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.’