William Morris

“ Then fair shall it fall in the furrow, and some the earth shall speed, And the sons of men shall marvel at the blossom of the deed: But some the earth shall speed not; nay rather, the wind of the heaven Shall waft it away from thy longing—and a gift to the Gods hast thou given, And a tree for the roof and the wall in the house of the hope that shall be, Though it seemeth our very sorrow, and the grief of thee and me. "Strive not with the fools of man-folk: for belike thou shalt overcome; And what then is the gain of thine hunting when thou bearest the quarry home? ”

“ No longer can I think upon the earth, Have I not done with all its grief and mirth? Yes, I was Ogier once, but if my love Should come once more my dying heart to move, Then must she come from 'neath the milk-white walls Whereon to-day the hawthorn blossom falls Outside St. Omer's—art thou she? her name I could remember once mid death and fame Is clean forgotten now; but yesterday, Meseems, our son, upon her bosom lay: Baldwin the fair—what hast thou done with him Since Charlot slew him? Ah, mine eyes wax dim; Woman, forbear! wilt thou not let me die? Did I forget thee in the days gone by? ”

“ Behold it, love, and thy keen eyes may trace Faint figures wrought upon the ruddy gold; My father dying gave it me, nor told The manner of its making, but I know That it can make thee e'en as thou art now Despite the laws of God—shrink not from me Because I give an impious gift to thee— Has not God made me also, who do this? But I, who longed to share with thee my bliss, Am of the fays, and live their changeless life, And, like the gods of old, I see the strife That moves the world, unmoved if so I will; For we the fruit, that teaches good and ill, Have never touched like you of Adam's race ”

“ And now, O mighty Sigmund, wherewith shall we name thy son?" But there rose up a man most ancient, and he cried: "Hail Dawn of the Day! How many things shalt thou quicken, how many shalt thou slay! How many things shalt thou waken, how many lull to sleep! How many things shalt thou scatter, how many gather and keep! O me, how thy love shall cherish, how thine hate shall wither and burn! How the hope shall be sped from thy right hand, nor the fear to thy left return! O thy deeds that men shall sing of! O thy deeds that the Gods shall see! O SIGURD, Son of the Volsungs, O Victory yet to be!" ”

“ A noble and plentiful house, that a little men-folk fear, But beloved of the crag-dwelling eagles and the kin of the woodland deer. A man of few words was Gripir, but he knew of all deeds that had been, And times there came upon him, when the deeds to be were seen: No sword had he held in his hand since his father fell to field, And against the life of the slayer he bore undinted shield: Yet no fear in his heart abided, nor desired he aught at all, But he noted the deeds that had been, and looked for what should befall. ”

“ Long Sigurd sat and marvelled at the mouth that might not lie, And the eyes no God had blinded, and the lone heart raised on high, Then he rose from the gleaming high-seat, and the rings of battle rang And the sheathèd Wrath was hearkening and a song of war it sang, But Sigurd spake unto Gripir: "Long and lovely are thy days, And thy years fulfilled of wisdom, and thy feet on the unhid ways, And the guileless heart of the great that knoweth not anger nor pain: So once hath a man been fashioned and shall not be again. ”

“ Folk say, a wizard to a northern king At Christmas-tide such wondrous things did show, That through one window men beheld the spring, And through another saw the summer glow, And through a third the fruited vines a-row, While still, unheard, but in its wonted way, Piped the drear wind of that December day. So with this Earthly Paradise it is, If ye will read aright, and pardon me, Who strive to build a shadowy isle of bliss Midmost the beating of the steely sea, Where tossed about all hearts of men must be: Whose ravening monsters mighty men shall slay, Not the poor singer of an empty day. ”

“ And he spake: "Hast thou hearkened, Sigurd, wilt thou help a man that is old To avenge him for his father? Wilt thou win that Treasure of Gold And be more than the Kings of the earth? Wilt thou rid the earth of a wrong And heal the woe and the sorrow my heart hath endured o'erlong?" Then Sigurd looked upon him with steadfast eyes and clear, And Regin drooped and trembled as he stood the doom to hear: But the bright child spake as aforetime, and answered the Master and said: "Thou shalt have thy will, and the Treasure, and take the curse on thine head." ”

“ And the face of a woman it is, and the fairest that ever was born, Shown forth to the empty heavens and the desert world forlorn: But he looketh, and loveth her sore, and he longeth her spirit to move, And awaken her heart to the world, that she may behold him and love. And he toucheth her breast and her hands, and he loveth her passing sore; And he saith: "Awake! I am Sigurd;" but she moveth never the more. Then he looked on his bare bright blade, and he said: "Thou—what wilt thou do? For indeed as I came by the war-garth thy voice of desire I knew." ”

“ But as fair and great as thou standest, yet get thee from mine house, For in me too might ariseth, and the place is perilous With the craft that was aforetime, and shall never be again, When the hands that have taught thee cunning have failed from the world of men. Thou art wroth; but thy wrath must slumber till fate its blossom bear; Not thus were the eyes of Odin when I held him in the snare. Depart! lest the end overtake us ere thy work and mine be done, But come again in the night-tide and the slumber of the sun, When the sharded moon of April hangs round in the undark May. ”

“ But while our longing for such things so grew, And ever more and more we deemed them true, Upon the land a pestilence there fell Unheard of yet in any chronicle, And, as the people died full fast of it, With these two men it chanced me once to sit, This learned squire whose name was Nicholas, And Swabian Laurence, as our manner was; For could we help it scarcely did we part From dawn to dusk: so heavy, sad at heart, We from the castle-yard beheld the bay Upon that ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, Little we said amidst that dreary mood, And certes nought that we could say was good. ”

“ If my father hath made me mighty, thine heart shall I fulfill With the wisdom and gold thou wouldest, before I wend on my ways; For now hast thou failed me nought, and the sword is the wonder of days." No word for a while spake Regin; but he hung his head adown As a man that pondereth sorely, and his voice once more was grown As the voice of the smithying-master as he spake: "This Wrath of thine Hath cleft the hard and the heavy; it shall shear the soft and the fine: Come forth to the night and prove it." ”