tle away,
And the cunning smith shall mend it and it goeth again to the fray;
If my hand might have held for a moment, yea, even against his will,
The life of my beloved! But Weird is the master still:
And this man's love of my body and his love of the ancient kin
Were matters o'er mighty to deal with and the game withal to win.
Woe's me for the waning of all things, and my hope that needs must
fade
As the fruitless sun of summer on the waste where nought is made!
And now farewell, O daughter, thou mayst not see the kiss
Of the hapless and the death-doomed when I have told of this;
Yet once again shalt thou see him, though I no more again,
Fair with the joy that hopeth and dieth not in vain."

Then came the Hall-Sun close to her, and knelt down by her, and laid her
head upon her knees and wept for love of her mother, who kissed her oft
and caressed her; and Thiodolf's hand strayed, as it were, on to his
daughter's head, and he looked kindly on her, though scarce now as if he
knew her. Then she arose when she had kissed her mother once more, and
went her ways from that wood-lawn into the woods again, and so to the
Folk-mote of her people.

But when those twain were all alone again, the Wood-Sun spoke: "O
Thiodolf canst thou hear me and understand?"

"Yea," he said, "when thou speakest of certain matters, as of our love
together, and of our daughter that came of our love."

"Thiodolf," she said, "How long shall our love last?"

"As long as our life," he said.

"And if thou diest to-day, where then shall our love be?" said the Wood-
Sun.

He said, "I must now say, I wot not; though time was I had said, It shall
abide with the soul of the Wolfing Kindred."

She said: "And when that soul dieth, and the kindred is no more?"

"Time agone," quoth he, "I had said, it shall abide with the Kindreds of
the Earth; but now again I say, I wot not."

"Will the Earth hide it," said she, "when thou diest and art borne to
mound?"

"Even so didst thou say when we spake together that other night," said
he; "and now I may say nought against thy word."

"Art thou happy, O Folk-Wolf?" she said.

"Why dost thou ask me?" said he; "I know not; we were sundered and I
longed for thee; thou art here; it is enough."

"And the people of thy Kindred?" she said, "dost thou not long for them?"

He said; "Didst thou not say that I was not of them? Yet were they my
friends, and needed me, and I lov