He said, "I am older than you, Ogier; Not all things would I rend,For whether life be bad or good, It is best to abide the end."
He took the great harp wearily, Even Guthrum of the Danes,With wide eyes bright as the one long day On the long polar plains.
For he sang of a wheel returning, And the mire trod back to mire,And how red hells and golden heavens Are castles in the fire.
"It is good to sit where the good tales go, To sit as our fathers sat;But the hour shall come after his youth,When a man shall know not tales but truth, And his heart fail thereat.
"When he shall read what is written So plain in clouds and clods,When he shall hunger without hope Even for evil gods.
"For this is a heavy matter, And the truth is cold to tell;
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