Even so she stood before me; the icy wind blew her
raiment round about her, and drifted the hair from her garlanded head
toward me, and she as fair and fresh as in the midsummer days. Up
the fell she fared, sweetest of all things to look on, and beckoned
on me to follow; on me, the Warrior, the Stout-heart; and I followed,
and between us grief was born; but I it was that fostered that child
and not she. Always when she would be, was she merry and lovely; and
even so is she now, for she is of those that be long-lived. And I
wot that thou hast seen even such an one!'
'Tell me more of thy tales, foster-father,' said Gold-mane, 'and fear
not for me!'
'Ah, son,' he said, 'mayst thou have no such tales to tell to those
that shall be young when thou art old. Yet hearken! We sat in the
hall together and there was no third; and methought that the birds
sang and the flowers bloomed, and sweet was their savour, though it
was midwinter. A rose-wreath was on her head; grapes were on the
board, and fair unwrinkled summer apples on the day that we feasted
together. When was the feast? sayst thou. Long ago.
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