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Morris, William, 1834-1896

"The Roots of the Mountains; Wherein Is Told Somewhat of the Lives of the Men of Burgdale"

Then each of
the four damsels went up to the swain and kissed his mouth; and
Redesman drew the bow across the strings, and the four damsels sang
together, standing round about the young warrior:

It was but a while since for earth's sake we trembled,
Lest the increase our life-days had won for the Dale,
All the wealth that the moons and the years had assembled,
Should be but a mock for the days of your bale.
But now we behold the sun smite on the token
In the hand of the Champion, the heart of a man;
We look down the long years and see them unbroken;
Forth fareth the Folk by the ways it began.
So bid ye these chapmen in autumn returning,
To bring iron for ploughshares and steel for the scythe,
And the over-sea oil that hath felt the sun's burning,
And fair webs for your women soft-spoken and blithe;
And pledge ye your word in the market to meet them,
As many a man and as many a maid,
As eager as ever, as guest-fain to greet them,
And bide till the booth from the waggon is made.
Come, guests of our lovers! for we, the year-wielders,
Bid each man and all to come hither and take
A cup from our hands midst the peace of our shielders,
And drink to the days of the Dale that we make.


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