large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_03_chesterton_64kb_33
large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_03_chesterton_64kb
English
5754
And they felt the land of the folk songs Spread southward of the Dane, And they heard the good Rhine flowing In the heart of all Allemagne. They felt the land of the folk songs, Where the gifts hang on the tree, Where the girls give ale at morning And the tears come easily. AND THEY FELT THE LAND OF THE FOLK SONGS SPREAD SOUTHWARD OF THE DANE AND THEY HEARD OF THE GOOD RHYND FOLLOWING IN THE HEART OF ALL ALAMAIN THEY FELT THE LAND OF THE FOLK SONGS WHERE THE GIFTS HANG ON THE TREE WHERE THE GIRLS GIVE AIL AT MORNING AND THE TEARS COME EASILY
ld, And the gods that love the thief; And he yelled aloud at the cloister-yards, Where men go gathering grief. "Well have you sung, O stranger, Of death on the dyke in Wales, Your chief was a bracelet-giver; But the red unbroken river Of a race runs not for ever, But suddenly it fails. "Doubtless your sires were sword-swingers When they waded fresh from foam, Before they were turned to women By the god of the nails from Rome; "But since you bent to the shaven men, Who neither lust nor smite, Thunder of Thor, we hunt you A hare on the mountain height." King Guthrum smiled a little, And said, "It is enough, Nephew, let Elf retune the string; A boy must needs like bellowing, But the old ears of a careful king Are glad of songs less rough." Blue-eyed was Elf the minstrel, With womanish hair and ring, Yet heavy was his hand on sword, Though light upon the string. And as he stirred the strings of the harp To notes but four or five, The heart of each man moved in him Like a babe buried alive. ANG THE SONG OF THE THIEF OF THE WORLD AND THE GODS THAT LOVE THE THIEF AND HE YELLED ALOUD AT THE CLOISTER YARDS WHERE MEN GO GATHERING GRIEF WELL HAVE YOU SUNG O STRANGER OF DEATH ON THE DIKE IN WALES YOUR CHIEF WAS A BRACELET GIVER BUT THE RED UNBROKEN RIVER OF A RACE RUNS NOT FOR EVER BUT SUDDENLY IT FAILS DOUBTLESS YOUR SIRES WERE SWORD SWINGERS WHEN THEY WAITED FRESH FROM FOAM BEFORE THEY WERE TURNED TO WOMAN BY THE GODS OF THE NAILS FROM ROME BUT SINCE YOU BENT TO THE SHAVEN HEAD WHO NEITHER LUST NOR SMITE BLUNDER OF THOR WE HUNT YOU A HARE ON THE MOUNTAIN HEIGHT KING GUTHRUM SMILED A LITTLE AND SAID IT IS ENOUGH NEPHEW LET ELF RETURN THE STRING A BOY MUST NEED LIKE BELLOWING BUT THE OLD EARS OF A CAREFUL KING ARE GLAD OF SONGS LESS ROUGH BLUE EYED WAS ELF THE MINSTREL WITH WOMANISH HAIR AND RING YET HEAVY WAS HIS HAND ON SWORD THOUGH LIGHT UPON THE STRING AND HE STIRRED THE STRINGS OF THE HARP TO NOTES BUT FOUR OR FIVE THE HEART OF EACH MAN MOVED IN HIM LIKE A BABE BURIED ALIVE
large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_03_chesterton_64kb
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