{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/morris/sunf/sunf38.htm","path":"neu/morris/sunf/sunf38.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/morris/sunf/sunf38.htm","text":"The Sundering Flood, by William Morris, [1897]\nChapter XXXVI. The Staves which Osberne Taught to the Dalesmen\nNow all folk at Wethermel when they looked upon Osberne's face deemed that he was bettering of the drearihood which had weighed on him ever since the battle with the strong-thieves, and of that bettering they were right glad, for they were wont to have much joy of his fellowship. Came on therewith the Midsummer Feast of the Cloven Mote, which, as aforesaid, was the greatest of all the feasts of the Dalesmen, and Osberne was there with a countenance of good cheer no worser than the best. Now at this feast not only did they do in the heedfullest and solemnest wise all that belonged to Midsummer, as the Trundling of the Fiery Wheel, and the Kindling of the Bale, and the Leaping through the Fire; but also before noon, and ere these plays were begun, was high mass sung in the goodliest fashion in each of the two churches of Allhallows for the good rest of them who had fallen manfully in battle with the thieves. And last of all, when the summer night was as dark as it would be before the dawn, and the folk of the two sides were all ranged each in a line on their own shore of the river, they sang these staves from side to side across the Sundering Flood, the Westdalers beginning, and then the Eastdalers taking it up:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Tis Summer and night,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Little dusk and long light,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Little loss and much gain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 When the day must needs wane,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Little bitter, much sweet\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 From the weed to the wheat;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Little moan, mickle praise\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Of the Midsummer days,\n \u00a0 When the love of the sleeping sun lieth along\n \u00a0 And broodeth the acres abiding the song.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Were the spring to come o'er\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And again as before,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 What then would ye crave\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 From the summer to have?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sweeter grass would ye pray,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And more lea-lading hay?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 For more wheat would ye cry,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Thicker swathe of the rye?\n \u00a0 Stouter sons would ye ask for, and daughters more dear?\n \u00a0 Well-willers more trusty than them ye have here?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 O the wheat is yet green\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 But full fair beseen,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And the rye groweth tall\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 By the turfen wall.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Thick and sweet was the hay\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 On the lealand that lay;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Dear daughters had we,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sons goodly to see,\n \u00a0 And of all the well-willers ere trusted for true\n \u00a0 The least have ye failed us to deal and to do.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 What then is this,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 That the summer's bliss\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Somewhat ye fail\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 In your treasure's tale?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 What then have ye lost,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And what call ye the cost\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Of the months of life\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Since winter's strife?\n \u00a0 For unseldom the summer sun curseth the Dale\n \u00a0 With the tears thrust aback and the unuttered wail.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Forsooth o'er-well\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The tale may we tell:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Tis the spear and the sword\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And the House of the Sward.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The bright and the best\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Have gone to their rest,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And our eyes are blind\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Their eyes to find.\n \u00a0 In mead and house wend we because they were stayed,\n \u00a0 And we stand up because in the earth they were laid.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Would ye call them aback\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Then, to look on your lack?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Nay, we would that their tale\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 From our hearts ne'er should fail.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 This then maketh you sad,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 That such dear death they had?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 This night are we sad\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 For the joy that we had,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And their memory's beginning\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Great grief would be winning.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 But while weareth away,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And e'en woe waxeth gay.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 In fair words is it told,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Weighed e'en as fine gold;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sweet as wind of the south\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Grows the speech in the mouth.\n \u00a0 And from father to son speeds the tale of the true,\n \u00a0 Of the brave that forbore that the brethren might do.\nWhen this was sung then each man went home to his house. But it is said that these staves were made by Osberne, and that he taught them to the Western men as well as to the Eastern.","title":"The Sundering Flood: Chapter XXXVI. The Staves which Osbe...","type":"page"}