and the beaten silver and gold,
   And blithe were their noble faces and kindly to behold,
   And nought had I seen of such-like since that hour of the other day
   When that warrior came to the oak glade with the little child to play. 
   And forth now he came, with the face that my hands had fondled before,
   And a battle shield wrought fairly upon his arm he bore,
   And thereon the wood-wolf’s image in ruddy gold was done. 
   Then I stretched out my little arms towards the glorious shining one
   And he took me up and set me on his shoulder for a while
   And turned about to his fellows with a blithe and joyous smile;
   And they shouted aloud about me and drew forth gleaming swords
   And clashed them on their bucklers; but nought I knew of the words
   Of their shouting and rejoicing.  So thereafter was I laid
   And borne forth on the warrior’s warshield, and our way through the
   wood we made
   ’Midst the mirth and great contentment of those fair-clad shielded
   men.

   “But no tale of the wolf and the wild-wood abides with me since then,
   And the next thing I remember is a huge and dusky hall,
   A world for my little body from ancient wall to wall;
   A world of many doings, and nought for me to do,
   A world of many noises, and known to me were few.

“Time wore, and I spoke with the Wolfings and knew the speech of the kin, And was strange ’neath the roof no longer, as a lonely waif therein; And I wrought as a child with my playmates and every hour looked on Unto the next hour’s joyance till the happy day was done.  And going and coming amidst us was a woman tall and thin With hair like the hoary barley and silver streaks therein.  And kind and sad of visage, as now I remember me, And she sat and told us stories when we were aweary with glee, And many of us she fondled, but me the most of all.  And once from my sleep she waked me and bore me down the hall, In the hush of the very midnight, and I was feared thereat.  But she brought me unto the dais, and there the warrior sat, Who took me up and kissed me, as erst within the wood; And meseems in his arms I slumbered:  but I wakened again and stood Alone with the kindly woman, and gone was the goodly man, And athwart the hush of the Folk-hall the moon shone bright and wan, And the woman dealt with a lamp hung up by a chain aloft, And she trimmed it and fed it with oil, while she chanted sweet and soft A song whose words I knew not:  then she ran it up again, And up in the darkness above us died the length of its wavering chain.”

“Yea,” said the carline, “this woman will have been the Hall-Sun that came before thee.  What next dost thou remember?”

Said the maiden: 

   “Next I mind me of the hazels behind the People’s Roof,
   And the children running thither and the magpie flitting aloof,
   And my hand in the hand of the Hall-Sun, as after the others we went,
   And she soberly hearkening my prattle and the words of my intent. 
   And now would I call her ‘Mother,’ and indeed I loved her well.