Free House of the Wolfings: The William Morris Book that Inspired J. R. R. Tolkiena *s The Lord of the Rings by Michael W. Perry Page A

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,
    And into lands that ye know not the Wolf
must turn his face,
    And ye wander and ye wander till the land in
the ocean cease,
    And your battle bring no safety and your
labour no increase.

    Then was she silent for a while, and her
tears ceased to flow; but presently her eyes opened once more, and
she lifted up her voice and cried aloud -

    I see, I see! O Godfolk behold it from
aloof,
    How the little flames steal flickering along
the ridge of the Roof!
    They are small and red ’gainst the heavens
in the summer afternoon;
    But when the day is dusking, white, high
shall they wave to the moon.
    Lo, the fire plays now on the windows like
strips of scarlet cloth
    Wind-waved! but look in the night-tide on
the onset of its wrath,
    How it wraps round the ancient timbers and
hides the mighty roof
    But lighteth little crannies, so lost and
far aloof,
    That no man yet of the kindred hath seen
them ere to-night,
    Since first the builder builded in loving
and delight!

    Then again she stayed her speech with
weeping and sobbing, but after a while was still again, and then
she spoke pointing toward the roof with her right hand.

    I see the fire-raisers and iron-helmed they
are,
    Brown-faced about the banners that their
hands have borne afar.
    And who in the garth of the kindred shall
bear adown their shield
    Since the onrush of the Wolfings they caught
in the open field,
    As the might of the mountain lion falls dead
in the hempen net?
    O Wolfings, long have ye tarried, but the
hour abideth yet.
    What life for the life of the people shall
be given once for all,
    What sorrow shall stay sorrow in the
half-burnt Wolfing Hall?
    There is nought shall quench the fire save
the tears of the Godfolk’s kin,
    And the heart of the life-delighter, and the
life-blood cast therein.

    Then once again she fell silent, and her
eyes closed again, and the slow tears gushed out from them, and she
sank down sobbing on the grass, and little by little the storm of
grief sank and her head fell back, and she was as one quietly
asleep. Then the carline hung over her and kissed her and embraced
her; and then through her closed eyes and her slumber did the
Hall-Sun see a marvel; for she who was kissing her was young in
semblance and unwrinkled, and lovely to look on, with plenteous
long hair of the hue of ripe barley, and clad in glistening raiment
such as has been woven in no loom on earth.
    And indeed it was the Wood-Sun in the
semblance of a crone, who had come to gather wisdom of the coming
time from the foreseeing of the Hall-Sun; since now at last she
herself foresaw nothing of it, though she was of the kindred of the
Gods and the Fathers of the Goths. So when she had heard the
Hall-Sun she deemed that she knew but too well what her words
meant, and what for love, what for