{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/morris/ep2/ep212.htm","path":"neu/morris/ep2/ep212.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/morris/ep2/ep212.htm","text":"The Earthly Paradise, (September-November), by William Morris, [1870]\nGudrun twice Wedded, Widowed, and Wooed of Kiartan.\nSO wore the time away, nor long it was\n Ere somewhat of Guest's forecast came to pass.\n Drawn by her beauty, Thorvald wooed Gudrun;\n Saying withal that he was such an one\n As fainer was to wed a wife than lands,\n Readier by far to give forth from his hands\n That which he had, than take aught of her kin.\n And in such wise he did not fail to win\n His fond desire, and, therewith, wretched life.\n For she who deemed nought worth so much of strife\n As to say 'no' for ever, being wed, found\n How the chain galled whereto she now was bound,\n And more and more began to look on him\n With hate that would be scorn, with eyes grown dim\n With hope of change that came not, and lips set\n For ever with the stifling of regret.\n Coarse Thorvald was, and rough and passionate,\n And little used on change of days to wait;\n And as she ever Bloomed before his eyes,\n Rage took the place of the first grieved surprise,\n Wherewith he found that he who needs must love p. 363\n Could get no love in turn, nay, nor e\u2019en move\n Her heart to kindness: then as nothing strange\n Still with sad loathing looks she took the change\n She noted in him, as if all were done\n Between them, and no deed beneath the sun\n That he could do would now be worse to her.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Judge if the hot heart of the man could bear\n Such days as these! Upon a time it fell\n That he, most fain indeed to love her well,\n Would she but turn to him, had striven sore\n To gain her love, and yet gat nothing more\n Than a faint smile of scorn, \u2019neath eyes whose gaze\n Seemed fixed for ever on the hoped-for days,\n Wherein he no more should have part or lot;\n Then mingled hate with love in him, and hot\n His heart grew past all bearing; round about\n He stared, as one who hears the eager shout\n Of closing foes, when he to death is brought;\n In his fierce heart thought crowded upon thought,\n Till he saw not and heard not, but rose up\n And cast upon the floor his half-filled cup,\n And crying out, smote her upon the face;\n Then strode adown the hushed and crowded place,\n For meal-time was it, till he reached the door;\n Then gat his horse, and over hill and moor,\n Scarce knowing where he went, rode furiously.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But in the hall, folk turned them round to see\n What thing Gudrun would do, who for a while p. 364\n Sat pale and silent, with a deadly smile\n Upon her lips; then called to where she sat\n Folk from the hall, and talked of this and that\n Gaily, as one who hath no care or pain:\n Yea, when the goodman gat him back again\n She met him changed, so that he well-nigh thought\n That better days his hasty blow had brought.\n And still as time wore on, day after day\n Wondering, he saw her seeming blithe and gay;\n So he, though sore misdoubting him of this,\n Took what he might of pleasure and of bliss,\n And put thought back. So time wore till the spring,\n And then the goodman rode unto the Thing,\n Not over light of heart, or free from fear,\n Though his wife's face at parting was all clear\n Of frown or sullenness; but he being gone,\n Next morn Gudrun rode with one man alone\n Forth unto Bathstead; there her tale she told,\n And as in those days law strained not to hold\n Folk whom love held not, or some common tie,\n So her divorce was set forth speedily,\n For mighty were her kin.\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\u00a0And now once more\n At Bathstead did she dwell, free as before,\n And, smiling, heard of how her husband fared\n When by the Hill of Laws he stood and heard\n The words, that he belike half thought to hear,\n Which took from him a thing once held so dear,\n That all was nought thereby. p. 365\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\u00a0Now wise ones tell\n That there was one who used to note her well\n Within her husband's hall, and many say\n That talk of love they had before the day\n That she went back to Bathstead; how that was\n I know not surely; but it came to pass\n That scarcely had abated the first rage\n Of her old mate, and scarce less like a cage\n Of red-hot iron \u2019gan to feel his life,\n Ere this man, Thord, had won Gudrun to wife;\n So, since the man was brisk and brave and fair,\n And she had known him when her days were drear,\n And turned with hope and longing to his eyes,\n Kind amid hard things, in most joyous wise\n Their-life went, and she deemed she loved him well;\n And the strange things that Guest did once foretell,\n Which morn and noon and eve she used to set\n Before her eyes, she now would fain forget;\n Alas! forgotten or remembered, still\n Midst joy or sorrow fate shall work its will;\n Three months they lived in joy and peace enow,\n Till on a June night did the south-west blow\n The rainy rack o\u2019er Gudrun's sleeping head,\n While in the firth was rolled her husband dead\n Toward the black cliffs; drowned was he, says my tale,\n By wizard's spells amidst a summer gale.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then back to Bathstead Gudrun came again,\n To sit with fierce heart brooding o\u2019er her pain, p. 366\n While life and time seemed made to torture her,\n That she the utmost of all pain might bear,\n To please she knew not whom; and yet mid this,\n And all her raging for the vanished bliss,\n Would Guest's words float up to her memory,\n And quicken cold life; then would she cast by\n As something vile the comfort that they brought,\n Yet, none the less, still stronger grew that thought,\n Unheeded, and unchidden therefore, round\n The weary wall of woe, her life that bound.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So wore the months; spring with its longings came,\n And now in every mouth was Kiartan's name,\n And daily now must Gudrun's dull ears bear\n Tales of the prowess of his youth to hear,\n While in his cairn forgotten lay her love.\n For this man, said they, all men's hearts did move,\n Nor yet might envy cling to such an one,\n So far beyond all dwellers \u2019neath the sun;\n Great was he, yet so fair of face and limb\n That all folk wondered much, beholding him,\n How such a man could be; no fear he knew,\n And all in manly deeds he could outdo;\n Fleet-foot, a swimmer strong, an archer good,\n Keen-eyed to know the dark waves' changing mood;\n Sure on the crag, and with the sword so skilled,\n That when he played therewith the air seemed filled\n With light of gleaming blades; therewith was he\n Of noble speech, though says not certainly p. 367\n My tale, that aught of his be left behind\n With rhyme and measure deftly intertwined;\n Well skilled was he, too, in the craftsman's lore\n To deal with iron mid the stithy's roar,\n And many a sword-blade knew his heavy hand.\n Shortly, if he amid ten kings should stand,\n All men would think him worthier man than they;\n And yet withal it was his daily way\n To be most gentle both of word and deed,\n And ever folk would seek him in their need,\n Nor was there any child but loved him well.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Such things about him ever would men tell,\n Until their hearts swelled in them as they thought\n How great a glory to their land was brought,\n Seeing that this man was theirs. Such love and praise\n Kiartan's beginning had in those fair days,\n While Gudrun sat sick-eyed, and hearkened this,\n Still brooding on the late-passed days of bliss,\n And thinking still how worthless such things were.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But now when midsummer was drawing near,\n As on an eve folk sat within the hall,\n Man unto man far off did they hear call,\n And then the sound of horse-hoofs; Oswif rose,\n And went into the porch to look for those\n Who might be coming, and at last folk heard,\n Close to the porch, the new-come travellers\u2019 word,\n And turned to meet them; Gudrun sat alone p. 368\n High on the dais when all folk were gone,\n And playing with her golden finger-rings,\n Set all her heart to think of bygone things,\n Till hateful seemed all hopes, all thoughts of men.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yet did she turn unto their voices, when\n Folk back again into the hall did crowd,\n Torch-litten now, laughing and talking loud,\n Then as the guests adown the long hall drew,\n Olaf the Peacock presently she knew,\n Hand in hand with her father; but behind\n Came two young men; then rose up to her mind,\n Against her will, the tales of Kiartan told,\n Because she deemed the one, whose hair of gold\n In the new torch-light gleamed, was even he,\n And that the black-haired high-browed one must be\n Bodli, the son of Thorleik; but with that\n Up to the place where listlessly she sat,\n They came, and on her feet she now must stand\n To welcome them; then Olaf took her hand,\n And looked on her with eyes compassionate,\n And said:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"O Gudrun, ill has been thy fate,\n But surely better days shall soon be thine,\n For not for nought do eyes like thine eyes shine\n Upon the hard world; thou shalt bless us yet\n In many a wise and all thy woes forget.\"\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\nShe answered nought, but drew her hand away, p. 369\n And heavier yet the weight upon her lay\n That thus men spake of her. But, turning round,\n Kiartan upon the other hand she found,\n Gazing upon her with wide hungry eyes\n And parted lips; then did strange joy surprise\n Her listless heart, and changed her old world was;\n Ere she had time to think, all woe did pass\n Away from her, and all her life grew sweet,\n And scarce she felt the ground beneath her feet,\n Or knew who stood around, or in what place\n Of heaven or earth she was; soft grew her face;\n In tears that fell not yet, her eyes did swim,\n As, trembling, she reached forth her hand to him,\n And with the shame of love her smooth cheeks burned,\n And her lips quivered, as if sore they yearned\n For words they had not learned, and might not know\n Till night and loneliness their form should show.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But Kiartan's face a happy smile did light,\n Kind, loving, confident; good hap and might\n Seemed in his voice as now he spake, and said:\n \"They say the dead for thee will ne\u2019er be dead,\n And on this eve I thought in sooth to have\n Labour enow to draw thee from the grave\n Of the old days; but thou rememberest,\n Belike, days earlier yet, that men call best\n Of all days, when as younglings erst we met.\n Thou thinkest now thou never didst forget p. 370\n This face of mine, since now most certainly\n The eyes are kind wherewith thou lookst on me.\"\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\nA shade came o\u2019er her face, but quickly passed,\n \"Yea,\" said she, \"if such pleasant days might last,\n As when we wandered laughing hand in hand\n Along the borders of the shell-strewn strand.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She wondered at the sound of her own voice,\n She chid her heart that it must needs rejoice,\n She marvelled why her soul with fear was filled;\n But quickly every questioning was stilled\n As he sat down by her.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Old Oswif smiled\n To see her sorrow in such wise beguiled,\n And Olaf laughed for joy, and many a thought\n Of happy loves to Bodli's heart was brought\n As by his friend he sat, and saw his face\n So bright with bliss; and all the merry place\n Ran over with goodwill that sight to see,\n And the hours passed in great festivity.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At last beneath the glimmer of the moon,\n Fanned by the soft sea-wind that tempers June,\n Homeward they rode, sire, son and foster-son,\n Kiartan half joyful that the eve was done,\n And he had leisure for himself to weave\n Tales of the joyful way that from that eve\n Should lead to perfect bliss; Bodli no less\n Rejoicing in his fellow's happiness, p. 371\n Dreaming of such-like joy to come to him,\n And Olaf, thinking how that nowise dim\n The glory of his line through these should grow.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But while in peace these through the night did go,\n Vexed by new thoughts and old thoughts, Gudrun lay\n Upon her bed: she watched him go away,\n And her heart sank within her, and there came,\n With pain of that departing, pity and shame,\n That struggling with her love yet made it strong,\n That called her longing blind, yet made her long\n Yet more for more desire, what seeds soe\u2019er\n Of sorrow hate and ill were hidden there.\n So with her strong heart wrestled love, till she\n Sank \u2019neath the hand of sleep, and quietly\n Beneath the new-risen sun she lay at rest,\n The bed-gear fallen away from her white breast,\n \"One arm deep buried in her hair, one spread\n Abroad, across the \u2019broideries of the bed,\n A smile upon her lips, and yet a tear,\n Scarce dry, but stayed anigh her dainty ear\u2014\n How fair, how soft, how kind she seemed that morn,\n Ere she anew to love and life was born.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A little space to part these twain indeed\n Was seven short miles of hill and moor and mead,\n And soon the threshold of the Bathstead hall\n Knew nigh as much of Kiartan's firm footfall\n As of the sweep of Gudrun's kirtle-hem, p. 372\n And sweet past words to tell life grew to them;\n Sweet the awaking in the morn, when lay\n Below the hall the narrow winding way,\n The friend that led, the foe that kept apart;\n And sweet the joyful flutter of the heart\n Anigh the door, ere clinging memory\n Gave place to rapturous sight, and eye met eye;\n Sweet the long hours of converse when each word\n Like fairest music still seemed doubly heard,\n Caught by the ear and clung to by the heart;\n Yea, even most sweet the minute they must part,\n Because the veil, that so oft time must draw\n Before them, fell, and clear without a flaw,\n Their hearts saw love, that moment they did stand\n Ere lip left lip, or hand fell down from hand;\n Yea, that passed o\u2019er, still sweet and bitter sweet\n The yearning pain that stayed the lingering feet\n Upon the threshold, and the homeward way;\n And silent chamber covered up from day\n For thoughts of words unsaid\u2014ah, sweet the night\n Amidst its dreams of manifold delight!\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And yet sometimes pangs of perplexed pain\n Would torture Gudrun, as she thought again\n On Guest and his forecasting of her dream;\n And through the dark of days to come would gleam\n .Fear, like a flame of hell shot suddenly\n Up through spring meadows \u2019twixt fair tree and tree,\n Though little might she see the flaws, whereof p. 373\n That past dream warned her, midst her dream of love;\n And whatso things her eyes refused to see,\n Made wise by fear, none others certainly\n Might see in love so seeming smooth as this,\n That looked to all men like the door of bliss\n Unto the twain, and to the country-side\n Good hope and joy, that thus so fast were tied\n The bonds \u2019twixt two such houses as were these,\n And folk before them saw long years of peace.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of Bodli Thorleikson the story says,\n That he, o\u2019ershadowed still by Kiartan's praise,\n Was second but to him; although, indeed,\n He, who perchance the love of men did need\n More than his fellow, less their hearts might move;\n Yet fair to all men seemed the trust and love\n Between the friends, and fairer unto none\n Than unto Olaf, who scarce loved his son\n More than his brother's son; now seemed it too,\n That this new love closer the kinsmen drew\n Than e\u2019en before, and whatso either did\n The other knew, and scarce their thoughts seemed hid,\n One from the other.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So as day by day\n Went Kiartan unto Bathstead, still the way\n Seemed shorter if his friend beside him rode;\n Then might he ease his soul of that great load\n Of love unsatisfied, by words, and take\n Mockeries in turn, grown sweet for that name's sake p. 374\n They wrapped about, or glow with joy to hear\n The praises of the heart he held so dear,\n And laugh with joy and pleasure of his life,\n To note how Bodli's heart withal, seemed rife\n With love that his love kindled, though as yet\n It wandered, on no heart of woman set.\n So Bodli, nothing loth, went many a day,\n Whenso they would, to make the lovers gay,\n Whenso they would, to get him gone, that these\n E\u2019en with such yearning words their souls might please\n As must be spoken, but sound folly still\n To aught but twain, because no tongue hath skill\n To tell their meaning: kinder, Kiartan deemed,\n Grew Bodli day by day, and ever seemed\n Well-nigh as happy as the loving twain,\n And unto Bodli life seemed nought but gain,\n And fair the days were.\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\u00a0On a day it fell\n As the three talked, they \u2019gan in sport to tell\n The names o\u2019er of such women good and fair,\n As in the land that tide unwedded were,\n Naming a mate for Bodli, and still he\n Must laugh and shake his head;\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\"Then over sea,\"\n Quoth Kiartan, \"mayhap such an one there is\n That thou mayst deem the getting of her bliss;\n Go forth and win her with the rover's sword!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then Bodli laughed, and cast upon the board p. 375\n The great grey blade and ponderous iron hilt,\n All unadorned, the yoke-fellow of guilt,\n And said, \"Go, sword, and fetch me home a bride!\n But here in Iceland have I will to bide\n With those that love me, till the fair days change.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then Gudrun said, \"Things have there been more strange,\n Than that we three should sit above the oars,\n The while on even keel \u2019twixt the low shores\n Our long-ship breasts the Thames flood, or the Seine.\n Methinks in biding here is little gain,\n Cooped up in this cold corner of the world.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then up sprang Kiartan, seized the sword, and hurled\n Its weight aloft, and caught it by the hilt\n As down it fell, and cried, \"Would that the tilt\n Were even now being rigged above the ship!\n Would that we stood to see the oars first dip\n In the green waves! nay, rather would that we\n Above the bulwarks now saw Italy,\n With all its beacons flaring! Sheathe thy sword,\n Fair foster-brother, till I say the word\n That draws it forth; and, Gudrun, never fear\n That thou a word or twain of me shalt hear,\n E\u2019en if the birds must bear them o\u2019er the sea.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Her eyes were fixed upon him lovingly\n As thus he spake, and Bodli smiling saw p. 376\n Her hand to Kiartan's ever nigher draw;\n Then he rose up and sheathed the sword, and said,\n \"Nay, rather if I be so hard to wed,\n I yet must think of roving, so I go\n To talk to Oswif, all the truth to know\n About the news the chapmen carried here,\n That Olaf Tryggvison his sword doth rear\n \u2019Gainst Hacon and his fortune.\"\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\u00a0Therewithal\n He laughed, and gat him swiftly from the hall,\n And found the old man, nor came back again\n Until through sun and shadow had the twain\n Sat long together, and the hall \u2019gan fill.\n Then did he deem his friend sat somewhat still,\n And something strange he saw in Gudrun's eyes\n As she gazed on him; nor did fail to rise\n In his own heart the shadow of a shade,\n That made him deem the world less nobly made,\n And yet was like to pleasure. On the way\n Back home again, not much did Kiartan say,\n And what he spake was well-nigh mockery\n Of speech, wherewith he had been wont to free\n His heart from longings grown too sweet to bear.\n But time went on, and still the days did wear\n With little seeming change; if love grew cold\n In Kiartan's heart one day, the next o\u2019er bold,\n O\u2019er frank, he noted not who might be by,\n When he unto his love was drawing nigh;\n Gudrun gloomed not; as merry as before p. 377\n Did Bodli come and go \u2019twixt dais and door.\n Only perchance a little oftener they\n Fell upon talk of the fair lands that lay\n Across the seas, and sometimes would a look\n Cross Gudrun's face that seemed a half rebuke\n To Kiartan, as all over-eagerly\n He talked about the life beyond the sea,\n As thereof he had heard the stories tell.\n Then Bodli sometimes into musings fell,\n So dreamlike, that he might not tell his thought\n When he again to common life was brought.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So passed the seasons, but in autumn-tide\n The foster-brothers did to Burgfirth ride,\n Unto a ship new come to White-river;\n Talk with the outland chapmen had they there,\n And Kiartan bade the captain in the end\n p Back unto Herdholt as his guest to wend,\u2014\n And nothing loth he went with him; and now\n Great tidings thereupon began to show\n Of Hacon slain, his son thrust from the land,\n And Norway in fair peace beneath the hand\n Of Olaf Tryggvison; nor did he fail\n To tell about the king full many a tale,\n And praise him for the noblest man, that e\u2019er\n Had held the tiller, or cast forth the spear:\n And Kiartan listened eagerly, yet seemed\n As if amid the tale he well-nigh dreamed;\n And now withal, when he to Bathstead went, p. 378\n Less than before would talk of his intent\n To see the outlands, to his listening love;\n And when at whiles she spake to him thereof\n Lightly he answered her, and smile or kiss\n Would change their talk to idle words of bliss:\n Less of her too to Bodli now he spake,\n Although this other, (for her beauty's sake\n He told himself) to hear of her was fain;\n And he, for his part, sometimes felt a pain,\n As though the times were changing over fast,\n When Kiartan let the word of his go past\n Unnoted, that in other days belike\n Had nowise failed from out his heart to strike\n The sparks of lovesome praise.\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\u00a0But now Yule-tide\n Was come at last, and folk from far and wide\n Went to their neighbours' feasts, and as wont was\n All Bathstead unto Herdholt hall did pass,\n And the feast lasted long, and all folk gat\n Things that their souls desired, and Gudrun sat\n In the high-seat beside the goodwife there.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But ever now her wary ears did hear\n The new king's name bandied from mouth to mouth,\n And talk of those new-corners from the south;\n And through her anxious heart a sharp pain smote\n As Kiartan's face she eagerly \u2019gan note\n And sighed; because, leaned forward on the board,\n He sat, with eager face hearkening each word, p. 379\n Nor speaking aught; then long with hungry eyes\n She sat regarding him, nor yet would rise\n A word unto her lips: and all the while\n Bodli gazed on them with a fading smile\n About his lips, and eyes that ever grew\n More troubled still, until he hardly knew\n What folk were round about.\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\u00a0So passed away\n Yule-tide at Herdholt, cold day following day,\n Till spring was gone, and Gudrun had not failed\n To win both many days where joy prevailed,\n And many a pang of fear; till so it fell\n That in the summer, whereof now we tell,\n Upon a day in blithe mood Kiartan came\n To Bathstead, not as one who looks for blame,\n And Bodli with him, sad-eyed, silent, dull,\n Noted of Gudrun, who no less was full\n Of merry talk, yea, more than her wont was.\n But as the hours toward eventide did pass,\n Said Kiartan:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Love, make we the most of bliss,\n For though, indeed, not the last day this is\n Whereon we twain shall meet in such a wise,\n Yet shalt thou see me soon in fighting guise,\n And hear the horns blow up our Loth to go,\n For in White-River\u2014\"\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\"Is it even so,\"\n She broke in, \"that these feet abide behind?\n Men call me hard, but thou hast known me kind; p. 380\n Men call me fair, my body give I thee;\n Men call me dainty, let the rough salt sea\n Deal with me as it will, so thou be near!\n Let me share glory with thee, and take fear\n That thy heart throws aside!\"\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\u00a0Hand joined to hand,\n As one who prays, and trembling, did she stand\n With parted lips, and pale and weary-faced.\n But up and down the hall-floor Bodli paced\n With clanking sword, and brows set in a frown,\n And scarce less pale than she. The sun low down\n Shone through the narrow windows of the hall,\n And on the gold upon her breast did fall,\n And gilt her slim clasped hands.\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\u00a0There Kiartan stood\n Gazing upon her in strange wavering mood,\n Now longing sore to clasp her to his heart,\n And pray her, too, that they might ne\u2019er depart,\n Now well-nigh ready to say such a word\n As cutteth love across as with a sword;\n So fought love in him with the craving vain\n The love of all the wondering world to gain,\n Though such he named it not. And so at last\n His eyes upon the pavement did he cast,\n And knit his brow as though some word to say;\n Then fell her outstretched hands, she cried:\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\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Nay, nay!\n Thou need\u2019st not speak, I will not ask thee twice\n To take a gift, a good gift, and be wise; p. 381\n I know my heart, thou know\u2019st it not; farewell,\n Maybe that other tales the Skalds shall tell\n Than of thy great deeds.\"\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\u00a0Still her face was pale,\n As with a sound betwixt a sigh and wail,\n She brushed by Bodli, who, aghast, did stand\n With open mouth, and vainly stretched-out hand;\n But Kiartan followed her a step or two,\n Then stayed, bewildered by his sudden woe;\n But even therewith, as nigh the door she was,\n She turned back suddenly, and straight did pass,\n Trembling all over, to his side, and said,\n With streaming eyes:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Let not my words be weighed\n As a man's words are! O, fair love, go forth\n And come thou back again, made no more worth\n Unto this heart; but worthier it may be\n To the dull world thy worth that cannot see.\n Go forth, and let the rumour of thee run\n Through every land that is beneath the sun;\n For know I not, indeed, that everything\n Thou winnest at the hands of lord or king,\n Is surely mine, as thou art mine at last?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then round about his neck her arms she cast,\n And wept right sore, and touched with love and shame,\n Must Kiartan offer to leave hope of fame,\n And noble life; but midst her tears she smiled, p. 382\n \"Go forth, my love, and be thou not beguiled\n By woman's tears, I spake but as a fool,\n We of the north wrap not our men in wool,\n Lest they should die at last; nay, be not moved,\n To think that thou a faint-heart fool hast loved!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For now his tears fell too, he said: \"My sweet,\n Ere the ship sails we yet again shall meet\n To say farewell, a little while, and then,\n When I come back to hold my place mid men,\n With honour won for thee\u2014how fair it is\n To think on now, the sweetness and the bliss!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Some little words she said no pen could write,\n Upon his face she laid her fingers white,\n And, midst of kisses, with his hair did play;\n Then, smiling through her tears, she went away.\n Nor heeded Bodli aught\u2014\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\u2014Men say the twain,\n Kiartan and Gudrun, never met again\n In loving wise; that each to each no more\n Their eyes looked kind on this side death's dark shore,\n That midst their tangled life they must forget,\n Till they were dead, that ere their lips had met.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For ere the day that Kiartan meant to come\n And kiss his love once more within her home,\n The south-east wind, that had stayed hitherto\n Their sailing, changed, and northwest now it blew; p. 383\n And K\u00e1lf, the captain, urged them to set forth,\n Because that tide the wind loved not the north,\n And now the year grew late for long delay.\n Night was it when he spake; at dawn next day,\n Before the door at Herdholt might men see,\n Armed, and in saddle, a goodly company.\n Kiartan, bright-eyed and flushed, restless withal,\n As on familiar things his eyes did fall,\n Yet eager to be gone, and smiling still,\n For pride and hope and love his soul did fill,\n As of his coming life he thought, and saw\n In all the days that were to be, no flaw.\n About him were his fellows, ten such men\n As in the land had got no equals then;\n By him his foster-brother sat, as true\n As was the steel the rover's hand erst drew;\n There stood his father, flushed with joy and pride,\n By the fair-carven door that did abide,\n Till he fulfilled of glory came again\n To take his bride before the eyes of men.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now skipper K\u00e1lf, clad in the Peacock's gift,\n Unto the south his gold-wrought spear did lift,\n And Kiartan stooped and kissed his sire. A shout\n Rose from the home-men, as they turned about,\n And trotted jingling down the grassy knoll.\n Silent awhile rode Kiartan, till his soul,\n Filled with a many thoughts, in speech o\u2019erflowed,\n And unto Bodli, who beside him rode, p. 384\n He fell to talk of all that they should do\n In the fair countries that they journeyed to.\n Not Norway only, or the western lands,\n In time to come, he said, might know their hands,\n But fairer places, folk of greater fame,\n Where \u2019neath the shadow of the Roman name\n Sat the Greek king, gold-clad, with bloodless sword.\n But as he spoke Bodli said here a word\n And there a word, and knew not what he said,\n Nay, scarcely knew what wild thoughts filled his head,\n What longings burned, like a still quickening flame,\n Within his sad heart.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So that night they came\n To Burg-firth and the place upon the strand\n Where by the ready ship the tents did stand,\n And there they made good cheer, and slept that night,\n But on the morrow, with the earliest light,\n They gat a ship-board, and, all things being done,\n Upon a day when low clouds hid the sun,\n And \u2019neath the harsh north-west down drave the rain,\n They drew the gangway to the ship again,\n And ran the oars out. There did Kiartan stand\n By K\u00e1lf, who took the tiller in his hand\n And conned the rising bows; but when at last\n Toward the grey sky the wet oar-blades were cast,\n And space \u2019twixt stern and land \u2019gan widen now,\n Kiartan cried out and ran forth to the prow,\n While rope and block yet beat confusedly,\n And shook his drawn sword o\u2019er the dark grey sea; p. 385\n And step for step behind him Bodli went,\n And on his sword-hilt, with a like intent,\n He laid his hand, and half drew from its sheath\n The rover's sword; then with a deep-drawn breath,\n Most like a sigh, he thrust it back again,\n His face seemed sharpened with a sudden pain.\n He turned him round the driving scud to face,\n His breast heaved, and he staggered in his place,\n And stretched his strong arms forth with a low moan\n Unto the hidden hills, \u2019neath which alone\n Sat Gudrun\u2014sat his love\u2014and therewithal\n Down did the bows into the black trough fall,\n Up rose the oar-song, through the waters grey,\n Unto the south the good ship took her way.","title":"The Earthly Paradise (September-November): The Lovers of Gudrun: Gudrun twice Wedded, Widowed and Wooed of Kiartan","type":"page"}