this we made a shift to pray\n That some of them would go with us, to be\n Our fellows on the perilous green sea,\n And much did they rejoice when this they knew,\n And straightway midst their young men lots they drew,\n And the next morn of these they gave us ten, p. 47\n And wept at our departing.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now these men,\n Though brown indeed through dint of that hot sun,\n Were comely and well-knit, as any one\n I saw in Greece, and fit for deeds of war,\n Though as I said of all men gentlest far;\n Their arms were axe and spear, and shield and bow,\n But nought of iron did they seem to know,\n For all their cutting tools were edged with flint,\n Or with soft copper, that soon turned and bent;\n With cloths of cotton were their bodies clad,\n But other raiment for delight they had\n Most fairly woven of some unknown thing;\n And all of them from little child to king\n Had many ornaments of beaten gold:\n Certes, we might have gathered wealth untold\n Amongst them, had that then been in our thought,\n But none the glittering evil valued aught.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now of these foresters, we learned, that they\n Hemmed by the woods, went seldom a long way\n From where we saw them, and no boat they had,\n Or much of other people good or bad\n They knew, and ever had they little war:\n But now and then a folk would come from far\n In ships unlike to ours, and for their gold\n Would give them goods; and some men over bold\n Who dwelt beyond the great hill we had seen,\n Had waged them war, but these all slain had been\n Among the tangled woods by men who knew p. 48\n What tracks of beasts the thicket might pierce through.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Such things they told us whom we brought away,\n But after this, for certes on that day\n Not much we gathered of their way of life.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So to the ships we came at last, and rife\n With many things new learned, we told them all,\n And though our courage might begin to fall\n A little now, yet each to other we\n Made countenance of great felicity,\n And spoke as if the prize were well-nigh won.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Behold then, sirs, how fortune led us on,\n Little by little till we reached the worst,\n And still our lives grew more and more accurst.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nay, friends, believe your worser life now past,\n And that a little bliss is reached at last;\n Take heart, therefore, for like a tale so told\n Is each man's life: and ye, who have been bold\n To see and suffer such unheard-of things,\n Henceforth shall be more worshipped than the kings\n We hear you name; then since ye reach this day\n How are ye worse for what has passed away?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Kind folk, what words of ours can give you praise\n That fits your kindness; yet for those past days, p. 49\n If we bemoan our lot, think this at least:\n We are as men, who cast aside a feast\n Amidst their lowly fellows, that they may\n Eat with the king, and who at end of day, .\n Bearing sore stripes, with great humility\n Must pray the bedesmen of those men to be\n They scorned that day while yet the sun was high.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Not long within the river did we lie,\n But put to sea intending as before\n To coast with watchful eyes the unknown shore,\n And strive to pierce the woods: three days we sailed,\n And little all our watchfulness availed,\n Though all that time the wind was fair enow;\n But on the fourth day it began to blow\n From off the land, and still increased on us\n Until the storm grown wild and furious,\n Although at anchor still we strove to ride,\n Had blown us out into the ocean wide,\n Far out of sight of land; and when at last,\n After three days, its fury was o\u2019erpast,\n Of all our counsels this one was the best\n To beat back blindly to the longed-for west;\n Baffling the wind was, toilsome was the way,\n Nor did we make land till the thirtieth day,\n When both flesh-meat and water were nigh spent,\n But anchoring at last, ashore we went,\n And found the land far better than the first.\n For this with no thick forest was accurst, p. 50\n Though here and there were scattered clumps of wood.\n The air was cooler, too, but soft and good,\n Fair streams we saw, and herds of goats and deer,\n But nothing noisome for a man to fear.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So since at anchor safe our good ships lay\n Within the long horns of a sandy bay,\n We thought it good ashore to take our ease,\n And pitched our tents anigh some maple-trees\n Not far from shore, and there with little pain\n Enough of venison quickly did we gain\n To feast us all, and high feast did we hold\n Lighting great fires, for now the nights were cold,\n And we were fain a noble roast to eat;\n Nor did we lack for drink to better meat,\n For from the dark hold of the Rose Garland\n A well-hooped cask our shipmen brought aland,\n That knew some white-walled city of the Rhine.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There crowned with flowers, and flushed with noble wine,\n Hearkening the distant murmur of the main,\n And safe upon our promised land again,\n What wonder if our vain hopes rose once more\n And Heaven seemed dull beside that twice-won shore.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0By midnight in our tents were we asleep,\n And little watch that night did any keep,\n For as our pleasance that fair land we deemed.\n But in my sleep of lovely things I dreamed,\n For I was back at Micklegarth once more,\n But not a court-man's son there as of yore, p. 51\n But the Greek king, or so I seemed to be,\n Set on the throne whose awe and majesty\n Gold lions guard; before whose moveless feet\n A damsel knelt, praying in words so sweet\n For what I know not now, that both mine eyes\n Grew full of tears, and I must bid her rise\n And sit beside me; step by step she came\n Up the gold stair, setting my heart a-flame\n With all her beauty, till she reached the throne\n And there sat down, but as with her alone\n In that vast hall, my hand her hand did seek,\n And on my face I felt her balmy cheek,\n Throughout my heart there shot a dreadful pang,\n And down below us, with a sudden clang\n The golden lions rose, and roared aloud,\n And in at every door did armed men crowd,\n Shouting out death and curses, and I fell\n Dreaming indeed that this at last was hell.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But therewithal I woke, and through the night\n Heard shrieks and shouts and clamour as of fight,\n And snatching up my axe, unarmed beside\n Nor scarce awaked, my rallying cry I cried,\n And with good haste unto the hubbub went;\n But even in the entry of the tent\n Some dark mass hid the star-besprinkled sky,\n And whistling past my head a spear did fly,\n And striking out I saw a naked man\n Fall \u2019neath my blow, nor heeded him, but ran p. 52\n Unto the captain's tent, for there indeed\n I saw my fellows stand at desperate need,\n Beset with foes, nor yet armed more than I,\n Though on the way I rallied hastily\n Some better armed, with whom I straightway fell\n Upon the foe, who with a hideous yell\n Turned round upon us; but we desperate\n And fresh, and dangerous for our axes\u2019 weight,\n Fought so that they must needs give back a pace\n And yield our fellows some small breathing space;\n Then gathering all together, side by side\n We laid our weapons, and our cries we cried\n And rushed upon them, who abode no more\n Our levelled points, but scattering from the shore\n Ran here and there, but when some two or three\n We in the chase had slain right easily,\n We held our hands, nor followed more their flight,\n Fearing the many chances of the night.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then did we light our watch-fires up again\n And armed us all, and found three good men slain;\n Ten wounded, among whom was Nicholas,\n Though little heedful of these things he was,\n For in his tent he sat upon the ground,\n Holding fair Kirstin's hand, whom he had found\n Dead, with a feathered javelin in her breast.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But taking counsel now, we thought it best\n To gather up our goods and get away\n Unto the ships, and there to wait the day;\n Nor did we loiter, fearful lest the foe, p. 53\n Who somewhat now our feebleness must know,\n Should come on us with force made manifold,\n And all our story quickly should be told.\n So to our boats in haste the others gat,\n But in his tent, not speaking, Nicholas sat,\n Nor moved when o\u2019er his head we struck the tent..\n But when all things were ready, then I went\n And raised the body up, and silently\n Walked with it down the beach unto the sea;\n Then he arose and followed me, and when\n He reached at last the now embarking men,\n And in a boat my burden I had laid,\n He sat beside; but no word had he said\n Since first he knew her slain. Such ending had\n The night at whose beginning all were glad.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0One wounded man of theirs we brought with us\n Hoping for news, but he grew furious\n When he awoke aboard from out his swoon,\n And tore his wounds, and smote himself, and soon.\n Died outright, though his hurts were slight enow,\n So nought from him of that land could we know.\n But now as we that luckless country scanned,\n Just at the daybreak did we see a band\n Of these barbarians come with shout and yell\n Across the place where all these things befell,\n Down to the very edges of the sea;\n But though armed now, by day, we easily\n Had made a shift no few of them to slay, p. 54\n It seemed to us the better course to weigh\n And try another entry to that land;\n So southward with a light wind did we stand,\n Not losing sight of shore, and now and then\n I led ashore the more part of our men\n Well armed, by daylight, and the barbarous folk\n Once and again from bushments on us broke,\n Whom without loss of men we brushed away.\n But in our turn it happed to us one day\n Upon a knot of them unwares to come,\n These we bore back with us, the most of whom\n Would neither eat nor drink, but sullenly\n Sat in a corner of the ship to die;\n But \u2019mongst them was a woman, who at last,\n Won by the glitter of some toy we cast\n About her neck, by soft words and by wine,\n Began to answer us by sign to sign;\n Of whom we learned not much indeed, but when\n We set on shore those tameless savage men,\n And would have left her too, she seemed to pray,\n For terror of her folk, with us to stay:\n Therefore we took her back with us, and she,\n Though learning not our tongue too easily,\n Unto the forest-folk began to speak.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now midst all this passed many a weary week,\n And we no nigher all the time had come\n Unto the portal of our blissful home,\n And needs our bright hope somewhat must decay; p. 55\n Yet none the less as dull day passed by day,\n Still onward by our folly were we led,\n And still with lies our wavering hearts we fed.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Happy we were in this, that still the wind\n Blew as we wished, and still the air was kind;\n Nor failed we of fresh water as we went\n Along the coast, and oft our bows we bent\n On beast and fowl, and had no lack of food.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon a day it chanced, that as we stood\n Somewhat off shore to fetch about a ness,\n Although the wind was blowing less and less,\n We were entrapped into a fearful sea,\n And carried by a current furiously\n Away from shore, and there were we so tost\n That for awhile we deemed ourselves but lost\n Amid those tumbling waves; but now at last,\n When out of sight of land we long had passed,\n The sea fell, and again toward land we stood,\n Which, reached upon the tenth day, seemed right good,\n But still untilled, and mountains rose up high\n Far inland, mingling with the cloudy sky.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Once more we took the land, and since we found\n That, more than ever, beasts did there abound,\n We pitched our camp beside a little stream,\n But scarcely there of Paradise did dream\n As heretofore. Our camp we fortified\n With wall and dyke, and then the land we tried,\n And found the people most untaught and wild,\n Nigh void of arts, but harmless, good, and mild, p. 56\n Nor fearing us: with some of these we went\n Back to our camp and people, with intent\n To question them, by her we last had got.\n But when she heard their tongue she knew it not,\n Nor did those others: but they seemed to say,\n That o\u2019er the mountains other lands there lay\n Where folk dwelt, clothed and armed like unto us,\n But made withal as they were timorous\n And feared them much. Then we made signs that we,\n So little feared by all that tumbling sea,\n Would go to seek them; but they still would stay\n Our journey; nathless what they meant to say\n We scarce knew yet: howbeit, since these men\n Were friendly, and the weather, which till then\n Had been most fair, now grew to storm and rain,\n And the wind blew on land, and not in vain\n To us poor fools, that tale, half understood\n Those folk had told: midst all, we thought it good\n To haul our ships ashore, and build us there\n A place where we might dwell, till we could fare\n Along the coast, or inland it might be,\n That fertile realm, those goodly men to see.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Right foul the weather was a dreary space\n While we abode with people of that place,\n And built them huts, as well we could, for we\n Who dwell in Norway have great mastery\n In woodwright's craft; but they in turn would bring\n Wild fruits to us, and many a woodland thing,\n And catch us fish, and show us how to take p. 57\n The smaller beasts, and meanwhile for our sake\n They learned our tongue, and we too somewhat learned\n Of words of theirs; but day by day we yearned\n To cross those mountains, and I woke no morn,\n To find myself lost, wretched, and forlorn,\n But those far-off white summits gave me heart;\n Now too those folk their story could impart\n Concerning them, and that in short was this\u2014\n \u2014Beyond them lay a fair abode of bliss\n Where dwelt men like the Gods, and clad as we,\n Who doubtless lived on through eternity\n Unless the very world should come to nought;\n But never had they had the impious thought\n To scale those mountains, since most surely, none\n Could follow over them the fearful sun\n And live, of men they knew; but as for us\n They said, who were so wise and glorious\n It might not be so.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thus they spoke one eve\n When the black rain-clouds for a while did leave\n Upon the fresh and teeming earth to frown,\n And we they spoke to, had just set us down\n Midmost their village: from the resting earth\n Sweet odours rose, and in their noisy mirth\n The women played, as rising from the brook\n Off their long locks the glittering drops they shook;\n Betwixt the huts the children raced along;\n Some man was singing a wild barbarous song\n Anigh us, and these folk possessing nought, p. 58\n And lacking nought, lived happy, free from thought,\n Or so it seemed\u2014but we, what thing could pay\n For all that we had left so far away?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Such thoughts as these I uttered murmuringly,\n But lifting up mine eyes, against the sky\n Beheld the snowy peaks brought near to us\n By a strange sunset, red and glorious,\n That seemed as through the much-praised land it lit,\n And would do, long hours after we must sit\n Beneath the twinkling stars with none to heed:\n And though I knew it was not so indeed,\n Yet did it seem to answer me, as though\n It called us once more on our quest to go.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then springing up I raised my voice and said,\u2014\n \"What is it fellows, fear ye to be dead\n Upon those peaks, when, if ye loiter here\n Half dead, with very death still drawing near,\n Your lives are wasted all the more for this,\n That ye in this world thought to garner bliss;\n Unless indeed ye chance to think it well\n With this unclad and barbarous folk to dwell,\n Deedless and hopeless; ye, to whom the land,\n That o\u2019er the world has sent so many a band\n Of conquering men, was not yet good enough.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Did ye then deem the way would not be rough\n Unto the lovely land ye so desire?\n Did ye not rather swear through blood and fire,\n And all ill things to follow up this quest\n Till life or death your longing laid to rest? p. 59\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Let us not linger here then, until fate\n Make longing unavailing, hope too late,\n And turn to lamentations all our prayers,\n But with to-morrow cast aside your cares,\n And stout of heart make ready for the strife\n \u2019Twixt this short time of dreaming and real life.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Lo now, if but the half will come with me,\n The summit of those mountains will I see,\n Or, else die first, yea, if but twenty men\n Will follow me; nor will I stay if ten\n Will share my trouble or felicity\n What do I say? alone, O friends, will I\n Seek for my life, for no man can die twice,\n And death or life may give me Paradise!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then Nicholas said, \"Rolf, I will go with thee,\n For desperate do I think the quest to be,\n And I shall die, and that to me is well,\n Or else I may forget, I cannot tell\n Still I will go.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then Laurence said, \"I too\n Will go remembering what I said to you,\n When any land, the first to which we came\n Seemed that we sought, and set your hearts aflame,\n And all seemed won to you: but still I think,\n Perchance years hence, the fount of life to drink,\n Unless by some ill chance I first am slain,\n But boundless risk must pay for boundless gain.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So most men said, but yet a few there were p. 60\n Who said, \"Nay, soothly let us live on here,\n We have been fools and we must pay therefore\n With this dull life, and labour very sore\n Until we die; yet are we grown too wise\n Upon this earth to seek for Paradise;\n Leave us, but ye may yet come back again\n When ye have found your trouble nought and vain.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Well, in three days we left those men behind,\n To dwell among the simple folk and kind\n Who were our guides at first, until that we\n Reached the green hills clustered confusedly\n About the mountains, then they turned, right glad\n That till that time no horrors they had had;\n But we still hopeful, making nought of time,\n The rugged rocks now set ourselves to climb,\n And lonely there for days and days and days\n We stumbled through the blind and bitter ways,\n Now rising to the never-melting snow,\n Now beaten thence, and fain to try below\n Another kingdom of that world of stone.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At last when all our means of life were gone\n And some of us had fallen in the fight\n With cold and weariness, we came in sight\n Of what we hungered for\u2014what then\u2014what then?\n \u2014A savage land, a land untilled again,\n No lack of food while lasted shaft or bow,\n But folk the worst of all we came to know;\n Scarce like to men, yea, worse than most of beasts, p. 61\n For of men slain they made their impious feasts;\n These, as I deem for our fresh blood athirst\n From out the thick wood often on us burst.\n Not heeding death, and in confused fight\n We spent full many a wretched day and night,\n That yet were happiest of the times we knew,\n For with our grief such fearful foes we grew,\n That Odin's gods had hardly scared men more\n As fearless through the naked press we bore.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At first indeed some prisoners did we take,\n Asking them questions for our fair land's sake,\n Hoping \u2019gainst hope; but when in vain had been\n Our questioning, and we one day had seen\n Their way of banqueting, then axe and spear\n Ended the wretched life and sullen fear\n Of any wild man wounded in the fight.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So with the failing of our hoped delight\n We grew to be like devils\u2014then I knew\n At my own cost, what each man cometh to\n When every pleasure from his life is gone,\n And hunger and desire of life alone,\n That still beget dull rage and bestial fears,\n Like gnawing serpents through the world he bears.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What time we spent there? nay, I do not know:\n For happy folk no time can pass too slow\n Because they die; because at last they die\n And are at rest, no time too fast can fly\n For wretches; but eternity of woe\n Had hemmed us in, and neither fast or slow p. 62\n Passed the dull time as we held reckoning.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yet midst so many a wretched, hopeless thing\n One hope there was, if it was still a hope,\n At last, at last, to turn, and scale the cope\n Of those dread mountains we had clambered o\u2019er.\n And we did turn, and with what labour sore,\n What thirst, what hunger, and what wretchedness\n We struggled daily, how can words express?\n Yet amidst all, the kind God led us on\n Until at last a high raised pass we won\n And like grey clouds afar beheld the sea,\n And weakened with our toil and misery\n Wept at that sight, that like a friend did seem\n Forgotten long, beheld but in a dream\n When we know not if he be still alive.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But thence descending, we with rocks did strive,\n Till dwindled, weary, did we reach the plain\n And came unto our untaught friends again,\n And those we left, who yet alive and well,\n Wedded to brown wives, fain would have us tell\n The story of our woes, which when they heard,\n The country people wondered at our word,\n But not our fellows; and so all being said\n A little there we gathered lustihead\n Still talking over what was best to do.\n And we the leaders yet were fain to go\n From sea to sea and take what God might send,\n Who at the worst our hopes and griefs would end\n With that same death we once had hoped to stay, p. 63\n Or even yet might send us such a day,\n That our past troubles should but make us glad\n As men rejoice in pensive songs and sad.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0This was our counsel; those that we had left\n Said, that they once before had been bereft\n Of friends and country by a sick man's dream,\n That this their life not evil did they deem\n Nor would they rashly cast it down the wind;\n But whoso went, that they would stay behind.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Others there were who said, whate\u2019er might come\n They would at least seek for the happy home\n They had forgotten once, and there at last\n In penitence for sins and follies past\n Wait for the death that they in vain had fled.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Well, when all things by all sides had been said\n We drew the ships again unto the sea,\n Which those who went not with us, carefully\n Had tended for those years we were away\n (Which still they said was ten months and a day);\n And these we rigged, and in a little while\n The Fighting Man looked o\u2019er the false sea's smile\n Unto the land of Norway, and our band\n Across the bulwarks of the Rose Garland,\n Amidst of tears and doubt and misery\n Sent after them a feeble farewell cry,\n And they returned a tremulous faint cheer,\n While from the sandy shell-strewn beach anear\n The soft west wind across the waves bore out p. 64\n A strange confused noise of wail and shout,\n For there the dark line of the outland folk\n A few familiar grey-eyed faces broke,\n That minded us of Norway left astern,\n Ere we began our heavy task to learn.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sirs, by my deeming had ye still gone on\n When ye had crossed the mountains, ye had won\n Unto another sea at last, and there\n Had found clad folk, and cities great and fair\n Though not the deathless country of your thought.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yea, sirs, and short of that we had deemed nought,\n Ere yet our hope of life had fully died,\n And for those cities scarce should we have tried,\n E\u2019en had we known of them, and certainly\n Nought but those bestial people did we see:\n But let me hasten now unto the end.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Fair wind and lovely weather God did send\n To us deserted men, who but two score\n Now mustered, so we stood off from the shore\n Still stretching south till we lost land again,\n Because we deemed our labour would be vain\n Upon the land too near where we had been,\n Where nine of us as yet a sign had seen\n Of that which we desired. And now we few, p. 65\n Thus left alone, each unto other grew\n The dearer friends, and less accursed we seemed\n As still the less of \u2019scaping death we dreamed,\n And knew the lot of all men should be ours,\n A chequered day of sunshine and of showers\n Fading to twilight and dark night at last.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Those forest folk with ours their lot had cast,\n And ever unto us were leal and true,\n And now when all our tongue at last they knew\n They told us tales, too long to tell as now;\n Yet this one thing I fain to you would show\n About the dying man our sight did kill\n Amidst the corpses on that dreary hill:\n Namely, that when their king drew nigh to death,\n But still had left in him some little breath,\n They bore him to that hill, when they had slain,\n By a wild root that killed with little pain,\n His servants and his wives like as we saw,\n Thinking that thence the gods his soul would draw\n To heaven; but the king being dead at last,\n The servants dead being taken down, they cast\n Into the river, but the king they hung\n I Embalmed within that chapel, where they sung\n Some office over him in solemn wise,\n Amidst the smoke of plenteous sacrifice.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Well, though wild hope no longer in us burned,\n Unto the land within a while we turned,\n And found it much the same, and still untilled, p. 66\n And still its people of all arts unskilled;\n And some were dangerous and some were kind;\n But midst them no more tidings did we find\n Of what we once had deemed well-won, but now\n Was like the dream of some past kingly show.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What shall I say of all these savages,\n Of these wide plains beset with unsown trees,\n Through which untamed man-fearing beasts did range?\n To us at least there seemed but little change,\n For we were growing weary of the world.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Whiles did we dwell ashore, whiles were we hurled\n Out to the landless ocean, whiles we lay\n Long time within some river or deep bay;\n And so the months went by, until at last,\n When now three years were fully overpast\n Since we had left our fellows, and grown old\n Our leaky ship along the water rolled,\n Upon a day unto a land we came\n Whose people spoke a tongue well-nigh the same\n As that our forest people used, and who\n A little of the arts of mankind knew,\n And tilled the kind earth, certes not in vain;\n For wealth of melons we saw there, and grain\n Strange unto us. Now battered as we were,\n Grown old before our time, in worn-out gear,\n These people, when we first set foot ashore,\n Garlands of flowers and fruits unto us bore,\n And worshipped us as gods, and for no words\n That we could say would cease to call us Lords, p. 67\n And pray our help to give them bliss and peace,\n And fruitful seasons of the earth's increase.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Withal at last, they, when in talk they fell\n With our good forest-folk, to them did tell\n That they were subject to a mighty king,\n Who, as they said, ruled over everything,\n And, dwelling in a glorious city, had\n All things that men desire to make them glad.\n \"He,\" said they, \"none the less shall be but slave\n Unto your lords, and all that he may have\n Will he but take as free gifts at their hands,\n If they will deign henceforth to bless his lands\n With their most godlike presence.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ye can think\n How we poor wretched souls outworn might shrink\n From such strange worship, that like mocking seemed\n To us, who of a godlike state had dreamed,\n And missed it in such wise; yet none the less\n An earthly haven to our wretchedness\n This city seemed, therefore we \u2019gan to pray\n That some of them would guide us on our way,\n Which words of ours they heard most joyously,\n And brought us to their houses nigh the sea,\n And feasted us with such things as they might.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But almost ere the ending of the night\n We started on our journey, being up-borne\n In litters, like to kings, who so forlorn\n Had been erewhile; so in some ten days\u2019 space\n They brought us nigh their king's abiding place; p. 68\n And as we went the land seemed fair enough,\n Though sometimes did we pass through forests rough,\n Deserts and fens, yet for the most, the way\n Through ordered villages and tilled land lay,\n Which after all the squalid miseries\n We had beheld, seemed heaven unto our eyes,\n Though strange to us it was.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But now when we\n From a hill-side the city well could see,\n Our guides there prayed us to abide awhile,\n Wherefore we stayed, though eager to beguile\n Our downcast hearts from brooding o\u2019er our woe\n By all the new things that abode might show;\n So while we bided on that flowery down\n The swiftest of them sped on toward the town\n To bear them news of this unhoped-for bliss;\n And we, who now some little happiness\n Could find in that fair place and pleasant air,\n Sat \u2019neath strange trees, on new flowers growing there\n Of scent unlike to those we knew of old,\n While unfamiliar tales the strange birds told.\n But certes seemed that city fair enow\n That spread out o\u2019er the well-tilled vale below,\n Though nowise built like such as we had seen;\n Walled with white walls it was, and gardens green\n Were set between the houses everywhere;\n And now and then rose up a tower foursquare\n Lessening in stage on stage: with many a hue\n The house walls glowed, of red and green and blue, p. 69\n And some with gold were well adorned, and one\n From roofs of gold flashed back the noontide sun.\n Had we seen such a place not long ago\n We should have made great haste to get thereto,\n Deeming that it must be the heaven we sought.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But now while quietly we sat, and thought\n Of many things, the gate wherein that road\n Had end, was opened wide, and thereout flowed\n A glittering throng of people, young and old,\n And men and women, much adorned with gold;\n Wherefore we rose to meet them, who stood still\n When they beheld us winding down the hill,\n And lined both sides of the grey road, but we\n Now drawing nigh them, first of all could see\n Old men in venerable raiment clad,\n White bearded, who sweet flowering branches had\n In their right hands, then young men armed right well\n After their way, which now were long to tell,\n Then damsels clad in radiant gold array,\n Who with sweet-smelling blossoms strewed the way\n Before our feet, then men with gleaming swords\n And glittering robes, and crowned like mighty lords,\n And last of all; within the very gate\n The king himself, round whom our guides did wait,\n Kneeling with humble faces downward bent.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What wonder if, as \u2019twixt these folk we went,\n Hearkening their singing and sweet minstrelsy,\n A little nigher seemed our heaven to be\u2014\n Alas, a fair folk, a sweet spot of earth, p. 70\n A land where many a lovely thing has birth,\n But where all fair things come at last to die.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now when we three unto the king drew nigh\n Before our fellows, he, adored of all,\n Spared not before us on his knees to fall,\n And as we deemed who knew his speech but ill,\n Began to pray us to bide with him still,\n Speaking withal of some old prophecy\n Which seemed to say that there we should not die.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What could we do amidst these splendid lords?\n No time it was to doubt or make long words,\n Nor with a short but happy life at hand\n Durst we to ask about the perfect land,\n Though well we felt the life whereof he spoke,\n Could never be among those mortal folk.\n Therefore we way-worn, disappointed men,\n So richly dowered with three-score years and ten,\n Vouchsafed to grant the king his whole request,\n Thinking within that town awhile to rest,\n And gather news about the hope that fled\n Still on before us, risen from the dead,\n From out its tomb of toil and misery,\n That held it while we saw but sea and sky,\n Or untilled lands and people void of bliss,\n And our own faces heavy with distress.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But entering now that town, what huge delight\n We had therein, how lovely to our sight\n Was the well-ordered life of people there, p. 71\n Who on that night within a palace fair\n Made us a feast with great solemnity,\n Till we forgot that we came there to die\n If we should leave our quest, for as great kings\n They treated us, and whatsoever things\n We asked for, or could think of, those were ours.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Houses we had, noble with walls and towers,\n Lovely with gardens, cooled with running streams,\n And rich with gold beyond a miser's dreams,\n And men and women slaves, whose very lives\n Were in our hands; and fair and princely wives\n If so we would; and all things for delight,\n Good to the taste or beautiful to sight\n The land might yield. They taught us of their law,\n The muster of their men-at-arms we saw,\n As men who owned them; in their judgment-place\n Our lightest word made glad the pleader's face,\n And the judge trembled at our faintest frown.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Think then, if we, late driven up and down\n Upon the uncertain sea, or struggling sore\n With barbarous men upon an untilled shore,\n Or at the best, midst people ignorant\n Of arts and letters, fighting against want\n Of very food\u2014think if we now were glad\n From day to day, and as folk crazed and mad\n Deemed our old selves, the wanderers on the sea.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And if at whiles midst our felicity\n We yet remembered us of that past day\n When in the long swell off the land we lay, p. 72\n Weeping for joy at our accomplished dream,\n And each to each a very god did seem,\n For fear was dead\u2014if we remembered this,\n Yet after all, was this our life of bliss,\n A little thing that we had gained at last?\n And must we sorrow for the idle past,\n Or think it ill that thither we were led?\n Thus seemed our old desire quite quenched and dead.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0You must remember though, that we were young,\n Five years had passed since the grey fieldfare sung\n To me a dreaming youth laid \u2019neath the thorn,\n And though while we were wandering and forlorn\n I seemed grown old and withered suddenly,\n But twenty summers had I seen go by\n When I left Viken on that desperate cruise.\n But now again our wrinkles did we lose\n With memory of our ills, and like a dream\n Our fevered quest with its bad days did seem,\n And many things grew fresh again, forgot\n While in our hearts that wild desire was hot:\n Yea, though at thought of Norway we might sigh,\n Small was the pain which that sweet memory\n Brought with its images seen fresh and clear,\n And many an old familiar thing grown dear,\n We loved but little while we lived with it.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So smoothly o\u2019er our heads the days did flit,\n Yet not eventless either, for we taught\n Such lore as we from our own land had brought p. 73\n Unto this folk, who when they wrote must draw\n Such draughts as erst at Micklegarth I saw,\n Writ for the evil Pharaoh-kings of old;\n Their arms were edged with copper or with gold,\n Whereof they had great plenty, or with flint;\n No armour had they fit to bear the dint\n Of tools like ours, and little could avail\n Their archer craft; their boats knew nought of sail,\n And many a feat of building could we show,\n Which midst their splendour still they did not know.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And midst of all, war fell upon the land,\n And in forefront of battle must we stand,\n To do our best, though little mastery\n We thought it then to make such foemen flee\n As there we met; but when again we came\n Into the town, with something like to shame\n We took the worship of that simple folk\n Rejoicing for their freedom from the yoke\n That round about their necks had hung so long.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For thus that war began: some monarch strong\n Conquered their land of old, and thereon laid\n A dreadful tribute, which they still had paid\n With tears and curses; for as each fifth year\n Came round, this heavy shame they needs must bear:\n Ten youths, ten maidens must they choose by lot\n Among the fairest that they then had got.\n Who a long journey o\u2019er the hills must go\n Unto the tyrant, nor with signs of woe\n Enter his city, but in bright array, p. 74\n And harbingered by songs and carols gay,\n Betake them to the temple of his god;\n But when the streets their weary feet had trod\n Their wails must crown the long festivity,\n For on the golden altar must they die.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Such was the sentence till the year we came,\n And counselled them to put away this shame\n If they must die therefore, so on that year\n Barren of blood the devil's altars were,\n Wherefore a herald clad in strange attire\n The tyrant sent them, and but blood and fire\n His best words were; him they sent back again\n Defied by us, who made his threats but vain,\n When face to face with those ill folk we stood\n Ready to seal our counsel with our blood.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Past all belief they loved us for all this,\n And if it would have added to our bliss\n That they should die, this surely they had done;\n So smoothly slipped the years past one by one,\n And we had lived and died as happy there\n As any men the labouring earth may bear,\n But for the poison of that wickedness\n That led us on God's edicts to redress.\n At first indeed death seemed so far away,\n So sweet in our new home was every day,\n That we forgot death like the most of men\n Who cannot count the threescore years and ten;\n Yet we grew fearful as the time drew on,\n And needs must think of all we might have won, p. 75\n Yea, by so much the happier that we were\n By just so much increased on us our fear,\n And those old times of our past misery\n Seemed not so evil as the days went by\n Faster and faster with the year's increase,\n For loss of youth to us was loss of peace.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Two gates unto the road of life there are,\n And to the happy youth both seem afar,\n Both seem afar, so far the past one seems,\n The gate of birth, made dim with many dreams,\n Bright with remembered hopes, beset with flowers;\n So far it seems he cannot count the hours\n That to this midway path have led him on\n Where every joy of life now seemeth won\u2014\n So far, he thinks not of the other gate,\n Within whose shade the ghosts of dead hopes wait\n To call upon him as he draws anear,\n Despoiled, alone, and dull with many a fear,\n \"Where is thy work? how little thou hast done,\n Where are my friends, why art thou so alone?\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0How shall he weigh his life? slow goes the time\n The while the fresh dew-sprinkled hill we climb,\n Thinking of what shall be the other side,\n Slow pass perchance the minutes we abide\n On the gained summit, blinking at the sun;\n But when the downward journey is begun\n No more our feet may loiter, past our ears\n Shrieks the harsh wind scarce noted midst our fears, p. 76\n And battling with the hostile things we meet\n Till, ere we know it, our weak shrinking feet\n Have brought us to the end and all is done.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And so with us it was, when youth twice won\n Now for the second time had passed away,\n And we unwitting were grown old and grey,\n And one by one, the death of some dear friend,\n Some cherished hope, brought to a troublous end\n Our joyous life; as in a dawn of June\n The lover, dreaming of the brown bird's tune\n And longing lips unto his own brought near,\n Wakes up the crashing thunder-peal to hear.\n So, sirs, when this world's pleasures came to nought\n Not upon God we set our wayward thought,\n But on the folly our own hearts had made;\n Once more the stories of the past we weighed\n With what we hitherto had found, once more\n We longed to be by some unknown far shore,\n Once more our life seemed trivial, poor, and vain,\n Till we our lost fool's paradise might gain,\n And we were like the felon doomed to die,\n Who when unto the sword he draws anigh\n Struggles and cries, though erewhile in his cell\n He heard the priest of heaven and pardon tell,\n Weeping and half-contented to be slain.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was I the first who thought of this again?\n Perchance I was, but howsoe\u2019er that be p. 77\n Long time I thought of these things certainly\n Ere I durst stir my fellows to the quest,\n Though secretly myself, with little rest\n For tidings of our lovely land I sought.\n Should prisoners from another folk be brought\n Unto our town, I questioned them of this;\n I asked the wandering merchants of a bliss\n They dreamed not of, in chaffering for their goods;\n The hunter in the far-off lonely woods,\n The fisher in the rivers nigh the sea,\n Must tell their wild strange stories unto me.\n Within the temples books of records lay\n Such as I told of, thereon day by day\n I pored, and got long stories from the priests\n Of many-handed gods with heads of beasts,\n And such like dreariness; and still, midst all\n Sometimes a glimmering light would seem to fall\n Upon my ignorance, and less content\n As time went on I grew, and ever went\n About my daily life distractedly,\n Until at last I felt that I must die\n Or to my fellows tell what in me was.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So on a day I came to Nicholas\n And trembling \u2019gan to tell of this and that,\n And as I spoke with downcast eyes I sat\n Fearing to see some scorn within his eyes,\n Or horror at unhappy memories;\n But now, when mine eyes could no longer keep\n The tears from falling, he too, nigh to weep, p. 78\n Spoke out, \"O Rolf; why hast thou come to me,\n Who thinking I was happy, now must see\n That only with the ending of our breath,\n Or by that fair escape from fear and death\n Can we forget the hope that erewhile led\n Our little band to woe and drearihead?\n But now are we grown old, Rolf; and to-day\n Life is a little thing to cast away,\n Nor can we suffer many years of it\n If all goes wrong, so no more will I sit,\n Praying for all the things that cannot be:\n Tell thou our fellows what thou tellest me,\n Nor fear that I will leave you in your need.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Well, sirs, with all the rest I had such speed\n That men enough of us resolved to go\n The very bitterness of death to know\n Or else to conquer him; some idle tale\n With our kind hosts would plenteously avail,\n For of our quest we durst not tell them aught,\n Since something more than doubt was in our thought,\n Though unconfessed, that we should fail at last,\n Nor had we quite forgot our perils past.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Alas! can weak men hide such thoughts as these?\n I think the summer wind that bows the trees\n Through which the dreamer wandereth muttering\n Will bear abroad some knowledge of the thing\n That so consumes him; howsoe\u2019er that be,\n We, born to drink the dregs of misery, p. 79\n Found in the end that some one knew our aim.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For while we weighed the chances of the game\n That we must play, nor yet knew what to shun,\n Or what to do, there came a certain one,\n A young man strange within the place, to me,\n Who, swearing me at first to secrecy,\n Began to tell me of the hoped-for land.\n The trap I saw not, with a shaking hand\n And beating heart, unto the notes of years\n I turned, long parchments blotted with my tears,\n And tremulously read them out aloud;\n But still, because the hurrying thoughts would crowd\n My whirling brain, scarce heard the words I read.\n Yet in the end it seemed that what he said\n Tallied with that, heaped up so painfully.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now listen! this being done, he said to me,\n \"O godlike Eastern man, believest thou\n That I who look so young and ruddy now\n Am very old? because in sooth I come\n To seek thee and to lead thee to our home\n With all thy fellows. But if thou dost not,\n Come now with me, for nigh unto this spot\n My brother, left behind, an ancient man\n Now dwelleth, but as grey-haired, weak and wan\n As I am fresh; of me he doth not know,\n So surely shall our speech together show,\n The truth of this my message.\" \"Yea,\" said I,\n \"I doubt thee not, yet would I certainly\n Hear the old man talk if he liveth yet. p. 80\n That I a clearer tale of this may set\n Before my fellows; come then, lead me there.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thus easily I fell into the snare;\n For as along the well-known streets we went,\n An old hoar man there met us, weak and bent,\n Who staying us, the while with age he shook,\n My lusty fellow by the shoulder took,\n And said, \"Oh, stranger canst thou be the son,\n Or but the younger double of such an one,\n Who dwelt once in the weaver's street hereby?\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But the young man looked on him lovingly,\n And said, \"O certes, thou art now grown old\n That thou thy younger brother canst behold\n And call him stranger.\" \"Yea, yea, old enow,\"\n The other said, \"what fables talkest thou?\n My brother has but three years less than I,\n Nor dealeth time with men so marvellously\n That he should seem like twenty, I fourscore:\n Thou art my nephew, let the jest pass o\u2019er.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Nay,\" said he, \"but it is not good to talk\n Here in the crowded street, so let us walk\n Unto thine habitation; dost thou mind,\n When we were boys, how once we chanced to find\n That crock of copper money hid away\n Up in the loft, and how on that same day\n We bought this toy and that, thou a short sword\n And I a brazen boat.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But at that word\n The old man wildly on him \u2019gan to stare p. 81\n And said no more, the while we three did fare\n Unto his house, but there we being alone,\n Many undoubted signs the younger one\n Gave to his brother, saying withal, that he\n Had gained the land of all felicity,\n Where, after trials then too long to tell,\n The slough of grisly eld from off him fell,\n And left him strong, and fair, and young again;\n Neither from that time had he suffered pain\n Greater or less, or feared at all to die:\n And though, he said, he knew not certainly\n If he should live for ever, this he knew\n His days should not be full of pain and few\n As most men's lives were. Now when asked why he\n Had left his home, a deadly land to see,\n He said that people's chiefs had sent him there\n Moved by report that tall men, white and fair,\n Like to the Gods, had come across the sea\n Of whom old seers had told that they should be\n Lords of that land, therefore his charge was this,\n To lead us forth to that abode of bliss,\n But secretly, since for the other folk\n They were as beasts to toil beneath the yoke,\n \"But,\" said he, \"brother, thou shalt go with me,\n If now at last no doubt be left in thee\n Of who I am.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At that, to end it all\n The weak old man upon his neck did fall,\n Rejoicing for his lot with many tears: p. 82\n But I, rejoicing too, yet felt vague fears\n Within my heart, for now almost too nigh\n We seemed to that long sought felicity.\n What should I do though? What could it avail\n Unto these men, to make a feigned tale?\n Besides in all no faltering could I find,\n Nor did they go beyond, or fall behind,\n What in such cases such-like men would do,\n Therefore I needs must think their story true.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So now unto my fellows did I go\n And all things in due order straight did show,\n And had the man who told the tale at hand;\n Of whom some made great question of the land,\n And where it was, and how he found it first;\n And still he answered boldly to the worst\n Of all their questions: then from out the place\n He went, and we were left there face to face.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And joy it was to see the dark cheeks, tanned\n By many a summer of that fervent land,\n Flush up with joy, and see the grey eyes gleam\n Through the dull film of years, as that sweet dream\n Flickered before them, now grown real and true.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But when the certainty of all we knew,\n Dreaming for sure our quest would not be vain,\n We got us ready for the sea again.\n But to the city's folk we told no more\n Than that we needs must make for some far shore,\n Whence we would come again to them, and bring\n For them and us, full many a wished-for thing p. 83\n To make them glad.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then answered they indeed\n That our departing made their hearts to bleed,\n But with no long words prayed us still to stay,\n And I remembered me of that past day,\n And somewhat grieved I felt, that so it was:\n Not thinking how the deeds of men must pass,\n And their remembrance as their bodies die,\n Or, if their memories fade not utterly,\n Like curious pictures shall they be at best,\n For men to gaze at while they sit at rest,\n Talking of alien things and feasting well.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ah me! I loiter, being right loth to tell\n The things that happened to us in the end.\n Down to the noble river did we wend\n Where lay the ships we taught these folk to make,\n And there the fairest of them did we take\n And so began our voyage; thirty-three\n Were left of us, who erst had crossed the sea,\n Five of the forest people, and beside\n None but the fair young man, our new-found guide,\n And his old brother; setting sail with these\n We left astern our gilded palaces\n And all the good things God had given us there\n With small regret, however good they were.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Well, in twelve days our vessel reached the sea,\n When turning round we ran on northerly\n In sight of land at whiles; what need to say p. 84\n How the time past from hopeful day to day?\n Suffice it that the wind was fair and good,\n And we most joyful, as still north we stood;\n Until when we a month at sea had been,\n And for six days no land at all had seen,\n We sighted it once more, whereon our guide\n Shouted, \"O fellows, lay all fear aside,\n This is the land whereof I spake to you.\"\n But when the happy tidings all men knew,\n Trembling and pale we watched the land grow great,\n And when above the waves the noontide heat\n Had raised a vapour \u2019twixt us and the land\n That afternoon, we saw a high ness stand\n Out in the sea, and nigher when we came,\n And all the sky with sunset was a-flame,\n \u2019Neath the dark hill we saw a city lie,\n Washed by the waves, girt round with ramparts high.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A little nigher yet, and then our guide\n Bade us to anchor, lowering from our side\n The sailless keel wherein he erst had come,\n Through many risks, to bring us to his home.\n But when our eager hands this thing had done,\n He and his brother gat therein alone.\n But first he said, \"Abide here till the morn,\n And when ye hear the sound of harp and horn,\n And varied music, run out every oar,\n Up anchor, and make boldly for the shore.\n O happy men! well-nigh do I regret\n That I am not as you, to whom as yet p. 85\n That moment past all moments is unknown,\n When first unending life to you is shown.\n But now I go, that all in readiness\n May be, your souls with this delight to bless.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He waved farewell to us and went, but we,\n As the night grew, beheld across the sea\n Lights moving on the quays, and now and then\n We heard the chanting of the outland men.\n How can I tell of that strange troublous night,\n Troublous and strange, though \u2019neath the moonshine white,\n Peace seemed upon the sea, the glimmering town,\n The shadows of the tree-besprinkled down,\n The moveless dewy folds of our loose sail?\n But how could these for peace to us avail?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Weary with longing, blind with great amaze,\n We struggled now with past and future days;\n And not in vain our former joy we thought,\n Since thirty years our wandering feet had brought\n To this at last\u2014and yet, what will you have?\n Can man be made content? We wished to save\n The bygone years; our hope, our painted toy,\n We feared to miss, drowned in that sea of joy.\n Old faces still reproached us: \"We are gone,\n And ye are entering into bliss alone;\n And can ye now forget? Year passes year,\n And still ye live on joyous, free from fear;\n But where are we? where is the memory\n Of us, to whom ye once were drawn so nigh? p. 86\n Forgetting and alone ye enter in;\n Remembering all, alone we wail our sin,\n And cannot touch you.\"\u2014Ah, the blessed pain!\n When heaven just gained was scarcely all a gain.\n How could we weigh that boundless treasure then,\n Or count the sorrows of the sons of men?\n \u2014Ah, woe is me to think upon that night!\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Day came, and with the dawning of the light\n We were astir, and from our deck espied\n The people clustering by the water-side,\n As if to meet us; then across the sea\n We heard great horns strike up triumphantly,\n And then scarce knowing what we did, we weighed\n And running out the oars for shore we made,\n With banners fluttering out from yard and mast.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0We reached the well-built marble quays at last,\n Crowded with folk, and in the front of these\n There stood our guide, decked out with braveries,\n Holding his feeble brother by the hand,\n Then speechless, trembling, did we now take land,\n Leaving all woes behind, but when our feet\n The happy soil of that blest land did meet,\n Fast fell our tears, as on a July day\n The thunder-shower falls pattering on the way,\n And certes some one we desired to bless,\n But scarce knew whom midst all our thankfulness.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now the crowd opened, and an ordered band\n Of youths and damsels, flowering boughs in hand p. 87\n Came forth to meet us, just as long ago,\n When first we won some rest from pain and woe,\n Except that now eld chained not anyone,\n No man was wrinkled but ourselves alone,\n But smooth and beautiful, bright-eyed and glad,\n Were all we saw, in fair thin raiment clad\n Fit for the sunny place.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But now our friend,\n Our guide, who brought us to this glorious end,\n Led us amidst that band, who \u2019gan to sing\n Some hymn of welcome, midst whose carolling\n Faint-hearted men we must have been indeed\n To doubt that all was won; nor did we heed\n That, when we well were gotten from the quay,\n Armed men went past us, by the very way\n That we had come, nor thought of their intent,\n For armour unto us was ornament,\n And had been now, for many peaceful years,\n Since bow and axe had dried the people's tears.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Let all that pass\u2014with song and minstrelsy\n Through many streets they led us, fair to see,\n For nowhere did we meet maimed, poor, or old,\n But all were young and clad in silk and gold.\n Like a king's court the common ways did seem\n On that fair morn of our accomplished dream.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Far did we go, through market-place and square,\n Past fane and palace, till a temple fair\n We came to, set aback midst towering trees,\n But raised above the tallest of all these. p. 88\n So there we entered through a brazen gate,\n And all the thronging folk without did wait,\n Except the golden-clad melodious band.\n But when within the precinct we did stand,\n Another rampart girdled round the fane,\n And that being past another one again,\n And small space was betwixt them, all these three\n Of white stones laid in wondrous masonry\n Were builded, but the fourth we now passed through\n Was half of white and half of ruddy hue;\n Nor did we reach the temple through this one,\n For now a fifth wall came, of dark red stone\n With golden coping and wide doors of gold;\n And this being past, our eyes could then behold\n The marvellous temple, foursquare, rising high\n In stage on stage up toward the summer sky,\n Like the unfinished tower that Nimrod built\n Before the concord of the world was spilt.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So now we came into the lowest hall,\n A mighty way across from wall to wall,\n Where carven pillars held a gold roof up,\n And silver walls fine as an Indian cup,\n With figures monstrous as a dream were wrought,\n And under foot the floor beyond all thought\n Was wonderful, for like the tumbling sea\n Beset with monsters did it seem to be;\n But in the midst a pool of ruddy gold\n Caught in its waves a glittering fountain cold,\n And through the bright shower of its silver spray p. 89\n Dimly we saw the high raised dais, gay\n With wondrous hangings, for high up and small\n The windows were within the dreamlike hall;\n Betwixt the pillars wandered damsels fair\n Crooning low songs, or filling all the air\n With incense wafted to strange images\n That made us tremble, since we saw in these\n The devils unto whom we now must cry\n Ere we began our new felicity:\n Nathless no altars did we see but one\n Which dimly from before the dais shone\n Built of green stone, with horns of copper bright.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now when we entered from the outer light\n And all the scents of the fresh day were past,\n With its sweet breezes, a dull shade seemed cast\n Over our joy; what then? not if we would\n Could we turn back\u2014and surely all was good,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But now they brought us vestments rich and fair,\n And bade us our own raiment put off there,\n Which straight we did, and with a hollow sound\n Like mournful bells our armour smote the ground,\n And damsels took the weapons from our hands\n That might have gleamed with death in other lands,\n And won us praise; at last when all was done,\n And brighter than the Kaiser each man shone,\n Us unarmed helpless men the music led\n Up to the dais, and there our old guide said\n \"Rest, happy men, the time will not be long\n Ere they will bring with incense, dance, and song p. 90\n The sacred cup, your life and happiness,\n And many a time this fair hour shall ye bless.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Alas, sirs! words are weak to tell of it,\n I seemed to see a smile of mockery flit\n Across his face as from our thrones he turned,\n And in my heart a sudden fear there burned,\n The last, I said, for ever and a day;\n But even then with harsh and ominous bray\n A trumpet through the monstrous pillars rung,\n And to our feet with sudden fear we sprung\n Too late, too late! for through all doors did stream\n Armed men, that filled the place with clash and gleam,\n And when the dull sound of their moving feet\n Was still, a fearful sight our eyes did meet,\n A fearful sight to us\u2014old men and grey\n Betwixt the bands of soldiers took their way,\n And at their head in wonderful attire,\n Holding within his hand a pot of fire,\n Moved the false brother of the traitrous guide,\n Who with bowed head walked ever by his side;\n But as anigh the elders \u2019gan to draw,\n We, almost turned to stone by what we saw,\n Heard the old man say to the younger one,\n \"Speak to them that thou knowest, O fair Son!\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then the wretch said, \"O ye, who sought to find\n Unending life against the law of kind,\n Within this land, fear ye not now too much,\n For no man's hand your bodies here shall touch, p. 91\n But rather with all reverence folk shall tend\n Your daily lives, until at last they end\n By slow decay: and ye shall pardon us\n The trap whereby beings made so glorious\n As ye are made, we drew unto this place.\n Rest ye content then! for although your race\n Comes from the gods, yet are ye conquered here,\n As we would conquer them, if we knew where\n They dwell from day to day, and with what arms\n We, overcoming them, might win such charms\n That we might make the world what ye desire.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Rest then at ease, and if ye ere shall tire\n Of this abode, remember at the worst\n Life flitteth, whether it be blessed or cursed.\n But will ye tire? ye are our gods on earth\n Whiles that ye live, nor shall your lives lack mirth,\n For song, fair women, and heart-cheering wine\n The chain of solemn days shall here entwine\n With odorous flowers; ah, surely ye are come,\n When all is said, unto an envied home.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Like an old dream, dreamed in another dream,\n I hear his voice now, see the hopeless gleam,\n Through the dark place of that thick wood of spears.\n That fountain's splash rings yet within mine ears\n I thought the fountain of eternal youth\u2014\n Yet I can scarce remember in good truth\n What then I felt: I should have felt as he,\n Who, waking after some festivity p. 92\n Sees a dim land, and things unspeakable,\n And comes to know at last that it is hell\u2014\n I cannot tell you, nor can tell you why\n Driven by what hope, I cried my battle cry\n And rushed upon him; this I know indeed\n My naked hands were good to me at need,\n That sent the traitor to his due reward,\n Ere I was dragged off by the hurrying guard,\n Who spite of all used neither sword nor spear,\n Nay as it seemed, touched us with awe and fear.\n Though at the last grown all to weak to strive\n They brought us to the dais scarce alive,\n And changed our tattered robes again, and there\n Bound did we sit, each in his golden chair,\n Beholding many mummeries that they wrought\n About the altar; till at last they brought,\n Crowned with fair flowers, and clad in robes of gold,\n The folk that from the wood we won of old\u2014\n Why make long words? before our very eyes\n Our friends they slew, a fitting sacrifice\n To us their new gained gods, who sought to find\n Within that land, a people just and kind\n Who could not die, or take away the breath\n From living men.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What thing but that same death\n Had we left now to hope for? death must come\n And find us somewhere an enduring home.\n Will grief kill men, as some folk think it will?\n Then are we of all men most hard to kill. p. 93\n The time went past, the dreary days went by\n In dull unvarying round of misery,\n Nor can I tell if it went fast or slow,\n What would it profit you the time to know\n That we spent there; all I can say to you\n Is, that no hope our prison wall shone through,\n That ever we were guarded carefully,\n While day and dark and dark and day went by\n Like such a dream, as in the early night\n The sleeper wakes from in such sore afright,\n Such panting horror, that to sleep again\n He will not turn, to meet such shameful pain.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Lo such were we, but as we hoped before\n Where no hope was, so now, when all seemed o\u2019er\n But sorrow for our lives so cast away,\n Again the bright sun brought about the day.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At last the temple's dull monotony\n Was broke by noise of armed men hurrying by\n Within the precinct, and we seemed to hear\n Shouts from without of anger and of fear,\n And noises as of battle; and red blaze\n The night sky showed; this lasted through two days.\n But on the third our guards were whispering\n Pale faced, as though they feared some coming thing,\n And when the din increased about noontide,\n No longer there with us would they abide,\n But left us free; judge then if our hearts beat,\n When any pain or death itself was sweet p. 94\n To hideous life within that wicked place,\n Where every day brought on its own disgrace.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Few words betwixt us passed, we knew indeed\n Where our old armour once so good at need\n Hung up as relics nigh the altar-stead,\n Thither we hurried, and from heel to head\n Soon were we armed, and our old spears and swords\n Clashing \u2019gainst steel and stone, spoke hopeful words\n To us, the children of a warrior race.\n But round unto the hubbub did we face\n And through the precinct strove to make our way\n Set close together; in besmirked array\n Some met us, and some wounded very sore,\n And some who wounded men to harbour bore;\n But these too busy with their pain or woe\n To note us much, unchallenged let us go:\n Then here and there we passed some shrinking maid\n In a dark corner trembling and afraid,\n But eager for the news about the fight.\n Through trodden gardens then we came in sight\n Of the third rampart that begirt the fane,\n Which now the foemen seemed at point to gain,\n For o\u2019er the wall the ladders \u2019gan to show,\n And huge confusion was there down below\n \u2019Twixt wall and wall; but as the gate we passed\n A man from out the crowd came hurrying fast,\n But, drawing nigh us, stopped short suddenly,\n And cried, \"O, masters, help us or we die!\n This impious people \u2019gainst their ancient lords p. 95\n Have turned, and in their madness drawn their swords.\n Yea, and they now prevail, and fearing not\n The dreadful gods still grows their wrath more hot.\n Wherefore to bring you here was my intent,\n But the kind gods themselves your hands have sent\n To save us all, and this fair holy house\n With your strange arms, and hearts most valorous.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0No word we said, for even as he spoke\n A frightful clamour from the wall outbroke,\n As the thin line of soldiers thereupon\n Crushed back, and broken, left the rampart won,\n And leapt and tumbled therefrom as they could,\n While in their place the conquering foemen stood:\n Then the weak, wavering, huddled crowd below\n Their weight upon the inner wall \u2019gan throw,\n And at the narrow gates by hundreds died;\n For not long did the enemy abide\n On the gained rampart, but by every way\n Got to the ground and \u2019gan all round to slay,\n Till great and grim the slaughter grew to be.\n But we well pleased our tyrants' end to see\n Still firm against the inner wall did stand,\n While round us surged the press on either hand.\n Nor did we fear, for what was left of life\n For us to fear for? so at last the strife\n Drawn inward, in that place did much abate,\n And we began to move unto the gate\n Betwixt the dead and living, and these last\n Ever with fearful glances by us passed p. 96\n Nor hindered aught; but mindful of the lore\n Our fathers gained on many a bloody shore,\n We, when unto the street we made our way,\n Moved as in fight nor broke our close array,\n Though no man harmed us of the troubled crowd\n That thronged the streets with shouts and curses loud,\n But rather when our clashing arms they heard\n Their hubbub lulled, and they as men afeard\n Drew back before us.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Well, as nigh we drew\n Unto the sea, the men showed sparse and few,\n Though frightened women standing in the street\n Before their doors we did not fail to meet,\n And passed by folk who at their doors laid down\n Men wounded in the fight; so through the town\n We reached the unguarded water-gate at last,\n And there, nigh weeping, saw the green waves cast\n Against the quays, whereby five tall ships lay:\n For in that devil's house, right many a day\n Had passed with all its dull obscenity\n We counted not, and while we longed to die,\n And by all men were now forgotten quite\n Except those priests, the people as they might\n Made ships like ours; in whose new handiwork\n Few mariners and fearful now did lurk,\n And these soon fled before us, therefore we\n Stayed not to think, but running hastily\n Down the lone quay, seized on the nighest ship,\n Nor yet till we had let the hawser slip p. 97\n Dared we be glad, and then indeed once more,\n Though we no longer hoped for our fair shore,\n Our past disgrace, worse than the very hell,\n Though hope was dead, made things seem more than well,\n For if we died that night, yet were we free.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ah! with what joy we sniffed the fresh salt sea\n After the musky odours of that place;\n With what delight each felt upon his face\n The careless wind, our master and our slave,\n As through the green seas fast from shore we drave,\n Scarce witting where we went.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But now when we\n Beheld that city, far across the sea,\n A thing gone past, nor any more could hear\n The mingled shouts of victory and of fear,\n From out the midst thereof shot up a fire\n 'In a long, wavering, murky, smoke-capped spire\n That still with every minute wider grew,\n So that the ending of the place we knew\n Where we had passed such days of misery,\n And still more glad turned round unto the sea.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My tale grows near its ending, for we stood\n Southward to our kind folk e\u2019en as we could,\n But made slow way, for ever heavily\n Our ship sailed, and she often needs must lie\n At anchor in some bay, the while with fear\n Ourselves, we followed up the fearful deer,\n Or filled our water-vessels, for indeed, p. 98\n Of meat and drink were we in bitter need,\n As well might be, for scarcely could we choose\n What ships from off that harbour to cast loose.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Midst this there died the captain, Nicholas,\n Whom, though he brought us even to this pass,\n I loved the most of all men; even now\n When that seems long past, I can scarce tell how\n I bear to live, since he could live no more.\n Certes he took our failure very sore,\n And often do I think he fain had died,\n But yet for very love must needs abide\n A little while, and yet awhile again,\n As though to share the utmost of our pain,\n And miss the ray of comfort and sweet rest\n Wherewith ye end our long disastrous quest\u2014\n \u2014A drearier place than ever heretofore\n The world seemed, as from that far nameless shore\n We turned and left him \u2019neath the trees to bide;\n For midst our rest worn out at last he died.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And such seemed like to hap to us as well,\n If any harder thing to us befell\n Than was our common life; and still we talked\n How our old friends would meet men foiled, and balked\n Of all the things that were to make them glad;\n Ah, sirs! no sight of them henceforth we had;\n A wind arose, which blowing furiously\n Drove us out helpless to the open sea;\n Eight days it blew, and when it fell, we lay\n Leaky, dismasted, a most helpless prey p. 99\n To winds and waves, and with but little food;\n Then with hard toil a feeble sail and rude\n We rigged up somehow, and nigh hopelessly,\n Expecting death, we staggered o\u2019er the sea\n For ten days more, but when all food and drink\n Were gone for three days, and we needs must think\n That in mid ocean we were doomed to die,\n One morn again did land before us lie:\n And we rejoiced, as much at least as he,\n Who tossing on his bed deliriously,\n Tortured with pain, hears the physician say\n That he shall have one quiet painless day\n Before he dies\u2014What more? we soon did stand\n In this your peaceful and delicious land\n Amongst the simple kindly country folk,\n But when I heard the language that they spoke,\n From out my heart a joyous cry there burst,\n So sore for friendly words was I athirst,\n And I must fall a-weeping, to have come\n To such a place that seemed a blissful home,\n After the tossing from rough sea to sea;\n So weak at last, so beaten down were we.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What shall I say in these kind people's praise\n Who treated us like brothers for ten days,\n Till with their tending we grew strong again,\n And then withal in country cart and wain\n Brought us unto this city where we are;\n May God be good to them for all their care.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And now, sirs, all our wanderings have ye heard, p. 100\n And all our story to the utmost word;\n And here hath ending all our foolish quest,\n Not at the worst if hardly at the best,\n Since ye are good\u2014Sirs, we are old and grey\n Before our time; in what coin shall we pay\n For this your goodness; take it not amiss\n That we, poor souls, must pay you back for this\n As good men pay back God Who, raised above\n The heavens and earth, yet needeth earthly love.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Oh, friends, content you! this is much indeed,\n And we are paid, thus garnering for our need\n Your blessings only, bringing in their train\n God's blessings as the south wind brings the rain.\n And for the rest, no little thing shall be\n (Since ye through all yet keep your memory)\n The gentle music of the bygone years,\n Long past to us with all their hopes and fears.\n Think, if the gods, who mayhap love us well,\n Sent to our gates some ancient chronicle\n Of that sweet unforgotten land long left,\n Of all the lands wherefrom we now are reft\u2014\n \u2014Think, with what joyous hearts, what reverence,\n What songs, what sweet flowers we should bring it thence,\n What images would guard it, what a shrine\n Above its well-loved black and white should shine!\n How should it pay our labour day by day p. 101\n To look upon the fair place where it lay;\n With what rejoicings even should we take\n Each well-writ copy that the scribes might make,\n And bear them forth to hear the people's shout,\n E\u2019en as good rulers\u2019 children are borne out\n To take the people's blessing on their birth,\n When all the city falls to joy and mirth.\nSuch, sirs, are ye, our living chronicle,\n And scarce can we be grieved at what befell\n Your lives in that too hopeless quest of yours,\n Since it shall bring us wealth of happy hours\n Whiles that we live, and to our sons, delight,\n And their sons\u2019 sons.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But now, sirs, let us go,\n That we your new abodes with us may show,\n And tell you what your life henceforth may be,\n But poor, alas, to that ye hoped to see.","title":"The Earthly Paradise (March-August): Prologue\u2014The Wa...","type":"page"}