The Roots of the Mountains. William Morris
he who would bicker, it must needs be with me. Here is a man of the Dale, who hath sought the wood in peace, and hath found us. His hand is ready and his heart is guileless: if ye fear him, run away to the wood, and come back when he is gone; but none shall mock him while I sit by: now, lads, be merry and blithe with the guest.’
Then the young men greeted Gold-mane, and the old man said: ‘Art thou of Burgstead? then wilt thou be of the House of the Face, and thy name will be Face-of-god; for that man is called the fairest of the Dale, and there shall be none fairer than thou.’
Face-of-god laughed and said: ‘There be but few mirrors in Burgdale, and I have no mind to journey west to the cities to see what manner of man I be: that were ill husbandry. But now I have heard the names of the three swains, tell me thy name, father!’
Spake the huntress: ‘This is my father’s brother, and his name is Wood-father; or ye shall call him so: and I am called Bow-may because I shoot well in the bow: and this old carline is my eme’s wife, and now belike my mother, if I need one. But thou, fair-faced Dalesman, little dost thou need a mirror in the Dale so long as women abide there; for their faces shall be instead of mirrors to tell thee whether thou be fair and lovely.’
Thereat they all laughed and fell to their victual, which was abundant, of wood-venison and mountain-fowl, but of bread was no great plenty; wine lacked not, and that of the best; and Gold-mane noted that the cups and the apparel of the horns and mazers were not of gold nor gilded copper, but of silver; and he marvelled thereat, for in the Dale silver was rare.
So they ate and drank, and Gold-mane looked ever on the Friend, and spake much with her, and he deemed her friendly indeed, and she seemed most pleased when he spoke best, and led him on to do so. Wild-wearer was but of few words, and those somewhat harsh; yet was he as a man striving to be courteous and blithe; but of the others Bow-may was the greatest speaker.
Wild-wearer called healths to the Sun, and the Moon, and the Hosts of Heaven; to the Gods of the Earth; to the Woodwights; and to the Guest. Other healths also he called, the meaning of which was dark to Gold-mane; to wit, the Jaws of the Wolf; the Silver Arm; the Red Hand; the Golden Bushel; and the Ragged Sword. But when he asked the Friend concerning these names what they might signify, she shook her head and answered not.
At last Wild-wearer cried out: ‘Now, lads, the night weareth and the guest is weary: therefore whoso of you hath in him any minstrelsy, now let him make it, for later on it shall be over-late.’
Then arose Wood-wont and went to his shut-bed and groped therein, and took from out of it a fiddle in its case; and he opened the case and drew from it a very goodly fiddle, and he stood on the floor amidst of the hall and Bow-may his cousin with him; and he laid his bow on the fiddle and woke up song in it, and when it was well awake she fell a-singing, and he to answering her song, and at the last all they of the house sang together; and this is the meaning of the words which they sang:
She singeth.
Now is the rain upon the day,
And every water’s wide;
Why busk ye then to wear the way,
And whither will ye ride?
He singeth.
Our kine are on the eyot still,
The eddies lap them round;
All dykes the wind-worn waters fill,
And waneth grass and ground.
She singeth.
O ride ye to the river’s brim
In war-weed fair to see?
Or winter waters will ye swim
In hauberks to the knee?
He singeth.
Wild is the day, and dim with rain,
Our sheep are warded ill;
The wood-wolves gather for the plain,
Their ravening maws to fill.
She singeth.
Nay, what is this, and what have ye,
A hunter’s band, to bear
The Banner of our Battle-glee
The skulking wolves to scare?
He singeth.
O women, when we wend our ways
To deal with death and dread,
The Banner of our Fathers’ Days
Must flap the wind o’erhead.
She singeth.
Ah, for the maidens that ye leave!
Who now shall save the hay?
What grooms shall kiss our lips at eve,
When June hath mastered May?
He singeth.
The wheat is won, the seed is sown,
Here toileth many a maid,
And ere the hay knee-deep hath grown
Your grooms the grass shall wade.
They sing all together.
Then fair befall the mountain-side
Whereon the play shall be!
And fair befall the summer-tide
That whoso lives shall see.
Face-of-god thought the song goodly, but to the others it was well known. Then said Wood-father:
‘O foster-son, thy foster-brother hath sung well for a wood abider; but we are deeming that his singing shall be but as a starling to a throstle matched against thy new-come guest. Therefore, Dalesman, sing us a song of the Dale, and if ye will, let it be of gardens and pleasant houses of stone, and fair damsels therein, and swains with them who toil not over-much for a scant livelihood, as do they of the waste, whose heads may not be seen in the Holy Places.’
Said Gold-mane: ‘Father, it is ill to set the words of a lonely man afar from his kin against the song that cometh from the heart of a noble house; yet may I not gainsay thee, but will sing to thee what I may call to mind, and it is called the Song of the Ford.’
Therewith he sang in a sweet and clear voice: and this is the meaning of his words:
In hay-tide, through the day new-born,
Across the meads we come;
Our hauberks brush the blossomed corn
A furlong short of home.
Ere yet the gables we behold
Forth flasheth the red sun,
And smites our fallow helms and cold
Though all the fight be done.
In this last mend of mowing-grass
Sweet doth the clover smell,
Crushed neath our feet red with the pass
Where hell was blent with hell.
And now the willowy stream is nigh,
Down wend we to the ford;
No shafts across its fishes fly,
Nor flasheth there a sword.
But lo! what gleameth on the bank
Across the water wan,
As when our blood the mouse-ear drank
And red the river ran?
Nay, hasten to the ripple clear,
Look at the grass beyond!
Lo ye the dainty band and dear
Of maidens fair and fond!
Lo how they needs must take the stream!
The water hides