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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"


There then they feasted; and their hearts were strengthened by the
meat and drink; and if sorrow were blended with their joy, yet were
they high-hearted through both joy and sorrow, looking forward to the
good days to be in the Dales at the Roots of the Mountains, and the
love and fellowship of Folks and of Houses.
But as for Face-of-god, he went not to the meadow, but abode sitting
on the bench in the Market-place, where were none else now of the
kindreds save the appointed warders. They had brought him a morsel
and a cup of wine, and he had eaten and drunk; and now he sat there
with Dale-warden lying sheathed across his knees, and seeming to gaze
on the thralls of Silver-dale busied in carrying away the bodies of
the slain felons, after they had stripped them of their raiment and
weapons. Yet indeed all this was before his eyes as a picture which
he noted not. Rather he sat pondering many things; wondering at his
being there in Silver-dale in the hour of victory; longing for the
peace of Burgdale and the bride-chamber of the Sun-beam. Then went
his thought out toward his old playmate lying hurt in Silver-dale;
and his heart was grieved because of her, yet not for long, though
his thought still dwelt on her; since he deemed that she would live
and presently be happy--and happy thenceforward for many years.


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