"But my fosterer the Hall-Sun took sick at the birth of the year, And changed her life as the year changed, as summer drew anear. But she knew that her life was waning, and lying in her bed She taught me the lore of the Hall-Sun, and every word to be said At the trimming in the midnight and the feeding in the morn, And she laid her hands upon me ere unto the howe she was borne With the kindred gathered about us; and they wotted her weird and her will, And hailed me for the Hall-Sun when at last she lay there still. And they did on me the garment, the holy cloth of old, And the neck-chain wrought for the goddess, and the rings of the hallowed gold. So here am I abiding, and of things to be I tell, Yet know not what shall befall me nor why with the Wolfings I dwell." Then said the carline: "What seest thou, O daughter, of the journey of to-day? And why wendest thou not with the war-host on the battle-echoing way?" Said the Hall-Sun. "O mother, here dwelleth the Hall-Sun while the kin hath a dwelling- place, Nor ever again shall I look on the onset or the chase, Till the day when the Roof of the Wolfings looketh down on the girdle of foes, And the arrow singeth over the grass of the kindred's close; Till the pillars shake with the shouting and quivers the roof-tree dear, When the Hall of the Wolfings garners the harvest of the spear." Therewith she stood on her feet and turned her 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."