while yet he spoke she laughed aloud,
65
and rose and nodded; head she bowed,
and stooped into her darkening cave,
like ghost returning to the grave.
Thence swift she came. In his hand she laid
a phial5 of glass so fairly made
70
’twas wonder in that houseless place
to see its cold and gleaming grace;
and therewithin a philter6 lay
as pale as water thin and grey
that spills from stony fountains frore7
75
in hollow pools in caverns hoar.8
He thanked her, trembling, offering gold
to withered fingers shrunk and old.
The thanks she took not, nor the fee,
but laughing croaked: ‘Nay, we shall see!
80
Let thanks abide till thanks be earned!
Such potions oft, men say, have burned
the heart and brain, or else are nought,
only cold water dearly bought.
Such lies you shall not tell of me;
85
Till it is earned I’ll have no fee.
But we shall meet again one day,
and rich reward then you shall pay,
what e’er I ask: it may be gold,
it may be other wealth you hold.’
90
In Britain ways are wild and long,
and woods are dark with danger strong;
and sound of seas is in the leaves,
and wonder walks the forest-eaves.
The way was long, the woods were dark;
95
at last the lord beheld the spark
of living light from window high,
and knew his halls and towers were nigh.
At last he slept in weary sleep
beside his wife, and dreaming deep,
100
he walked with children yet unborn
in gardens fair, until the morn
came slowly through the windows tall,
and shadows moved across the wall.
Then sprang the day with weather fair,
105
for windy rain had washed the air,
and blue and cloudless, clean and high,
above the hills was arched the sky,
and foaming in the northern breeze
beneath the sky there shone the seas.
110
Arising then to greet the sun,
and day with a new thought begun,
that lord in guise of joy him clad,
and masked his mind in manner glad;
his mouth unwonted laughter used
115
and words of mirth. He oft had mused,
walking alone with furrowed brow;
a feast he bade prepare him now.
And ‘Itroun mine,’ he said, ‘my life,
’tis long that thou hast been my wife.
120
Too swiftly by in love do slip
our gentle years, and as a ship
returns to port, we soon shall find
once more that day of spring we mind,
when we were wed, and bells were rung.
125
But still we love, and still are young:
A merry feast we’ll make this year,
and there shall come no sigh nor tear;
and we will feign our love begun
in joy anew, anew to run
130
down happy paths – and yet, maybe,
we’ll pray that this year we may see
our heart’s desire more quick draw nigh
than yet we have seen it, thou and I;
for virtue is in hope and prayer.’
135
So spake he gravely, seeming-fair.
In Britain’s land across the seas
the spring is merry in the trees;
the birds in Britain’s woodlands pair
when leaves are long and flowers are fair.
140
A merry feast that year they made,
when blossom white on bush was laid;
there minstrels sang and wine was poured,
as it were the marriage of a lord.
A cup of silver wrought he raised
145
and smiling on the lady gazed:
‘I drink to thee for health and bliss,
fair love,’ he said, ‘and with this kiss
the pledge I pass. Come, drink it deep!
The wine is sweet, the cup is steep!’
150
The wine was red, the cup was grey;
but blended there a potion lay
as pale as water thin and frore
in hollow pools of caverns hoar.
She drank it, laughing with her eyes.
155
‘Aotrou, lord and love,’ she cries,
‘all hail and life both long and sweet,
wherein desire at last to meet!’
Now days ran on in great delight
with hope at morn and mirth at night;
160
and in the garden of his dream
the lord would walk, and there would deem
he saw two children, boy and maid,
that