The Thing-stead in the meadow was flowery and well-grassed, and a
little stream winding about thereby nearly cast a ring around it; and
beyond the stream was a full fair grove of oak-trees, very tall and
ancient. There then they burned the dead of the Host, wrapped about
in exceeding fair raiment. And when the ashes were gathered, the men
of Burgdale and the Shepherds left those of their folk for the
kindred to bury there in Silver-dale; for they said that they had a
right to claim such guesting for them that had helped to win back the
Dale.
But when the Burning was done and the bale quenched, and the ashes
gathered and buried (and that was on the morrow), then men bore forth
the Banners of the Jaws of the Wolf, and the Red Hand, and the Silver
Arm, and the Golden Bushel, and the Ragged Sword, and the Wolf of the
Woodland; and with great joy and triumph they brought them into the
Mote-house and hung them up over the dais; and they kindled fire on
the Holy Hearth by holding up a disk of bright glass to the sun; and
then they sang before the banners. And this is somewhat of the song
that they sang before them:
Why are ye wending? O whence and whither?
What shineth over the fallow swords?
What is the joy that ye bear in hither?
What is the tale of your blended words?
No whither we wend, but here have we stayed us,
Here by the ancient Holy Hearth;
Long have the moons and the years delayed us,
But here are we come from the heart of the dearth.
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