Then fell the throng into an ordered company; first went the music,
and then a score of Face-of-god's warriors with drawn swords and
uplifted spears; and then the flower-bedecked misery of the Runaways,
men and women going together, gaunt, befouled, and hollow-eyed, with
here and there a flushed cheek or gleaming eye, or tear-bedewed face,
as the joy and triumph of the eve pierced through their wonted
weariness of grief; then the rest of the warriors, and lastly the
mingled crowd of Dalesfolk, tall men and fair women gaily arrayed,
clean-faced, clear-skinned, and sleek-haired, with glancing eyes and
ruddy lips.
And now Redesman turned about to the music and drew his bow across
his fiddle, and the other bows ran out in concert, and the harps
followed the story of them, and he lifted up his voice and sang the
words of an old song, and all the singers joined him and blended
their voices with his. And these are some of the words which they
sang:
Lo! here is Spring, and all we are living,
We that were wan with Winter's fear;
Reach out your hands to her hands that are giving,
Lest ye lose her love and the light of the year.
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