House of the Wolfings and how thou faredst there."
Said the Hall-Sun:
"I waxed 'neath the Roof of the Wolfings, till now to look upon I was of sixteen winters, and the love of the Folk I won, And in lovely weed they clad me like the image of a God: And lonely now full often the wild-wood ways I trod, And I feared no wild-wood creature, and my presence scared them nought; And I fell to know of wisdom, and within me stirred my thought, So that oft anights would I wander through the mead and far away, And swim the Mirkwood-water, and amidst his eddies play When earth was dark in the dawn-tide; and over all the folk I knew of the beasts' desires, as though in words they spoke.
"So I saw of things that should be, were they mighty things or small, And upon a day as it happened came the war-word to the hall, And the House must wend to the warfield, and as they sang, and played With the strings of the harp that even, and the mirth of the war-eve made, Came the sight of the field to my eyes, and the words waxed hot in me, And I needs must show the picture of the end of the fight to be. Then I showed them the Red Wolf bristling o'er the broken fleeing foe; And the war-gear of the fleers, and their banner did I show, To wit the Ling-worm's image with the maiden in his mouth; There I saw my foster-father 'mid the pale blades of the South, Till aloof swept all the handplay and the hurry of the chase, And he lay along by an ash-tree, no helm about his face, No byrny on his body; and an arrow in his thigh, And a broken spear in his shoulder. Then I saw myself draw nigh To sing the song blood-staying. Then saw I how we twain Went 'midst of the host triumphant in the Wolfings' banner-wain, The black bulls lowing before us athwart the warriors' song, As up from Mirkwood-water we went our ways along To the Great Roof of the Wolfings, whence streamed the women out And the sound of their rejoicing blent with the warriors' shout.
"They heard me and saw the picture, and they wotted how wise I was grown, And they loved me, and glad were their hearts at the tale my lips had shown; And my body clad as an image of a God to the field they bore, And I held by the mast of the banner as I looked upon their war, And endured to see unblenching on the wind-swept sunny plain All the picture of my vision by the men-folk done again. And over my Foster-father I sang the staunching-song, Till the life-blood that was ebbing flowed back to his heart the strong, And we wended back in the war-wain 'midst the gleanings of the fight Unto the ancient dwelling and the Hall-Sun's glimmering light.
"So from that day henceforward folk hung upon my words, For the battle of the autumn, and the harvest of the swords; And e'en more was I loved than aforetime. So wore a year away, And heavy was the burden of the lore that on me lay.
"But my fosterer the Hall-Sun took sick at the birth of the year, And changed her life as the year changed, as summer drew anear. But she knew that her life was waning, and lying in her bed She taught me the lore of the Hall-Sun, and every word to be said At the trimming in the midnight and the feeding in the morn, And she laid her hands upon me ere unto the howe she was borne With the kindred gathered about us; and they wotted her weird and her will, And hailed me for the Hall-Sun when at last she lay there still. And they did on me the garment, the holy cloth of old, And the neck-chain wrought for the goddess, and the rings of the hallowed gold. So here am I abiding, and of things to be I tell, Yet know not what shall befall me nor why with the Wolfings I dwell."
Then said the carline:
"What seest thou, O daughter, of the journey of to-day? And why wendest thou not with the war-host on the battle-echoing way?"
Said the Hall-Sun.
"O mother, here dwelleth the Hall-Sun while the kin hath a dwelling- place, Nor ever again shall I look on the onset or the chase, Till the day when the Roof of the Wolfings looketh down on the girdle of foes, And the arrow singeth over the grass of the kindred's close; Till the pillars shake with the shouting and quivers the roof-tree dear, When the Hall of the Wolfings garners the harvest of the spear."
Therewith she stood on her feet and turned her face to the Great Roof, and gazed long at it, not heeding the crone by her side; and she muttered words of whose signification the other knew not, though she listened intently, and gazed ever at her as closely as might be.
Then fell the Hall-Sun utterly silent, and the lids closed over her eyes, and her hands were clenched, and her feet pressed hard on the daisies: her bosom heaved with sore sighs, and great tear-drops oozed from under her eyelids and fell on to her raiment and her feet and on to the flowery summer grass; and at the last her mouth opened and she spake, but in a voice that was marvellously changed from that she spake in before:
"Why went ye forth, O Wolfings, from the garth your fathers built, And the House where sorrow dieth, and all unloosed is guilt? Turn back, turn back, and behold it! lest your feet be over slow When your shields are heavy-burdened with the arrows of the foe; How ye totter, how ye stumble on the rough and corpse-strewn way! And lo, how the eve is eating the afternoon of day! O why are ye abiding till the sun is sunk in night And the forest trees are ruddy with the battle-kindled light? O rest not yet, ye Wolfings, lest void be your resting-place, And into lands that ye know not the Wolf must turn his face, And ye wander and ye wander till the land in the ocean cease, And your battle bring no safety and your labour no increase."
Then was she silent for a while, and her tears ceased to flow; but presently her eyes opened once more, and she lifted up her voice and cried aloud--
"I see, I see! O Godfolk behold it from aloof, How the little flames steal flickering along the ridge of the Roof! They are small and red 'gainst the heavens in the summer afternoon; But when the day is dusking, white, high shall they wave to the moon. Lo, the fire plays now on the windows like strips of scarlet cloth Wind-waved! but look in the night-tide on the onset of its wrath, How it wraps round the ancient timbers and hides the mighty roof But lighteth little crannies, so lost and far aloof, That no man yet of the kindred hath seen them ere to-night, Since first the builder builded in loving and delight!"
Then again she stayed her speech with weeping and sobbing, but after a while was still again, and then she spoke pointing toward the roof with her right hand.
"I see the fire-raisers and iron-helmed they are, Brown-faced about the banners that their hands have borne afar. And who in the garth of the kindred shall bear adown their shield Since the onrush of the Wolfings they caught in the open field, As the might of the mountain lion falls dead in the hempen net? O Wolfings, long have ye tarried, but the hour abideth yet. What life for the life of the people shall be given once for all, What sorrow shall stay sorrow in the half-burnt Wolfing Hall? There is nought shall quench the fire save the tears of the Godfolk's kin, And the heart of the life-delighter, and the life-blood cast therein."
Then once again she fell silent, and her eyes closed again, and the slow tears gushed out from them, and she sank down sobbing on the grass, and little by little the storm of grief sank and her head fell back, and she was as one quietly asleep. Then the carline hung over her and kissed her and embraced her; and then through her closed eyes and her slumber did the Hall-Sun see a marvel; for she who was kissing her was young in semblance and unwrinkled, and lovely to look on, with plenteous long hair of the hue of ripe barley, and clad in glistening raiment such as has been woven in no loom on earth.
And indeed it was the Wood-Sun in the semblance of a crone, who had come to gather wisdom of the coming time from the foreseeing of the Hall-Sun; since now at last she herself foresaw nothing of it, though she was of the kindred of the Gods and the Fathers of the Goths. So when she had heard the Hall-Sun she deemed that she knew but too well what her words meant, and what for love, what for sorrow, she grew sick at heart as she heard them.
So at last she arose and turned to look at the Great Roof; and strong and straight, and cool and dark grey showed its ridge against the pale sky of the summer
