In my forge your brother waits to meet you—
Waits to throw his loving arms around you,
Glad indeed that thus, at last, he’s found you.”
These words made Iron feel much braver; and they were spoken in tones so sweet and persuasive that he was almost minded to obey without another word. But he asked, “Why should I leave these places where I have rested so long? What will become of me after I have made friends with Fire?”
The Smith answered:
“Come with me, for kindly we will treat you.
On my anvil gently will I beat you;
With my tongs, then, deftly will I hold you;
With my hammer I will shape and mould you
Into forms so fair that all will prize you,