And quencheth their laughter and crieth on all,

As it rolleth round rafter and beam of the Hall,

Like the speech of the thunder-cloud tangled on high,

When the mountain-halls sunder as dread goeth by.

     “So they throw the door wide

   Of the Hall where they bide,

   And to murmuring song

   Turns that voice of the wrong,

   And the Gods wait a-gaze

   For that Wearer of Ways:

   For they know he hath gone

   A long journey alone.

Now his feet are they hearkening, and now is he come,

With his battle-wounds darkening the door of his home,

Unbyrnied, unshielded, and lonely he stands,

And the sword that he wielded is gone from his hands—

Hands outstretched and bearing no spoil of the fight,

As speechless, unfearing, he stands in their sight.

     “War-father gleams

   Where the white light streams

   Round kings of old

   All red with gold,

   And the Gods of the name

   With joy aflame.

   All the ancient of men

   Grown glorious again:

Till the Slains-father crieth aloud at the last:

‘Here is one that belieth no hope of the past!

No weapon, no treasure of earth doth he bear,

No gift for the pleasure of Godhome to share;

But life his hand bringeth, well cherished, most sweet;

And hark! the Hall singeth the Folk-wolf to greet!’

     “As the rain of May

   On earth’s happiest day,

   So the fair flowers fall

   On the sun-bright Hall

   As the Gods rise up

   With the greeting-cup,

   And the welcoming crowd

   Falls to murmur aloud.

Then the God of Earth speaketh; sweet-worded he saith,

‘Lo, the Sun ever seeketh Life fashioned of death;

And to-day as he turneth the wide world about

On Wolf-stead he yearneth; for there without doubt

Dwells the death-fashioned story, the flower of all fame.

Come hither new Glory, come Crown of the Name!’”

  All men’s hearts rose high as he sang, and when he had ended arose the clang of sword and shield and went ringing down the meadow, and the mighty shout of the Markmen’s joy rent the heavens: for in sooth at that moment they saw Thiodolf, their champion, sitting among the Gods on his golden chair, sweet savours around him, and sweet sound of singing, and he himself bright-faced and merry as no man on earth had seen him, for as joyous a man as he was.

  But when the sound of their exultation sank down, the Hall-Sun spake again:

  “Now wendeth the sun westward, and weary grows the Earth

Of all the long day’s doings in sorrow and in mirth;

And as the great sun waneth, so doth my candle wane,

And its flickering flame desireth to rest and die again.

Therefore across the meadows wend we aback once more

To the holy Roof of the Wolfings, the shrine of peace and war.

And these that once have loved us, these warriors images,

Shall sit amidst our feasting, and see, as the Father sees

The works that men-folk fashion and the rest of toiling hands,

When his eyes look down from the mountains and the heavens above all lands,

And up from the flowery meadows and the rolling deeps of the sea.

There then at the feast with our champions familiar shall we be

As oft we are with the Godfolk, when in story-rhymes and lays

We laugh as we tell of their laughter, and their deeds of other days.

  “Come then, ye sons of the kindreds who hither bore these twain!

Take up their beds of glory, and fare we home again,

And feast as men delivered from toil unmeet to bear,

Who through the night are looking to the dawn-tide fresh and fair

And the morn and the noon to follow, and the eve and its morrow morn,

All the life of our deliv’rance and the fair days yet unborn.”

  So she spoke, and a murmur arose as those valiant men came forth again.  But lo, now were they dight in fresh and fair raiment and gleaming war-array.  For while all this was a-doing and a-saying, they had gotten them by the Hall-Sun’s bidding unto the wains of their Houses, and had arrayed them from the store therein.

  So now they took up the biers, and the Hall-Sun led them, and they went over the meadow before the throng of the kindreds, who followed them duly ordered, each House about its banner; and when they were come through the garth which the Romans had made to the Man’s-door of the Hall, there were the women of the House freshly attired, who cast flowers on the living men of the host, and on the dead War-dukes, while they wept for pity of them.  So went the freemen of the Houses into the Hall, following the Hall-Sun, and the bearers of the War-dukes; but the banners abode without in the garth made by the Romans; and the thralls arrayed a feast for themselves about the wains of the kindreds in the open place before their cots and the smithying booths and the byres.

  And as the Hall-Sun went into the Hall, she thrust down the candle against the threshold of the Man’s-door, and so quenched it.

  Long were the kindreds entering, and when they were under the Roof of the Wolfings, they looked and beheld Thiodolf set in his chair once more, and Otter set beside him; and the chiefs and leaders of the House took their places on the dais, those to whom it was due, and the Hall-Sun sat under the wondrous Lamp her namesake.

  Now was the glooming falling upon the earth; but the Hall was bright within even as the Hall-Sun had promised.  Therein was set forth the Treasure of the Wolfings; fair cloths were hung on the walls, goodly broidered garments on the pillars: goodly brazen cauldrons and fair-carven chests were set down in nooks where men could see them well, and vessels of gold and silver were set all up and down the tables of the feast.  The pillars also were wreathed with flowers, and flowers hung garlanded from the walls over the precious hangings; sweet gums and spices were burning in fair-wrought censers of brass, and so many candles were alight under the Roof, that scarce had it looked more ablaze when the Romans had litten the faggots therein for its burning amidst the hurry of the Morning Battle.