The Earthly Paradise (September-November): The Lovers of Gudrun: Kiartan weds Refna

The Earthly Paradise, (September-November), by William Morris, [1870] Kiartan weds Refna. I THINK that Gudrun on the morrow morn Deemed herself yet more wretched and forlorn Than e’er before; I deem that Kiartan woke And found it harder yet to bear the yoke Than in past days—their eyes had met at last, No look of anger from them had been cast Sweet words might take away; no look of woe A touch might turn to pleasure, none can know But those who know the torturer Love, the bliss That heals the stripes those bear who still are his. Who knows what tale had been to tell, if she Had met his first proud look all tearfully, With weak imploring looks? Ah, sore she yearned To cry aloud the things that in her burned, To cast aside all fear and shame, and kneel Before his feet, so she his lips might feel Once more as in the old days; but, alas! A wall of shame and wrong betwixt them was, Nor could the past deeds ever be undone. Sometimes it might be when they were alone In quiet times—in evening twilight, when p. 448 Far off and softened came the voice of men; Or, better yet, the murmur of the sea Smote on the hearts of either peacefully, Each to each kind would seem; until there came The backward rush of pain and bitter blame Unanswerable, cold, blighting, as the sea, Let in o’er flowers—'Why didst thou so to me, To me of all the world? while others strove We looked to hold the sweetness of our love. Yea, if earth failed beneath our feet—and now How is the sweet turned bitter!—yea, and thou Art just so nigh to me, that still thou art A restless anguish to my craving heart.' Take note too midst all this, that Gudrun heard Rumoured about this added bitter word, That Refna, Asgeir's daughter, looked to wear The coif the Norway queen had meant for her, When Kiartan left that broken heart behind; For that tale too her hungry ears must find. Then would she clean forget all other woe, In thinking how she dreamed the days would go, That while she waited doubting nought of him; Then would the past and future wax all dim In brooding o’er that unaccomplished bliss, In moaning to herself, ’twixt kiss and kiss The things she would have said, in picturing, As in the hopeful time, how arms would cling About her, and sweet eyes, unsatisfied p. 449 E’en with the fullness of all bliss, would hide No love from her—and she forgot those eyes What they were now, all dulled with miseries; And she forgot the sorrow of the heart That fate and time from hers had thrust apart. Still wrong bred wrong within her, day by day Some little speck of kindness fell away, Till in her heart naked desire alone Was left, the one thing not to be undone. Then would the jealous flame in such wise burn Within her, that to Bodli would she turn, And madden him with fond caressing touch And tender word; and he, worn overmuch With useless striving, still his heart would blind, Unto the dread awaking he should find. Doubt not, that of this too had Kiartan heard, If nought but idle babbling men had stirred, But more there was; for the fierce-hearted fools, The sons of Oswif, made these twain their tools To satisfy their envious hate; for they Waxed eviller-hearted as day followed day, Grudging the Peacock's house its luck and fame; And when into their household Bodli came, In such wise as ye know, with hate and scorn, Which still they had, of his grave face and worn, A joy began to mingle presently, A thought that they through him might get to see Herdholt beneath their feet in grief and shame;p. 450 So cunningly they turned them to the game As such men will, and scattered wide the seeds, Lies, and words half-true, of the bitterest deeds. For doubt not, kindly-natured though he were, That Kiartan too was changing: who would hear Such things as once he heard, from one who went ’Twixt the two houses, with no ill intent, But blabbing and a fool, well stuffed with lies, At Ospak's hands—for in most loving wise The new-wed folk lived now, he said; soon too He deemed would Bodli draw to him a crew, And take ship for the southlands: "Nought at all Was talked of last night in the Bathstead hall, But about England and King Ethelred." "Well, and was Gudrun merry?" Haldor said, Yet stammered saying it, ’neath Kiartan's frown, Who cleared his brow though, nor e’en looked adown As the man answered, smiling, pleased to show That he somewhat of great folk's minds did know: "Yea, many, was she merry. Good cause why, For she will go with Bodli certainly, And win such fame as women love to do; Ye well may wot he saith no nay thereto, If she but ask him; they sat hand in hand As if no folk were left in all the land Except themselves." He stayed his talk hereat, p. 451 For men looked strangely on him as he sat Smiling and careless, casting words that bit Like poisoned darts: no less did Kiartan sit With unchanged face, nor rose to go away, Yea, even strove within himself to say: 'Good luck go with them! mine she cannot be, May she be happy, here, or over sea! Why should I wish aught ill on them to fall.' And yet, indeed, a flood of bitterest gall Swept o’er his heart; despite himself he thought: 'So now, to lonely ways behold me brought, She will not miss me more—so change the days, And Bodli's loving looks and Bodli's praise Shall be enough for her. I am alone, And ne’er shall be aught else—would I were gone From where none need me now—belike my fame Shall be forgotten, wrapped in Bodli's name, E’en as my kisses on the lips, that once Trembled with longing through the change of suns— Those years in Norway shall be blotted out From song and story—yea, or men shall doubt If I or Bodli there that praise did win— What say I, for I deem that men begin To doubt if e’er I loved my love at all!' So thought he, mid the clamour of the hall, Where few men knew his heart, but rather thought That he began now somewhat to be brought p. 452 From out his gloom; withal, time wore away, And certainly as day comes after day, So change comes after change in minds of men; So otherwise he ’gan to be, than when In early days his pain, nigh cherished, clung Unto his wounded heart; belike it stung Bitterer at whiles, now that he knew his life, And hardened him to meet the lingering strife ’Gainst the cold world that would not think of him Too much. The kindness of old days waxed dim Within his heart; he hearkened when men spake Hard things about his love, for whose dear sake Had fame once seemed so light a thing to win. A blacker deed now seemed his fellow's sin When lesser seemed the prize that it did gain; Little by little from his bitter pain Fell off the softening veil of tenderness; Moody and brooding was he none the less, And all the world, with all its good and ill, Seemed nothing meet to move his sluggish will. And now a whole long year had passed, since he Stood wildered by the borders of the sea ’Neath his first sorrow. Herdholt late had seen A noble feast, and thereat had there been Among the guests Refna, the tender maid; Gentle of mood, and pale, with head down-weighed She sat amidst the feast; and Kiartan saw That much she changed as he anigh did draw, That her eyes brightened, and a sprightlier grace p. 453 Came o’er her lips, and colour lit her face. And so when all the guests therefrom were gone, Thurid, his sister, sat with him alone Close upon sunset; thoughtful now was she, He gayer than it was his wont to be, And many things he spake to her; at last The absent look from off her face she cast, For she had listened little; and she said; "Yea, brother, is she not a lovesome maid?" He started, "Who?" he said, "I noted not." She smiled, "Nay, then is beauty soon forgot; Yet if I were a man, not old or wise, Methinks I should remember wide grey eyes, Lips like a scarlet thread, skin lily-white, Round chin, smooth brow ’neath the dark hair's delight, Fair neck, slim hands, and dainty limbs, well hid, Since unto most of men doth fate forbid To hold them as their own." A dark cloud spread O’er Kiartan's face: "Sister, forbear," he said; "I am no lover, unto me but nought Are these things grown." Nigher her face she brought To his, and said: "And yet were I a man, And noted how the love of me began To move within the heart of such a maid As Refna is, not soon her face would fade From out my memory." p. 454 "Nay, nay, thou sayst Fools’ words," he said, "and every word dost waste; Who shall love broken men like unto me?" And therewithal he sprang up angrily And would be gone: she stayed him: "Were it so That over well she loved; what wouldst thou do?" "What should I do?" he said; "I have no heart To give away, let her e’en act my part And find the days right dreary, yet live on." "Methinks," she said, "the end will soon be won For her, poor maid! surely she waneth fast." And Thurid sighed withal; but Kiartan passed Swiftly away from her: and yet he went Unto his bed that night less ill content, And ere he slept, of Ingibiorg he thought, And all the pleasure her sweet love had brought While he was with her; and this maid did seem Like her come back amidst a happy dream. The next morn came, and through his dreariness A sweet thought somewhat did his heart caress; Howe’er he put it from him, back it came Until it gathered shape, and took the name Of pity, and seemed worthy to be nursed. So wore the days, and life seemed not so cursed p. 455 With this to think of—this so set apart From all the misery that wrung his heart; Until the sweet ruth grew, until he deemed That yet perchance her love was only dreamed, That she was heart-whole, yea, or loved indeed But for another man was in such need: And at that thought blank grew the world again, And his old pain was shot across with pain As woof hides warp. Ah, well! what will you have? This was a man some shreds of joy to save From out the wreck, if so he might, to win Some garden from the waste, and dwell therein. And yet he lingered long, or e’er he told His heart that it another name might hold With that of the lost Gudrun. Time and sight Made Refna's love clear as the noonday light; Yea, nowise hard it was for him to think That she without this joy would quickly sink Into death's arms—and she, she to fade thus God's latest marvel! eyes so piteous With such sweet longing, midst her beauty rare, As though they said, 'Nought worthy thee is here, Yet help me if thou canst: yet, if I die, Like sweet embalmment round my heart shall lie This love, this love, this love I have for thee; Look once again before thou leavest me!' She died not wholly joyless; they were wed, When twenty changing moons their light had shed p. 456 On the dark waves of Burgfirth, since in trust Of Gudrun's love, over the bridge new thrust From out the ship, the much-praised Kiartan ran. So strangely shift men's lives in little span.