Leave we the cup! For the moon is up, And bright is the gleam Of the rippling stream, That runneth his road To the old abode, Where the walls are white In the moon and the night;The house of the neighbour that drave us away When strife ended labour amidst of the hay, And no road for our riding was left us but one Where the hill's brow is hiding that earth's ways are done, And the sound of the billows comes up at the last Like the wind in the willows ere autumn is past.
But oft and again Comes the ship from the main, And we came once more And no lading we bore But the point and the edge, And the ironed ledge, And the bolt and the bow, And the bane of the foe. To the House 'neath the mountain we came in the morn, Where welleth the fountain up over the corn, And the stream is a-running fast on to the House Of the neighbours uncunning who quake at the mouse, As their slumber is broken; they know not for why; Since yestreen was not token on earth or in sky.
Come, up, then up! Leave board and cup, And follow the gleam Of the glittering stream That leadeth the road To the old abode, High-walled and white In the moon and the night; Where low lies the neighbour that drave us away Sleep-sunk from his labour amidst of the hay. No road for our riding is left us save one, Where the hills' brow is hiding the city undone, And the wind in the willows is with us at last, And the house of the billows is done and o'er-past.
Haste! mount and haste Ere the short night waste, For night and day, Late turned away, Draw nigh again All kissing-fain;And the morn and the moon Shall be married full soon.
So ride we together with wealth-winning wand, The steel o'er the leather, the ash in the hand. Lo! white walls before us, and high are they built; But the luck that outwore us now lies on their guilt; Lo! the open gate biding the first of the sun, And to peace are we riding when slaughter is done.
When Ralph had done singing, all folk fell to praising his song, whereas the Lord had praised the other one; but the Lord said, looking at Ralph askance meanwhile: "Yea, if that pleaseth me not, and I take but little keep of it, it shall please my wife to her heart's root; and that is the first thing.
Hast thou others good store, new-comer?" "Yea, lord," said Ralph. "And canst thou tell tales of yore agone, and of the fays and such-like? All that she must have."
"Some deal I can of that lore," said Ralph.
Then the Lord sat silent, and seemed to be pondering: at last he said, as if to himself: "Yet there is one thing: many a blencher can sing of battle; and it hath been seen, that a fair body of a man is whiles soft amidst the hard hand-play. Thou!
Morfinn's luck! art thou of any use in the tilt-yard?"
"Wilt thou try me, lord?" said Ralph, looking somewhat brisker.
Said the Lord: "I deem that I may find a man or two for thee, though it is not much our manner here; but now go thou!
David, take the lad away to his tent, and get him a flask of wine of the best to help out thy maundering with him."
Therewith they left the tent, and Ralph walked by David sadly and with hanging head at first; but in a while he called to mind that, whatever betid, his life was safe as yet; that every day he was drawing nigher to the Well at the World's End; and that it was most like that he shall fall in with that Dorothea of his dream somewhere on the way thereto.
So he lifted up his head again, and was singing to himself as he stooped down to enter into his tent.
Next day naught happed to tell of save that they journeyed on; the day was cloudy, so that Ralph saw no sign of the distant mountains; ever the land was the same, but belike somewhat more beset with pinewoods; they saw no folk at all on the road. So at even Ralph slept in his tent, and none meddled with him, save that David came to talk with him or he slept, and was merry and blithe with him, and he brought with him Otter, the captain of the guard, who was good company.