Therefore, Dalesman,
sing us a song of the Dale, and if ye will, let it be of gardens and
pleasant houses of stone, and fair damsels therein, and swains with
them who toil not over-much for a scant livelihood, as do they of the
waste, whose heads may not be seen in the Holy Places.'
Said Gold-mane: 'Father, it is ill to set the words of a lonely man
afar from his kin against the song that cometh from the heart of a
noble house; yet may I not gainsay thee, but will sing to thee what I
may call to mind, and it is called the Song of the Ford.'
Therewith he sang in a sweet and clear voice: and this is the
meaning of his words:
In hay-tide, through the day new-born,
Across the meads we come;
Our hauberks brush the blossomed corn
A furlong short of home.
Ere yet the gables we behold
Forth flasheth the red sun,
And smites our fallow helms and cold
Though all the fight be done.
In this last mend of mowing-grass
Sweet doth the clover smell,
Crushed neath our feet red with the pass
Where hell was blent with hell.
And now the willowy stream is nigh,
Down wend we to the ford;
No shafts across its fishes fly,
Nor flasheth there a sword.
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