It was no later than the next night, and a many of what thralls were not with the host were about in the feast-hall with the elders and lads and weaklings of the House; for last night’s tidings had drawn them thither. Gisli had gone back to his kindred and the wain-burg in the Upper-mark, and the women were sitting, most of them, in the Women’s-Chamber, some of them doing what little summer work needed doing about the looms, but more resting from their work in field and acre.

Then came the Hall-Sun forth from her room clad in glittering raiment, and summoned no one, but went straight to her place on the dais under her namesake the Lamp, and stood there a little without speaking. Her face was pale now, her lips a little open, her eyes set and staring as if they saw nothing of all that was round about her.

Now went the word through the Hall and the Women’s-Chamber that the Hall-Sun would speak again, and that great tidings were toward; so all folk came flock-meal to the dais, both thralls and free; and scarce were all gathered there, ere the Hall-Sun began speaking, and said:

“The days of the world thrust onward, and men are born therein

A many and a many, and divers deeds they win

In the fashioning of stories for the kindreds of the earth,

A garland interwoven of sorrow and of mirth.

To the world a warrior cometh; from the world he passeth away,

And no man then may sunder his good from his evil day.

By the Gods hath he been tormented, and been smitten by the foe:

He hath seen his maiden perish, he hath seen his speech-friend go:

His heart hath conceived a joyance and hath brought it unto birth:

But he hath not carried with him his sorrow or his mirth.

He hath lived, and his life hath fashioned the outcome of the deed,

For the blossom of the people, and the coming kindreds’ seed.

“Thus-wise the world is fashioned, and the new sun of the morn

Where earth last night was desert beholds a kindred born,

That to-morrow and to-morrow blossoms all gloriously

With many a man and maiden for the kindreds yet to be,

And fair the Goth-folk groweth. And yet the story saith

That the deeds that make the summer make too the winter’s death,

That summer-tides unceasing from out the grave may grow

And the spring rise up unblemished from the bosom of the snow.

“Thus as to every kindred the day comes once for all

When yesterday it was not, and to-day it builds the hall,

So every kindred bideth the night-tide of the day,

Whereof it knoweth nothing, e’en when noon is past away.

E’en thus the House of the Wolfings ’twixt dusk and dark doth stand,

And narrow is the pathway with the deep on either hand.

On the left are the days forgotten............