I was of sixteen winters, and the love of the Folk I won,

And in lovely weed they clad me like the image of a God:

And lonely now full often the wild-wood ways I trod,

And I feared no wild-wood creature, and my presence scared them nought;

And I fell to know of wisdom, and within me stirred my thought,

So that oft anights would I wander through the mead and far away,

And swim the Mirkwood-water, and amidst his eddies play

When earth was dark in the dawn-tide; and over all the folk

I knew of the beasts’ desires, as though in words they spoke.

  “So I saw of things that should be, were they mighty things or small,

And upon a day as it happened came the war-word to the hall,

And the House must wend to the warfield, and as they sang, and played

With the strings of the harp that even, and the mirth of the war-eve made,

Came the sight of the field to my eyes, and the words waxed hot in me,

And I needs must show the picture of the end of the fight to be.

Then I showed them the Red Wolf bristling o’er the broken fleeing foe;

And the war-gear of the fleers, and their banner did I show,

To wit the Ling-worm’s image with the maiden in his mouth;

There I saw my foster-father ’mid the pale blades of the South,

Till aloof swept all the handplay and the hurry of the chase,

And he lay along by an ash-tree, no helm about his face,

No byrny on his body; and an arrow in his thigh,

And a broken spear in his shoulder.  Then I saw myself draw nigh

To sing the song blood-staying.  Then saw I how we twain

Went ’midst of the host triumphant in the Wolfings’ banner-wain,

The black bulls lowing before us athwart the warriors’ song,

As up from Mirkwood-water we went our ways along

To the Great Roof of the Wolfings, whence streamed the women out

And the sound of their rejoicing blent with the warriors’ shout.

  “They heard me and saw the picture, and they wotted how wise I was grown,

And they loved me, and glad were their hearts at the tale my lips had shown;

And my body clad as an image of a God to the field they bore,

And I held by the mast of the banner as I looked upon their war,

And endured to see unblenching on the wind-swept sunny plain

All the picture of my vision by the men-folk done again.

And over my Foster-father I sang the staunching-song,

Till the life-blood that was ebbing flowed back to his heart the strong,

And we wended back in the war-wain ’midst the gleanings of the fight

Unto the ancient dwelling and the Hall-Sun’s glimmering light.

  “So from that day henceforward folk hung upon my words,

For the battle of the autumn, and the harvest of the swords;

And e’en more was I loved than aforetime.  So wore a year away,

And heavy was the burden of the lore that on me lay.

  “But my fosterer the Hall-Sun took sick at the birth of the year,

And changed her life as the year changed, as summer drew anear.

But she knew that her life was waning, and lying in her bed

She taught me the lore of the Hall-Sun, and every word to be said

At the trimming in the midnight and the feeding in the morn,

And she laid her hands upon me ere unto the howe she was borne

With the kindred gathered about us; and they wotted her weird and her will,

And hailed me for the Hall-Sun when at last she lay there still.

And they did on me the garment, the holy cloth of old,

And the neck-chain wrought for the goddess, and the rings of the hallowed gold.

So here am I abiding, and of things to be I tell,

Yet know not what shall befall me nor why with the Wolfings I dwell.”

  Then said the carline:

  “What seest thou, O daughter, of the journey of to-day?

And why wendest thou not with the war-host on the battle-echoing way?”

  Said the Hall-Sun.

  “O mother, here dwelleth the Hall-Sun while the kin hath a dwelling-place,

Nor ever again shall I look on the onset or the chase,

Till the day when the Roof of the Wolfings looketh down on the girdle of foes,

And the arrow singeth over the grass of the kindred’s close;

Till the pillars shake with the shouting and quivers the roof-tree dear,

When the Hall of the Wolfings garners the harvest of the spear.”

  Therewith she stood on her feet and turned her face to the Great Roof, and gazed long at it, not heeding the crone by her side; and she muttered words of whose signification the other knew not, though she listened intently, and gazed ever at her as closely as might be.

  Then fell the Hall-Sun utterly silent, and the lids closed over her eyes, and her hands were clenched, and her feet pressed hard on the daisies: her bosom heaved with sore sighs, and great tear-drops oozed from under her eyelids and fell on to her raiment and her feet and on to the flowery summer grass; and at the last her mouth opened and she spake, but in a voice that was marvellously changed from that she spake in before:

  “Why went ye forth, O Wolfings, from the garth your fathers built,

And the House where sorrow dieth, and all unloosed is guilt?

Turn back, turn back, and behold it! lest your feet be over slow

When your shields are heavy-burdened with the arrows of the foe;

How ye totter, how ye stumble on the rough and corpse-strewn way!

And lo, how the eve is eating the afternoon of day!

O why are ye abiding till the sun is sunk in night

And the forest trees are ruddy with the battle-kindled light?

O rest not yet, ye Wolfings, lest void be your resting-place,