{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/morris/sunf/sunf31.htm","path":"neu/morris/sunf/sunf31.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/morris/sunf/sunf31.htm","text":"The Sundering Flood, by William Morris, [1897]\nChapter XXIX. Osberne and His Men Return to Wethermel\nNow on a fair evening a little ere sunset of the beginning of October, came those Dalesmen amongst the black rocks and rough places that crowned the bent which looked down west over the Dale. And now, though they had been talking merrily and loud for the last three hours, their hearts were so full within them that scarce a word might they say one to another. And when at last they had won through that rocky tangle and had opened Wethermel, and nought lay before them but the grassy slopes and the wide-spread valley cleft by the line of the Sundering Flood; now, when they saw in the clear air the grey houses of Wethermel lying together, and the smoke of the evening cooking fires going up to the heavens, and the sheep wending on, thick and huddling before the driving of three tall men, and the kine moving toward the byre and the women amongst them, then this befel: that whereas they had been all of one mind that when they came to the crown of the bent, they would spur on and race merrily toward Wethermel, yet now when it lay before them, and there was so little a way betwixt them and its hearth, they all of them with one consent drew rein and sat still on their horses, as if they had suddenly come face to face with the host of the foemen. Yea, some there were, and they rather of the oldest than the youngest, who might not refrain them, but fell a-weeping and sobbing, whether it were for joy or sorrow, or a blending of both, may scarce be said.\nOsberne wept not: sooth to say, the turmoil of hope and fear within his heart ate up somewhat the softness that might else have mastered him at this new sight of his fathers' house. He rode forth before the others, and lifted up his voice and loudly and clearly cried a blessing on the Dale and the dwellers therein, and then rode soberly down the bent, and the others followed him still silently. But when they were drawn anigh, and every soul, man, woman and child, ran forth from the garth to meet and welcome them, then at last their joy brake forth, and they gat off their horses and gave themselves up to the caresses of the women and the embracing of the carles, and loud was the speech and the laughter amongst them.\nOsberne was first met by Nicholas his grandsire, who kissed and embraced him, and then gave him up to his grandam and the fostermother, and one or other of these twain would scarce let go of him a long while.\nBut now was riding and running after victual for so big a company of men; for nought would serve the folk of Wethermel but that the whole fellowship must abide there that night. But all was got ready in a while, and meanwhile the stay-at-homes might not have enough of praising and caressing the folk returned, and everything they said or did was a wonder.\nAt last the feast was arrayed, and the hall was thronged as much as might be, and folk fell to meat, and now they were all exceeding merry; and when they had done eating, the boards were drawn to make more room, and they fell to the drink, and after the first cup to Christ, and the second to Allhallows, the third was drunk to the home-comers from the war. Yet were not the stay-at-homes to be put off with so little, and they called a cup for Osberne the Captain of the warriors; and when it had been drunk, then all folk looked toward the captain to see what he would do; but he rose up and stood in his place, his cheek flushed and his eyes sparkling: and the word came into his mouth and he sang:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The War-god's gale\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Drave down the Dale\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And thrust us out\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 To the battle-shout;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 We wended far\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 To the wall of war\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And trod the way\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Where the edges lay,\n \u00a0 The rain of the string rattled rough on the field\n \u00a0 Where the haysel was hoarded with sword-edge & shield.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Long lived the sun\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 When the play was begun,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And little but white\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Was the moon all night;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 But the days drew in\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And work was to win,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And on the snow\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Lay men alow,\n \u00a0 And at Yule fared we feasting in war-warded wall\n \u00a0 And the helm and the byrny were bright in the hall.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Then changed the year\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And spring was dear,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 But no maid went\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 On mead or bent,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 For there grew on ground\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 New battle-round,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 New war-wall ran\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Round houses of man,\n \u00a0 There tower to tower oft dark and dim grew\n \u00a0 At noontide of summer with rain of the yew.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Neath point and edge\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 In the battle hedge\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 We dwelt till wore\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Late summer o'er;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 We steered aright\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The wisdom-bark\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Through the steel-thronged dark,\n \u00a0 The warrior we wafted from out of the fray,\n \u00a0 And he woke midst the worthy and hearkened their say.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Now peace is won\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And all strife done,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And in our hands\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The fame of lands\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Aback we bear\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 To the dale the dear,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And the Fathers lie\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Made glad thereby.\n \u00a0 Now blossometh bliss in the howes of the old\n \u00a0 At our tale growing green from their tale that is told.\nLoud was the glee and the shouting at his song, and all men said that every whit thereof was sooth, and that this was the best day that had ever dawned on Wethermel; and great joy and bliss was on the hall till they must needs go to their rest. So changed was Wethermel, the niggard once, and that, it might be deemed, was but one youngling's doing.","title":"The Sundering Flood: Chapter XXIX. Osberne and His Men Re...","type":"page"}