[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine mounted Hrothgar and turned his head down the hill, clicking his tongue gently to urge his already tired horse toward their future. As he began to move, he caught sight of Gomen standing with his father, his face once more drawn with sorrow and threatening tears. Pulling up his horse, Hearpwine called to Gomen. “Come here lad,” he said gently, “I have something I want you to keep for me.”

Gomen came to stand at Hrothgar’s shoulder as Hearpwine rummaged through his saddlebags. In a moment he had produced his harp, which he handed down to the boy’s disbelieving fingers. “Here lad,” the Bard said through a constricted throat. “Take this and practise with it every day. When I return I expect that you will be able to play that song I taught you and many more!” The boy merely stared at Hearpwine, not knowing what to say. Leofan moved forward as though to protest the gift, but Hearpwine cried out, “Nay master Leofan, it is mine to give. It has served me well for many a year, but the time has come, I think, to leave behind the things of my youth and to forge a new life for myself in the land that I go to. I will make myself a new harp from the wood of the trees that I find there, and it will sound the sweeter for having been crafted from the land it will enliven with song!”

Without waiting for a response he spurred Hrothgar into a canter and wheeled down the road, but as he passed the kitchen window he looked up and smiled and waved to Maercwen, silently wishing her a happy and a long life.

He soon disappeared around a bend in the road, but as he did so, his voice could be heard in song.

Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower,
Then think of the friend who once welcom'd it too,
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you.
His griefs may return, not a hope may remain,
Of the few that had brighten'd his pathway of pain,
But he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw,
It's enchantment around him, while ling'ring with you.

And still on that evening when pleasure fills up,
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where 'ere my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that night.
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles,
And return to me beaming, all o'er with your smiles.
Too, blest if it tells me that 'mid the gay cheer,
Some kind voice had murmer'd, "I wish he were here!"

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy,
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd,
Like the vase in which roses have once been distill'd.
You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang 'round it still.

The song faded into the sunlight, and he was gone.