Came sword and shield
To the hazelled field
Where the fey-man fell
At Wethermel:
The grey blade grew glad
In the hands of a lad,
And the tall man and stark
Leapt into the dark.
For the cleaver of war-boards came forth from his door
And guided the hand of the lacking in lore.
But now is the blade
In the dark sheath laid,
And the peace-strings lull
His heart o'erfull.
Up dale and down
The hall-roofs brown
Hang over the peace
Of the year's increase.
No fear rendeth midnight, and dieth the day
With no foe save the winter that weareth away.
Then he cried out: Draw nigh, goodman and grandsire, and take again the house and lands of Wethermel, as ye had them aforetime before yesterday was a day. So the goodman came to him and kissed him, and thanked him kindly and humbly, and the women came and embraced him and hung about him. As for Surly John, he had slunk away so soon as he saw the fall of his master, and now when they looked around for him, they saw him but as a fleck going swiftly down the Dale. Thereat they all laughed together, and the laughter eased their hearts, so that they felt free and happy.
