Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead
Home they brought her warrior dead:She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:All her maidens, watching, said,‘She must weep or she will die.’
Then they praised him, soft and low,Called him worthy to be loved,Truest friend and noblest foe;Yet she neither spoke nor moved.
Stole a maiden from her place,Lightly to the warrior stepped,Took the face-cloth from the face;Yet she neither moved nor wept.
Rose a nurse of ninety years,Set his child upon her knee—Like summer tempest came her tears—‘Sweet my child, I live for thee.’
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