Again in a while, when the sun was westering and the shadows growing long, came herdsmen from down the Dale driving neat, and making as though they would pass by into Burgstead, but to them also did the maidens gainsay the road, so that needs must they turn back amidst laughter and mockery, they themselves also laughing and mocking. And so at last, when the maidens had been all alone a while, and it was now hard on sunset, they drew together and stood in a ring, and fell to singing; and one Gold-may of the House of the Bridge, a most sweet singer, stood amidst their ring and led them. And this is somewhat of the meaning of their words: The sun will not tarry; now changeth the light, Fail the colours that marry the Day to the Night. Amid the sun’s burning bright weapons we bore, For this eve of our earning comes once and no more. For to-day hath no brother in yesterday’s tide, And to-morrow no other alike it doth hide. This day is the token of oath and behest That ne’er shall be broken through ill days and best. Here the troth hath been given, the oath hath been done, To the Folk that hath thriven well under the sun. And the gifts of its giving our troth-day shall win Are the Dale for our living and dear days therein. O Sun, now thou wanest! yet come back and see Amidst all that thou gainest how gainful are we. O witness of sorrow wide over the earth, Rise up on the morrow to look on our mirth! Thy blooms art thou bringing back ever for men, And thy birds are a-singing each summer again. But to men little-hearted what winter is worse Than thy summers departed that bore them the curse? And e’en such art thou knowing where thriveth the year, And good is all growing save thralldom and fear. Nought such be our lovers’ hearts drawing anigh, While yet thy light hovers aloft in the sky. Lo the seeker, the finder of Death in the Blade! What lips shall be kinder on lips of mine laid? La he that hath driven back tribes of the South! Sweet-breathed is thine even, but sweeter his mouth. Come back from the sea then, O sun! come aback, Look adown, look on me then, and ask what I lack! Come many a morrow to gaze on the Dale, And if e’er thou seest sorrow remember its tale! For ’twill be of a story to tell how men died In the garnering of glory that no man may hide. O sun sinking under! O fragrance of earth! O heart! O the wonder whence longing has birth!