[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine felt bad for having misled the boy. He could easily enough begin Gomen’s training as a bard, but he lacked the energy. He barely had time to see to his own training, let alone teach another. But Hearpwine knew how Gomen would take it, were he to say that he could not spare the time – the boy would be sure that it was only an excuse to avoid teaching him. Better the lad think Hearpwine an unfit teacher than think himself an unworthy student.

“Teach you but one song, do you say? Well, that will be no easy thing – indeed, I have been tasked with many great trials that will seem light by comparison.”

“What do you mean, Master Bard?” Gomen asked.

Hearpwine laughed and said, “My name, lad, is Hearpwine. I thought you would have learned that by now. Save your ‘Master’ for Eorcyn, or for me when I do finally become Bard of the Golden Hall. But this task you put me to is hard because I must now decide what song to teach you. It is no small think being asked to select from all that I know the one that will give you the greatest pleasure. Perhaps you could tell me what kind of song you would like?”

Gomen thought for a while in studied silence as they rode. The houses of Edoras slipped past them as Hrothgar got his legs beneath him, and within minutes they were passing through the tall gates. “Hang on!” cried Hearpwine, “I think that I shall let him have a bit of a run to make up for the weeks he’s spent without real exercise.” As though he understood his master’s words, Hrothgar snorted and went instantly into a full gallop, racing right off the road and onto to soft grass that lay between the mounds of the kings. They raced into the south-east towards the skirts of the mountains, and were soon going up the long slow slope of the foothills. Gomen, who was more used to horses even than most lads of Rohan, easily rode along at Hearpwine’s back. As they crested the first line of hills he broke his silence. “I think I should like a song about a girl,” he said, as though there had been no interruption in their conversation. “A song about a pretty girl.”

Hearpwine smiled into the rushing air and sunshine. “Aye lad, and why do you want to learn a song about a pretty lass?”

He felt Gomen grow a bit uncomfortable behind him, and he regretted his teasing tone. The reply, however, was that of a young man, and not a boy. “I wish to sing it for my sister,” he said evenly, “for she I the fairest girl I know.”

“Aye, she is fair Gomen. But the day may come when you will look upon another and find your own sister but poor company. But do not reprimand me! For I know that you will say that such a day will never come!” He fell into thought for a moment. “A song about a pretty lass, you say. . .I have it!”

As I was walking one midsummer morning,
A-viewing the meadows and to take the air,
'Twas down by the banks of the sweet withywindle,
When I beheld a most lovely Fair.

With three long steps I stepp'd up to her,
Not knowing her as she pass'd me by;
I stepp'd up to her, thinking to view her,
She appear'd to me like some virgin bride.

I said: Pretty maid, how far are you going?
And what's the occasion of all your grief?
I'll make you as happy as any lady,
If you will grant me one small relief.

Stand off, stand off, you are deceitful;
You are deceitful, young man, 'tis plain -
'Tis you that have cause my poor heart to wander,
To give me comfort 'tis all in vain;

I'll take thee down to some lonesome valley,
Where no man nor mortal shall ever me tell;
Where the pretty little small birds do change their voices
And ev'ry moment their notes do swell.

Come all you young men that go a-courting,
Pray give attention to what I say,
There's many a dark and cloudy morning
Turns out to be a sunshiny day.