The Roots of the Mountains<br />Wherein Is Told Somewhat of the Lives of the Men of Burgdale, Their by William Morris (best sales books of all time .txt) 📗

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;
p. 46All 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,
p. 47And 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.

p. 48In 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 their feet;
On fair kind arms the gold doth gleam,
   And midst the ford we meet.

Up through the garden two and two,
   And on the flowers we drip;
Their wet feet kiss the morning dew
   As lip lies close to lip.

Here now we sing; here now we stay:
   By these grey walls we tell
The love that lived from out the fray,
   The love that fought and fell.

When he was done they all said that he had sung well, and p. 49that the song was sweet.  Yet did Wild-wearer smile somewhat; and Bow-may said outright: ‘Soft is the song, and hath been made by lads and minstrels rather than by warriors.’

‘Nay, kinswoman,’ said Wood-father, ‘thou art hard to please; the guest is kind, and hath given us that I asked for, and I give him all thanks therefor.’

Face-of-god smiled, but he heeded little what they said, for as he sang he had noted that the Friend looked kindly on him; and he thought he saw that once or twice she put out her hand as if to touch him, but drew it back again each time.  She spake after a little and said:

‘Here now hath been a stream of song running betwixt the Mountain and the Dale even as doth a river; and this is good to come between our dreams of what hath been and what shall be.’  Then she turned to Gold-mane, and said to him scarce loud enough for all to hear:

‘Herewith I bid thee good-night, O Dalesman; and this other word I have to thee: heed not what befalleth in the night, but sleep thy best, for nought shall be to thy scathe.  And when thou wakest in the morning, if we are yet here, it is well; but if we are not, then abide us no long while, but break thy fast on the victual thou wilt find upon the board, and so depart and go thy ways home.  And yet thou mayst look to it to see us again before thou diest.’

Therewith she held out her hand to him, and he took it and kissed it; and she went to her chamber-aloft at the lower end of the hall.  And when she was gone, once more he had a deeming of her that she was of the kindred of the Gods.  At her departure him-seemed that the hall grew dull and small and smoky, and the night seemed long to him and doubtful the coming of the day.

p. 50CHAPTER VII.  FACE-OF-GOD TALKETH WITH THE FRIEND ON THE MOUNTAIN.

So now went all men to bed; and Face-to-god’s shut-bed was over against the outer door and toward the lower end of the hall, and on the panel about it hung the weapons and shields of men.  Fair was that chamber and roomy, and the man was weary despite his eagerness, so that he went to sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow; but within a while (he deemed about two hours after midnight) he was awaked by the clattering of the weapons against the panel, and the sound of men’s hands taking them down; and when he was fully awake, he heard withal men going up and down the house as if on errands: but he called to mind what the Friend had said to him, and he did not so much as turn himself toward the hall; for he said: ‘Belike these men are outlaws and Wolves of the Holy Places, yet by seeming they are good fellows and nought churlish, nor have I to do with taking up the feud against them.  I will abide the morning.  Yet meseemeth that she drew me hither: for what cause?’

Therewith he fell asleep again, and dreamed no more.  But when he awoke the sun was shining broad upon the hall-floor, and he sat up and listened, but could hear no sound save the moaning of the wind in the pine-boughs and the chatter of the starlings about the gables of the house; and the place seemed so exceeding lonely to him that he was in a manner feared by that loneliness.

Then he arose and clad himself, and went forth into the hall and gazed about him, and at first he deemed indeed that there was no one therein.  But at last he looked and beheld the upper gable and there underneath a most goodly hanging was the glorious shape of a woman sitting on a bench covered over with a cloth of gold and silver; and he looked and looked to see if the woman might stir, and if she were alive, and she turned her head toward him, and lo it was the Friend; and his heart rose to his mouth for wonder and fear and desire.  For now he doubted whether the p. 51other folk were aught save shows and shadows, and she the Goddess who had fashioned them out of nothing for his bewilderment, presently to return to nothing.

Yet whatever he might fear or doubt, he went up the hall towards her till he was quite nigh to her, and there he stood silent, wondering at her beauty and desiring her kindness.

Grey-eyed she was like her brother; but her hair the colour of red wheat: her lips full and red, her chin round, her nose fine and straight.  Her hands and all her body fashioned exceeding sweetly and delicately; yet not as if she were an image of which the like might be found if the craftsman were but deft enough to make a perfect thing, but in such a way that there was none like to her for those that had eyes to behold her as she was; and none could ever be made like to her, even by such a master-craftsman as could fashion a body without a blemish.

She was clad in a white smock, whose hems were broidered with gold wire and precious gems of the Mountains, and over that a gown woven of gold and silver: scarce hath the world such another.  On her head was a fillet of gold and gems, and there were wondrous gold rings on her arms: her feet lay bare on the dark grey wolf-skin that was stretched before her.

She smiled kindly upon his solemn and troubled face, and her voice sounded strangely familiar to him coming from all that loveliness, as she said: ‘Hail, Face-of-god! here am I left alone, although I deemed last night that I should be gone with the others.  Therefore am I fain to show myself to thee in fairer array than yesternight; for though we dwell in the wild-wood, from the solace of folk, yet are we not of thralls’ blood.  But come now, I bid thee break thy fast and talk with me a little while; and then shalt thou depart in peace.’

Spake Face-of-god, and his voice trembled as he spake: ‘What art thou?  Last night I deemed at whiles once and again that thou wert of the Gods; and now that I behold thee thus, and it is broad daylight, and of those others is no more to be seen p. 52than if they had never lived, I cannot but deem that it is even so, and that thou comest from the City that shall never perish.  Now if thou be a goddess, I have nought to pray thee, save to slay me speedily if thou hast a mind for my death.  But if thou art a woman—’

She broke in: ‘Gold-mane, stay thy prayer and hold thy peace for this time, lest thou repent when repentance availeth not.  And this I say because I am none of the Gods nor akin to them, save far off through the generations, as art