{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/morris/ep2/ep227.htm","path":"neu/morris/ep2/ep227.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/morris/ep2/ep227.htm","text":"The Earthly Paradise, (September-November), by William Morris, [1870]\nGudrun's deeming of the Men who loved her.\nTHUS have I striven to show the troublous life\n Of these dead folk, e\u2019en as if mid their strife\n I dwelt myself; but now is Kiartan slain;\n Bodli's blank yearning, Gudrun's wearying pain, p. 520\n Shall change but little now unto the end;\n And midst a many thoughts home must I wend,\n And in the ancient days abide no more.\n Yet, when the shipman draweth nigh the shore,\n And slacks the sheet and lets adown the sail,\n Scarce suddenly therewith all way doth fail\n The sea-clasped keel. So with this history\n It fareth now; have patience then with me\n A moment yet, ere all the tale is told.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0While Olaf Peacock lived, his sons did hold\n Their hands from Bodli; Oswif's sons must pay\n With gold and outlawry for that ill day,\n And nothing else there happened to them worse\n Than o\u2019er the sea to bear all people's curse,\n Nor know men aught more of their history.\n Three winters afterward did Olaf die,\n Full both of years and honour; then was not\n Thorgerd's fierce oath amidst her sons forgot;\n The golden ring, whose end old Guest foresaw,\n Worn through the weary years with many a flaw,\n Now smitten, fell asunder: Bodli died\n Manlike amidst his foes, with none beside\n To sorrow o\u2019er him, scarcely loth maybe\n The end of his warped life at last to see.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Turn back a while; of her I have to tell,\n Whose sorrow on my heart the more doth dwell,\n That nought she did to earn it, as I deem\u2014 p. 521\n \u2014Unto the Ridge, where on the willowy stream\n Her father's stead looks down, did Refna go,\n That, if it might be, she some rest might know\n Within the fair vale where she wandered, when\n The bearded faces of the weaponed men\n Were wonders to her child's eyes, far away\n The wild thoughts of their hearts; her little day\n Of hope and joy gone by, there yet awhile\n She wandered once again; nor her faint smile\n Would she withhold, when pitying eyes did gaze\n On the deep sorrow of her lovely face;\n For she belike felt strong, and still might deem\n That life, all turned into a longing dream,\n Would long abide with her\u2014happier she was,\n But little time over her head did pass,\n Before all smiles from off her face did fade,\n And in the grave her yearning heart was laid,\n No more now to be rent \u2019twixt hope and fear,\n No more to sicken with the dull despair.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yet is she left to tell of, some might call,\n The very cause the very curse of all;\n And yet not I\u2014for after Bodli's death\n Too dreadful grew the dale, my story saith,\n For Gudrun longer at her house to dwell,\n Wherefore with Snorri, lord of Holyfell,\n Did she change steads. There dwelt she a long space,\n And true it is, that in her noble face\n Men deemed but little signs of woe they saw; p. 522\n And still she lived on long, and in great awe\n And honour was she held, nor unfulfilled\n Was the last thing that Guest deemed fate had willed\n Should fall on her: when Bodli's sons were men\n And many things had happed, she wed again,\n And though her days of keen joys might be bare\n Yet little did they bring of added care\n As on and on they wore from that old time\n When she was set amidst mad love and crime.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yet went this husband's end no otherwise\n Than Guest foresaw: at last with dreamy eyes\n And weary heart from his grave too she turned.\n Across the waste of life on one hand burned\n The unforgotten sore regretted days\n Long left behind; and o\u2019er the stony ways\n Her feet must pass yet, the grey cloud of death\n Rolled doubtful, drawing nigher. The tale saith\n That she lived long years afterwards, and strove,\n E\u2019en as she might, to win a little love\n From God now, and with bitter yearning prayer\n Through these slow-footed lonely days to wear.\n And men say, as to all the ways of earth\n Her soul grew blind, and other hopes had birth\n Within her, that her bodily sight failed too,\n And now no more the dark from day she knew.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0This one more picture gives the ancient book\n On which I pray you for a while to look, p. 523\n If for your tears ye may. For it doth tell\n That on a day she sat at Holyfell\n Within the bower, another Bodli there\n Beside her, son of him who wrought her care;\n A travelled man and mighty, gay of weed,\n Doer belike of many a desperate deed\n Within the huge wall of the Grecian king.\n A summer eve it was, and everything\n Was calm and fair, the tinkling bells did sound\n From the fair chapel on the higher ground\n Of the holy hill, the murmur of the sea\n Came on the fitful south-west soothingly;\n The house-caries sang as homeward now they went\n From out the home-field, and the hay's sweet scent\n Floated around: and when the sun had died\n An hour agone now, Bodli stirred and sighed;\n Perchance too clearly felt he life slip by\n Amid those pensive things, and certainly\n He too was passed his youth.\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\"Mother,\" he said,\n \"Awhile agone it came into my head\n To ask thee somewhat; thou hast loved me well,\n And this perchance is no great thing to tell\n To one who loves thee.\"\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\u00a0With her sightless eyes\n Turned on him did she smile in loving wise,\n But answered nought; then he went on, and said:\n \"Which of the men thou knewest\u2014who are dead\n Long ago, mother,\u2014didst thou love the best?\" p. 524\n Then her thin hands each upon each she pressed,\n And her face quivered, as some memory\n Were hard upon 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\"Ah, son! years go by.\n When we are young this year we call the worst\n That we can know; this bitter day is cursed,\n And no more such our hearts can bear we say.\n But yet as time from us falls fast away\n There comes a day, son, when all this is fair\n And sweet, to what, still living, we must bear\u2014\n Bettered is bale by bale that follows it,\n The saw saith.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Silent both awhile did sit\n Until she spake again: \"Easy to tell\n About them, son, my memory serves me well:\n A great chief Thorkel was, bounteous and wise, -\n And ill hap seemed his death in all men's eyes.\n Bodli thy sire was mighty of his hands,\n Scarce better dwelt in all the northern lands;\n Thou wouldst have loved him well. My husband Thord\n Was a great man; wise at the council-board,\n Well learned in law\u2014for Thorwald, he indeed,\n A rash weak heart, like to a stinging weed\n Must be pulled up\u2014ah, that was long ago!\"\n Then Bodli smiled, \"Thou wouldst not have me know\n Thy thought, O mother\u2014these things know I well;\n Old folk about these men e\u2019en such tales tell.\"\nShe said, \"Alas, O son, thou askst of love! p. 525\n Long folly lasteth; still that word doth move\n My old worn heart\u2014hearken one little word,\n Then ask no more; ill is it to be stirred\n To vain repining for the vanished days.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She turned, until her sightless eyes did gaze\n As though the wall, the hills, must melt away,\n And show her Herdholt in the twilight grey;\n She cried, with tremulous voice; and eyes grown wet\n For the last time, whate\u2019er should happen yet,\n With hands stretched out for all that she had lost:\n\"I did the worst to him I loved the most.\"\nTHEY too, those old men, well might sit and gaze\n Upon the images of bygone days,\n And wonder mid their soft self-pity, why\n Mid such wild struggles had their lives gone by,\n Since neither love nor joy, nor even pain,\n Should last for ever; yet their strife so vain\n While still they strove, so sore regretted now,\n The heavy grief that once their heads did bow,\n Had wrought so much for them, that they might sit\n Amid some pleasure at the thought of it;\n At least not quite consumed by sordid fear,\n That now at last the end was come anear;\n At least not hardened quite so much, but they\n Might hear of love and longing worn away\n \u2019Twixt birth and death of others, wondering\n Belike, amid their pity what strange thing\n Made the mere truth of what poor souls did bear\n \u2014In vain or not in vain\u2014so sweet to hear,\n So healing to the tangled woes of earth,\n At least for a short while.\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\u00a0But little mirth\n The grey eve and the strong unfailing wind\n Might ask of them that tide; and yet behind\n That mask of pensive eyes, so unbeguiled\n By ancient folly any more, what wild\n Strange flickering hopes ineffable might lie,\n As swift that latter end of eve slipped by!","title":"The Earthly Paradise (September-November): The Lovers of Gudrun: Gudrun's deeming of the Men who loved her.","type":"page"}