William Morris

“ On my soul there lies no burden, and no tangle of the fight In plain or dale or wild-wood enmeshes now my sight. I see the Markmen's wain-burg, and I see their warriors go As men who wait for battle and the coming of the foe. And they pass 'twixt the wood and the wain-burg within earshot of the horn, But over the windy meadows no sound thereof is borne, And all is well amongst them. To the burg I draw anigh And I see all battle-banners in the breeze of morning fly, But no Wolfings round their banner and no warrior of the Shield, No Geiring and no Hrossing in the burg or on the field. ”

“ Then, muffled yet by the tree-boles, I hear the Shielding song, And warriors blithe and merry with the battle of the strong. Give back a little, Markmen, make way for men to pass To your ordered battle-dwelling o'er the trodden meadow-grass, For alive with men is the wild-wood and shineth with the steel, And hath a voice most merry to tell of the Kindreds' weal, 'Twixt each tree a warrior standeth come back from the spear-strewn way, And forth they come from the wild-wood and a little band are they. ”

“ Yet guests but ill-entreated; for they lack their shields of war, No spear in the hand they carry and with no sax are girt. Lo, these are the dreaded foemen, these once so strong to hurt; The men that all folk fled from, the swift to drive the spoil, The men that fashioned nothing but the trap to make men toil. ”