To those on whom the world’s good word should fall

  So sailing on ere eve of the sixth day

  The shipmen saw King Jonaks land ahead

  And in the morning midmost of a bay

  Beset by mountains blue on either hand

  They saw his city and made haste to stand

  Toward shore, and ever as they neared the same

  On every ship raised banners of great fame

  And o’er the shield-hung sides hung cloths of gold

  And made the minstrels sweet & soft tunes sing –

  And all men were arrayed fair to behold

  Yet without sign of any warlike thing

  As toward the town they sailed forth triumphing

  Save only that Prince Randver now was clad

  In all the daintiest war-gear that he had

  A rich and goodly place it seemed to be

  Ships of strange fashion thronged the haven there

  And noble houses stood anigh the sea

  And up the slopes rose wall and tower fair

  Guarding the many homes that therein were

  From war and wrong – then Bikki spake & said

  A Peaceful place mid the worlds drearihead –

  Were it not good fair lord in such a place

  Neath this fair sky a little while to dwell

  Beholding through the long days hours some face

  Though lovest most of all, that loved thee well

  Letting the world go its wild ways to tell

  Wild stories of the cruel hearts and strong

  That weigh the world down with resistless wrong

  Nought answered Randver, but with face a-glow

  Went forward for betwixt the craft that lay

  Thick in the haven passed the galley now

  And he felt happy and the sunny day

  Seemed rife with hope as in time past away

  When each new waking up was bright & strange

  And in his own right hand lay all life’s change

  And now ashore with all their state they went

  And as along the much thronged street they passed

  Folk wondered much what all this glory meant

  And many a look on Randver maidens cast

  And well nigh deemed that now belike at last

  Some God long worshipped all unseen had come

  To look upon his people in their home

  So in the Kings hall were they made good cheer

  When they had named themselves and land and lord

  And word was given then that the King would hear

  Their speech if they had brought him any word

  Concerning peaceful dealings or the sword

  The morrow morn when rested they should be

  By food and sleep from tossing on the sea

  But the next morn in great state were they brought

  Unto the King and Bikki on the way

  Spake unto Randver – What is now thy thought

  Concerning that which we shall see today

  Is not this like an old dream passed away

  And half forgotten – hark how the bells ring

  Most certainly this is a mighty King

  Yet is thy father mightier – she may live

  A noble life this maiden – red as blood

  Waxed Randver as some answer he did give

  Of little import; for it. seemed nought good

  That any man should know each changing mood

  As this man knew it and in pitying tone

  Had Bikki spoken een as he had known

  The swelling pity in the prince’s heart

  Then Bikki spake again –Yea and thou too

  Art born methinks to play a noble part

  Who thinking not of that which thou shalt do

  Shall some day find thyself betwixt the two,

  Sorrow and ease, and scarcely made thy choice –

  Thy heart a maid great hearted shall rejoice

  Then Randver would have answered but withal

  Out blared the trumpets and the street they turned

  Into the square that lay before the hall

  Upon the steps whereof the bright sun burned

  With steel & gold – and sorely Randver yearned

  Even as one would see his lady by

  When some great deed he doeth mightily

  But in the hall deep shadowed did they wend

  And as one in a dream did Randver see

  A throne adown the steel groves nether end

  Whereon there sat arrayed majestically

  A black haired man not great and by his knee

  Upon the marble steps a youth there sat

  Black-haired and short, & yet well-knit withat

  But by the Kings right had stood two men more

  Younger it seemed and of most mighty make

  Who with fierce grey eyes looked the Goth-folk oer

  As though they had been ever fain to take

  The spear and shield and deadly strife to wake

  With men so well arrayed – yet did he gaze

  Still as one dreaming for a woman’s face

  And lo upon the Kings left hand did there sit one,

  A woman crowned upon a chair of state

  From whose great eyes all restless grief was gone

  Whose hands were folded ever as to wait

  The hands that came not from the bonds of fate

  Kind red her 1ips were yet, nor grown all white

  The golden hair once wrought for mans delight

  Yea kind the eves beneath the wrinkled brow

  Above the cheeks grown hollow colourless

  That once were like the sky of dawn aglow.

  Then many a thought on Randvers dream did press

  Scarce knew he if to fear or pity or bless

  For Gudrun Giukis daughter there he knew

  And all the wild days she had laboured through

  No other woman there he saw and while

  He pondered dreamily on many a thing

  Across King Jonaks face there came the smile

  That well befits the visage of a king

  When all his life goes forward triumphing

  And down the hall his voice came round and fair

  Meet for the glory that was gathered there

  Good welcome to you Goths, and chief of all

  To thee King’s Son whether thou camest here

  To pass fair days with us in festival

  Or weighty matters of goodwill dost bear

  Yea welcome still if news of war and fear

  Thou carriest since every man’s last day

  Awaits him unseen on his changing way

  Then Randver spake rather from memory still

  Of things that like a dream or an old tale

  Hung round him than from any present will

  All hail O King no news of war or bale

  We bring thee; yet are earnest to prevail

  In asking a great gift of thee, that yet

  Scarce shall a worthier man than this one get

  Who asketh thee thereof now. King men say

  That in thine house there dwelleth such an one

  That all the world holds not so fair a may

  And her we ask – is my speech well begun?

  For if not ere this glittering morning sun

  Has come to his full hight our oars shall smite

  The green waves of your haven into white

  Then spake King Jonak somewhat eagerly

  Yea for thyself then asketh thou this maid?

  There seemed a murmuring in the air anigh

  Why not why not as Randver spake and said

  The King my father all due things has weighed

  And deemeth nothing may fulfill his bliss

  Or cure past trouble save the gaining this.

  He sayeth also that thy realm is great

  And rich, abiding ever in good peace

  But biddeth thee take heed of wavering fate

  To look around and note the worlds disease

  And how the grey wolf howls through palaces

  Where once a great lord scarce might raise his voice

  Unless its sound should make the king rejoice

  Therewith he bides thee call to mind how oft

  Hermanaric’s crest through doubt and fear hath shone

  The banner of the Goths been raised aloft

  When some great folk must needs with day be done

  He asketh thee if thou wilt call him son

  And from his restful scabard draw his sword

  If evil threats thee with thy lightest word

  A little space was silence now, the while

  King Jonak with his exultation strove

  That he might answer like a king, a smile

  Somewhat the war-worn face of Bikki now did move

  And Randver’s eyes met Gudruns from above

  Upon with a doubtful gaze

  Where fear and pity yea e’en hate had place

  Then spake the King: thanks at the least we give

  To thee for thy fair speech prince – for thy sire

  Although we hope without his aid to live

  And rule our folk in peace yet we desire

  Beyond all things to draw unto us nigher

  So great a king whom all the world doth praise

  For his great heart and life & happy days

  Yet must we hold some counsel with our lords

  This day at least and making no delay

  Give thee thine answer in all loving words

  Whether we needs must answer year or nay

  So with good heart take our good cheer today

  And fair things for a memory of this morn

  Then forth on both sides were the fair gifts borne

  And mens eyes glistened such as looked for gain

  But twixt the King and Queen sat Randver now

  Amid fair talk although a restless pain

  Whose seed & root no troublous search would show

  Was at his heart and still on him did grow

  Craving to be alone a little while

  All things about him seemed so base & vile –

  All things save Gudrun who in kindly wise

  Sat hearkening; whose faint smile would die away

  At whiles een as the shimmering sunlight dies

  About the noon of some wild rainy day

  At whiles she seemed as she her hand would lay

  On his caressingly then with a frown

  And helpless look would let her hand fall down

  But howsoev er betwixt these twain it went

  Or Bikki watching them – oer long it were

  To tell of all the glee wherein was spent

  That summer day joyous seemed all folk there

  Nor had the Goths seen anything more fair

  Than the Kings house arrayed all suddenly

  For feast as if for men who need should die

  So wore the day until the sun was low

  And Randver in his chamber sat alone

  At last, and felt the scented west wind blow

  From out the garden hearkening to the moan

  Of the low surf, and song or thrushes grown

  Oer joyous with the coming of the dew

  And the late wildered bees that scantly flew

  From lily-flower to lime tree: sitting so

  And pondering did one smite upon the door

  And entering bowed before him bid him know

  That fain the Queen was ere the day was oer

  To show him twixt the palace & the shore

  How fair the birds sang – so he went with him

  Just as the sea sucked down the suns last rim

  A little time they went whenas they met

  Gudrun and he alone between the trees

  Not speaking much until a hand she set

  Upon his shoulder and said Would the seas

  Had been red flame to stay you, that some peace

  I might have gained this latter end of life

  O me O me again beginneth strife –

  He shuddered and said Thou knowest not

  For thou art young art young – all hope thou hast

  I know thee that thy heart may well grow hot

  With the sweet poison that for me is past

  So long ago – poor man thou shalt be cast

  Into an endless sea of strife and ill

  And good it were if I might save thee still

  Lady he said I wot not of thy words

  What they should mean! my life is scarce begun

  I think indeed to try me mid the swords

  When this vain day of court-serving is done

  But then what then – all life beneath the sun

  Is full of risk and trouble little ruth

  Is due to me slain mid the swords forsooth

  Hearken she said thou seemest true and brave

  Though thou mayst deem but raving that I say

  A wise man and a true nearby I have

  Called Ulf the red, at morn of this Same day

  His long-ship ready for fair cruising lay

  Nor did he stop save this same feast to see

  Now him and his and life I give to thee –

  He started surely said he this I know

  That thou wouldst have me straightway get me gone

  And in my mind a glimmering thought doth grow

  That thou for some cause deemst me such an one

  That I should cheat the man who sent his son

  To win him bliss and honour – hastily

  I speak, for haste within thy words doth lie

  O haste enow she said else might I tell

  A many signs to thee whereby I deem

  That most strong longing on thy spirit fell

  Ere thou mighst know it fostered by some dream

  Awake or sleeping or words that did seem

  To hold up hope or pleasure to thine eyes

  How should I tell – but born in dreadful wise.

  He said tomorrow would I answer thee

  Fain would I commune with myself this night

  Nay ere men sleep begins the misery

  O man O man when thou hast her in thy sight

  How shalt thou bear to let that dear delight

  Pass without thee adown lifes dismal road

  How shalt thou bear the unhelped lonely load

  How sweet the eve was – twixt the garden trees

  The new risen moon showed now and sweeter scent

  The lily cast forth neath the dewy breeze

  And round their heads flittering the dusk bats went

  He hearkened and knew all her swift words meant

  But sweet and sweet and sweet they seemed him

  No pain there seemed in them however dim

  His heat beat quick as with some joy new gained

  As silent there he stood awhile, the night

  Strode on apace and the light west wind waned

  And she stood silent watching him till bright

  The house gan glow with new lit light on light

  And noise of much folk hurrying to the hall

  For well nigh ready was the festival –

  Then spake she in a low hard voice voice vain love –

  The vain love of my life and vainer still

  The life that nothing other folk may move –

  O Gods that make alive that ye may kill

  And give that ye may take away your will

  In other worlds should needs work something good

  Since here your chosen dwell mid tears & blood.

  And now the last the image of old days

  Drifts from me into mortal change & strife

  Where this man seeing but flower tangled ways

  Pitys not her nor me nor his own life

  And Sigurd has no memory of the wife

  Ah not his love but she who dwelt with him

  Ere yet the glory of the world waxed dim

  Ah me how kind how kind I might have been –

  Had I been loved – She sought his dreaming eyes

  Amid the the soft nights gathering dusk of green

  Until strange passion in her breast gan rise

  And on his breast she laid in eager wise

  A trembling hand and cried not all so ill

  Thou choosest son – short life with woe to fill

  And be beloved & be beloved as I

  Was never loved who yet for all good peace

  I might would cast no longing by

  Nor change my misery for the world’s increase

  Of all good things – O we at least with these

  Will deal not waiting dully for the tide

  When stripped and shivering death we must abide

  Then from the palace out the trumpets blared

  And growing clamour came across the night

  And through the trees afar the torches flared

  As seeking betwixt rose & lily white

  The King’s folk went – Hearken she said delight

  Awaiteth many a careless man this eve

  And thou – thou goest thither to receive

  A strange new life that beareth death withal

  For doubt thou not thy wooing well hath sped

  And on thine offer King and lords did fall

  As falls a starving man on new baked bread –

  I hate thee not yet would thou hadst been dead

  A month agone would that the Gothic land

  Lay waste and kingless neath some conquerors hand

  Ah me I rave yet hearken once again

  That councillor that on thy right stood

  Either my ancient foresight is all vain

  Or thou and I from him may hope no good –

  I know the eyes and mouth that thirst for blood

  Then as one wakened toward her Randver turned

  And in his eyes a strange and new light burned

  He spake: Thanks have thou O great hearted Queen

  For all thy words – natheless thou wrongest me,

  Whatever idle dreams in me have been,

  If still thou deemest that on thine and thee

  My hands shall lay the weight of misery

  For though thy Swanhilds loveliness should move

  My dreamy fiery heart to utter love

  Yet fear me not for I might live worse life

  Than such a love about with me to bear

  To make my hands the stronger in all strife

  And make my heart the freer from all fear

  Since I should care nought for what most men care

  Perchance at last to fall asleep and find

  That she at last was grown mine own and kind

  Be merrier Queen for where she goeth indeed

  May I not serve her as a very friend

  Where not unlike it is that she shall need

  True heart to help her ere her life days end

  So that we twain unto deaths door may wend

 

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