Poems by the Way | Page 3

well in sight,?'Twas, "Where shall we lay our heads to-night?"?Hallbiorn turned and raised his head;?"Under the stones of the waste," he said.?Quoth one, "The clatter of hoofs anigh."?Quoth the other, "Spears against the sky!"?"Hither ride men from the Wells apace;?Spur we fast to a kindlier place."?Down from his horse leapt Hallbiorn straight:?"Why should the supper of Odin wait??Weary and chased I will not come?To the table of my fathers' home."?With that came Snaebiorn, who but he,?And twelve in all was his company.?Snaebiorn's folk were on their feet;?He spake no word as they did meet.?They fought upon the northern hill:?Five are the howes men see there still.?Three men of Snaebiorn's fell to earth?And Hallbiorn's twain that were of worth.?And never a word did Snaebiorn say,?Till Hallbiorn's foot he smote away.?Then Hallbiorn cried: "Come, fellow of mine,?To the southern bent where the sun doth shine."?Tottering into the sun he went,?And slew two more upon the bent.?And on the bent where dead he lay?Three howes do men behold to-day.?And never a word spake Snaebiorn yet,?Till in his saddle he was set.?Nor was there any heard his voice,?So many times over comes summer again,?Till he came to his ship in Grimsar-oyce.?What healing in summer if winter be vain?
On so fair a day they hoisted sail,?So many times over comes summer again,?And for Norway well did the wind avail.?What healing in summer if winter be vain??But Snaebiorn looked aloft and said:?"I see in the sail a stripe of red:?Murder, meseems, is the name of it?And ugly things about it flit.?A stripe of blue in the sail I see:?Cold death of men it seems to me.?And next I see a stripe of black,?For a life fulfilled of bitter lack."?Quoth one, "So fair a wind doth blow?That we shall see Norway soon enow."?"Be blithe, O shipmate," Snaebiorn said,?"Tell Hacon the Earl that I be dead."?About the midst of the Iceland main?Round veered the wind to the east again.?And west they drave, and long they ran?Till they saw a land was white and wan.?"Yea," Snaebiorn said, "my home it is,?Ye bear a man shall have no bliss.?Far off beside the Greekish sea?The maidens pluck the grapes in glee.?Green groweth the wheat in the English land?And the honey-bee flieth on every hand.?In Norway by the cheaping town?The laden beasts go up and down.?In Iceland many a mead they mow?And Hallgerd's grave grows green enow.?But these are Gunnbiorn's skerries wan?Meet harbour for a hapless man.?In all lands else is love alive,?But here is nought with grief to strive.?Fail not for a while, O eastern wind,?For nought but grief is left behind.?And before me here a rest I know,"?So many times over comes summer again,?"A grave beneath the Greenland snow,"?What healing in summer if winter be vain?
ECHOES OF LOVE'S HOUSE.
Love gives every gift whereby we long to live?"Love takes every gift, and nothing back doth give."
Love unlocks the lips that else were ever dumb:?"Love locks up the lips whence all things good might come."
Love makes clear the eyes that else would never see:?"Love makes blind the eyes to all but me and thee."
Love turns life to joy till nought is left to gain:?"Love turns life to woe till hope is nought and vain."
Love, who changest all, change me nevermore!?"Love, who changest all, change my sorrow sore!"
Love burns up the world to changeless heaven and blest,?"Love burns up the world to a void of all unrest."
And there we twain are left, and no more work we need:?"And I am left alone, and who my work shall heed?"
Ah! I praise thee, Love, for utter joyance won!?"And is my praise nought worth for all my life undone?"
THE BURGHERS' BATTLE.
Thick rise the spear-shafts o'er the land?That erst the harvest bore;?The sword is heavy in the hand,?And we return no more.?The light wind waves the Ruddy Fox,?Our banner of the war,?And ripples in the Running Ox,?And we return no more.?Across our stubble acres now?The teams go four and four;?But out-worn elders guide the plough,?And we return no more.?And now the women heavy-eyed?Turn through the open door?From gazing down the highway wide,?Where we return no more.?The shadows of the fruited close?Dapple the feast-hall floor;?There lie our dogs and dream and doze,?And we return no more.?Down from the minster tower to-day?Fall the soft chimes of yore?Amidst the chattering jackdaws' play:?And we return no more.?But underneath the streets are still;?Noon, and the market's o'er!?Back go the goodwives o'er the hill;?For we return no more.?What merchant to our gates shall come??What wise man bring us lore??What abbot ride away to Rome,?Now we return no more??What mayor shall rule the hall we built??Whose scarlet sweep the floor??What judge shall doom the robber's guilt,?Now we return no more??New houses in the streets shall rise?Where builded we before,?Of other stone wrought otherwise;?For we return no more.?And crops shall cover field and hill?Unlike what