Poems By the Way Part 7

Lo, fowl of death, my mother's ring, But the bridal song I must learn to sing.

And fain were I for a s.p.a.ce alone, For O the wind, and the wind doth moan.

And I must array the bridal bed, _Fair summer is on many a s.h.i.+eld_.

For O the rain, and the rain drifts red!

_Fair sing the swans 'twixt firth and field_.

Before the day from the night was born, Fair summer is on many a s.h.i.+eld.

She heard the blast of Steingrim's horn, Fair sing the swans 'twixt firth and field.

Before the day was waxen fair Were Steingrim's feet upon the stair.

"O bolt and bar they fall away, But heavy are Steingrim's feet to-day."

"O heavy the feet of one who bears The longing of days and the grief of years!

Lie down, lie down, thou lily-wand That on thy neck I may lay his hand.

Whether the King be lief or loth To-day one bed shall hold you both.

O thou art still as he is still, So sore as ye longed to talk your fill.

And good it were that I depart, Now heart is laid so close to heart.

For sure ye shall talk so left alone _Fair summer is on many a s.h.i.+eld_.

Of days to be below the stone."

_Fair sing the swans 'twixt firth and field_.

SPRING'S BEDFELLOW.

Spring went about the woods to-day, The soft-foot winter-thief, And found where idle sorrow lay 'Twixt flower and faded leaf.

She looked on him, and found him fair For all she had been told; She knelt adown beside him there, And sang of days of old.

His open eyes beheld her nought, Yet 'gan his lips to move; But life and deeds were in her thought, And he would sing of love.

So sang they till their eyes did meet, And faded fear and shame; More bold he grew, and she more sweet, Until they sang the same.

Until, say they who know the thing, Their very lips did kiss, And Sorrow laid abed with Spring Begat an earthly bliss.

MEETING IN WINTER.

Winter in the world it is, Round about the unhoped kiss Whose dream I long have sorrowed o'er; Round about the longing sore, That the touch of thee shall turn Into joy too deep to burn.

Round thine eyes and round thy mouth Pa.s.seth no murmur of the south, When my lips a little while Leave thy quivering tender smile, As we twain, hand holding hand, Once again together stand.

Sweet is that, as all is sweet; For the white drift shalt thou meet, Kind and cold-cheeked and mine own, Wrapped about with deep-furred gown In the broad-wheeled chariot: Then the north shall spare us not; The wide-reaching waste of snow Wilder, lonelier yet shall grow As the reddened sun falls down.

But the warders of the town, When they flash the torches out O'er the snow amid their doubt, And their eyes at last behold Thy red-litten hair of gold; Shall they open, or in fear Cry, "Alas! What cometh here?

Whence hath come this Heavenly To tell of all the world undone?"

They shall open, and we shall see The long street litten scantily By the long stream of light before The guest-hall's half-open door; And our horses' bells shall cease As we reach the place of peace; Thou shalt tremble, as at last The worn threshold is o'er-past, And the fire-light blindeth thee: Trembling shalt thou cling to me As the sleepy merchants stare At thy cold hands slim and fair, Thy soft eyes and happy lips Worth all lading of their s.h.i.+ps.

O my love, how sweet and sweet That first kissing of thy feet, When the fire is sunk alow, And the hall made empty now Groweth solemn, dim and vast!

O my love, the night shall last Longer than men tell thereof Laden with our lonely love!

THE TWO SIDES OF THE RIVER

_The Youths_.

O Winter, O white winter, wert thou gone No more within the wilds were I alone Leaping with bent bow over stock and stone!

No more alone my love the lamp should burn, Watching the weary spindle twist and turn, Or o'er the web hold back her tears and yearn: O winter, O white winter, wert thou gone!

_The Maidens_.

Sweet thoughts fly swiftlier than the drifting snow, And with the twisting threads sweet longings grow, And o'er the web sweet pictures come and go, For no white winter are we long alone.

_The Youths_.

O stream so changed, what hast thou done to me, That I thy glittering ford no more can see Wreathing with white her fair feet lovingly?

See, in the rain she stands, and, looking down With frightened eyes upon thy whirlpools brown, Drops to her feet again her girded gown.

O hurrying turbid stream, what hast thou done?

_The Maidens_.

The clouds lift, telling of a happier day When through the thin stream I shall take my way, Girt round with gold, and garlanded with may, What rus.h.i.+ng stream can keep us long alone?

_The Youths_.

O burning Sun, O master of unrest, Why must we, toiling, cast away the best, Now, when the bird sleeps by her empty nest?

See, with my garland lying at her feet, In lonely labour stands mine own, my sweet, Above the quern half-filled with half-ground wheat.

O red taskmaster, that thy flames were done!

_The Maidens_.

O love, to-night across the half-shorn plain Shall I not go to meet the yellow wain, A look of love at end of toil to gain?

What flaming sun can keep us long alone?

_The Youths_.

To-morrow, said I, is grape gathering o'er; To-morrow, and our loves are twinned no more To-morrow came, to bring us woe and war.

What have I done, that I should stand with these Hearkening the dread shouts borne upon the breeze, While she, far off, sits weeping 'neath her trees?

Alas, O kings, what is it ye have done?