Chapter 2 : 
Of The Wooing Of Hallbiorn The Strong
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Author : William Morris

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At Deildar-Tongue in the autumn-tide,  
So many times over comes summer again,  
Stood Odd of Tongue his door beside.  
What healing in summer if winter be vain?  
Dim and dusk the day was grown,  
As he heard his folded wethers moan.  
Then through the garth a man drew near,  
With painted shield and gold-wrought spear.  
Good was his horse and grand his gear,  
And his girths were wet with Whitewater.  
"Hail, Master Odd, live blithe and long!  
How fare the folk at Deildar-Tongue?"  
"All hail, thou Hallbiorn the Strong!  
How fare the folk by the Brothers'-Tongue?"  
"Meat have we there, and drink and fire,  
Nor lack all things that we desire.  
But by the other Whitewater  
Of Hallgerd many a tale we hear."  
"Tales enow may my daughter make  
If too many words be said for her sake."  
"What saith thine heart to a word of mine,  
That I deem thy daughter fair and fine?  
Fair and fine for a bride is she,  
And I fain would have her home with me."  
"Full many a word that at noon goes forth  
Comes home at even little worth.  
Now winter treadeth on autumn-tide,  
So here till the spring shalt thou abide.  
Then if thy mind be changed no whit,  
And ye still will wed, see ye to it!  
And on the first of summer days,  
A wedded man, ye may go your ways.  
Yet look, howso the thing will fall,  
My hand shall meddle naught at all.  
Lo, now the night and rain draweth up,  
And within doors glimmer stoop and cup.  
And hark, a little sound I know,  
The laugh of Snaebiorn's fiddle-bow,  
My sister's son, and a craftsman good,  
When the red rain drives through the iron wood."  
Hallbiorn laughed, and followed in,  
And a merry feast there did begin.  
Hallgerd's hands undid his weed,  
Hallgerd's hands poured out the mead.  
Her fingers at his breast he felt,  
As her hair fell down about his belt.  
Her fingers with the cup he took,  
And o'er its rim at her did look.  
Cold cup, warm hand, and fingers slim,  
Before his eyes were waxen dim.  
And if the feast were foul or fair,  
He knew not, save that she was there.  
He knew not if men laughed or wept,  
While still 'twixt wall and dais she stept.  
Whether she went or stood that eve,  
Not once his eyes her face did leave.  
But Snaebiorn laughed and Snaebiorn sang,  
And sweet his smitten fiddle rang.  
And Hallgerd stood beside him there,  
So many times over comes summer again,  
Nor ever once he turned to her,  
What healing in summer if winter be vain?  

Master Odd on the morrow spake,  
So many times over comes summer again.  
Hearken, O guest, if ye be awake,"  
What healing in summer if winter be vain?  
"Sure ye champions of the south  
Speak many things from a silent mouth.  
And thine, meseems, last night did pray  
That ye might well be wed to-day.  
The year's ingathering feast it is,  
A goodly day to give thee bliss.  
Come hither, daughter, fine and fair,  
Here is a Wooer from Whitewater.  
East away hath he gotten fame,  
And his father's name is e'en my names.  
Will ye lay hand within his hand,  
That blossoming fair our house may stand?"  
She laid her hand within his hand;  
White she was as the lily wand.  
Low sang Snaebiorn's brand in its sheath,  
And his lips were waxen gray as death.  
"Snaebiorn, sing us a song of worth,  
If your song must be silent from now henceforth."  
Clear and loud his voice outrang,  
And a song of worth at the wedding he sang.  
"Sharp sword," he sang, "and death is sure."  
So many times over comes summer again,  
"But love doth over all endure."  
What healing in summer if winter be vain?  

Now winter cometh and weareth away,  
So many times over comes summer again,  
And glad is Hallbiorn many a day.  
What healing in summer if winter be vain?  
Full soft he lay his love beside;  
But dark are the days of wintertide.  
Dark are the days, and the nights are long,  
And sweet and fair was Snaebiorn's song.  
Many a time he talked with her,  
Till they deemed the summer-tide was there.  
And they forgat the wind-swept ways  
And angry fords of the flitting-days.  
While the north wind swept the hillside there  
They forgat the other Whitewater.  
While nights at Deildar-Tongue were long,  
They clean forgat the Brothers'-Tongue.  
But whatso falleth 'twixt Hell and Home,  
So many times over comes summer again,  
Full surely again shall summer come.  
What healing in summer if winter be vain?  

To Odd spake Hallbiorn on a day  
So many times over comes summer again,  
"Gone is the snow from everyway."  
What healing in summer if winter be vain?  
Now green is grown Whitewater-side,  
And I to Whitewater will ride."  
Quoth Odd, "Well fare thou winter-guest,  
May thine own Whitewater be best.  
Well is a man's purse better at home  
Than open where folk go and come."  
"Come ye carles of the south country,  
Now shall we go our kin to see!  
For the lambs are bleating in the south,  
And the salmon swims towards Olfus mouth.  
Girth and graithe and gather your gear!  
And ho for the other Whitewater!"  
Bright was the moon as bright might be,  
And Snaebiorn rode to the north country.  
And Odd to Reykholt is gone forth,  
To see if his mares be ought of worth.  
But Hallbiorn into the bower is gone  
And there sat Hallgerd all alone.  
She was not dight to go nor ride  
She had no joy of the summer-tide.  
Silent she sat and combed her hair,  
That fell all round about her there.  
The slant beam lay upon her head,  
And gilt her golden locks to red.  
He gazed at her with hungry eyes  
And fluttering did his heart arise.  
"Full hot," he said, "is the sun to-day,  
And the snow is gone from the mountain-way.  
The king-cup grows above the grass,  
And through the wood do the thrushes pass."  
Of all his words she hearkened none,  
But combed her hair amid the sun.  
"The laden beasts stand in the garth  
And their heads are turned to Helliskarth."  
The sun was falling on her knee,  
And she combed her gold hair silently.  
"To-morrow great will be the cheer  
At the Brothers'-Tongue by Whitewater."  
From her folded lap the sunbeam slid;  
She combed her hair, and the word she hid.  
"Come, love; is the way so long and drear  
From Whitewater to Whitewater?"  
The sunbeam lay upon the floor;  
She combed her hair and spake no more.  
He drew her by the lily hand:  
"I love thee better than all the land."  
He drew her by the shoulders sweet:  
"My threshold is but for thy feet."  
He drew her by the yellow hair:  
"O why wert thou so deadly fair?  
"O am I wedded to death?" he cried  
"Is the Dead-strand come to Whitewater side?"  
And the sun was fading from the room,  
But her eyes were bright in the change and the gloom.  
"Sharp sword," she sang, "and death is sure,  
But over all doth love endure."  
She stood up shining in her place  
And laughed beneath his deadly face.  
Instead of the sunbeam gleamed a brand,  
The hilts were hard in Hallbiorn's hand:  
The bitter point was in Hallgerd's breast  
That Snaebiorn's lips of love had pressed.  
Morn and noon, and nones passed o'er,  
And the sun is far from the bower door.  
To-morrow morn shall the sun come back,  
So many times over comes summer again,  
But Hallgerd's feet the floor shall lack.  
What healing in summer if winter be vain?  

Now Hallbiorn's house-carles ride full fast,  
So many times over comes summer again,  
Till many a mile of way is past.  
What healing in summer if winter be vain?  
But when they came over Oxridges,  
'Twas, "Where shall we give our horses ease?"  
When Shieldbroad-side was 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 leaped 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 harbor for a hapless man.  
In all lands else is love alive,  
But here is naught with grief to strive.  
Fail not for a while, O eastern wind,  
For naught 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?  


     From : Marxists.org

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     Chapter 2 -- Added : February 26, 2021

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