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"Now as maids burn the weed Betwixt acre and mead, So the Bearings' Roof Burneth little aloof, And red gloweth the hall Betwixt wall and fair wall, Where often the mead-sea we sipped in old days, When our feet were a-weary with wending the ways; When the love of the lovely at even was born, And our hands felt fair hands as they fell on the horn.
And so good men deem the tidings that they bid them journey north On the feet of a Shielding runner, that Gisli hath to name; And west of the water he wendeth by the way that the Wolfings came; Now for sleep he tarries never, and no meat is in his mouth Till the first of the Houses hearkeneth the tidings of the south; Lo, he speaks, and the mead-sea sippeth, and the bread by the way doth eat, And over the Geiring threshold and outward pass his feet; And he breasts the Burg of the Daylings and saith his happy word, And stayeth to drink for a minute of the waves of Battleford.
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