The land lies black1
With winter’s lack,2
The wind blows cold3
Round field and fold ;4
All folk are within,5
And but weaving they win.6
Where from finger to finger the shuttle flies fast,7
And the eyes of the singer look fain on the cast,8
As he singeth the story of summer undone9
And the barley-sheaves hoary ripe under the sun.10
Then the maidens stay11
The light hung sley,12
And the shuttles bide13
By the blue web’s side ;14
While hand in hand15
With the carles they stand.16
But ere to the measure the fiddles strike up,17
And the elders yet treasure the last of the cup,18
There stand they a-hearkening the blast from the lift,19
And e’en night is a-darkening more under the drift.20
There safe in the hall21
They bless the wall,22
And the roof o’er head23
Of the valiant stead ;24
And the hands they praise25
Of the olden days.26
Then through the storm’s roaring the fiddles break out,27
And they think not of warring, but cast away doubt,28
And, man before maiden, their feet tread the floor,29
And their hearts are unladen of all that they bore.30
But what winds are o’er-cold31
For the heart of the bold ?32
What seas are o’er-high33
For the undoomed to die ?34
Dark night and dread wind,35
But the haven we find.36
Then ashore mid the flurry of stone-washing surf
!37
Cloud-hounds the moon worry, but light lies the turf
;38
Lo the long dale before us ! the lights at the end,39
Though the night darkens o’er us, bid whither to wend.40
Who beateth the door41
By the foot-smitten floor ?42
What guests are these43
From over the seas ?44
Take shield and sword45
For their greeting-word.46
Lo, lo, the dance ended ! Lo, midst of the hall47
The fallow blades blended ! Lo, blood on the wall
!48
Who liveth, who dieth ? O men of the sea,49
For peace the folk crieth : our masters are ye.50
Now the dale lies grey51
At the dawn of day ;52
And fair feet pass53
O’er the wind-worn grass ;54
And they turn back to gaze55
On the roof of old days.56
Come tread ye the oaken floored hall of the sea !57
Be your hearts yet unbroken ; so fair as ye be,58
That kings are abiding unwedded to gain59
The news of our riding the steeds of the main.60