The time passed away in work and song, in talk and ramble, in friendly
fight and brotherly aid. I would not forge for myself armour of heavy
mail like theirs, for I was not so powerful as they, and depended more
for any success I might secure, upon nimbleness of motion, certainty of
eye, and ready response of hand. Therefore I began to make for myself a
shirt of steel plates and rings; which work, while more troublesome,
was better suited to me than the heavier labour. Much assistance did the
brothers give me, even after, by their instructions, I was able to make
some progress alone. Their work was in a moment abandoned, to render any
required aid to mine. As the old woman had promised, I tried to repay
them with song; and many were the tears they both shed over my ballads
and dirges. The songs they liked best to hear were two which I made for
them. They were not half so good as many others I knew, especially some
I had learned from the wise woman in the cottage; but what comes nearest
to our needs we like the best.
I The king sat on his throne
Glowing in gold and red;
The crown in his right hand shone,
And the gray hairs crowned his head.
His only son walks in,
And in walls of steel he stands:
Make me, O father, strong to win,
With the blessing of holy hands."
He knelt before his sire,
Who blessed him with feeble smile
His eyes shone out with a kingly fire,
But his old lips quivered the while.
"Go to the fight, my son,
Bring back the giant's head;
And the crown with which my brows have done,
Shall glitter on thine instead."
"My father, I seek no crowns,
But unspoken praise from thee;
For thy people's good, and thy renown,
I will die to set them free."
The king sat down and waited there,
And rose not, night nor day;
Till a sound of shouting filled the air,
And cries of a sore dismay.
Then like a king he sat once more,
With the crown upon his head;
And up to the throne the people bore
A mighty giant dead.
And up to the throne the people bore
A pale and lifeless boy.
The king rose up like a prophet of yore,
In a lofty, deathlike joy.
He put the crown on the chilly brow:
"Thou should'st have reigned with me
But Death is the king of both, and now
I go to obey with thee.
"Surely some good in me there lay,
To beget the noble one."
The old man smiled like a winter day,
And fell beside his son.