had done according to his bidding, so that he deemed the gain was
his. So sprang up talk in the hall betwixt man and man, and folk
drank about and were merry, till the chieftain arose again and smote
the board with the flat of his sword, and cried out in a loud and
angry voice, so that all could hear: "Now let there be music and
minstrelsy ere we wend bedward!"

Therewith fell the hubbub of voices, and there came forth three men
with great harps, and a fourth man with them, who was the minstrel;
and the harpers smote their harps so that the roof rang therewith,
and the noise, though it was great, was tuneable, and when they had
played thus a little while, they abated their loudness somewhat, and
the minstrel lifted his voice and sang:


The land lies black
With winter's lack,
The wind blows cold
Round field and fold;
All folk are within,
And but weaving they win.
Where from finger to finger the shuttle flies fast,
And the eyes of the singer look fain on the cast,
As he singeth the story of summer undone
And the barley sheaves hoary ripe under the sun.

Then the maidens stay
The light-hung sley,
And the shuttles bide
By the blue web's side,