{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/morris/ep2/ep225.htm","path":"neu/morris/ep2/ep225.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/morris/ep2/ep225.htm","text":"The Earthly Paradise, (September-November), by William Morris, [1870]\nKiartan brought dead to Bathstead.\nMEN say that those who went the corpse to bring\n To Bathstead thence, found Bodli muttering\n Over the white face turned up to the sky,\n Nor did he heed them as they drew anigh,\n Therefore they stood by him, and heard him say:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Perchance it is that thou art far away\n From us already; caring nought at all\n For what in after days to us may fall\u2014\n \u2014O piteous, piteous!\u2014yet perchance it is\n That thou, though entering on thy life of bliss,\n The meed of thy great heart, yet art anear,\n And somewhat of my feeble voice can hear;\n Then scarce for pardon will I pray thee, friend,\n Since thus our love is brought unto no end,\n But rather now, indeed, begins anew;\n Yet since a long time past nought good or true p. 507\n My lips might utter, let me speak to thee,\n If so it really is that thou art free,\n At peace and happy past the golden gate;\n That time is dead for thee, and thou mayst wait\n A thousand years for her and deem it nought.\n O dead friend, in my heart there springs a thought\n That, since with thy last breath thou spakst her name,\n And since thou knowest now how longing came\n Into my soul, thou wilt forgive me yet\n That time of times, when in my heart first met\n Anger against thee, with the sweet\u00a0sweet love\n Wherewith my old dull life of habit strove\n So weakly and so vainly\u2014didst thou quite\n Know all the value of that dear delight\n As I did? Kiartan, she is changed to thee;\n Yea, and since hope is dead changed too to me,\n What shall we do, if, each of each forgiven,\n We three shall meet at last in that fair heaven\n The new faith tells of? Thee and God I pray\n Impute it not for sin to me to-day,\n If no thought I can shape thereof but this:\n O friend, O friend, when thee I meet in bliss,\n Wilt thou not give my love Gudrun to me,\n Since now indeed thine eyes made clear can see\n That I of all the world must love her most?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then his voice sank so that his words were lost\n A little while; then once again he spake,\n As one who from a lovesome dream doth wake: p. 508\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Alas! I speak of heaven who am in hell!\n I speak of change of days, who know full well\n How hopeless now is change from misery:\n I speak of time destroyed, when unto me\n Shall the world's minutes be as lapse of years;\n I speak of love who know how my life bears\n The bitter hate which I must face to-day\u2014\n I speak of thee, and know thee passed away,\n Ne\u2019er to come back to help or pity me.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Therewith he looked up, and those folk did see,\n And rose up to his feet, and with strange eyes\n That seemed to see nought, slunk in shamefast wise,\n Silent, behind them, as the corpse they laid\n Upon the bier; then, all things being arrayed,\n Back unto Bathstead did they wend once more,\n As mournful as though dead with them they bore\n The heart of Iceland; and yet folk must gaze\n With awe and pity upon Bodli's face,\n And deem they never might such eyes forget.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But when they reached the stead, anigh sunset,\n There in the porch a tall black figure stood,\n Whose stern pale face, \u2019neath its o\u2019erhanging hood,\n In the porch shadow was all cold and grey,\n Though on her feet the dying sunlight lay.\n They trembled then at what might come to pass,\n For that grey face the face of Gudrun was,\n And they had heard her raving through the day\n As through the hall they passed; then made they stay p. 509\n A few yards from the threshold, and in dread\n Waited what next should follow; but she said,\n In a low voice and hoarse:\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\"Nay, enter here,\n Without, this eve is too much change and stir,\n And rest is good,\u2014is good, if one might win\n A moment's rest; and now none is within\n The hall but Oswif: not much will he speak,\n And as for me\u2014behold, I am grown weak!\n I cannot vex him much.\"\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\u00a0She stepped aside,\n And the dark shade her raiment black did hide\n As they passed through into the dusky hall,\n Afraid to see her face, and last of all\n Went Bodli, clashing through the porch, but he\n Stayed in the midst, and turned round silently,\n And sought her face and said:\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\"Thy will is done.\n Is it enough? Art thou enough alone\n As I am?\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Never any word she spake.\n No hate was in her face now: \"For thy sake\n I did it, Gudrun. Speak one word to me\n Before my bitter shame and misery\n Crushes my heart to death.\"\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\u00a0She reached a hand\n Out toward the place where trembling he did stand,\n But touched him not, and never did he know p. 510\n If she had mind some pity then to show\n Unto him, or if rather more apart\n She fain had thrust him from her raging heart,\n For now those men came tramping from the hall,\n And Bodli shrank aback unto the wall\n To let them pass, and when the last was gone,\n In the dim twilight there he stood alone,\n Nor durst he follow her, but listened there,\n Half dead, and but his breathing might he hear,\n And the faint noises of the gathering night.\n He stood so long that the moon cast her light\n In through the porch, and still no sound he heard\n But the faint clink of mail-rings as he stirred.\n \"Ah, she is dead of grief, or else would she\n Have come to say some little word to me,\n Since I so love her, love 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\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With a wail\n He cried these words, and in the moonlight pale,\n Clashing he turned: but e\u2019en therewith a shriek\n From out the dead hush of the hall did break,\n And then came footsteps hurrying to the porch,\n And the red flare of a new-litten torch,\n And smit by nameless horror and affright\n He fled away into the moonlit night.","title":"The Earthly Paradise (September-November): The Lovers of Gudrun: Kiartan brought dead to Bathstead","type":"page"}