Yet I, a lonely maiden, have might to vanquish one Till it melt as the mist of the morning before the summer sun.
O Wood-Sun, thou hast borne me, and I were fain indeed To give thee back thy gladness; but thou com"st of the G.o.dhead"s seed, And herein my might avails not; because I can but show Unto these wedded sorrows the truth that the heart should know Ere the will hath wielded the hand; and for thee, I can tell thee nought That thou hast not known this long while; thy will and thine hand have wrought, And the man that thou lovest shall live in despite of G.o.ds and of men, If yet thy will endureth. But what shall it profit thee then That after the fashion of G.o.dhead thou hast gotten thee a thrall To be thine and never another"s, whatso in the world may befall?
Lo! yesterday this was a man, and to-morrow it might have been The very joy of the people, though never again it were seen; Yet a part of all they hoped for through all the lapse of years, To make their laughter happy and dull the sting of tears; To quicken all remembrance of deeds that never die, And death that maketh eager to live as the days go by.
Yea, many a deed had he done as he lay in the dark of the mound; As the seed-wheat plotteth of spring, laid under the face of the ground That the foot of the husbandman treadeth, that the wind of the winter wears, That the turbid cold flood hideth from the constant hope of the years.
This man that should leave in his death his life unto many an one Wilt thou make him a G.o.d of the fearful who live lone under the sun?
And then shalt thou have what thou wouldedst when amidst of the hazelled field Thou kissed"st the mouth of the helper, and the hand of the people"s shield, Shalt thou have the thing that thou wouldedst when thou broughtest me to birth, And I, the soul of the Wolfings, began to look on earth?
Wilt thou play the G.o.d, O mother, and make a man anew, A joyless thing and a fearful? Then I betwixt you two, "Twixt your longing and your sorrow will cast the sundering word, And tell out all the story of that rampart of the sword!
I shall bid my mighty father make choice of death in life, Or life in death victorious and the crowned end of strife."
Ere she had ended, the Wood-Sun let her hands fall down, and showed her face, which for all its unpaled beauty looked wearied and anxious; and she took Thiodolf"s hand in hers, while she looked with eyes of love upon the Hall-Sun, and Thiodolf laid his cheek to her cheek, and though he smiled not, yet he seemed as one who is happy. At last the Wood-Sun spoke and said:
"Thou sayest sooth, O daughter: I am no G.o.d of might, Yet I am of their race, and I think with their thoughts and see with their sight, And the threat of the doom did I know of, and yet spared not to lie: For I thought that the fate foreboded might touch and pa.s.s us by, As the sword that heweth the war-helm and cleaveth a cantle away, And the cunning smith shall mend it and it goeth again to the fray; If my hand might have held for a moment, yea, even against his will, The life of my beloved! But Weird is the master still: And this man"s love of my body and his love of the ancient kin Were matters o"er mighty to deal with and the game withal to win.
Woe"s me for the waning of all things, and my hope that needs must fade As the fruitless sun of summer on the waste where nought is made!
And now farewell, O daughter, thou mayst not see the kiss Of the hapless and the death-doomed when I have told of this; Yet once again shalt thou see him, though I no more again, Fair with the joy that hopeth and dieth not in vain."
Then came the Hall-Sun close to her, and knelt down by her, and laid her head upon her knees and wept for love of her mother, who kissed her oft and caressed her; and Thiodolf"s hand strayed, as it were, on to his daughter"s head, and he looked kindly on her, though scarce now as if he knew her. Then she arose when she had kissed her mother once more, and went her ways from that wood-lawn into the woods again, and so to the Folk-mote of her people.
But when those twain were all alone again, the Wood-Sun spoke: "O Thiodolf canst thou hear me and understand?"
"Yea," he said, "when thou speakest of certain matters, as of our love together, and of our daughter that came of our love."
"Thiodolf," she said, "How long shall our love last?"
"As long as our life," he said.
"And if thou diest to-day, where then shall our love be?" said the Wood- Sun.
He said, "I must now say, I wot not; though time was I had said, It shall abide with the soul of the Wolfing Kindred."
She said: "And when that soul dieth, and the kindred is no more?"
"Time agone," quoth he, "I had said, it shall abide with the Kindreds of the Earth; but now again I say, I wot not."
"Will the Earth hide it," said she, "when thou diest and art borne to mound?"
"Even so didst thou say when we spake together that other night," said he; "and now I may say nought against thy word."
"Art thou happy, O Folk-Wolf?" she said.
"Why dost thou ask me?" said he; "I know not; we were sundered and I longed for thee; thou art here; it is enough."
"And the people of thy Kindred?" she said, "dost thou not long for them?"
He said; "Didst thou not say that I was not of them? Yet were they my friends, and needed me, and I loved them: but by this evening they will need me no more, or but little; for they will be victorious over their foes: so hath the Hall-Sun foretold. What then! shall I take all from thee to give little to them?"
"Thou art wise," she said; "Wilt thou go to battle to-day?"
"So it seemeth," said he.
She said: "And wilt thou bear the Dwarf-wrought Hauberk? for if thou dost, thou wilt live, and if thou dost not, thou wilt die."
"I will bear it," said he, "that I may live to love thee."
"Thinkest thou that any evil goes with it?" said she.
There came into his face a flash of his ancient boldness as he answered: "So it seemed to me yesterday, when I fought clad in it the first time; and I fell unsmitten on the meadow, and was shamed, and would have slain myself but for thee. And yet it is not so that any evil goes with it; for thou thyself didst say that past night that there was no evil weird in it."
She said: "How then if I lied that night?"
Said he; "It is the wont of the G.o.ds to lie, and be unashamed, and men- folk must bear with it."
"Ah! how wise thou art!" she said; and was silent for a while, and drew away from him a little, and clasped her hands together and wrung them for grief and anger. Then she grew calm again, and said:
"Wouldest thou die at my bidding?"
"Yea," said he, "not because thou art of the G.o.ds, but because thou hast become a woman to me, and I love thee."
Then was she silent some while, and at last she said, "Thiodolf, wilt thou do off the Hauberk if I bid thee?"
"Yea, yea," said he, "and let us depart from the Wolfings, and their strife, for they need us not."
She was silent once more for a longer while still, and at last she said in a cold voice; "Thiodolf, I bid thee arise, and put off the Hauberk from thee."
He looked at her wondering, not at her words, but at the voice wherewith she spake them; but he arose from the stone nevertheless, and stood stark in the moonlight; he set his hand to the collar of the war-coat, and undid its clasps, which were of gold and blue stones, and presently he did the coat from off him and let it slide to the ground where it lay in a little grey heap that looked but a handful. Then he sat down on the stone again, and took her hand and kissed her and caressed her fondly, and she him again, and they spake no word for a while: but at the last he spake in measure and rhyme in a low voice, but so sweet and clear that it might have been heard far in the hush of the last hour of the night:
"Dear now are this dawn-dusk"s moments as is the last of the light When the foemen"s ranks are wavering, and the victory feareth night; And of all the time I have loved thee of these am I most fain, When I know not what shall betide me, nor what shall be my gain.
But dear as they are, they are waning, and at last the time is come When no more shall I behold thee till I wend to Odin"s Home.
Now is the time so little that once hath been so long That I fain would ask thee pardon wherein I have done thee wrong, That thy longing might be softer, and thy love more sweet to have.
But in nothing have I wronged thee, there is nought that I may crave.
Strange too! as the minutes fail me, so do my speech-words fail, Yet strong is the joy within me for this hour that crowns the tale."
Therewith he clipped her and caressed her, and she spake nothing for a while; and he said; "Thy face is fair and bright; art thou not joyous of these minutes?"
She said: "Thy words are sweet; but they pierce my heart like a sharp knife; for they tell me of thy death and the ending of our love."
Said he; "I tell thee nothing, beloved, that thou hast not known: is it not for this that we have met here once more?"
She answered after a while; "Yea, yea; yet mightest thou have lived."
He laughed, but not scornfully or bitterly and said:
"So thought I in time past: but hearken, beloved; If I fall to-day, shall there not yet be a minute after the stroke hath fallen on me, wherein I shall know that the day is won and see the foemen fleeing, and wherein I shall once again deem I shall never die, whatever may betide afterwards, and though the sword lieth deep in my breast? And shall I not see then and know that our love hath no end?"
Bitter grief was in her face as she heard him. But she spake and said: "Lo here the Hauberk which thou hast done off thee, that thy breast might be the nearer to mine! Wilt thou not wear it in the fight for my sake?"
He knit his brows somewhat, and said:
"Nay, it may not be: true it is that thou saidest that no evil weird went with it, but hearken! Yesterday I bore it in the fight, and ere I mingled with the foe, before I might give the token of onset, a cloud came before my eyes and thick darkness wrapped me around, and I fell to the earth unsmitten; and so was I borne out of the fight, and evil dreams beset me of evil things, and the dwarfs that hate mankind. Then I came to myself, and the Hauberk was off me, and I rose up and beheld the battle, that the kindreds were pressing on the foe, and I thought not then of any past time, but of the minutes that were pa.s.sing; and I ran into the fight straightway: but one followed me with that Hauberk, and I did it on, thinking of nought but the battle. Fierce then was the fray, yet I faltered in it; till the fresh men of the Romans came in upon us and broke up our array. Then my heart almost broke within me, and I faltered no more, but rushed on as of old, and smote great strokes all round about: no hurt I got, but once more came that ugly mist over my eyes, and again I fell unsmitten, and they bore me out of battle: then the men of our folk gave back and were overcome; and when I awoke from my evil dreams, we had gotten away from the fight and the Wolfing dwellings, and were on the mounds above the ford cowering down like beaten men.
There then I sat shamed among the men who had chosen me for their best man at the Holy Thing, and lo I was their worst! Then befell that which never till then had befallen me, that life seemed empty and worthless and I longed to die and be done with it, and but for the thought of thy love I had slain myself then and there.