[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine laughed again and asked the pretty serving maid for food and drink, “to give us the strength we will need for this nights endeavours” he explained. As they waited for their nourishment, Hearpwine spoke to the young niece of his friend. Throughout their outburst of song she had sat at the table quietly taking in all that she heard, her eyes growing wider and wider with each melody. “Tell me Maercwen, what kind of song is your favourite? Lays of war and glory, or the simple tunes of country life and mirth?”

The lass flushed at being made the center of such attention but answered promptly. “I cannot rightly say. Both have their place and time, and I have already heard this day enough of each to fill me with wonder for days to come.”

Maercwen grinned. “A good answer, my lady, and a true one. For all times are different and so suited to their own songs. But what of this moment? What kind of song would you like to hear?”

She paused for a moment before answering. “There has been a deal of song and talk about war and battle. As much as I have enjoyed them I think that I would like to hear something about things that are closer to the life I know. Do you know such a song? Perhaps one from your own land?”

“Indeed there are many! And I will gladly sing you one, but I begin to feel the need of my harp. While I am not nearly as accomplished a musician as your uncle, I can strum along well enough. Would you be good enough to fetch it for me? It is in Hrothgar’s saddle-bag. He is stalled…” But before he could finish the lass jumped to her feet. Crying out that she knew which horse was his, she flew from the Inn. Hearpwine smiled after her retreating form, as he had always enjoyed the sight of a pretty girl. From the corner of his eye he saw the old man smiling at him, and he flushed slightly before dismissing his embarrassment with a chuckle. “And what of you, friend? What is your name, and what kind of song would you like to hear this evening?”

“I am Osric,” he replied, “and I have heard so many songs in my life that I do not mind now which is playing. But for the sake of the girl’s pleasure – and perhaps your own, who clearly seeks to please her,” and he winked broadly at the younger man, “I will add my vote to hers for something bright and shiny from your own lands.”

“So it shall be!” Hearpwine cried. Maercwen was soon back with his harp, her face flushed from running to the stables and back. Hearpwine bowed slightly as he took the instrument from her hands. He strummed upon it a few times, and then began to pick out a pleasant lilting tune. Indeed, he was not nearly as accomplished with it as Liornung was with his fiddle, but the melody was pleasing. Without a word, Liornung picked up his fiddle and joined in, creating a duet that melded the rhythmic sound of the harp with the melodious interweave of the fiddle. After a few bars, Hearpwine sang once more.

“Hi! says the blackbird, sitting on a chair,
Once I courted a lady fair;
She proved fickle and turned her back,
And ever since then I'm dressed in black.

“Hi! says the blue-jay as she flew,
If I was a young man I'd have two;
If one proved fickle and chanced for to go,
I'd have a new string to my bow.

“Hi! says the little leather winged bat,
I will tell you the reason that,
The reason that I fly in the night
Is because I lost my heart's delight.

“Hi! says the little mourning dove,
I'll tell you how to gain her love;
Court her night and court her day,
Never give her time to say ‘0 nay.’

“Hi! said the woodpecker sitting on a fence,
Once I courted a handsome wench;
She proved fickle and from me fled,
And ever since then my head's been red.

“Hi! says the owl with my eyes so big,
If I had a hen I'd feed like a pig;
But here I sit on a frozen stake,
Which causes my poor heart to ache.

“Hi! says the swallow, sitting in a barn,
Courting, I think, is no harm.
I pick my wings and sit up straight
And hope every young man will choose him a mate.

“Hi! says the hawk unto the crow,
If you ain't black then I don't know.
Ever since the first bird was born,
You've been accused of stealing corn.

“Hi! says the crow unto the hawk,
I understand your great, big talk;
You'd like to pounce and catch a hen,
But I hope the farmer will shoot you then.

“Hi! says the robin, with a little squirm,
I wish I had a great, big worm;
I would fly away into my nest;
I have a wife I think is the best.”

Hearpwine finished and laid down his harp, basking in the glow of Maercwen’s smile.