Poems By the Way Part 1

Poems by the Way.

by William Morris.

HERE BEGIN POEMS BY THE WAY.

WRITTEN BY WILLIAM MORRIS.

AND FIRST IS THE POEM CALLED FROM THE UPLAND TO THE SEA.

Shall we wake one morn of spring, Glad at heart of everything, Yet pensive with the thought of eve?

Then the white house shall we leave, Pa.s.s the wind-flowers and the bays, Through the garth, and go our ways, Wandering down among the meads Till our very joyance needs Rest at last; till we shall come To that Sun-G.o.d's lonely home, Lonely on the hill-side grey, Whence the sheep have gone away; Lonely till the feast-time is, When with prayer and praise of bliss, Thither comes the country side.

There awhile shall we abide, Sitting low down in the porch By that image with the torch: Thy one white hand laid upon The black pillar that was won From the far-off Indian mine; And my hand nigh touching thine, But not touching; and thy gown Fair with spring-flowers cast adown From thy bosom and thy brow.

There the south-west wind shall blow Through thine hair to reach my cheek, As thou sittest, nor mayst speak, Nor mayst move the hand I kiss For the very depth of bliss; Nay, nor turn thine eyes to me.

Then desire of the great sea Nigh enow, but all unheard, In the hearts of us is stirred, And we rise, we twain at last, And the daffodils downcast, Feel thy feet and we are gone From the lonely Sun-Crowned one.

Then the meads fade at our back, And the spring day 'gins to lack That fresh hope that once it had; But we twain grow yet more glad, And apart no more may go When the gra.s.sy slope and low Dieth in the s.h.i.+ngly sand: Then we wander hand in hand By the edges of the sea, And I weary more for thee Than if far apart we were, With a s.p.a.ce of desert drear 'Twixt thy lips and mine, O love!

Ah, my joy, my joy thereof!

OF THE WOOING OF HALLBIORN THE STRONG. A STORY FROM THE LAND- SETTLING BOOK OF ICELAND, CHAPTER x.x.x.

At Deildar-Tongue in the autumn-tide, _So many times over comes summer again_, Stood Odd of Tongue his door beside.

_What healing in summer if winter be vain_?

Dim and dusk the day was grown, As he heard his folded wethers moan.

Then through the garth a man drew near, With painted s.h.i.+eld and gold-wrought spear.

Good was his horse and grand his gear, And his girths were wet with Whitewater.

"Hail, Master Odd, live blithe and long!

How fare the folk at Deildar-Tongue?"

"All hail, thou Hallbiorn the Strong!

How fare the folk by the Brothers'-Tongue?"

"Meat have we there, and drink and fire, Nor lack all things that we desire.

But by the other Whitewater Of Hallgerd many a tale we hear."

"Tales enow may my daughter make If too many words be said for her sake."

"What saith thine heart to a word of mine, That I deem thy daughter fair and fine?

Fair and fine for a bride is she, And I fain would have her home with me."

"Full many a word that at noon goes forth Comes home at even little worth.

Now winter treadeth on autumn-tide, So here till the spring shalt thou abide.

Then if thy mind be changed no whit, And ye still will wed, see ye to it!

And on the first of summer days, A wedded man, ye may go your ways.

Yet look, howso the thing will fall, My hand shall meddle nought at all.

Lo, now the night and rain draweth up, And within doors glimmer stoop and cup.

And hark, a little sound I know, The laugh of Snaebiorn's fiddle-bow, My sister's son, and a craftsman good, When the red rain drives through the iron wood."

Hallbiorn laughed, and followed in, And a merry feast there did begin.

Hallgerd's hands undid his weed, Hallgerd's hands poured out the mead.

Her fingers at his breast he felt, As her hair fell down about his belt.

Her fingers with the cup he took, And o'er its rim at her did look.

Cold cup, warm hand, and fingers slim, Before his eyes were waxen dim.

And if the feast were foul or fair, He knew not, save that she was there.

He knew not if men laughed or wept, While still 'twixt wall and dais she stept.

Whether she went or stood that eve, Not once his eyes her face did leave.

But Snaebiorn laughed and Snaebiorn sang, And sweet his smitten fiddle rang.

And Hallgerd stood beside him there, _So many times over comes summer again_, Nor ever once he turned to her, _What healing in summer if winter be vain_?

Master Odd on the morrow spake, _So many times over comes summer again_.

"Hearken, O guest, if ye be awake,"

_What healing in summer if winter be vain_?

"Sure ye champions of the south Speak many things from a silent mouth.

And thine, meseems, last night did pray That ye might well be wed to-day.

The year's ingathering feast it is, A goodly day to give thee bliss.

Come hither, daughter, fine and fair, Here is a Wooer from Whitewater.

East away hath he gotten fame, And his father's name is e'en my names.

Will ye lay hand within his hand, That blossoming fair our house may stand?"

She laid her hand within his hand; White she was as the lily wand.

Low sang Snaebiorn's brand in its sheath, And his lips were waxen grey as death.

"Snaebiorn, sing us a song of worth, If your song must be silent from now henceforth."

Clear and loud his voice outrang, And a song of worth at the wedding he sang.

"Sharp sword," he sang, "and death is sure."

_So many times over comes summer again_, "But love doth over all endure."

_What healing in summer if winter be vain_?

Now winter cometh and weareth away, _So many times over comes summer again_, And glad is Hallbiorn many a day.

_What healing in summer if winter be vain_?

Full soft he lay his love beside; But dark are the days of wintertide.

Dark are the days, and the nights are long, And sweet and fair was Snaebiorn's song.

Many a time he talked with her, Till they deemed the summer-tide was there.

And they forgat the wind-swept ways And angry fords of the flitting-days.

While the north wind swept the hillside there They forgat the other Whitewater.

While nights at Deildar-Tongue were long, They clean forgat the Brothers'-Tongue.

But whatso falleth 'twixt h.e.l.l and Home, _So many times over comes summer again_, Full surely again shall summer come.

_What healing in summer if winter be vain_?

To Odd spake Hallbiorn on a day _So many times over comes summer again_, "Gone is the snow from everyway."

_What healing in summer if winter be vain_?

Now green is grown Whitewater-side, And I to Whitewater will ride."

Quoth Odd, "Well fare thou winter-guest, May thine own Whitewater be best.

Well is a man's purse better at home Than open where folk go and come."

"Come ye carles of the south country, Now shall we go our kin to see!

For the lambs are bleating in the south, And the salmon swims towards Olfus mouth.

Girth and graithe and gather your gear!

And ho for the other Whitewater!"

Bright was the moon as bright might be, And Snaebiorn rode to the north country.

And Odd to Reykholt is gone forth, To see if his mares be ought of worth.

But Hallbiorn into the bower is gone And there sat Hallgerd all alone.

She was not dight to go nor ride She had no joy of the summer-tide.

Silent she sat and combed her hair, That fell all round about her there.

The slant beam lay upon her head, And gilt her golden locks to red.

He gazed at her with hungry eyes And fluttering did his heart arise.