Lay of Kushta, Sonnet 43

The capitol quieter, the mob restrain’d, they turn’d once

More to planning the embassy to Bror. Ambassador

Need’d, they select’d Amit, a noble from the old

Forest of Hapalan. Competent but best known for hunts,

They hop’d he’d appeal to Moneos. Then away for Bror

They proceed’d, laden with gifts of silk, oak, beer, wine, and gold,

For such were most greatly lov’d by dwarves. They march’d in winter,

For regardless of season, most bitter cold would they meet.

Higher rose their road, steeper their trail, into the alpine

Land above the treeline, without vine or grape or vintner,

Sore were their backs, sore were their legs, sore were their eyes, of feet

The less said the better. Ysolde soaked them in hot salt’d wine.

Without her ministrations they’d still be on the white slopes.

Til at last they reach’d the entrance and could descend on ropes.