The Earthly Paradise (September-November): The Lovers of Gudrun: Kiartan brought dead to Bathstead

The Earthly Paradise, (September-November), by William Morris, [1870] Kiartan brought dead to Bathstead. MEN say that those who went the corpse to bring To Bathstead thence, found Bodli muttering Over the white face turned up to the sky, Nor did he heed them as they drew anigh, Therefore they stood by him, and heard him say: "Perchance it is that thou art far away From us already; caring nought at all For what in after days to us may fall— —O piteous, piteous!—yet perchance it is That thou, though entering on thy life of bliss, The meed of thy great heart, yet art anear, And somewhat of my feeble voice can hear; Then scarce for pardon will I pray thee, friend, Since thus our love is brought unto no end, But rather now, indeed, begins anew; Yet since a long time past nought good or true p. 507 My lips might utter, let me speak to thee, If so it really is that thou art free, At peace and happy past the golden gate; That time is dead for thee, and thou mayst wait A thousand years for her and deem it nought. O dead friend, in my heart there springs a thought That, since with thy last breath thou spakst her name, And since thou knowest now how longing came Into my soul, thou wilt forgive me yet That time of times, when in my heart first met Anger against thee, with the sweet sweet love Wherewith my old dull life of habit strove So weakly and so vainly—didst thou quite Know all the value of that dear delight As I did? Kiartan, she is changed to thee; Yea, and since hope is dead changed too to me, What shall we do, if, each of each forgiven, We three shall meet at last in that fair heaven The new faith tells of? Thee and God I pray Impute it not for sin to me to-day, If no thought I can shape thereof but this: O friend, O friend, when thee I meet in bliss, Wilt thou not give my love Gudrun to me, Since now indeed thine eyes made clear can see That I of all the world must love her most?" Then his voice sank so that his words were lost A little while; then once again he spake, As one who from a lovesome dream doth wake: p. 508 "Alas! I speak of heaven who am in hell! I speak of change of days, who know full well How hopeless now is change from misery: I speak of time destroyed, when unto me Shall the world's minutes be as lapse of years; I speak of love who know how my life bears The bitter hate which I must face to-day— I speak of thee, and know thee passed away, Ne’er to come back to help or pity me." Therewith he looked up, and those folk did see, And rose up to his feet, and with strange eyes That seemed to see nought, slunk in shamefast wise, Silent, behind them, as the corpse they laid Upon the bier; then, all things being arrayed, Back unto Bathstead did they wend once more, As mournful as though dead with them they bore The heart of Iceland; and yet folk must gaze With awe and pity upon Bodli's face, And deem they never might such eyes forget. But when they reached the stead, anigh sunset, There in the porch a tall black figure stood, Whose stern pale face, ’neath its o’erhanging hood, In the porch shadow was all cold and grey, Though on her feet the dying sunlight lay. They trembled then at what might come to pass, For that grey face the face of Gudrun was, And they had heard her raving through the day As through the hall they passed; then made they stay p. 509 A few yards from the threshold, and in dread Waited what next should follow; but she said, In a low voice and hoarse: "Nay, enter here, Without, this eve is too much change and stir, And rest is good,—is good, if one might win A moment's rest; and now none is within The hall but Oswif: not much will he speak, And as for me—behold, I am grown weak! I cannot vex him much." She stepped aside, And the dark shade her raiment black did hide As they passed through into the dusky hall, Afraid to see her face, and last of all Went Bodli, clashing through the porch, but he Stayed in the midst, and turned round silently, And sought her face and said: "Thy will is done. Is it enough? Art thou enough alone As I am?" Never any word she spake. No hate was in her face now: "For thy sake I did it, Gudrun. Speak one word to me Before my bitter shame and misery Crushes my heart to death." She reached a hand Out toward the place where trembling he did stand, But touched him not, and never did he know p. 510 If she had mind some pity then to show Unto him, or if rather more apart She fain had thrust him from her raging heart, For now those men came tramping from the hall, And Bodli shrank aback unto the wall To let them pass, and when the last was gone, In the dim twilight there he stood alone, Nor durst he follow her, but listened there, Half dead, and but his breathing might he hear, And the faint noises of the gathering night. He stood so long that the moon cast her light In through the porch, and still no sound he heard But the faint clink of mail-rings as he stirred. "Ah, she is dead of grief, or else would she Have come to say some little word to me, Since I so love her, love her!" With a wail He cried these words, and in the moonlight pale, Clashing he turned: but e’en therewith a shriek From out the dead hush of the hall did break, And then came footsteps hurrying to the porch, And the red flare of a new-litten torch, And smit by nameless horror and affright He fled away into the moonlit night.