{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/morris/ep3/ep304.htm","path":"neu/morris/ep3/ep304.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/morris/ep3/ep304.htm","text":"The Earthly Paradise, (December-February), by William Morris, [1870]\nASLAUG, the daughter of Sigurd who slew the Dragon, and of Brynhild whom he loved, lost all her friends and kin, and was nourished amid great misery; yet in the end her fortune, her glory, and her beauty prevailed, and she came to mighty estate.\nA FAIR tale might I tell to you\n Of Sigurd, who the dragon slew\n Upon the murder-wasted heath,\n And how love led him unto death,\n Through strange wild ways of joy and pain;\n Then such a story should ye gain,\n If I could tell it all aright,\n As well might win you some delight\n From out the woefullest of days;\n But now have I no heart to raise\n That mighty sorrow laid asleep,\n That love so sweet, so strong and deep,\n That as ye hear the wonder told\n In those few strenuous words of old,\n The whole world seems to rend apart\n When heart is torn away from heart.\n But the world lives still, and to-day\n The green Rhine wendeth on its way p. 31\n Over the unseen golden curse\n That drew its lords to worse and worse,\n Till that last dawn in Atli's hall,\n When the red flame flared over all,\n Lighting the leaden, sunless sea.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yet so much told of this must be,\n That Sigurd, while his youth was bright\n And unstained, \u2019midst the first delight\n Of Brynhild's love\u2014that him did gain\n All joy, all woe, and very bane\u2014\n Begat on her a woman-child.\n In hope she bore the maid, and smiled\n When of its father's face she thought;\n But when sad time the change had brought,\n And she to Gunnar's house must go,\n She, thinking how she might bestow\n The memory of that lovely eve,\n That morn o\u2019er-sweet, the child did leave\n With Heimir, her old foster-sire,\n A mighty lord; then, with the fire\n Of her old love still smouldering,\n And brooding over many a thing,\n She went unto her life and death.\n Nought, as I said, the story saith\n Of all the wrong and love that led\n Her feet astray: together dead\n They lie now on their funeral pile,\n And now the little one doth smile p. 32\n Upon the glittering war-array\n Of the men come the sooth to say\n To Heimir of that bitter end.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Silent he stared till these did wend\n Into the hall to fire and board,\n Then by the porch without a word\n Long time he sat: then he arose\n And drew his sword, and hard and close\n Gazed on the thin-worn edge, and said:\n \"Smooth cheeks, sweet hands, and art thou dead?\n O me thy glory! Woe is me!\n I thought once more thine eyes to see\u2014\n Had I been young three years agone,\n When thou a maiden burd-alone,\n Hadst eighteen summers!\"\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\u00a0As he spake,\n He gat him swiftly to the brake\n Of thorn-trees nigh his house: and some,\n When calm once more he sat at home,\n Deemed he had wept: but no word more\n He spake thereof.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A few days wore,\n And now alone he oft would be\n Within his smithy; heedfully\n He guarded it, that none came in;\n Nor marvelled men; \"For he doth win\n Some work of craftsmanship,\" said they,\n \"And such before on many a day p. 33\n Hath been his wont.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So it went on\n That a long while he wrought alone;\n But on the tenth day bore in there\n Aslaug, the little maiden fair,\n Three winters old; and then the thing\n A little set folk marvelling;\n Yet none the less in nought durst they\n To watch him. So to end of day\n Time drew, and still unto the hall\n He came not, and a dread \u2019gan fall\n Upon his household, lest some ill\n The quiet of their lives should kill;\n And so it fell that the next morn\n They found them of their lord forlorn,\n And Aslaug might they see no more;\n Wide open was the smithy door,\n The forge a-cold, and hammering tools\n Lay on the floor, with woodwright's rules,\n And chips and shavings of hard wood.\n Moreover, when they deemed it good\n To seek for him, nought might they do,\n The tale says, for so dark it grew\n Over all ways, that no man might\n Know the green meads from water white.\n So back they wended sorrowfully,\n And still most like it seemed to be,\n That Odin had called Heimir home;\n And nothing strange it seemed to some p. 34\n That with him the sweet youngling was,\n Since Brynhild's love might bring to pass\n E\u2019en mightier things than this, they said,\n And sure the little gold-curled head,\n The pledge of all her earthly weal,\n In Freyia's house she longed to feel.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Further the way was than they deemed\n Unto that rest whereof they dreamed\n Both to the greybeard and the child;\n For now by trodden way and wild\n Goes Heimir long: wide-faced is he,\n Thin-cheeked, hooked-nosed, e\u2019en as might be\n An ancient erne; his hair falls down\n From \u2019neath a wide slouched hat of brown,\n And mingles white with his white beard;\n A broad brown brand, most men have feared,\n Hangs by his side, and at his back\n Is slung a huge harp, that doth lack\n All fairness certes, and so great\n It is, that few might bear its weight;\n Yea, Heimir even, somewhat slow\n Beneath its burden walketh now,\n And looketh round, and stayeth soon.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On a calm sunny afternoon,\n Within a cleared space of a wood,\n At last the huge old warrior stood\n And peered about him doubtfully;\n Who, when nought living he might see, p. 35\n But mid the beech-boughs high aloft\n A blue-winged jay, and squirrel soft,\n And in the grass a watchful hare,\n Unslung his harp and knelt down there\n Beside it, and a little while\n Handled the hollow with a smile\n Of cunning, and behold, the thing\n Opened, as by some secret spring,\n And there within the hollow lay,\n Clad in gold-fringed well-wrought array,\n Aslaug, the golden-headed child,\n Asleep and rosy; but she smiled\n As Heimir's brown hand drew a-near,\n And woke up free from any fear,\n And stretched her hands out towards his face.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He sat him down in the green place,\n With kind arms round the little one,\n Till, fully waked now, to the sun\n She turned, and babbling, \u2019gainst his breast\n Her dimpled struggling hands she pressed:\n His old lips touched those eyes of hers,\n That Sigurd's hope and Brynhild's tears\n Made sad e\u2019en in her life's first spring;\n Then sweet her chuckling laugh did ring,\n As down amid the flowery grass\n He set her, and beheld her pass\n From flower to flower in utter glee;\n Therewith he reached out thoughtfully,\n And cast his arms around the harp, p. 36\n That at the first most strange and sharp\n Rang through the still day, and the child\n Stopped, startled by that music wild:\n But then a change carne o\u2019er the strings,\n As, tinkling sweet, of merry things\n They seemed to tell, and to and fro\n Danced Aslaug, till the tune did grow\n Fuller and stronger, sweeter still,\n And all the woodland place did fill\n With sound, not merry now nor sad,\n But sweet, heart-raising, as it had\n The gathered voice of that fair day\n Amidst its measured strains; her play\n Amid the flowers grew slower now,\n And sadder did the music grow,\n And yet still sweeter: and with that,\n Nigher to where the old man sat\n Aslaug \u2019gan move, until at last\n All sound from the strained strings there passed\n As into each other's eyes they gazed;\n Then, sighing, the young thing he raised,\n And set her softly on his knee,\n And laid her round cheek pitifully\n Unto his own, 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\"Indeed,\n Of such as I shalt thou have need,\n As swift the troubled days wear by,\n And yet I know full certainly\n My life on earth shall not be long: p. 37\n And those who think to better wrong\n By working wrong shall seek thee wide\n To slay thee; yea, belike they ride\n E\u2019en now unto my once-loved home.\n Well, to a void place shall they come,\n And I for thee thus much have wrought\u2014\n For thee and Brynhild\u2014yea, and nought\n I deem it still to turn my face\n Each morn unto some unknown place\n Like a poor churl\u2014for, ah! who knows\n Upon what wandering wind that blows\n Drives Brynhild's spirit through the air;\n And now by such road may I fare\n That we may meet ere many days.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Again the youngling did he raise\n Unto his face, for to the earth\n Had she slipped down; her babbling mirth\n Had mingled with his low deep speech;\n But now, as she her hand did reach\n Unto his beard, nor stinted more\n Her babble, did a change come o\u2019er\n His face; for through the windless day\n Afar a mighty horn did bray;\n Then from beneath his cloak he drew\n A golden phial, and set it to\n Her ruddy lips in haste, and she\n Gazed at him awhile fearfully,\n As though she knew he was afraid; p. 38\n But silently the child he laid\n In the harp's hollow place, for now\n Drowsy and drooping did she grow\n \u2019Neath the strong potion; hastily\n He shut the harp, and raised it high\n Upon his shoulder, set his sword\n Ready to hand, and with no word\n Stalked off along the forest glade;\n But muttered presently:\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\"Afraid\n Is a strange word for me to say;\n But all is changed in a short day,\n And full of death the world seems grown.\n Mayhap I shall be left alone\n When all are dead beside, to dream\n Of happy life that once did seem\n So stirring \u2019midst the folk I loved.\n Ah! is there nought that may be moved\n By strong desire? yea, nought that rules\n The very Gods who thrust earth's fools,\n This way and that as foolishly,\n For aught I know thereof, as I\n Deal with the chess when I am drunk?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His head upon his breast was sunk\n For a long space, and then again\n He spake: \"My life is on the wane;\n Somewhat of this I yet may learn\n Ere long; yet I am fain to earn p. 39\n My rest by reaching Atli's land;\n For surely \u2019neath his mighty hand\n Safe from the Niblungs shall she be,\n Safe from the forge of misery,\n Grimhild the Wise-wife.\"\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\u00a0As a goad\n That name was to him; on he strode\n Still swifter, silent. But day wore\n As fast between the tree-stems hoar\n He went his ways; belike it was\n That he scarce knew if he did pass\n O\u2019er rough or smooth, by dark or light,\n Until at last the very night\n Had closed round him as thinner grew\n The wood that he was hurrying through;\n And as he gained a grey hill's brow\n He felt the sea-breeze meet him now,\n And heard the low surf's measured beat\n Upon the beach. He stayed his feet,\n And through the dusky gathering dark\n Peered round and saw what seemed a spark\n Along the hill's ridge; thitherward\n He turned, still warily on guard,\n Until he came unto the door\n Of some stead, lone belike and poor:\n There knocking, was he bidden in,\n And heedfully he raised the pin,\n And entering stood with blinking gaze\n Before a fire's unsteady blaze. p. 40\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There sat a woman all alone\n Whom some ten years would make a crone,\n Yet would they little worsen her;\n Her face was sorely pinched with care,\n Sour and thin-lipped she was; of hue\n E\u2019en like a duck's foot; whitish blue\n Her eyes were, seeming as they kept\n Wide open even when she slept.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She rose up, and was no less great\n Than a tall man, a thing of weight\n Was the gaunt hand that held a torch\n As Heimir, midmost of the porch,\n Fixed his deep grey and solemn eyes\n Upon that wretched wife's surprise.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Well,\" said she, \"what may be your will?\n Little we have your sack to fill,\n If on thieves\u2019 errand ye are come;\n But since the goodman is from home\n I know of none shall say you nay\n If ye have will to bear away\n The goodwife.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As on a burned house\n Grown cold, the moon shines dolorous\n From out the rainy lift, so now\n A laugh must crease her lip and brow.\n \"I am no thief, goodwife,\" he said,\n \"But ask wherein to lay my head\n To-night.\" p. 41\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Well, goodman, sit,\" said she:\n \"Thine ugly box of minstrelsy\n With thine attire befits not ill;\n And both belike may match thy skill.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So by the fire he sat him down,\n And she too sat, and coarse and brown\n The thread was that her rock gave forth\n As there she spun; of little worth\n Was all the gear that hall did hold.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now Heimir new-come from the cold\n Had set his harp down by his side,\n And, turning his grey eyes and wide\n Away from hers, slouched down his hat\n Yet farther o\u2019er his brows, and sat\n With hands outstretched unto the flame.\n But had he noted how there came\n A twinkle into her dead eyes,\n He had been minded to arise,\n Methinks; for better company\n The wild-wood wolf had been than she.\n Because, from out the hodden grey\n That was the great man's poor array,\n Once and again could she behold\n How that the gleam of ruddy gold\n Came forth: so therewith she arose,\n And, wandering round the hall, drew close\n Unto the great harp, and could see\n Some fringe of golden bravery p. 42\n Hanging therefrom.\u2014And the man too,\n In spite of patch and clouted shoe,\n And unadorned sword, seemed indeed\n Scarce less than a great king in need,\n So wholly noble was his mien.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So, with these things thus thought and seen,\n Within her mind grew fell intent\n As to and fro the hall she went,\n And from the ark at last did take\n Meal forth for porridge and for cake,\n And to the fire she turned, and \u2019gan\n To look still closer on the man\n As with the girdle and the pot\n She busied her, and doubted not\n That on his arm a gold ring was;\n For presently, as she did pass,\n Somewhat she brushed the cloak from him,\n And saw the gold gleam nowise dim.\n Then sure, if man might shape his fate,\n Her greed impatient and dull hate\n Within her eyes he might have seen,\n And so this tale have never been.\n But nought he heeded; far away\n His thoughts were.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Therewith did she lay\n The meal upon the board, and said,\n \"Meseems ye would be well apaid\n Of meat and drink, and it is here,\n Fair lord\u2014though somewhat sorry cheer; p. 43\n Fall to now.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Whining, with a grin\n She watched, as one who sets a gin,\n If at the name of lord at all\n He started, but no speech did fall\n From his old lips, and wearily\n He gat to meat, and she stood by,\n And poured the drink to him, and said:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"To such a husband am I wed\n That ill is speech with him, when he\n Comes home foredone with drudgery;\n And though indeed I deem thee one\n Who deeds of fame full oft hath done\n And would not fear him, yet most ill\n \u2019Twould be the bliss of us to spill\n In brawl with him, as might betide\n If thou his coming shouldst abide.\n Our barley barn is close hereby,\n Wherein a weary man might lie\n And be no worse at dawn of day.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Well, goodwife,\" said he, \"lead the way!\n Worse lodging have I had than that,\n Where the wolf howled unto the bat,\n And red the woodland stream did run.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She started back, he seemed as one\n Who might have come back from the dead,\n To wreak upon her evil head p. 44\n Her sour ill life, but nought the more\n He heeded her; \"Go on before,\"\n He said, \"for I am in no case\n To-night to meet an angry face\n And hold my hand from my good sword.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So out she passed without a word,\n Though when he took in careful wise\n The heavy harp, with greedy eyes\n And an ill scowl she gazed thereon,\n Yet durst say nought. But soon they won\n Unto the barn's door\u2014he turned round,\n And, gazing down the rugged ground,\n Beheld the sea wide reaching, white\n Beneath the new-risen moon, and bright\n His face waxed for a little while,\n And on the still night did he smile,\n As into the dark place he went,\u2014\n And saw no more of the grey bent,\n Or sea, or sky, or morrow's sun.\n Unless perchance when all is done,\n And all the wrongs the Gods have wrought\n Come utterly with them to nought,\n New heavens and earth he shall behold,\n And peaceful folk, and days of gold,\n When Baldur is come back again\n O\u2019er an undying world to reign.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For when the carl came home that night,\n In every ill wise that she might, p. 45\n She egged him on their guest to slay\n As sleeping in the barn he lay;\n And, since the man was no ill mate\n For her, and heedless evil fate\n Had made him big and strong enow,\n He plucked up heart to strike the blow,\n Though but a coward thief he was.\n So at the grey dawn did he pass\n Unto the barn, and entered there;\n But through its dusk therewith did hear\n The sound of harp-strings tinkling: then,\n As is the wont of such-like men,\n Great fear of ghosts fell on his heart;\n Yet, trembling sore, he thrust apart\n The long stems of the barley-straw,\n And, peering round about, he saw\n Heimir asleep, his naked brand\n Laid o\u2019er his knees, but his right hand\n Amid the harp-strings, whence there came\n A mournful tinkling; and some name\n His lips seemed muttering, and withal\n A strange sound on his ears did fall\n As of a young child murmuring low\n The muffled sounds of passing woe.\n Nought dreadful saw he; yet the hair\n \u2019Gan bristle on his head with fear,\n And twice was he at point to turn\n His bread by other craft to earn;\n But in the end prevailed in him p. 46\n His raging greed \u2019gainst glimmerings dim\n Of awe and pity; which but wrought\n In such wise in him that he thought\n How good it were if all were done,\n And day, and noise, and the bright sun\n Were come again: he crept along,\n Poising a spear, thick shafted, strong,\n In his right hand; and ever fast\n His heart beat as the floor he passed,\n And o\u2019er his shoulder gazed for fear\n Once and again; he raised the spear,\n As Heimir's hand the string still pressed,\n And thrust it through his noble breast,\n Then turned and fled, and heard behind\n A sound as of a wildered wind,\n Half moan, half sigh; then all was still.\n But yet such fear his soul did fill\n That he stayed not until he came\n Into the hall, and cried the name\n Of his wife, Grima, in high voice.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Ah well,\" she said, \"what needs this noise,\n Can ye not see me here?\u2014Well then?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Wife,\" said he, \"of the sons of men\n I deem him not, rather belike\n Odin it was that I did strike.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She laughed an ill laugh. \"Well,\" she said,\n \"What then, if only he be dead?\" p. 47\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"What if he only seemed to die?\"\n He said, \"and when night draweth nigh\n Shall come again grown twice as great,\n And eat where yesternight he ate?\n For certes, wife, that harp of his,\n No earthly minstrelsy it is,\n Since as in sleep the man was laid\n Of its own self a tune it played;\n Yea, yea, and in a man's voice cried;\n Belike a troll therein doth bide.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"An ugly, ill-made minstrel's tool,\"\n She said; \"thou blundering, faint-heart fool!\n Some wind moaned through the barn belike,\n And the man's hand the strings did strike.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And yet she shivered as she spake,\n As though some fear her heart did take,\n And neither durst to draw anigh\n The barn until the sun was high,\n Then in they went together, and saw\n The old man lying in the straw,\n Scarce otherwise than if asleep,\n Though in his heart the spear lay deep,\n And round about the floor was red.\n Then Grima went, and from the dead\n Stripped off the gold ring, while the man\n Stood still apart; then she began\n To touch the harp, but in no wise p. 48\n Might open it to reach the prize.\n Wherefore she bade her husband bring\n Edge-tools to split the cursed thing.\n He brought them trembling, and the twain\n Fell to, and soon their end did gain;\n But shrank back trembling to see there\n The youngling, her grey eyes and clear\n Wide open, fearless; but the wife\n Knew too much of her own sour life\n To fear the other world o\u2019ermuch,\n And soon began to pull and touch\n The golden raiment of the may;\n And at the last took heart to say:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Be comforted! we shall not die;\n For no work is this certainly\n Wrought in the country never seen.\n But raiment of a Hunnish queen\u2014\n Gold seest thou, goodman! gems seest thou!\u2014\n No ill work hast thou wrought I trow.\n But, for the maiden, we must give\n Victuals to her that she may live;\n For though to-day she is indeed\n But one more mouth for us to feed,\n Yet as she waxeth shall she do\n Right many a thing to help us two;\n Yea, whatso hardest work there is,\n That shall be hers\u2014no life of bliss\n Like sewing gold mid bower-mays; p. 49\n She shall be strong, too, as the days\n Increase on her.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then said the man:\n \"Get speech from her, for sure she can\n Tell somewhat of her life and state.\"\n But whatso he or his vile mate\n Might do, no word at all she spake\n Either for threat or promise sake;\n Until at last they deemed that she\n Was tongue-tied: so now presently\n Unto the homestead was she brought,\n And her array all golden-wrought\n Stripped from her, and in rags of grey\n Clad was she. But from light of day\n The carl hid Heimir dead, and all\n Into dull sodden life did fall.\nSO with the twain abode the may,\n Waxing in beauty day by day,\n But ever as one tongue-tied was,\n What thing soever came to pass;\n And needs the hag must call her Crow:\n \"A name,\" she said, \"full good enow\n For thee\u2014my mother bore it erst.\"\n So lived the child that she was nursed p. 50\n On little meat and plenteous blows;\n Yet nowise would she weep, but close\n Would set her teeth thereat, and go\n About what work she had to do,\n And ever wrought most sturdily;\n Until at last she grew to be\n More than a child. And now the place\n That once had borne so dull a face\n Grew well-nigh bright to look upon,\n And whatso thing might shine there shone;\n Yea, all but her who brought about\n That change therein\u2014for, past all doubt,\n Years bettered in nowise our hag,\n And ever she said that any rag\n Was good enough to clothe the Crow.\n And still her hate did grow and grow\n As Aslaug grew to womanhood;\n Oft would she sit in murderous mood\n Long hours, with hand anigh a knife,\n As Aslaug slept, all hate at strife\n With greed within her; yet withal\n Something like fear of her did fall\n Upon her heart, and heavy weighed\n That awful beauty, that oft stayed\n Her hand from closing on the hilt,\n E\u2019en more than thought of good things spilt.\n Hard words and blows this scarce might stay,\n For like the minutes of the day,\n Not looked for, noted not when gone, p. 51\n Were all such things unto the crone,\n And, smitten or unsmitten, still\n The Crow was swift to work her will.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In spring-tide of her seventeenth year,\n On the hill-side the house anear\n Went Aslaug, following up her goats:\n On such a day as when Love floats\n Through the soft air unseen, to touch\n Our hearts with longings overmuch\n Unshapen into hopes, to make\n All things seem fairer for the sake\n Of that which cometh, who doth bear\n Who knows how much of grief and fear\n In his fair arms. So Aslaug went,\n On vague and unnamed thoughts intent,\n That seemed to her full sweet enow,\n And ever greater hope did grow,\n And sweet seemed life to her and good,\n Small reason why: into the wood\n She turned, and wandered slim and fair\n \u2019Twixt the dark tree-boles: strange and rare\n The sight was of her golden head,\n So good, uncoifed, unchapleted,\n Above her sordid dark array,\n That over her fair body lay\n As dark clouds on a lilied hill.\n The wild things well might gaze their fill,\n As through the wind-flowers brushed her feet, p. 52\n As her lips smiled when those did meet\n The lush-cold blue-bells, or were set\n Light on the pale dog-violet\n Late April bears: the red-throat jay\n Screamed not for nought, as on her way\n She went, light-laughing at some thought;\n If the dove moaned \u2019twas not for nought,\n Since she was gone too soon from him,\n And e\u2019en the sight he had was dim\n For the thick budding twigs. At last\n Into an open space she passed,\n Nigh filled with a wide, shallow lake,\n Amidmost which the fowl did take\n Their pastime; o\u2019er the firmer grass,\n \u2019Twixt rushy ooze, swift did she pass,\n Until upon a bank of sand\n Close to the water did she stand,\n And gazed down in that windless place\n Upon the image of her face,\n And as she gazed laughed musically\n Once and again; nor heeded she\n Her straying flock: her voice, that none\n Had heard since Heimir was undone\n Within that wretched stead, began\n Such speech as well had made a man\n Forget his land and kin to make\n Those sweet lips tremble for his sake:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Spring bringeth love,\" she said, \"to all.\" p. 53\n She sighed as those sweet sounds did fall\n From her unkissed lips: \"Ah,\" said she,\n \"How came that sweet word unto me,\n Among such wretched folk who dwell,\n Folk who still seem to carry hell\n About with them?\u2014That ancient man\n They slew, with whom my life began,\n I deem he must have taught me that,\n And how the steel-clad maiden sat\n Asleep within the ring of flame,\n Asleep, and waiting till Love came,\n Who was my father: many a dream\n I dream thereof, till it doth seem\n That they will fetch me hence one day.\n Somewhere I deem life must be gay,\n The flowers are wrought not for the sake\n Of those two murderers.\"\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\u00a0While she spake\n Her hands were busy with her gown,\n And at the end it slipped adown\n And left her naked there and white\n In the unshadowed noontide light.\n Like Freyia in her house of gold,\n A while her limbs did she behold\n Clear mirrored in the lake beneath;\n Then slowly, with a shuddering breath,\n Stepped in the water cold, and played\n Amid the ripple that she made,\n And spoke again aloud, as though p. 54\n The lone place of her heart might know:\n \"Soothly,\" she said, \"if I knew fear,\n Scarcely should I be sporting here,\n But blinder surely has the crone\n In those last months of winter grown,\n Nor knows if I be foul or sweet,\n Or sharp stripes might I chance to meet,\n As heretofore it hath been seen\n When I have dared to make me clean\n Amid their foulness: loathes her heart\n That one she hates should have a part\n In the world's joy.\u2014Well, time wears by,\n I was not made for misery.\n Surely if dimly do mine eyes\n Behold no sordid tale arise,\n No ill life drawing near\u2014who knows\n But I am kept for greater woes,\n Godlike despair that makes not base,\n Though like a stone may grow the face\n Because of it, yea, and the heart\n A hard-wrought treasure set apart\n For the world's glory?\"\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\u00a0Therewith she\n Made for the smooth bank leisurely,\n And, naked as she was, did pass\n Unto the warm and flowery grass\n All unashamed, and fearing not\n For aught that should draw nigh the spot:\n And soothly had some hunter been p. 55\n Near by and all her beauty seen,\n He would have deemed he saw a fay\n And hastened trembling on his way.\n But when full joyance she had had\n Of sun and flowers, her limbs she clad\n In no long time, forsooth, and then\n Called back her wandering flock again\n With one strange dumb cry, e\u2019en as though\n Their hearts and minds she needs must know,\n For hurrying back with many a bleat\n They huddled round about her feet.\n And back she went unto the stead,\n Strange visions pressing round her head,\n So light of heart and limb, that though\n She went with measured steps and slow,\n Each yard seemed but a dance to her.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So now the thick wood did she clear,\n And o\u2019er the bent beheld the sea,\n And stood amazed there suddenly,\n For a long ship, with shield-hung rail,\n And fair-stained flapping raven-sail,\n And golden dragon-stem, there lay\n On balanced oars amidst the bay,\n Slow heaving with the unrippled swell.\n With a strange hope she might not tell\n Her eyes ran down the strand, and there\n Lay beached a ship's boat painted fair,\n And on the shingle by her side p. 56\n Three blue-clad axemen did abide\n Their fellows, sent belike ashore\n To gather victuals for their store.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She looked not long; with heart that beat\n More quickly and with hurrying feet\n Unto the homestead did she pass,\n And when anigh the door she was\n She heard men's voices deep and rough;\n Then the shrill crone, who said, \"Enough\n Of work I once had done for you,\n But now my days left are but few\n And I am weak; I prithee wait,\n Already now the noon is late,\n My daughter, Crow, shall soon be here.\"\n \"Nay,\" said a shipman, \"have no fear,\n Goodwife, a speedy death to get,\n Thou art a sturdy carline yet:\n Howbeit we well may wait a while.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thereat Aslaug, with a strange smile,\n Fresh from that water in the wood,\n Pushed back the crazy door, and stood\n Upon the threshold silently;\n Bareheaded and barefoot was she,\n And scarce her rags held each to each,\n Yet did the shipmen stay their speech\n And open-mouthed upon her stare,\n As with bright eyes and face flushed fair p. 57\n She stood; one gleaming lock of gold,\n Strayed from her fair head's plaited fold,\n Fell far below her girdlestead,\n And round about her shapely head\n A garland of dog-violet\n And wind-flowers meetly had she set:\n They deemed it little scathe indeed\n That her coarse homespun ragged weed\n Fell off from her round arms and lithe\n Laid on the door-post, that a withe\n Of willows was her only belt;\n And each as he gazed at her felt\n As some gift had been given him.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At last one grumbled, \"Nowise dim\n It is to see, goodwife, that this\n No branch of thy great kinship is.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Grima was glaring on the may,\n And scarce for rage found words to say;\n \"Yea, soothly is she of our kin:\n Sixty-five winters changeth skin.\n And whatsoever she may be,\n Though she is dumb as a dead tree,\n She worketh ever double-tide.\n So, masters, ope your mealsacks wide\n And fall to work; enow of wood\n There is, I trow.\" p. 58\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And there she stood,\n Shaking all o\u2019er, and when the may\n Brushed past her going on her way,\n From off the board a knife she caught,\n And well-nigh had it in her thought\n To end it all. Small heed the men\n Would take of her, forsooth; and when\n They turned their baking-work to speed,\n And Aslaug fell the meal to knead,\n He was the happiest of them all\n Unto whose portion it did fall\n To take the loaves from out her hand;\n And gaping often would he stand,\n And ever he deemed that he could feel\n A trembling all along the peel\n Whenas she touched it\u2014sooth to say,\n Such bread as there was baked that day\n Was never seen: such as it was\n The work was done, and they did pass\n Down toward the ship, and as they went\n A dull place seemed the thymy bent,\n Gilded by sunset; the fair ship,\n That soft in the long swell did dip\n Her golden dragon, seemed nought worth,\n And they themselves, all void of mirth,\n Stammering and blundering in their speech,\n Still looking back, seemed each to each\n Ill-shapen, ugly, rough and base\n As might be found in any place. p. 59\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Well, saith the tale, and when the bread\n Was broken, just as light as lead\n Men found the same, as sweet as gall,\n Half baked and sodden; one and all\n Men gave it to the devil; at last\n Unto their lord the story passed,\n Who called for them, and bade them say\n Why they had wrought in such a way;\n They grinned and stammered, till said one:\n \"We did just e\u2019en as must be done\n When men are caught; had it been thou\n A-cold had been the oven now.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Ye deal in riddles,\" said the lord,\n \"Enough brine is there overboard\n To fill you full if even so\n Ye needs must have it.\"\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\"We did go,\"\n The man said, \"to a house, and found\n That lack of all things did abound;\n A yellow-faced and blear-eyed crone\n Was in the sooty hall alone;\n But as we talked with her, and she\n Spake to us ill and craftily,\n A wondrous scent was wafted o\u2019er\n The space about the open door,\n And all the birds drew near to sing,\n And summer pushed on into spring,\n Until there stood before our eyes p. 60\n A damsel clad in wretched guise,\n Yet surely of the gods I deem,\n So fair she was;\u2014well then this dream\n Of Freyia on midsummer night,\n This breathing love, this once-seen sight,\n Flitted amidst us kneading meal,\n And from us all the wits did steal;\u2014\n Hadst thou been wise?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Well,\" said the lord,\n \"This seemeth but an idle word;\n Yet since ye all are in one tale\n Somewhat to you it may avail\u2014\n Speak out! my lady that is dead\u2014\n Thora, the chief of goodlihead\u2014\n Came this one nigh to her at all?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0One answer from their mouths did fall,\n That she was fairest ever seen.\n \"If two such marvellous things have been\n Wrought by the gods, then have they wrought\n Exceeding well,\" the lord said; \"nought\n Will serve me now but to have sight\n Of her, and hear the fresh delight\n Of her sweet voice.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Nay, nay,\" one cried,\n \"The carline called the maid tongue-tied\n E\u2019en from her birth.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But thoughtfully p. 61\n The lord spake: \"Then belike shall be\n Some wonder in the thing. Lo now,\n Since I, by reason of my vow\n Made on the cup at Yule, no more\n May set foot upon any shore\n Till I in Micklegarth have been,\n And somewhat there of arms have seen,\n Go ye at earliest morn and say\n That I would see her ere the day\n Is quite gone by; here shall she come\n And go as if her father's home\n The good ship were, and I indeed\n Her very brother. Odin speed\n The matter in some better wise,\n Unless your words be nought but lies!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So the next morn she had the word\n To come unto their king and lord;\n She answered not, but made as though\n Their meaning she did fully know,\n And gave assent: the crone was there,\n And still askance at her did glare,\n And mid her hatred grew afeard\n Of what might come, but spoke no word;\n And ye may well believe indeed\n That those men gave her little heed,\n But stared at Aslaug as she stood\n Beside the greasy, blackened wood\n Of the hall's uprights, fairer grown p. 62\n Than yesterday, soft \u2019neath her gown\n Her fair breast heaving, her wide eyes\n Mid dreams of far-off things grown wise,\n The rock dropped down in her left hand;\u2014\n There mazed awhile the men did stand,\n Then gat them back. And so the sun\n Waxed hot and waned, and, day nigh done,\n Gleamed on the ship's side as she lay\n Close in at deepest of the bay,\n Her bridge gold-hung on either hand\n Cast out upon the hard white sand;\n While o\u2019er the bulwarks many a man\n Gazed forth; and the great lord began\n To fret and fume, till on the brow\n Of the low cliff they saw her now,\n Who stood a moment to behold\n The ship's sun-litten flashing gold;\n Then slowly \u2019gan to get her down\n A steep path in the sea-cliff brown,\n Till on a sudden did she meet\n The slant sun cast about its feet,\n And flashed as in a golden cloud;\n Since scarcely her poor raiment showed\n Beneath the glory of her hair,\n Whose last lock touched her ankles bare.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For so it was that as she went\n Unto this meeting, all intent\n Upon the time that was to be, p. 63\n While yet just hidden from the sea,\n She stayed her feet a little while,\n And, gazing on her raiment vile,\n Flushed red, and muttered,\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\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Who can tell\n But I may love this great lord well?\n An evil thing then should it be\n If he cast loathing eyes on me\n This first time for my vile attire.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then, while her cheek still burned like fire,\n She set hand to her hair of gold\n Until its many ripples rolled\n All over her, and no great queen\n Was e\u2019er more gloriously beseen;\n And thus she went upon her way.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now when the crew beheld the may\n Set foot upon the sand there rose\n A mighty shout from midst of those\n Rough seafarers; only the lord\n Stood silent gazing overboard\n With great eyes, till the bridge she gained,\n And still the colour waxed and waned\n Within his face; but when her foot\n First pressed the plank, to his heart's root\n Sweet pain there pierced, for her great eyes\n Were fixed on his in earnest wise,\n E\u2019en as her thoughts were all of him; p. 64\n And somewhat now all things waxed dim,\n As unto her he stretched his hand,\n And felt hers; and the twain did stand\n Hearkening each other's eager breath.\n But she was changed, for pale as death\n She was now as she heard his voice.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Full well may we this eve rejoice,\n Fair maid, that thou hast come to us;\n That this grey shore and dolorous\n Holds greater beauty than the earth\n Mid fairer days may bring to birth,\n And that I hold it now. But come\n Unto the wind-blown woven home,\n Where I have dwelt alone awhile,\n And with thy speech the hours beguile.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For nothing he remembered\n Of what his men unto him said,\n That she was dumb. Not once she turned\n Her eyes from his; the low sun burned\n Within her waving hair, as she\n Unto the poop went silently\n Beside him, and with faltering feet,\n Because this hour seemed over sweet,\n And still his right hand held her hand.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But when at last the twain did stand\n Beneath the gold-hung tilt alone, p. 65\n He said, \"Thou seemest such an one\n As who could love; thou lookst on me\n As though thou hopedst love might be\n Betwixt us\u2014thou art pale, my sweet,\n Good were it if our lips should meet.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then mouth to mouth long time they stood,\n And when they sundered the red blood\n Burnt in her cheek, and tenderly\n Trembled her lips, and drew anigh\n His lips again: but speech did break\n Swiftly from out them, and she spake:\n \"May it be so, fair man, that thou\n Art even no less happy now\n Than I am.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With a joyous cry\n He caught her to him hastily;\n And mid that kiss the sun went down,\n And colder was the dark world grown.\n Once more they parted; \"Ah, my love,\"\n He said, \"I knew not aught could move\n My heart to such joy as thy speech.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She made as if she fain would reach\n Her lips to his once more; but ere\n They touched, as smitten by new fear,\n She drew aback and said: \"Alas!\n It darkens, and I needs must pass\n Back to the land, to be more sad p. 66\n Than if this joy I ne\u2019er had had.\n And thou\u2014thou shalt be sorry too,\n And pity me that it is so.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"To-morrow morn comes back the day,\"\n He said, \"If we should part, sweet may:\n Yet why should I be left forlorn\n Betwixt this even and the morn?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His hand had swept aback her hair,\n And on her shoulder, gleaming bare\n From midst her rags, was trembling now;\n But she drew back, and o\u2019er her brow\n Gathered a troubled thoughtful frown,\n And on the bench she sat her down\n And spake: \"Nay, it were wise to bide\n Awhile. Behold, the world is wide,\n Yet have we found each other here,\n And each to other seems more dear\n Than all the world else.\u2014Yet a king\n Thou art, and I am such a thing,\n By some half-dreamed-of chance cast forth\n To live a life of little worth,\n A lonely life\u2014and it may be\n That thou shouldst weary soon of me\n If I abode here now\u2014and I,\n How know I? All unhappily\n My life has gone; scarce a kind word\n Except in dreams my ears have heard p. 67\n But those thy lovely lips have said:\n It might be when all things were weighed\n That I too light of soul should prove\n To hold for ever this great love.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Down at her feet therewith he knelt,\n And round her his strong arms she felt\n Drawing her to him, as he said:\n \"These are strange words for thee, O maid;\n Are those sweet loving lips grown cold\n So soon? Yet art thou in my hold,\n And certainly my heart is hot.\n What help against me hast thou got?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Each unto each their cheeks were laid,\n As in a trembling voice she said:\n \"No help, because so dear to me\n Thou art, and mighty as may be;\n Thou hast seen much, art wiser far\n Than I am; yet strange thoughts there are\n In my mind now\u2014some half-told tale\n Stirs in me, if I might avail\n To tell it.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Suddenly she rose,\n And thrust him from her; \"Ah, too close!\n Too close now, and too far apart\n To-morrow!\u2014and a barren heart,\n And days that ever fall to worse, p. 68\n And blind lives struggling with a curse\n They cannot grasp! Look on my face,\n Because I deem me of a race\n That knoweth such a tale too well.\n Yet if there be such tale to tell\n Of us twain, let it e\u2019en be so,\n Rather than we should fail to know\n This love\u2014ah me, my love forbear!\n No pain for thee and me I fear;\n Yet strive we e\u2019en for more than this!\n Thou who hast given me my first bliss\n To-day, forgive me, that in turn\n I see the pain within thee burn,\n And may not help\u2014because mine eyes\n The Gods make clear. I am grown wise\n With gain of love, and hope of days\n That many a coming age shall praise.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Awhile he gazed on her, and shook\n With passion, and his cloak's hem took\n With both hands as to rend it down;\n Yet from his brow soon cleared the frown:\n He said: \"Yea, such an one thou art,\n As needs alone must fill my heart\n If I be like my father's kin,\n And have a hope great deeds to win;\n And surely nought shall hinder me\n From living a great life with thee\u2014\n Say now what thou wouldst have me do.\" p. 69\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Some deed of fame thou goest to,\"\n She said, \"for surely thou art great;\n Go on thy way then, and if fate\n So shapen is, that thou mayst come\n Once more unto this lonely home,\n There shalt thou find me, who will live\n Through whatso days that fate may give,\n Till on some happy coming day\n Thine oars again make white the bay.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"If that might be remembered now,\"\n He said, \"last Yule I made a vow\n In some far land to win me fame.\n Come nigher, sweet, and hear my name\n Before thou goest; that if so be\n Death take me and my love from thee,\n Thou mayst then think of who I was,\n Nor let all memory of me pass\n When thou to some great king art wed:\n Then shalt thou say, 'Ragnar is dead,\n Who was the son of Sigurd Ring,\n Among the Danes a mighty king.\n He might have had me by his side,'\n Then shalt thou say, 'that hour he died;\n But my heart failed and not his heart.'\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Nay, make it not too hard to part,\"\n She said, when once again their lips\n Had sundered; \"as gold-bearing ships p. 70\n Foundered amidmost of the sea,\n So shall the loves of most men be,\n And leave no trace behind. God wot\n This heart of mine shall hate thee not\n Whatso befall; but rather bless\n Thee and this hour of happiness;\n And if this tide shall come again\n After hard longing and great pain,\n How sweet, how sweet! O love, farewell,\n Lest other tale there be to tell:\n Yet heed this now lest afterward\n It seem to thee a thing too hard\n To keep thy faith to such as me;\n I am belike what thou dost see,\n A goatherd girl, a peasant maid,\n Of a poor wretched crone afraid\n From dawn to dusk; despite of dreams\n In morning tides, and misty gleams\n Of wondrous stories, deem me such\n As I have said, nor overmuch\n Cast thou thy love upon my heart\n If even such a man thou art\n As needs must wed a great man's child.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He stepped aback from her and smiled,\n And, stooping \u2019neath the lamp, drew forth\n From a great chest a thing of worth\u2014\n A silken sark wrought wondrously\n In some far land across the sea. p. 71\n \"One thing this is of many such\n That I were fain thy skin should touch,\"\n He said, \"If thou wouldst have it so.\"\n But his voice faltered and sank low,\n As though her great heart he \u2019gan fear.\n She reached her fine strong hand anear\n The farfetched thing; then smiling said:\n \"Strange that such fair things can be made\n By men who die; and like it is\n Thou think\u2019st me worthy of all bliss;\n But our rough hills and smoky house\n Befit not aught so glorious,\n E\u2019en if thou come again to me;\n And if not, greater grief to see\n The gifts of dead love!\u2014what say I,\n Our crone should wear these certainly\n If I but brought them unto land.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He flushed red, and his strong right hand\n Fell to his sword-hilt. \"Nay,\" she said,\n \"All that is nought if rightly weighed;\n Hope and desire shall pass the days\n If thou come back.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Grave was her face\n And tremulous: he sighed; \"Then take\n This last gift only for my sake.\"\n And once again their lips did touch\n And cling together. \"O many such,\"\n She said, \"if the time did not fail, p. 72\n And my heart too: of what avail\n Against the hand of fate to strive?\n Let me begin my life to live,\n As it must be a weary space.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The moon smote full upon her face,\n As on a trembling sea, as now\n From the lamp-litten gold tilt low\n She stepped into the fresher air,\n He with her. Slow the twain did fare\n Amidst the wondering men, till they\n Had reached the bridge; then swift away\n She turned, and passed the gold-hung rail,\n And o\u2019er the sands the moon made pale\n Went gleaming, all alone: and he\n Watched till her light feet steadily\n Stepped up upon the dark cliff's brow:\n But no one time she turned her now,\n But vanished from him into night.\n So there he watched till changing light\n Brought the beginning of the tide\n Of longing that he needs must bide;\n Then he cried out for oars and sail,\n And ere the morning star did fail\n No more those cliffs his bird beheld,\n As \u2019neath the wind the broad sail swelled. p. 73\nBUT for the maiden, back she went\n Unto the stead, and her intent\n She changed in nought: no word she spake\n What wrath soe\u2019er on her might break\n From the fell crone, on whom withal\n Still heavier did that strange awe fall;\n As well might be, for from the may\n Had girlish lightness passed away\n Into a sweet grave majesty,\n That scarce elsewhere the world might see.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So wore the spring, and summer came,\n And went, and all the woods did flame\n With autumn, as in that old tide\n When slowly by the mirk hill-side\n Went Heimir to his unseen death:\n Then came the first frost's windless breath,\n The steaming sea, the world all white,\n And glittering morn and silent night,\n As when the little one first felt\n The world a-cold; and still she dwelt\n Unchanged since that first spark of love\n Wrought the great change, that so did move\n Her heart to perfect loveliness.\n Nor overmuch did the days press\n Upon her with the weary waste\n Of short life, that too quick doth haste p. 74\n When joy is gained: if any thought\n Thereof unto her heart was brought,\n Rather it was, \"Ah, overlong\n For brooding over change and wrong\n When that shall come! Good gain to me\n My love's eyes one more time to see,\n To feel once more his lips\u2019 delight,\n And die with the short summer night,\n Not shamed nor sorry! But if I\n Must bear the weight of misery\n In the after days, yet even then\n May I not leave to unborn men\n A savour of sweet things, a tale\n That midst all woes shall yet prevail\n To make the world seem something worth?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So passed the winter of the North,\n And once again was come the spring;\n Then whiles would she go loitering\n Slow-footed, and with hanging head,\n Through budding brake, o\u2019er flowery mead,\n With blood that throbbed full quickly now\n If o\u2019er the flowers her feet were slow,\n And bonds about her seemed to be.\n Yet wore the spring past lingeringly\n Till on a morn of latter May,\n When her soft sleep had passed away,\n Nought but the bright-billed sweet-throat bird\n Within the thorn at first she heard; p. 75\n But, even as her heart did meet\n The first wave of desire o\u2019ersweet,\n The winding of a mighty horn\n Adown the breeze of May was borne,\n And throbbing hope on her did fall:\n Yet from her bed she leapt withal,\n And clad herself, and went about\n Her work, as though with ne\u2019er a doubt\n That this day e\u2019en such like should be\n As was the last; and so while she\n Quickened the fire and laid the board,\n Mid the crone's angry, querulous word\n Of surly wonder, the goodman,\n With axe on shoulder, swiftly ran\n Adown the slope; but presently\n Came breathless back:\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\"Ah, here they be!\n Come back again for something worse,\"\n Said he. \"This dumb maid is some curse\n Laid on us.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Well,\" the goodwife said,\n \"Who be they?\" \"They who baked their bread\n Within this house last spring,\" said he.\n \"Oft did I marvel then why she,\n This witch-maid, went unto the strand\n That eve.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Nay, maybe comes to hand\n Some luck,\" the crone said. \"Hold thy peace,\"\n He said. \"What goodhap or increase p. 76\n From that ill night shall ever come?\n Rather I deem that now come home\n Those fifteen years of murder: lo,\n The worst of all we soon shall know,\n I hear their voices.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Silently,\n If somewhat pale, Aslaug passed by\n From fire to board, as though she heard\n And noted nothing of that word,\n Whate\u2019er it was: yet now, indeed,\n The clink of sword on iron weed,\n And voices of the seafarers,\n Came clear enow unto her ears;\n Nor was it long or e\u2019er the door\n Was darkened, as one stood before\n The light and 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\"Hail to this house,\n If here still dwells the glorious\n Fair maiden, that across the seas\n We come for!\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Aslaug on her knees\n Knelt by the brightening fire and dropped\n The meal into the pot, nor stopped\n For all their words, but with her hand\n Screened her fair face. Then up did stand\n The goodman, quaking:\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\"Well,\" he said,\n \"Good be my meed! for we have fed\n This dumb maid all for kindness\u2019 sake.\" p. 77\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"No need,\" he said, \"long words to make,\n And little heed we thy lies now,\n But if she doom thee to the bough.\n \u2014All hail, our Lady and our Queen!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For she, arisen, with glorious mien\n Was drawing near the board, and bare\n The porridge-bowl and such-like gear\n Past where the men stood; tremblingly\n The leader of them drew anigh,\n And would have taken them, but she\n Swerved from his strong hand daintily,\n Smiled on him and passed by, and when\n They were set down turned back again\n And spoke, and well then might rejoice\n That dusky place to hear her voice\n For the first time:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"I doubt me not,\n O seafarers, but ye have got\n A message from that goodly lord\n Who spake last year a pleasant word,\n Hard to believe for a poor maid.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Trembled the twain at what she said\n Less than the unexpected sound,\n For death seemed in the air around.\n But the man spake: \"E\u2019en thus he saith,\n That he, who heretofore feared death\n In no-wise, feared this morn to come p. 78\n And seek thee out in thy poor home,\n Lest he should find thee dead or gone;\n For scarce he deemed so sweet a one\n Could be for him: 'But if she live,'\n He said, 'and still her love can give\n To me, let her make no delay,\n For fear we see no other day\n Wherein to love.'\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She said: \"Come, then!\n It shames me not that of all men\n I love him best. But have ye there\n Somewhat these twain might reckon dear?\n Their life is ill enow to live\n But that withal they needs must strive\n With griping want when I am gone.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He answered, \"O thou goodly one,\n Here have we many a dear-bought thing,\n Because our master bade us bring\n All queenly gear for thee, and deems\n That thou, so clad as well beseems\n That lovely body, wouldst aboard;\n But all we have is at thy word\n To keep or spend.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Nay, friends,\" she said,\n \"If thy lord loves my goodlihead,\n Fain would I bear alone to him\n What wealth I have of face or limb,\n For him to deck when all is his, p. 79\n So full enow shall even this\n That I am dight with be for me;\n But since indeed of his bounty\n He giveth unto me to give\u2014\n Take ye this gold, ye twain, and live\n E\u2019en as ye may\u2014small need to bless\n Or curse your sordid churlishness,\n Because methinks, without fresh curse,\n Each day that comes shall still be worse\n Than the past day, and worst of all\n Your ending day on you shall fall.\n Yet, if it may be, fare ye well,\n Since in your house I came to dwell\n A certain time of my life-days.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0E\u2019en as she spake, her glorious face\n Shone the last time on that abode,\n And her light feet the daisies trod\n Outside the threshold. But the twain\n Stood 'mazed above the bounteous gain\n Of rings and gems and money bright,\n And a long while, for mere affright\n And wonder, durst not handle it.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But while the butterfly did flit\n White round about the feet of her,\n Above the little May-flowers fair,\n She went adown the hill with these,\n Until the low wash of the seas p. 80\n They heard, and murmuring of the men\n Who manned the long-ships; quickly then\n They showed above the grey bent's brow,\n And all the folk beheld them now\n \u2019Twixt oar and gunwale that abode,\n And to the sky their shout rose loud.\n But when upon the beach she came,\n A bright thing in the sun did flame\n \u2019Twixt sun and ship-side, and the sea\n Foamed, as one waded eagerly\n Unto the smooth and sea-beat sand,\n And for one moment did she stand\n Breathless, with beating heart, and then\n To right and left drew back the men;\n She heard a voice she deemed well known,\n Long waited through dull hours bygone,\n And round her mighty arms were cast:\n But when her trembling red lips passed\n From out the heaven of that dear kiss,\n And eyes met eyes, she saw in his\n Fresh pride, fresh hope, fresh love, and saw\n The long sweet days still onward draw,\n Themselves still going hand in hand,\n As now they went adown the strand. p. 81\nNEXT morn, when they awoke to see\n Each other's hands draw lovingly\n Each unto each, awhile they lay\n Silent, as though night passed away\n They grudged full sore: till the King said\n Unto the happy golden head\n That lay upon his breast, \"What thought\n By those few hours of dark was brought\n Unto thy heart, my love? Did dreams\n Make strange thy loving sleep with gleams\n Of changing days that yet may be?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She answered, but still dreamily:\n \"In sleep a little while ago\n O\u2019er a star-litten world of snow\n I fared, till suddenly nearby\n A swirling fire blazed up on high;\n Thereto I went, and without scathe\n Passed through the flame, as one doth bathe\n Within a summer stream, and there\n I saw a golden palace fair\n Ringed round about with roaring flame.\n Unto an open door I came,\n And entered a great hall thereby,\n And saw where \u2019neath a canopy\n A King and Queen there sat, more fair\n Than the world knoweth otherwhere: p. 82\n And much methought my heart smiled then\n Upon that goodliest of all men,\n That sweetest of all womankind.\n Then one methought a horn did wind\n Without, and the King turned and spake:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"'Wherewith do the hall pillars shake,\n O Queen, O love?'\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She moved her head,\n And in a voice like music said:\n 'This is the fame of Ragnar's life,\n The breath of all the glorious strife\n Wherewith his days shall wear.'\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\u00a0Then he:\n 'What is the shadow that I see\n Adown the hall?'\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then said the Queen:\n 'Our daughter surely hadst thou seen\n If thine eyes saw as clear as mine:\n Well worth she is our love divine,\n And unto Ragnar is she wed,\n The best man since that thou wert dead,\n My King, my love, mine own, mine own!'\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Then the twain kissed upon the throne,\n And the dream passed and sleep passed too.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Therewith the King her body drew\n Nearer to him, if it might be, p. 83\n And spake: \"A strange dream came to me.\n Upon a waste at dawn I went\n And wandered over vale and bent,\n And ever was it dawn of day,\n And still upon all sides there lay\n The bones of men, and war-gear turned\n To shards and rust; then far off burned\n A fire, and thither quick I passed.\n And when I came to it at last\n Dreadful it seemed, impassable;\n But I, fain of that land to tell\n What things soever might be known,\n Went round about, and up and down,\n And gat no passing by the same;\n Until, methought, just where the flame\n Burned highest, through the midst I saw\n A man and woman toward me draw,\n Even as through a flowery wood:\n So came they unto where I stood,\n And glad at heart therewith I grew,\n For such fair folk as were the two\n Ne\u2019er had I seen; then the man cried:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"'Hail to thee, Ragnar! well betide\n This dawn of day. Stretch forth thine hand.'\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"E\u2019en as he bade me did I stand,\n Abiding what should hap, but he\n Turned to the woman lovingly, p. 84\n And from her bosom's fresh delight\n Drew forth a blooming lily white,\n And set it in mine hand, and then\n Both through the flame went back again.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Then afterwards in earth I set\n This lily, and with soft regret\n Watched for its fading; but withal\n Great light upon the world did fall,\n And fair the sun rose o\u2019er the earth,\n And blithe I grew and full of mirth:\n And no more on a waste I was,\n But in a green world, where the grass\n White lily-blooms well-nigh did hide;\n O\u2019er hill and valley far and wide\n They waved in the warm wind; the sun\n Seemed shining upon everyone,\n As though it loved it: and with that\n I woke, and up in bed I sat\n And saw thee waking, O my sweet!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With that last word their lips did meet,\n And even the fresh May morning bright\n Was noted not in their delight.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Let be\u2014as ancient stories tell\n Full knowledge upon Ragnar fell\n In lapse of time, that this was she\n Begot in the felicity p. 85\n Swift-fleeting of the wondrous twain,\n Who afterwards through change and pain\n Must live apart to meet in death.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But, would ye know what the tale saith,\n In the old Danish tongue is writ\n Full many a word concerning it,\u2014\n The days through which these lovers passed,\n Till death made end of all at last.\n But so great Ragnar's glory seemed\n To Northern folk, that many deemed\n That for his death, when song arose\n From that Northumbrian adder-close,\n England no due atonement paid\n Till Harald Godwinson was laid\n Beside his fallen banner, cold\n Upon the blood-soaked Sussex mould,\n And o\u2019er the wrack of Senlac field\n Full-fed the grey-nebbed raven wheeled. p. 86\nIN the dim place that the sun knew no more\n He rose up when his tale was fully o\u2019er,\n And \u2019gan to pace the long hall to and fro\n With old eyes looking downward, e\u2019en as though\n None else were there: at last with upraised face\n He walked back swiftly to his fire-lit place,\n And sat him down, and turned to the young folk\n Smiling perforce; then from their lips outbroke\n The murmuring speech his moody looks had stilled,\n And with a sweet sound was the hall fulfilled;\n E\u2019en like the noise that from the thin wood's side\n Swims through the dawning day at April-tide\n Across the speckled eggs, when from the brown\n Soft feathers glittering eyes are looking down\n Over the dewy meads, too fresh and fair\n For aught but lovely feet to wander there.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Drag on, long night of winter, in whose heart,\n Nurse of regret, the dead spring yet has part!\n Drag on, O night of dreams! O night of fears!\n Fed by the summers of the bygone years!","title":"The Earthly Paradise (December-February): December: The Fostering of Aslaug","type":"page"}