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 fy-^^^^ ^«_^2^^ 
 
 IDYLS OF THE KING. 
 
IDYLS OF THE KING 
 
 BY 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON, D. C. L., 
 
 POKT LAURKATE. 
 
 " Flos Regvim Arthurus."' 
 
 Joseph of Exetee. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 TICK NOR ANr> FIELDS, 
 
 M DCCC LIX. 
 
AUTHOR S EDITIOX. 
 
 5' 
 
 
 \f 
 
 University Press, Cambridge : 
 Electrotyped and Printed by Welcb, Bigelovr, & Co. 
 
h 
 TS 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Enid 7 
 
 YiviEx 89 
 
 Elaixk 129 
 
 Guinp:veke 195 
 
 1* 
 
 Mi75f5ii1 
 
ENID 
 
ENID 
 
 The brave Geraint, a knight of Arthur's court, 
 
 A tributary prince of Devon, one 
 
 Of that great order of the Table Round, 
 
 Had wedded Enid, Yniol's only child. 
 
 And loved her as he loved the light of Heaven. 
 
 And as the light of Heaven varies, now 
 
 At sunrise, now at sunset, now by night 
 
 With moon and trembling stars, so loved Geraint 
 
 To make her beauty vary day by day. 
 
 In crimsons and in purples and in gems. 
 
 And Enid, but to please her husband's eye, 
 
 Who first had found and loved her in a state 
 
 Of broken fortunes, daily fronted him 
 
 In some fresh splendor ; and the Queen herself, 
 
 Grateful to Prince Geraint for service done. 
 
 Loved her, and often with her own white hands 
 
10'' ' ENID. 
 
 Arrayed and decked her, as tlie loveliest, , 
 
 Next after her own self, in all the court. 
 
 And Enid loved the Queen, and with true heart 
 
 Adored her, as the stateliest and the best 
 
 And loveliest of all women upon earth. 
 
 And seeing them so tender and so close. 
 
 Long in their common love rejoiced Geraint. 
 
 But when a rumor rose about the Queen, 
 
 Touching her guilty love for Lancelot, 
 
 Though yet there lived no proof, nor yet was heard 
 
 The world's loud whisper breaking into storm, 
 
 Not less Geraint believed it ; and there fell 
 
 A horror on him, lest his gentle wife, 
 
 Through that great tenderness for Guinevere, 
 
 Had suffered or should suffer any taint 
 
 In nature : wherefore going to the king, 
 
 He made this pretext, that his princedom lay 
 
 Close on the borders of a territory, 
 
 "Wherein were bandit earls, and caitiff knights, 
 
 Assassins, and all flyers from the hand 
 
 Of Justice, and whatever loathes a law : 
 
 And therefore, till the king himself should please 
 
 To cleanse this common sewer of all his realm, 
 
 He craved a fair permission to depart, 
 
 And there defend his marches ; and the king 
 
EXID. 11 
 
 Mused for a little on his plea, but, last, 
 Allowing it, the prince and Enid rode, 
 And fifty knights rode with them, to the shores 
 Of Severn, and they past to their own land ; 
 Where, thinking, that if ever yet Avas wife 
 True to her lord, mine shall be so to me, 
 He compassed her with sweet observances 
 And worship, never leaving her, and grew 
 Forgetful of his promise to the king, 
 Forgetful of the falcon and the hunt, 
 Forgetful of the tilt and tournament, 
 Forgetful of his glory and his name. 
 Forgetful of his princedom and its cares. 
 And this forgetfulness was hateful to her. 
 And by and by the people, when they met 
 In twos and threes, or fuller companies. 
 Began to scoff and jeer and babble of him 
 As of a prince whose manhood was all gone, 
 And molten down in mere uxoriousness. 
 And this she gathered from the people's eyes : 
 This too the women who attired her head. 
 To i:)lease her, dwelling on his boundless love. 
 Told Enid, and they saddened her the more : 
 And day by day she thought to tell Geraint, 
 But could not out of bashful delicacy ; 
 
12 ENID. 
 
 Wliile he that watched her sadden, was the more 
 Suspicious, that her nature had a taint. 
 
 At last, it chanced that on a summer morn 
 (They sleeping each by other) the new sun 
 Beat through the bhndless casement of the room, 
 And heated the strong warrior in his dreams ; 
 Who, moving, cast the coverlet aside. 
 And bared the knotted column of his throat, 
 The massive square of his heroic breast. 
 And arms on which the standing muscle sloped, 
 As slopes a vrild brook o'er a little stone, 
 Running too vehemently to break upon it. 
 And Enid woke and sat beside the couch, 
 Admiring him, and thought within herself, 
 "Was ever man so grandly made as he ? 
 Then, like a shadow, past the people's talk 
 And accusation of uxoriousness 
 Across her mind, and bowing over him. 
 Low to her own heart j)iteously she said : 
 
 " noble breast and all-puissant arms, 
 Am I the cause, I the poor cause that men 
 Reproach you, saying all your force is gone ? 
 I am the cause because I dare not speak 
 
ENID. 13 
 
 And tell him what I think and what they say. 
 
 And yet I hate that he should linger here ; 
 
 I cannot love my lord and not his name. 
 
 Far liever had I gird his harness on him, 
 
 And ride with him to battle and stand by, 
 
 And watch his mightful hand striking great blows 
 
 At caitiffs and at wrongers of the world. 
 
 Far better were I laid in the dark earth, 
 
 Not hearing any more his noble voice. 
 
 Not to be folded more in these dear arms. 
 
 And darkened from the high light in his eyes, 
 
 Than that my lord through me should suffer shame. 
 
 Am I so bold, and could I so stand by. 
 
 And see my dear lord wounded in the strife. 
 
 Or may be pierced to death before mine eyes, 
 
 And yet not dare to tell him what I think. 
 
 And how men slur him, saying all liis force 
 
 Is melted into mere effeminacy ? 
 
 O me, I fear that I am no true wife." 
 
 Half inwardly, half audibly she spoke, 
 And the strong passion in her made her weep 
 True tears upon his broad and naked breast, 
 And these awoke him, and by great mischance 
 He heard but fragments of her later words, 
 2 
 
14 EXID. 
 
 And that slie feared slie was not a true wife. 
 
 And then he thought, " In spite of all my care, 
 
 For all my pains, poor man, for all my pains, 
 
 She is not faithful to me, and I see her 
 
 Weeping for some gay knight in Arthur's hall." 
 
 Then though he loved and reverenced her too much 
 
 To dream she could be guilty of foul act, 
 
 Right through his manful breast darted the pang 
 
 That makes a man, in the sweet face of her 
 
 Whom he loves most, lonely and miserable. 
 
 At this he snatched his great limbs from the bed, 
 
 And shook his drowsy squire awake, and cried, 
 
 " My charger and her palfrey," then to her : 
 
 " I will ride forth into the wilderness ; 
 
 For though it seems my spurs are yet to win, 
 
 I have not fallen so low as some would wish. 
 
 And you, put on your worst and meanest dress 
 
 And ride with me." And Enid asked, amazed, 
 
 " If Enid errs, let Enid learn her fault." 
 
 But he, " I charge you, ask not, but obey." 
 
 Then she bethought her of a faded silk, 
 
 A faded mantle and a faded veil. 
 
 And moving toward a cedarn cabinet, 
 
 "Wherein she kept them folded reverently 
 
 With sprigs of summer laid between the folds, 
 
ENID. 15 
 
 She took them, and arrayed herself therein, 
 Remembering when first he came on her 
 Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in it, 
 And all her foolish fears about the dress, 
 And all his journey to her, as himself 
 Had told her, and their coming to the court. 
 
 For Arthur on the Whitsuntide before 
 Held court at old Caerleon upon Usk. 
 There on a day, he sitting high in hall. 
 Before him came a forester of Dean, 
 Wet from the woods, with notice of a hart 
 Taller than all his fellows, milky-white. 
 First seen that day : these things he told the king. 
 Then the good king gave order to let blow 
 His horns for hunting on the morrow morn. 
 And when the Queen petitioned for liis leave 
 To see the hunt, allowed it easily. 
 So with the morning all the court were gone. 
 But Guinevere lay late into the morn, 
 Lost in sweet di-eams, and dreaming of her love 
 For Lancelot, and forgetful of the hunt ; 
 But rose at last, a single maiden with her, 
 Took horse, and forded Usk, and gained the wood ; 
 There, on a little knoll beside it, stayed 
 
1 6 ENID. 
 
 Waiting to hear the hounds ; but heard instead 
 
 A sudden sound of hoofs, for Prince Geraint, 
 
 Late also, wearing neither hunting-dress 
 
 Nor weapon, save a goldcn-hiUed brand, 
 
 Came quickly flashing through the shallow ford 
 
 Behind them, and so galloped up the knoll. 
 
 A purple scarf, at either end whereof 
 
 There swung an apjDle of the purest gold, 
 
 Swayed round about him, as he galloped up 
 
 To join them, glancing like a dragon-fly 
 
 In summer suit and silks of holiday. 
 
 Low bowed the tributary Prince, and she, 
 
 Sweetly and statelily, and with all grace 
 
 Of womanhood and queenhood, answered him : 
 
 " Late, late. Sir Prince," she said, " later than we ! " 
 
 " Yea, noble Queen," he answered, " and so late 
 
 That I but come like you to see the hunt, 
 
 Kot join it." "Therefore wait with me," she said; 
 
 " For on this little knoll, if anywhere, 
 
 There is good chance that we shall hear the hounds 
 
 Here often they break covert at our feet." 
 
 And while they listened for the distant hunt. 
 And chiefly for the baying of Cavall, 
 King Arthur's hound of deepest mouth, there rode 
 
ENID. 17 
 
 Full slowly by a knight, lady, and dwarf ; 
 Whereof the dAvarf lagged latest, and the knight 
 Had visor up, and showed a youthful face, 
 ImjDerious, and of haughtiest lineaments. 
 And Guinevere, not mindful of his face 
 In the king's hall, desired his name, and sent 
 Her maiden to demand it of the dwarf; 
 Who being vicious, old and irritable. 
 And doubling all his master's vice of pride, 
 Made answer sharply that she should not know. 
 "Then will I ask it of himself," she said. 
 "Nay, by my faith, thou shalt not," cried the dwarf; 
 " Thou art not worthy ev'n to speak of him " ; 
 And when she put her horse toward the knight. 
 Struck at her with his whip, and she returned 
 Indignant to the Queen ; at which Geraint 
 Exclaimed, " Surely I will learn the name," 
 Made sharply to the dwarf, and asked it of him. 
 Who answered as before ; and when the Prince 
 Had put his horse in motion toward the knight. 
 Struck at him with his whip, and cut his cheek. 
 The Prince's blood spirted upon the scarf. 
 Dyeing it ; and his quick, instinctive hand 
 Caught at the hilt, as to abolish him : 
 But he, from his exceeding manfulness 
 
 2* 
 
18 ENID. 
 
 And pure nobility of temperament, 
 
 "Wroth to be wrotli at such a worm, refrained 
 
 From ev'n a word, and so returning said : 
 
 " I will avenge this insult, noble Queen, 
 Done in your maiden's person to yourself : 
 And I will track this vermin to their earths : 
 For though I ride unarmed, I do not doubt 
 To find, at some place I shall come at, arms 
 On loan, or else for pledge ; and, being found. 
 Then will I fight him, and will break his pride, 
 And on the third day will again be here. 
 So that I be not fallen in fight. Farev/ell." 
 
 " Farewell, fair Prince," answered the stately Queen. 
 " Be prosperous in this journey, as in all ; 
 And may you light on all things that you love, 
 And live to wed with her whom fii-st you love : 
 But ere you wed with any, brmg your bride. 
 And I, were she the daughter of a king. 
 Yea, though she were a beggar from the hedge. 
 Will clothe her for her bridals Hke the sun." . 
 
 And Prince Geraint, now tliinking that he heard 
 The noble hart at bay, now the far horn, 
 
19 
 
 A little vext at losing of the hunt, 
 
 A little at the vile occasion, rode, 
 
 By ups and downs, through many a glassy glade 
 
 And valley, Avith fixt eye following the three. 
 
 At last they issued from the world of wood. 
 
 And climbed upon a fair and even ridge. 
 
 And showed themselves against the sky, and sank. 
 
 And thither came Geraint, and underneath 
 
 Beheld the long street of a little town 
 
 In a long valley, on one side of which, 
 
 White from the mason's hand, a fortress rose ; 
 
 And on one side a castle in decay. 
 
 Beyond a bridge that spanned a dry ravine : 
 
 And out of town and valley came a noise 
 
 As of a broad brook o'er a shingly bed 
 
 Brawling, or like a clamor of the rooks 
 
 At distance, ere they settle for the night. 
 
 And onward to the fortress rode the three. 
 And entered, and were lost behind the walls. 
 "So," thought Geraint, "I have tracked him to his earth.' 
 And doA\'n the long street riding wearily. 
 Found every hostel full, and eveiywhere 
 "Was hammer laid to hoof, and the hot hiss 
 And bustling whistle of the youth who scoured 
 
20 EXID. 
 
 His master's armor ; and of such a one - 
 
 He asked, " What means the tumult in the town ? " 
 
 Who told him, scouring still, '' The sparroAv-hawk ! " 
 
 Then ridmg close behind an ancient churl, 
 
 Wlio, smitten by the dustj slojDing beam, 
 
 Went sweating underneath a sack of corn. 
 
 Asked yet once more what meant the hubbub here ? 
 
 Who answered gruffly, " Ugh ! the sparrow-hawk." 
 
 Then riding further past an armorer's. 
 
 Who, with back turned, and bowed above his work, 
 
 Sat riveting a hehnet on his knee. 
 
 He put the selfsame query, but the man. 
 
 Not turning round, nor looking at him, said : 
 
 " Friend, he that labors for the sparrow-hawk 
 
 Has little time for idle questioners.' 
 
 Whereat Geraint flashed into sudden spleen : 
 
 " A thousand pips eat up your sparrow-hawk ! 
 
 Tits, wrens, and all winged nothings peck him dead ! 
 
 Ye think the rustic cackle of your bourg 
 
 The murmur of the world ! What is it to me ? 
 
 O Avretched set of sj^arrows, one and all, 
 
 Who pipe of nothing but of spaiTOw-hawks ! 
 
 Speak, if you be not like the rest, hawk-mad. 
 
 Where can I get me harborage for the night ? 
 
 And arms, arms, arms to fight my enemy ? Speak ! " 
 
ENID. 21 
 
 At this the armorer turning all amazed 
 And seeing one so gaj in purple silks, 
 Came forward with the helmet yet in hand 
 And answered, " Pardon me, O stranger knight ; 
 We hold a tourney here to-morrow morn, 
 And there is scantly time for half the work. 
 Arms ? truth ! I know not : all are wanted here. 
 Harborage ? truth, good truth, I know not, save, 
 It may be, at Earl Yniol's, o'er the bridge 
 Yonder." He spoke and fell to work again. 
 
 Then rode Geraint, a little spleenful yet. 
 Across the bridge that spanned the dry ravine. 
 There musing sat the hoary-headed Earl, 
 (His dress a suit of frayed magnificence. 
 Once fit for feasts of ceremony,) and said : 
 "Whither, fair son ?" to whom Geraint repHed, 
 " O friend, I seek a harborage for the night." 
 Then Yniol, " Enter therefore and j^artake 
 The slender entertainment of a house 
 Once rich, now poor, but ever open-doored." 
 " Thanks, venerable friend," replied Geraint ; 
 " So that you do not serve me sparrow-hawks 
 For supper, I will enter, I will eat 
 With all the passion of a twelve hours' fast." 
 
22 
 
 Then sighed and smiled the hoaiy-headed Earl, 
 And answered, " Graver cause than yours is mine 
 To curse this hedgerow thief, the sparroM'-hawk : 
 But in, go in ; for save yourself desire it 
 "We will not touch upon him ev'n in jest." 
 
 Then rode Geraint into the castle court. 
 His charger trampling many a prickly star 
 Of sprouted thistle on the broken stones. 
 He looked and saw that all was ruinous. 
 Here stood a shattered archway plumed with fern ; 
 And here had fallen a great part of a tower, 
 "Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff. 
 And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers : 
 And high above a piece of turret stair, 
 "Worn by the feet that now were silent, wound 
 Bare to the sun, and monstrous ivy-stems 
 Claspt the gray walls with hairy-fibred arms. 
 And sucked the joining of the stones, and looked 
 A knot, beneath, of snakes, aloft, a grove. 
 
 And while he waited in the castle court, 
 The voice of Enid, Yniol's daughter, rang 
 Clear through the open casement of the Hall, 
 Singuag ; and as the sweet voice of a bird, 
 
^3 
 
 Heard by the lander in a lonely isle, 
 
 Moves him to think what kind of bird it is 
 
 That sings so delicately clear, and make 
 
 Conjecture of the plumage and the form ; 
 
 So the sweet voice of Enid moved Geraint ; 
 
 And made him like a man abroad at morn 
 
 When first the liquid note beloved of men 
 
 Comes flying over many a windy wave 
 
 To Britain, and in April suddenly 
 
 Breaks from a coppice gemmed with green and red. 
 
 And he suspends his converse with a friend, 
 
 Or it may be the labor of his hands. 
 
 To think or say, " There is the nightingale " ; 
 
 So fared it with Geraint, who thought and said, 
 
 " Here, by God's grace, is the one voice for me." 
 
 It chanced the song that Enid sang was one 
 Of Fortune and her Avheel, and Enid sang : 
 
 " Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud ; 
 Turn thy wild wheel through sunshine, storm, and cloud ; 
 Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate. 
 
 " Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown ; 
 "With that wild wheel we go not up or down ; 
 Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great. 
 
24 ENID. 
 
 " Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands ; 
 Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands ; 
 For man is man and master of his fate. 
 
 " Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd ; 
 Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud ; 
 Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate." 
 
 " Hark, by the bird's song you may learn the 
 nest," 
 Said Yniol ; " Enter quickly." Entering then, 
 Right o'er a mount of new-fallen stones, 
 The dusky-raftered, many-cobwebbed hall. 
 He found an ancient dame in dim brocade ; 
 And near her, like a blossom vermeil-white, 
 That lightly breaks a faded flower-sheath, 
 Moved the fair Enid, all iii faded silk. 
 Her daughter. In a moment thought Geraint, 
 *' Here by God's rood is the one maid for me." 
 But none spake word except the hoary Earl : 
 " Enid, the good knight's horse stands in the court ; 
 Take him to stall, and give him corn, and then 
 Go to the town and buy us flesh and wine ; 
 And we will make us merry as we may. 
 Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great." 
 
ENID. 25 
 
 He spake : the Prince, as Enid past him, fain 
 To follow, strode a stride, but Yniol caught 
 His purple scarf, and held, and said, " Forbear ! 
 Rest ! the good house, though ruined, O my Son, 
 Endures not that her guest should serve himself." 
 And reverencing the custom of the house, 
 Geraint, from utter courtesy, forbore. 
 
 So Enid took his charger to the stall ; 
 And after went her way across the bridge, 
 And reached the town, and while the Prince and Earl 
 Yet spoke together, came again with one, 
 A youth, that following with a costrel bore 
 The means of goodly welcome, flesh and wine. 
 And Enid brought sweet cakes to make them cheer, 
 And in her veil enfolded, manchet bread. 
 And then, because their hall must also serve 
 For kitchen, boiled the flesh, and spread the board, 
 And stood behind, and waited on the three. 
 And seeing her so sweet and serviceable, 
 Geraint had longing in him evermore 
 To stoop and kiss the tender little thumb. 
 That crost the trencher as she laid it down : 
 But after all had eaten, then Geraint, 
 For now the wine made summer in his veins, 
 
 3 
 
26 ENID. 
 
 Let his eye rove in following, or rest 
 On Enid at her lowly handmaid-work, 
 Now here, now there, about the dusky hall ; 
 Tlien suddenly addrest tlie hoary Earl : 
 
 " Fair Host and Earl, I pray your courtesy ; 
 This sjDarrow-haM'k, what is he, tell me of him. 
 His name ? but no, good faith, I will not have it : 
 For if he be the knight whom late I saw 
 Ride into that new fortress by your town, 
 "White from the mason's hand, then have I sworn 
 From his own lips to have it — I am Geraint 
 Of Devon — for this morning when the Queen 
 Sent her own maiden to demand tlie name. 
 His dwarf, a vicious under-shapen thing, 
 Struck at her with his whip, and she returned 
 Indignant to the Queen ; and then I swore 
 That I would track this caitiff to his hold, 
 And fight and break his pride, and have it of him. 
 And all unarmed I rode, and thought to find 
 Arms in your town, where all the men are mad ; 
 They take the rustic murmur of their bourg 
 For the great wave that echoes round the world ; 
 They would not hear me speak : but if you know 
 "Where I can light on arms, or if yourself 
 
ENID. 27 
 
 Should have them, tell me, seeing I have sworn 
 That I Avill break his pride and learn his name, 
 Avenging this great insult done the Queen." 
 
 Then cried Earl Yniol. " Art thou he indeed, 
 Geraint, a name far-sounded among men 
 For noble deeds ? and truly I, when first 
 I saw you moving by me on the bridge, 
 Felt you were somewhat, yea and by your state 
 And presence might have guessed you one of those 
 That eat in Arthur's hall at Camelot. 
 Nor speak I now from foolish flattery ; 
 For this dear child hath often heard me praise 
 Your feats of arms, and often when I paused 
 Hath asked again, and ever loved to hear ; 
 So grateful is the noise of noble deeds 
 To noble hearts who see but acts of wrong : 
 
 never yet had woman such a pair 
 
 Of suitors as this maiden ; first Limours, 
 
 A creature wholly given to brawls and Avine, 
 
 Drunk even when he wooed ; and be he dead 
 
 1 know not, but he past to the wild land. 
 The second was your foe, the sparrow-hawk. 
 My curse, my nephew — I will not let his name 
 Slip from my lips if I can help it — he. 
 
28 ENID. 
 
 When I tliat knew liim fierce and turbulent 
 
 Refused her to him, then his pride awoke ; 
 
 And since the proud man often is the mean, 
 
 He sowed a slander in the common ear, 
 
 Affirming tliat his father left him gold, 
 
 And in my charge, which was not rendered to him 
 
 Bribed with large promises the men who served 
 
 About my person, the more easily 
 
 Because my means were somewhat broken into 
 
 Through open doors and hospitality ; 
 
 Raised my own town against me in the night 
 
 Before my Enid's birthday, sacked my house ; 
 
 From mine own earldom foull}'* ousted me ; 
 
 Built that new fort to overawe my friends, 
 
 For truly there are those who love me yet ; 
 
 And keeps me in this ruinous castle here. 
 
 Where doubtless he Avould j^ut me soon to death 
 
 But that his pride too much despises me : 
 
 And I myself sometimes despise myself; 
 
 For I have let men be, and have their way ; 
 
 Am much too gentle, have not used my power : 
 
 Nor know I whether I be very base 
 
 Or very manful, Avhether very wise 
 
 Or very foolish ; only this I know, 
 
 That whatsoever evil happen to me. 
 
ENID. 29 
 
 I seem to suffer nothing heart or limb, 
 But can endure it all most patiently." 
 
 " Well said, true heart," replied Geraint, " but arms : 
 That if, as I suppose, your nephew fights 
 In next day's tourney, I may break his pride." 
 
 And Yniol answered, " Arms, indeed, but old 
 And rusty, old and rusty. Prince Geraint, 
 Are mine, and therefore at your asking, yours. 
 But in this tournament can no man tilt. 
 Except the lady he loves best be there. 
 Two forks are fixt into the meadow ground, 
 And over these is laid a silver wand. 
 And over that is placed the sparrow-hawk, 
 The prize of beauty for the fairest there. 
 And this, wliat knight soever be in field 
 Lays claim to for the lady at his side. 
 And tilts with my good nephew thereupon, 
 Who being apt at arms and big of bone 
 Has ever won it for the lady with him, 
 And toppling over all antagonism 
 Has earned himself the name of sparrow-hawk. 
 But you, that have no lady, cannot fight." 
 3* 
 
30 ENID. 
 
 To whom Geraint Avith eyes all bright replied, 
 Leaning a little toward him, " Your leave ! 
 Let me lay lance in rest, noble host, 
 For this dear child, because I never saw, 
 Though having seen all beauties of our time, 
 Nor can see elsewhere, anything so fair. 
 And if I fall, her name will yet remain 
 Untarnished as before ; but if I live, 
 So aid me Heaven when at mine uttermost. 
 As I will make her truly my true wife." 
 
 Then, howsoever patient, Yniol's heart 
 Danced in his bosom, seeing better days. 
 And looking round he saw not Enid there, 
 (Who, hearing her own name, had slipt away,) 
 But that old dame, to whom full tenderly. 
 And fondling all her hand in his, he said, 
 " Mother, a maiden is a tender thing. 
 And best by her that bore her understood. 
 Go thou to rest, but ere thou go to rest 
 Tell her, and prove her heart toward the Prince." 
 
 So spake the kindly-hearted Earl, and she 
 With frequent smile and nod departing found. 
 Half disarrayed as to her rest, the girl ; 
 
ENID. 31 
 
 Vv'hom first she kissed on either cheek, and then 
 On either shining shoukler laid a hand, 
 And kept her off and gazed upon her face, 
 And told her all their converse in the hall, 
 Proving her heart : but never liglit and shade 
 Coursed one another more on open ground 
 Beneath a troubled heaven, than red and pale 
 Across the face of Enid hearing her : 
 While slowly falling as a scale that falls, 
 "When weight is added only grain by grain, 
 Sank her sweet head upon her gentle breast ; 
 Nor did she lift an eye nor speak a word, 
 Eapt in the fear and in the wonder of it ; 
 So moving without answer to her rest 
 She found no rest, and ever failed to draw 
 The quiet night into her blood, but lay 
 ContemjDlating her own unAvorthmess ; 
 And when the pale and bloodless east began 
 To quicken to the sun, arose, and raised 
 Her mother too, and hand in hand they moved 
 Down to the meadow Avhere the jousts were held. 
 And waited there for Yniol and Geraint. 
 
 And tliither came the twain, and when Geraint 
 Beheld her first in field, awaiting him. 
 
32 ENID. 
 
 He felt, were she the prize of bodily force, 
 
 Himself beyond the rest jjushing could move 
 
 The chair of Idris. Yniol's rusted arms 
 
 Were on his princely person, but through these 
 
 Prmcclike his bearing shone ; and errant knights 
 
 And ladies came, and by and by the town 
 
 Flowed in, and settling circled all the lists. 
 
 And there they fixt the forks into the ground. 
 
 And over these they placed a silver wand, 
 
 And over that a golden sj^arrow-hawk. 
 
 Then Yniol's nephew, after trumpet blown. 
 
 Spake to the lady with him and proclaimed, 
 
 " Advance and take as fairest of the fair, 
 
 For I these two years past have won it for thee. 
 
 The prize of beauty." Loudly spake the Prince. 
 
 " Forbear ; there is a worthier," and the knight 
 
 With some surprise and thrice as much disdain 
 
 Turned, and beheld the four, aiid all his face 
 
 Glowed like the heart of a great fire at Yule, 
 
 So burnt he was with passion, crying out, 
 
 " Do battle for it then," no more ; and thrice 
 
 They clashed together, and thrice they brake their spears 
 
 Then each, dishorsed and drawing, lashed at each 
 
 So often and with such blows, that all the crowd 
 
 Wondered, and now and then from distant walls 
 
33 
 
 There came a clapping as of phantom hands. 
 
 So tAvice they fought, and twice they breathed, and still 
 
 The dew of their great labor, and the blood 
 
 Of their strong bodies, flowing, drained their force. 
 
 But cither's force was matched till Yniol's cry, 
 
 " Remember that great insult done the Queen," 
 
 Increased Geraint's, who heaved his blade aloft, 
 
 And cracked the helmet through, and bit the bone, 
 
 And felled him, and set foot upon his breast. 
 
 And said, "' Thy name ? " To whom the fallen man 
 
 Made answer, groaning, " Edyrn, son of Kudd ! 
 
 Ashamed am I that I should tell it thee. 
 
 My j)ride is broken : men have seen my fall." 
 
 " Then, Edyrn, sou of JSTudd," rephed Geraint, 
 
 " These two things shalt thou do, or else thou diest. 
 
 First, thou thyself, thy lady, and thy dwarf, 
 
 Shalt ride to Arthur's court, and being there, 
 
 Crave pardon for that insult done the Queen, 
 
 And shalt abide her judgment on it ; next, 
 
 Thou shalt give back their earldom to thy kin. 
 
 These two things shalt thou do, or thou shalt die." 
 
 And Edyrn answered, " These things will I do, 
 
 For I have never yet been overthrown. 
 
 And thou hast overthrown me, and my pride 
 
 Is broken down, for Enid sees my fall ! " 
 
34 ENID. 
 
 And rising np, lie rode to Arthur's court, 
 And there the Queen forgave him easily. 
 And being young, he changed himself, and grew 
 To hate the sin that seemed so like his own 
 Of Modred, Arthur's nephew, and fell at last 
 In the great battle fighting for the king. 
 
 But when the third day from the hunting-morn 
 Made a low splendor in the world, and wings 
 Moved in her ivy, Enid, for she lay 
 With her fair head in the dim-yellow light. 
 Among the dancing shadoAvs of the birds, 
 Woke and bethought her of her promise given 
 No later than last eve to Prince Geraint — 
 So bent he seemed on going the third day. 
 He would not leave her, till her promise given — 
 To ride with him this morning to the court. 
 And there be made known to the stately Queen, 
 And there be wedded with all ceremony. 
 At this she cast her eyes upon her dress. 
 And thought it never yet had looked so mean. 
 For as a leaf in mid-Xovember is 
 To what it was in mid-October, seemed 
 The dress that now she looked on to the dress 
 She looked on ere the cominj? of Geraint. 
 
35 
 
 And still she looked, and still the terror grew 
 Of that strange bright and dreadful thing, a court, 
 All staring at her in her faded silk : 
 And softly to her own sweet heart she said : 
 
 " This noble prince who won our earldom back. 
 So splendid in his acts and his attire, 
 Sweet Heaven, how much I shall discredit him ! 
 Would he could tarry with us here awhile ! 
 But being so beholden to the Prince, 
 It were but little grace in any of us. 
 Bent as he seemed on going this third day, 
 To seek a second favor at his hands. 
 Yet if he could but tarry a day or two, 
 Myself would work eye dim, and finger lame. 
 Far hefer than so much discredit him." 
 
 And Enid fell in longinsr for a dress 
 All branched and flowered with gold, a costly gift 
 Of her good mother, given her on the night 
 Before her birthday, three sad years ago, 
 That night of fire, when Edyrn sacked their house, 
 And scattered all they had to all the winds : 
 For while the mother showed it, and the two 
 "Were turning and admiring it, the work 
 
36 ENID. 
 
 To both appeared so costly, rose a cry 
 
 That Edyrn's men were on them, and they fled 
 
 With little save the jewels they had on, 
 
 "Which being sold and sold had bought them bread ; 
 
 And Edyrn's men had caught them in their flight, 
 
 And placed them in this ruin ; and she wished 
 
 The Prince had found her in her ancient home ; 
 
 Then let her fancy flit across the past, 
 
 And roam the goodly places that she knew ; 
 
 And last bethought her how she used to watch, 
 
 Near that old home, a j)ool of golden carp ; 
 
 And one was patched and blurred and lustreless 
 
 Among his burnished brethren of the pool ; ' 
 
 And half asleep she made comparison 
 
 Of that and these to her own faded self 
 
 And the gay court, and fell asleep again ; 
 
 And dreamt herself was such a faded form 
 
 Among her burnished sisters of the pool ; 
 
 But this was in the garden of a king ; 
 
 And though she lay dark in the pool, she knew 
 
 That all was bright, that all about were birds 
 
 Of sunny plume in gilded trelHs-work ; 
 
 That all the turf was rich in plots that looked 
 
 Each like a garnet or a turkis in it ; 
 
 And lords and ladies of the high court went 
 
ENID. 37 
 
 In silver tissue talking things of state ; 
 
 And children of the king in cloth of gold 
 
 Glanced at the doors or gambolled down the "wallis ; 
 
 And while she thought " they will not see me," came 
 
 A stately queen whose name was Guinevere, 
 
 And all the children in their cloth of gold 
 
 Ran to her, crying, " If we have fish at all, 
 
 Let them be gold ; and charge the gardeners now 
 
 To pick the faded creature from the pool, 
 
 And cast it on the mixen that it die." 
 
 And therewithal one came and seized on her. 
 
 And Enid started w^aking, with her heart 
 
 All overshadowed by the foolish dream, 
 
 And lo ! it was her mother grasping her 
 
 To get her well awake ; and in her hand 
 
 A suit of bright apparel, which she laid 
 
 Flat on the couch, and spoke exultingly : 
 
 " See here, my child, how fresh the colors loolc. 
 How fast they hold, like colors of a shell 
 That keeps the wear and polish of the wave. 
 Why not ? it never yet was worn, I trow : 
 Look on it, child, and tell me if you know it." 
 
 And Enid looked, but all confused at first, 
 4 
 
38 ENID. 
 
 Could scarce divide it from her foolish dream : 
 
 Then suddenly she knew it and rejoiced, 
 
 And answered, " Yea, I know it ; your good gift, 
 
 So sadly lost on that unhappy night ; 
 
 Your own good gift ! " " Yea, surely," said the dame, 
 
 " And gladly given again this happy morn. 
 
 For when the jousts were ended yesterday, 
 
 Went Yniol through the town, and everywhere 
 
 He found the sack and plunder of our house 
 
 All scattered through the houses of the town : 
 
 And gave command that all which once was ours. 
 
 Should now be ours again ; and yester-eve, 
 
 "While you were talking sweetly with your Prince, 
 
 Came one with this and laid it in my hand. 
 
 For love or fear, or seeking favor of us. 
 
 Because we have our earldom back again. 
 
 And yester-eve I would not tell you of it, 
 
 But kept it for a sweet surprise at morn. 
 
 Yea, truly is it not a sweet surprise ? 
 
 For I myself unwillingly have worn 
 
 My faded suit, as you, my child, have yours. 
 
 And, howsoever patient, Yniol his. 
 
 Ah, dear, he took me from a goodly house, 
 
 With store of rich apparel, sumptuous fare, 
 
 And page, and maid, and squire, and seneschal, 
 
ENID. 39 
 
 And pastime both of hawk and hound, and all 
 
 That appertains to noble maintenance. 
 
 Yea, and he brought me to a goodly house ; 
 
 But since our fortune slipt from sun to shade. 
 
 And all through that young traitor, cruel need 
 
 Constrained us, but a better time has come ; 
 
 So clothe yourself in this, that better fits 
 
 Our mended fortunes and a Prince's bride : 
 
 For though you won the prize of fairest fair, 
 
 And though I heard him call you fairest fair. 
 
 Let never maiden think, however fair, 
 
 She is not fairer in new clothes than old. 
 
 And should some great court-lady say, the Prince 
 
 Hath picked a ragged-robin from the hedge. 
 
 And like a madman brought her to the court. 
 
 Then were you shamed, and, worse, might shame the 
 
 Prince 
 To whom we are beholden ; but I know. 
 When my dear child is set forth at her best. 
 That neither court nor country, though they sought 
 Through all the provinces like those of old 
 That lighted on Queen Esther, has her match." 
 
 Here ceased the kindly mother out of breath ; 
 And Enid listened brightening as she lay ; 
 
40 ENID. 
 
 Then, as the white and glittering star of morn 
 Parts from a bank of snow, and by and by- 
 Slips into golden cloud, the maiden rose, 
 And left her maiden couch, and robed herself. 
 Helped by the mother's careful hand and eye. 
 Without a mirror, in the gorgeous gown ; 
 "Who, after, turned her daughter round, and said, 
 She never yet had seen her half so fair ; 
 And called her like that maiden in the tale. 
 Whom Gwydion made by glamour out of flowers. 
 And sweeter than the bride of Cassivelaun, 
 riur, for Avhose love the Roman Ceesar first 
 Invaded Britain, but we beat him back, 
 As this great prince invaded us, and we. 
 Not beat him back, but welcomed him with joy. 
 " And I can scarcely ride with you to court. 
 For old am I, and rough the ways and Avild ; 
 But Yniol goes, and I full oft shall dream 
 I see my princess as I see her now. 
 Clothed with my gift, and gay among the gay." 
 
 But while the women thus rejoiced, Geraint 
 Woke where he slept in the high hall, and. called 
 For Enid, and when Yniol made report 
 Of that good mother making Enid gay 
 
ENID. 41 
 
 In such apparel as might well beseem 
 His princess, or indeed the stately Queen, 
 He answered : " Earl, entreat her by my love. 
 Albeit I give no reason but my wish, 
 That she ride with me in her faded silk." 
 Yniol with that hard message went ; it fell, 
 Like flaws in summer laying lusty corn: 
 For Enid, all abashed she knew not why. 
 Dared not to glance at her good mother's face, 
 But silently, in all obedience, 
 Her mother silent too, nor helping her, 
 Laid from her limbs the costly-broidered gift, 
 And robed them in her ancient suit again. 
 And so descended. Never man rejoiced 
 More than Geraint to greet her thus attired ; 
 And glancing all at once as keenly at her, 
 As careful robins eye the delver's toil, 
 Made her cheek bum and either eyelid fall. 
 But rested with her sweet face satisfied ; 
 Then seeing cloud upon the mother's brow. 
 Her by both hands he caught, and sweetly said : 
 
 " my new mother, be not wroth or grieved 
 At your new son, for my petition to her. 
 
 4# 
 
42 ENID. 
 
 When late I left Caerleon, our great Queen, 
 
 In words whose echo lasts, they Avere so sweet. 
 
 Made promise, tliat whatever bride I brought. 
 
 Herself would clothe her like the sun in Heaven. 
 
 Thereafter, when I reached this ruined hold, 
 
 Beholding one so bright in dark estate, 
 
 I vowed that could I gain her, our kind Queen, 
 
 No hand but hers, should make your Enid burst 
 
 Sunlike from cloud — and likewise thought, perhaps. 
 
 That service done so graciously would bind 
 
 The two together ; for I wish the two 
 
 To love each other: how should Enid find 
 
 A nobler friend ? Another thought I had ; 
 
 I came among you here so suddenly, 
 
 That though her gentle presence at the lists 
 
 Might well have served for proof that I was loved, 
 
 I doubted whether filial tenderness, 
 
 Or easy nature, did not let itself 
 
 Be moulded by your wishes for her weal ; 
 
 Or whether some false sense in her own self 
 
 Of my contrasting brightness, overbore 
 
 Her fancy dwelling in this dusky hall ; 
 
 And such a sense might make her long for court 
 
 And all its dangerous glories : and I thought. 
 
ENID. 43 
 
 That could I some way prove such force in her 
 
 Linked with such love for me, that at a word 
 
 (No reason given her) she could cast aside 
 
 A splendor dear to women, new to her. 
 
 And therefore dearer ; or if not so new. 
 
 Yet therefore tenfold dearer by the power 
 
 Of intermitted custom ; then I felt 
 
 That I could rest, a rock in ebbs and flows, 
 
 Fixt on her faith. Now, therefore, I do rest, 
 
 A prophet certain of my prophecy, 
 
 That never shadow of mistrust can cross 
 
 Between us. Grant me pardon for my thoughts : 
 
 And for my strange petition I will make 
 
 Amends hereafter by some gaudy-day, 
 
 When your fair child shall wear your costly gift 
 
 Beside your own warm hearth, with, on her knees, 
 
 Who knows ? another gift of the high God, 
 
 Which, may be, shall have learned to Hsp you thanks." 
 
 He spoke : the mother smiled, but half in tears. 
 Then brought a mantle down and wrapt her in it. 
 And claspt and kissed her, and they rode aAvay. 
 
 Now thrice that mornino^ Guinevere had chmbed 
 
44 ENID. 
 
 The giant tower, from whose high crest tliey say 
 Men saw the goodly hills of Somerset, 
 And white sails flying on the yellow sea ; 
 But not to goodly hill or yellow sea 
 Looked the fair Queen, but up the vale of Usk, 
 By the flat meadow, till she saw them come ; 
 And then descending met them at the gates. 
 Embraced her with all welcome as a friend. 
 And did her honor as the Prince's bride, 
 And clothed her for her bridals like the sun ; 
 And all that week was old Caerleon gay. 
 For by the hands of Dubric, the high saint, 
 They twain were wedded with all ceremony. 
 
 And this was on the last year's Whitsuntide. 
 But Enid ever kept the faded silk, 
 Remembering how first he came on her, 
 Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in it, 
 And all her foolish fears about the di^ess. 
 And all his journey toward her, as himself 
 Had told her, and their coming to the court. 
 
 And now this morning when he said to her, 
 " Put on your worst and meanest dress," she found 
 And took it, and arrayed herself therein. 
 
ENID. 45 
 
 O purblind race of miserable men, 
 How many among us at this very hour 
 Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves, 
 By taking true for false, or false for true ; 
 Here, through the feeble twihght.of this world 
 Groping, how many, until we pass and reach 
 That other, where we see as we are seen ! 
 
 So fared it with Geraint, who issuing forth 
 That morning, when they had both got to horse, 
 Perhaps because he loved her passionately, 
 And felt that tempest brooding round his heart. 
 Which, if he spoke at all, would break perforce 
 Upon a head so dear in thunder, said : 
 " Not at my side ! I charge you ride before, 
 Ever a good way on before ; and this 
 I charge you, on your duty as a wife, 
 "Whatever happens, not to speak to me. 
 No, not a word ! " and Enid was aghast ; 
 And forth they rode, but scarce three paces on, 
 When crying out, " Effeminate as I am, 
 I will not fight my way with gilded arms. 
 All shall be iron " ; he loosed a mighty purse. 
 Hung at his belt, and hurled it toward the squire. 
 
40 ENID. 
 
 So tlie last sight that Enid had of home 
 
 "Was all the marble threshold flashing, strown 
 
 Witli gold and scattered coinage, and the squire 
 
 Chafing his shoulder : then he cried again, 
 
 " To the wilds ! " and Enid leading down the tracks 
 
 Through which he bade her lead him on, they past 
 
 The marches, and by bandit-haunted holds. 
 
 Gray swamps and pools, waste places of the hern. 
 
 And wildernesses, perilous paths, they rode : 
 
 Eound was their pace at first, but slackened soon : 
 
 A stranger meeting them had surely thought. 
 
 They rode so slowly and they looked so pale. 
 
 That each had suffered some exceeding wrong. 
 
 For he was ever saying to himself, 
 
 " O, I that wasted time to tend upon her, 
 
 To compass her with sweet observances, 
 
 To dress her beautifully and keep her true " — 
 
 And there he broke the sentence in his heart 
 
 Abruptly, as a man upon his tongue 
 
 May break it, when his passion masters him. 
 
 And she was ever praying the sweet heavens 
 
 To save her dear lord whole from any wound. 
 
 And ever in her mind she cast about 
 
 For that unnoticed failing in herself. 
 
ENID. 47 
 
 "Which made him look so cloudy and so cold ; 
 
 Till the great plover's human whistle amazed 
 
 Her heart, and glancing round the waste she feared 
 
 In every wavering brake an ambuscade. 
 
 Then thought again, " If there be such in me, 
 
 I might amend it by the grace of Heaven, 
 
 If he would only speak and tell me of it." 
 
 But when the fourth part of the day was gone, 
 Then Enid was aware of three tall knights 
 On horseback, wholly armed, behind a rock 
 In shadow, waiting for them, caitiffs all ; 
 And heard one crying to his fellow, " Look, 
 Here comes a laggard hanging down his head, 
 "Who seems no bolder than a beaten hound ; 
 Come, we will slay him and will have his horse 
 And armor, and his damsel shall be ours." 
 
 Then Enid pondered in her heart, and said : 
 " I will go back a little to my lord. 
 And I will tell him all their caitiff talk ; 
 For, be he wroth even to slaying me, 
 Far liever by his dear hand had I die. 
 Than that my lord should suffer loss or shame." 
 
48 ENID. 
 
 Then she went back some paces of return, 
 Met his full frown timidly firm, and said : 
 " My lord, I saw three bandits by the rock 
 Waiting to fall on you, and heard them boast 
 That they would slay you, and possess your horse 
 And armor, and your damsel should be theirs." 
 
 He made a wrathful answer. " Did I wish 
 Your silence or your warning ? one command 
 I laid upon you, not to speak to me, 
 And thus you keep it ! Well then, look — for now. 
 Whether you wish me victory or defeat. 
 Long for my life, or hunger for my death, 
 Yourself shall see my vigor is not lost." 
 
 Then Enid waited pale and sorrowful. 
 And down upon him bare the bandit three. 
 And at the midmost charging, Prince Geraint 
 Drave the long spear a cubit through his breast 
 And out beyond ; and then against his brace 
 Of comrades, each of whom had broken on him 
 A lance that splintered like an icicle, 
 Swung from his brand a windy buffet out 
 Once, twice, to right, to left, and stunned the twain 
 
ENID. 49 
 
 Or slew them, and dismounting like a man 
 
 That skins the wild beast after slaying him, 
 
 Stript from the three dead wolves of woman born 
 
 The three gay suits of armor which they wore, 
 
 And let the bodies lie, but bound the suits 
 
 Of armor on their horses, each on each, 
 
 And tied the bridle-reins of all the three 
 
 Together, and said to her, " Drive them on 
 
 Before you " ; and she drove them througli the waste. 
 
 He followed nearer : ruth began to work 
 Against his anger in him, while he watched 
 The being he loved best in all the world, 
 "With difficulty in mild obedience 
 Driving them on : he fain had spoken to her, 
 And loosed in words of sudden fire the wrath 
 And smouldered wrong that burnt him all within ; 
 But evermore it seemed an easier thing 
 At once without remorse to strike her dead. 
 Than to cry '• Halt," and to her own bright face 
 Accuse her of the least immodesty : 
 And thus tongue-tied, it made him wroth tlie more 
 That she could speak whom his own ear had heard 
 Call herself false : and suffering thus he made 
 5 
 
50 ENID. 
 
 Minutes an age : but in scarce longer time 
 Than at Caerleon the full-tided Usk, 
 Before lie turn to fall seaward again, 
 Pauses, did Enid, keeping watch, behold 
 In the first shallow shade of a deep wood, 
 Before a gloom of stubborn-shafted oaks, 
 Three other horsemen waiting, wholly armed, 
 Whereof one seemed far larger than her lord. 
 And shook her pulses, crying, " L9ok, a prize ! 
 Three horses and three goodly suits of arms. 
 And all in charge of whom ? a girl : set on." 
 " Nay," said the second, " yonder comes a kniglit." 
 The third, " A craven ; how he hangs his head." 
 The giant answered merrily, " Yea, but one ? 
 Wait here, and when he passes fall upon him." 
 
 And Enid pondered in her heart and said, 
 " I Avill abide the coming of my lord, 
 And I will tell him all their villany. 
 My lord is weary with the fight before. 
 And they will fall upon him unavrares. 
 I needs must disobey him for his good ; 
 How should I dare obey him to his harm ? 
 Needs must I speak, and though he kill me for it, 
 I save a life dearer to me than mine." 
 
ENID. 51 
 
 And she abode his eommg, and said to him 
 "With timid firmness, " Have I leave to speak ? " 
 He said, " You take it, speaking," and she spoke. 
 
 " There lurk three villains yonder in the wood. 
 And each of them is wholly armed, and one 
 Is larger-limbed than you are, and they say 
 That they will fall upon you while you j)ass." 
 
 To which he flung a wrathful answer back : 
 " And if there were an hundred in the wood, 
 And every man were larger-limbed than I, 
 And all at once should sally out upon me, 
 I swear it would not ruffle me so much > 
 As you that not obey me. Stand aside, ) 
 And if I fall, cleave to the better man." / 
 
 And Enid stood aside to wait the event, 
 'Not dare to watch the combat, only breathe 
 Short fits of prayer, at every stroke a breath. 
 And he, she dreaded most, bare down upon him. 
 Aimed at the helm, his lance erred ; but Geraint's, 
 A little in the late encounter strained. 
 Struck through the bulky bandit's corselet home. 
 
52 ENID. 
 
 And then brake short, and down his enemy rolled, 
 
 And there lay still ; as he that tells the tale, 
 
 Saw once a great piece of a j)romontory. 
 
 That had a sapling growing on it, slip 
 
 From the long shore-clifF's Avindy walls to the beach. 
 
 And there lie still, and yet the sapling grew : 
 
 So lay the man transfixt. His craven pair 
 
 Of comrades, making slowlier at the Prince, 
 
 When now they saw their bulwark fallen, stood ; 
 
 On whom the victor, to confound them more. 
 
 Spurred with his terrible war-cry ; for as one, 
 
 That listens near a torrent mountain-brook. 
 
 All through the crash of the near cataract hears 
 
 The drumminoj thunder of the hui^er fall 
 
 At distance, were the soldiers wont to hear 
 
 His voice in battle, and be kindled by it, 
 
 And foemen scared, like that false pair who turned 
 
 Flying, but, overtaken, died the death 
 
 Themselves had wrought on many an innocent. 
 
 Thereon Geraint, dismounting, picked the lance 
 That pleased him best, and dreAV from those dead wolves 
 Their three gay suits of armor, each from each. 
 And bound them on their horses, each on each, 
 
ENID. 53 
 
 And tied the bridle-reins of all the three 
 
 Together, and said to her, " Drive them on 
 
 Before jou" ; and she drove them through the wood. 
 
 He followed nearer still : the pain she had 
 To keep them in the wild ways of the wood, 
 Two sets of three laden with jingUng arms, 
 Together, served a little to disedge 
 The sharpness of that pain about her heart : 
 And they themselves, like creatures gently born 
 But into bad hands fallen, and now so long 
 By bandits groomed, pricked their light ears, and felt 
 Her low firm voice and tender government. 
 
 So through the green gloom of the wood they past. 
 And issuing under open heavens beheld 
 A little town with towers, upon a rock. 
 And close beneath, a meadow gemhke chased 
 In the brown wild, and mowers mowing in it : 
 And down a rocky pathway from the place 
 There came a fair-haired youth, that in his hand 
 Bare victual for the mowers : and Geraint 
 Had ruth again on Enid looking pale : 
 Then, moving downward to the meadow gi'ound, 
 
 5* 
 
54 ENID. 
 
 He, when the fair-haired youth came by him, said, 
 
 " Friend, let her eat ; the damsel is so faint." 
 
 " Yea, willingly," replied the youth ; '• and you, 
 
 My lord, eat also, though the fare is coarse, 
 
 And only meet for mowers " ; tlien set down 
 
 His basket, and dismounting on the sward 
 
 They let the horses graze, and ate themselves. 
 
 And Enid took a little delicately, 
 
 Less having a stomach for it than desire 
 
 To close with her lord's pleasure ; but Geraint 
 
 Ate all the mowers' victual unawares, 
 
 And v/hen he found all empty, Avas amazed ; 
 
 And " Boy," said he, " I have eaten all, but take 
 
 A horse and arms for guerdon ; choose the best." 
 
 He, reddening in extremity of delight,, 
 
 " My lord, you overpay me fifty-fold." 
 
 " You will be all the wealthier," cried the Prince. 
 
 " I take it as free gift, then," said the boy, 
 
 " Not guerdon ; for myself can easily. 
 
 While your good damsel rests, return, and fetch 
 
 Fresh victual for these mowers of our Earl ; 
 
 For these are his, and all the field is his. 
 
 And I myself am his ; and I will tell him 
 
 How great a man you are : he loves to know 
 
E2ylD. 55 
 
 "When men of mark are in his territory : 
 And he will have you to his palace here, 
 And serve you costlier than with mowers' fare." 
 
 Then said Geraint, " I wish no better fare : 
 I never ate with angrier appetite 
 Than when I left your mowers dinnerless. 
 And into no Earl's palace will I go. 
 I know, God knows, too much of palaces ! 
 And if he want me, let him come to me. 
 But hire us some fair chamber for the night, 
 And stalling for the horses, and return 
 With victual for these men, and let us know." 
 
 " Yea, my kind lord," said the glad youth, and went, 
 Held his head high, and thought himself a knight. 
 And up the rocky pathway disappeared. 
 Leading the horse, and they were left alone. 
 
 But when the Prince had brought his errant eyes 
 Home from the rock, sideways he let them glance 
 At Enid, where she droopt : his own false doom. 
 That shadow of mistrust should never cross 
 Betwixt them, came upon him, and he sighed ; 
 
56 ENID. 
 
 Then with another humorous ruth remarked 
 
 The lusty mowers laboring dinncrless, 
 
 And watched the sun blaze on the turning scythe. 
 
 And after nodded sleepily in the heat 
 
 But she, remembering her old ruined hall, 
 
 And all the windy clamor of the daws 
 
 About her hollow turret, plucked the grass 
 
 There growing longest by the meadow's edge, 
 
 And into many a listless annulet, 
 
 Now over, now beneath her marriage ring, 
 
 Wove and unwove it, till the boy returned 
 
 And told them of a chamber, and they went ; 
 
 Where, after saying to her, " If you will. 
 
 Call for the woman of the house," to which 
 
 She answered, " Thanks, my lord," the two remained 
 
 Apart by all the chamber's width, and mute 
 
 As creatures voiceless through the fault of birth. 
 
 Or two wild men supporters of a shield. 
 
 Painted, who stare at open space, nor glance 
 
 The one at other, parted by the shield. 
 
 On a sudden, many a voice along the street, 
 And heel against the pavement echoing, burst 
 Their drowse ; and either started while the door, 
 
ENID. 57 
 
 Pushed from without, drare backward to the wall, 
 
 And midmost of a rout of roisterers. 
 
 Femininely fair and dissolutely pale, 
 
 Her suitor in old years before Geraint, 
 
 Entered, the wild lord of the place, Limours. 
 
 He moving up Avith pliant courtliness. 
 
 Greeted Geraint full face, but stealthily, 
 
 In the mid-warmth of welcome and graspt hand. 
 
 Found Enid with the corner of his eye, 
 
 And knew her sitting sad and solitary. 
 
 Then cried Geraint for wine and goodly cheer 
 
 To feed the sudden guest, and sumptuously 
 
 According to his fashion, bade the host 
 
 Call in what men soever were his friends. 
 
 And feast with these in honor of their earl ; 
 
 " And care not for the cost ; the cost is mine." 
 
 And wine and food were brought, and Earl Limours 
 Drank till he jested vrith all ease, and told 
 Free tales, and took the word and played upon it. 
 And made it of two colors ; for his talk, 
 When wine and free companions kindled him, 
 Was Avont to glance and sparkle like a gem 
 Of fifty facets ; thus he moved the Prince 
 
58 ENID. 
 
 To laiigliter and his comrades to applause. 
 Then, wlien the Prince was merry, asked Limours, 
 " Your leave, my lord, to cross the room, and speak 
 To- your good damsel there who sits apart. 
 And seems so lonely ? " " My free leave," he said ; 
 " Get her to speak : she does not speak to me." 
 Then rose Limours and looking at his feet, 
 Like him who tries the bridge he fears may fail, 
 Crost and came near, lifted adoring eyes. 
 Bowed at her side and uttered whisperingly : 
 
 " Enid, the pilot star of my lone life, 
 Enid my early and my only love, 
 Enid the loss of whom has turned me wild — 
 What chance is this ? how is it I see you here ? 
 You are m my power at last, are in my power. 
 Yet fear me not : I call mine own self wild, 
 But keep a touch of sweet civility 
 Here in the heart of waste and wilderness. 
 I thought, but that your father came between, 
 Li former days you saw me favorably. 
 And if it were so, do not keep it back : 
 Make me a little happier : let me know it : 
 Owe you me nothing for a life half lost ? 
 
ENID. 59 
 
 Yea, yea, the whole dear debt of all you are. 
 
 And, Enid, you and he, I see it with joy — 
 
 You sit apart, you do not speak to him, 
 
 You come with no attendance, page or maid, 
 
 To serve you — does he love you as of old ? 
 
 For, call it lovers' quarrels, yet I know 
 
 Though men may bicker with the things they love, 
 
 They would not make them laughable in all eyes. 
 
 Not while they loved them ; and your wretched dress, 
 
 A wretched insult on you, dumbly speaks 
 
 Your story, that this man loves you no more. 
 
 Your beauty is no beauty to him now : 
 
 A common chance — right well I know it — palled — 
 
 For I know men : nor will you win him back, 
 
 For the man's love once gone never returns. 
 
 But here is one who loves you as of old ; 
 
 "With more exceeding passion than of old : 
 
 Good, speak the word : my followers ring him round : 
 
 He sits unarmed ; I hold a finger up ; 
 
 They understand : no ; I do not mean blood : 
 
 Nor need you look so scared at what I say : 
 
 My malice is no deeper than a moat. 
 
 No stronger than a wall : there is the keep ; 
 
 He shall not cross us more ; speak but the word : 
 
60 ENID. 
 
 Or speak it not ; but then by Him that made me 
 The one true lover which you ever had, 
 I will make use of all the jjower I have. 
 O pardon me ! the madness of that hour, 
 When first I parted from }'ou, moves me yet." 
 
 At this the tender sound of his own voice 
 And sweet self-pity, or the fancy of it, 
 Made his eye moist ; but Enid feared his eyes, 
 Moist as they were, wine-heated from the feast ; 
 And answered with such craft as women use, 
 Guilty or guiltless, to stave off a chance 
 That breaks upon them perilously, and said : 
 
 " Earl, if you love me as in former years, 
 And do not practise on me, come with morn, 
 And snatch me from him as by violence ; 
 Leave me to-night : I am weary to the death." 
 
 Low at leave-taking, with his brandished plume 
 Brushing his instep, bowed the all-amorous Earl, 
 And the stout Prince bade him a loud good-night. 
 He moving homeward babbled to his men. 
 How Enid never loved a man but him, 
 Nor cared a broken egg-shell for her lord. 
 
ENID. 61 
 
 But Enid left alone with Prince Geraint, 
 Debating his command of silence given, 
 And that she now perforce must violate it, 
 Held commune with herself, and while she held 
 He fell asleep, and Enid had no heart 
 To wake him, but hung o'er him, wholly pleased 
 To find him yet unwounded after fight. 
 And hear him breathing low and equally. 
 Anon she rose, and stepping hghtly, heaped 
 The pieces of his armor in one place. 
 All to be there against a sudden need ; 
 Then dozed awhile herself, but overtoiled 
 By that day's grief and travel, evermore 
 Seemed catching at a rootless thorn, and then 
 Went slipping down horrible precipices, 
 And strongly striking out her limbs awoke ; 
 Then thought she heard the wild Earl at the door, 
 "With all his rout of random followers, 
 Sound on a dreadful trumpet, summoning her ; 
 Which Avas the red cock shouting to the light, 
 As the gray dawn stole o'er the dewy world. 
 And glimmered on liis armor in the room. 
 And once again she rose to look at it, 
 But touched it unawares : jangling, the casque 
 
G2 ENID. 
 
 Fell, and he started u-p and stared at her. 
 
 Then breaking his command of silence given, 
 
 She told liim all that Earl Limours had said, 
 
 Except the passage that he loved her not ; 
 
 ]Sror left untold the craft herself had used ; 
 
 But ended with apology so sweet, 
 
 Low-spoken, and of so few words, and seemed 
 
 So justified by that necessity. 
 
 That though he thought " Was it for him she wept 
 
 In Devon ? " he but gave a wrathful groan, 
 
 Saying, " Your sweet faces make good fellows fools 
 
 And traitors. Call the host and bid him bring 
 
 Charger and palfrey." So she glided out 
 
 Among the heavy breathings of the house, 
 
 And like a household Spirit at the walls 
 
 Beat, till she woke the sleepers, and returned : 
 
 Then tending her rough lord, though all unasked, 
 
 In silence, did him service as a squire ; 
 
 Till issuing armed he found the host and cried, 
 
 " Thy reckoning, friend ? " and ere he learnt it, '• Take 
 
 Five horses and their armors " ; and the liost, 
 
 Suddenly honest, answered in amaze, 
 
 "My lord, I scarce have spent the worth of one !" 
 
 " You will be all the wealthier, " said the Prince, 
 
ENID. 63 
 
 And then to Enid, " Forward ! and to-day 
 I charge you, Enid, more especially, 
 Wliat tiling soever you may hear, or see, 
 Or fancy, (though I count it of small use 
 To charge }'0U,) that you speak not, but obey." 
 
 And Enid answered, " Yea, my lord, I know 
 Your wish, and would obey ; but riding first, 
 I hear the violent threats you do not hear, 
 I see the danger wdiich you cannot see : 
 Then not to give you warning, that seems hard ; 
 Almost beyond me : yet I would obey." 
 
 " Yea so," said he, " do it : be not too wise ; 
 Seeing that you are wedded to a man, 
 Not quite mismated with a yawning clown. 
 But one with arms to guard his head and yours, 
 With eyes to find jou. out however far, 
 And ears to hear you even in his dreams." 
 
 With that he turned and looked as keenly at her 
 As careful robins eye the delver's toil ; 
 And that within her, which a wanton fool. 
 Or hasty judger, would have called her guilt, 
 
64 ENID. 
 
 Made her cheek burn and either eyehd fall. 
 And Geraint looked and was not satisfied. 
 
 Then forward by a way which, beaten broad, 
 Led from the territory of false Limours 
 To the waste earldom of another earl, 
 Doorm, whom his shaking vassals called the Bull, 
 Went Enid with her sullen follower on. 
 Once she looked back, and when she saw him ride 
 More near by many a rood than yester-morn. 
 It well-nigh made her cheerful ; till Geraint 
 Wavmg an angry hand, as who should say, 
 " You watch me," saddened all her heart again. 
 But while the sun yet beat a dewy blade, 
 The sound of many a heavily-galloping hoof 
 Smote on her ear, and turning round she saw 
 Dust, and the points of lances bicker in it. 
 Then not to disobey her lord's behest, 
 And yet to give him warning, for he rode 
 As if he heard not, moving back she held 
 Her finger up, and pointed to the dust. 
 At which the warrior in his obstinacy. 
 Because she kept the letter of his word 
 Was in a manner pleased, and turning, stood. 
 
ENID. 65 
 
 And in the moment after, wild Limours, 
 Borne on a black horse, like a thunder-cloud 
 Whose skirts are loosened by the breaking storm, 
 Half ridden off with by the thing he rode. 
 And all in passion uttering a dry shriek. 
 Dashed on Geraint, who closed with him, and bore 
 Down by the length of lance and arm beyond 
 The crupper, and so left him stunned or dead, 
 And overthrew the next that followed him. 
 And blindly rushed on all the rout behind. 
 But at the flash and motion of the man 
 They vanished panic-stricken, hke a shoal 
 Of darting fish, that on a summer morn 
 Adown the crystal dykes at Camelot 
 Come slipping o'er their shadows on the .sand, 
 But if a man who stands upon the brink 
 But lift a shining hand against the sun, 
 There is not left a twinkle of a fin 
 Betwixt the cressy islets white in flower ; 
 So, scared but at the motion of the man, 
 Fled all the boon companions of the Earl, 
 And left him lying in the public way ; 
 So vanish friendships only made in wine. 
 6* 
 
66 ENID. 
 
 Then like a stormy sunlight smiled Geraint, 
 Who saw the chargers of the two that fell 
 Start from their fallen lords, and wildly fly, 
 Mixt with the flyers. " Horse and man," he said, 
 " All of one mind and all right-honest friends ! 
 Kot a hoof left : and I methinks till now 
 "Was honest — paid with horses and with arms ; 
 I cannot steal or plunder, no, nor beg : 
 And so what say you, shall we strip him there 
 Your lover ? has your palfrey heart enough 
 To bear his armor ? shall we fast, or dine ? 
 No ? — then do you, being right honest, pray 
 That we may meet the horsemen of Earl Doorm, 
 I too would still be honest." Thus he said : 
 And sadly gazing on her bridle-reins. 
 And answering not one word, she led the way. 
 
 But as a man to whom a dreadful loss 
 Falls in a far land and he knows it not, 
 But coming back he learns it, and the loss 
 So pains him that he sickens nigh to death ; 
 So fared it with Geraint, who being pricked 
 In combat with the follower of the Earl, 
 Bled underneath his armor secretly. 
 
ENID. 67 
 
 And so rode on, nor told his gentle wife 
 What ailed him, hardly knowing it himself, 
 Till his eye darkened and his helmet wagged ; 
 And at a sudden swerving of the road. 
 Though happily down on a bank of grass, 
 The Prince without a word from his horse fell. 
 
 And Enid heard the clashing of his fall, 
 Suddenly came, and at his side all pale 
 Dismounting, loosed the fastenings of his arms, 
 Nor let her true hand falter, nor blue eye 
 Moisten, till she had lighted on his wound, 
 And tearing off her veil of faded silk 
 Had bared her forehead to the blistering sun. 
 And swathed the hurt that drained her dear lord's life. 
 Then after all was done that hand could do, 
 She rested, and her desolation came 
 Upon her, and she wept beside the way. 
 
 And many past, but none regarded her, 
 For in that realm of lawless turbulence, 
 A woman weeping for her murdered mate 
 Was cared as much for as a summer shower : 
 One took him for a victim of Earl Doorm, 
 
68 KNID. 
 
 Nor dared to waste a perilous pity on him : 
 
 Another hurrying past, a man-at-arms, 
 
 Eode on a mission to the bandit Earl ; 
 
 Half whistling and half singing a coarse song, 
 
 He drove the dust against her veilless eyes : 
 
 Another, flying from the wrath of Doorm 
 
 Before an ever-fancied arrow, made 
 
 The long way smoke beneath him in his fear ; 
 
 At which her palfrey whinnying lifted heel. 
 
 And scoured into the coppices and was lost, 
 
 "While the great charger stood, grieved like a man. 
 
 But at the point of noon the huge Earl Doorm, 
 Broad-faced with under-fringe of russet beard, 
 Bound on a foray, rolling eyes of prey. 
 Came riding with a hundred lances up ; 
 But ere he came, like one that hails a ship. 
 Cried out with a big voice, " What, is he dead ? " 
 " No, no, not dead ! " she answered in all haste. 
 ''' "Would some of your kind people take him up, 
 And bear him hence out of this cruel sun : 
 Most sure am I, quite sure, he is not dead." 
 
 Then said Earl Doorm : " Well, if he be not dead 
 
ENID. 69 
 
 Why wail you for liim thus ? you seem a child. 
 And be he dead, I count you for a fool ; 
 Your wailing will not quicken him : dead or not, 
 You mar a comely face with idiot tears. 
 Yet, since the face is comely — some of you. 
 Here, take him up, and bear him to our hall : 
 An if he live, we will have him of our band ; 
 And if he die, why earth has earth enough 
 To hide him. See ye take the charger too, 
 A noble one." 
 
 He spake, and past away, 
 But left two brawny spearmen, who advanced, 
 Each growling like a dog, when his good bone 
 Seems to be plucked at by the village boys 
 Who love to vex him eating, and he fears 
 To lose his bone, and lays his foot upon it, 
 Gnawing and growling : so the ruffians growled, 
 Fearing to lose, and all for a dead man. 
 Their chance of booty from the morning's raid ; 
 Yet raised and laid him on a litter-bier, 
 Such as they brought upon their forays out 
 For those that might be Avounded ; laid him on it 
 All in the hollow of his shield, and took 
 
70 ENID. 
 
 And bore him to the naked hall of Doorm, 
 (His gentle charger following him unled,) 
 And cast him and the bier in which he laj 
 Down on an oaken settle in the hall, 
 And then departed, hot in haste to join 
 Their luckier mates, but growling as before. 
 And cursing their lost time, and the dead man, 
 And their own Earl, and their own souls, and her. 
 They might as well have blest her : she was deaf 
 To blessing or to cursing save from one. 
 
 So for long hours sat Enicl by her lord. 
 There in the naked hall, propping his head, 
 And chafing his pale hands, and calling to him. 
 And at the last he wakened from his swoon. 
 And found his own dear bride propping his head, 
 And chafing his faint hands, and calling to him ; 
 And felt the warm tears falling on his face ; 
 And said to liis own heart, " She weeps for me " : 
 And yet lay still, and feigned himself as dead, 
 That he might prove her to the uttermost. 
 And say to his own heart, " She weeps for me." 
 
 But in the fallinor afternoon returned 
 
ENID. 71 
 
 The huge Earl Doorm with plunder to the hall. 
 
 His lusty spearmen followed him with noise : 
 
 Each hurling down a heap of things that rang 
 
 Against the j)avement, cast his lance aside, 
 
 And doffed his helm : and then there fluttered in, 
 
 Half-bold, half-frighted, with dilated eyes, 
 
 A tribe of women, dressed in many hues. 
 
 And mingled with the spearmen : and Earl Doorm 
 
 Struck with a knife's haft hard against the board, 
 
 And called for flesh and wine to feed his spears. 
 
 And men brought in whole hogs and quarter beeves, 
 
 And all the hall was dim with steam of flesh : 
 
 And none spake word, but all sat down at once, 
 
 And ate with tumult in the naked hall, 
 
 Feeding like horses when you hear them feed ; 
 
 Till Enid shrank far back into herself. 
 
 To shun the wild ways of the lawless tribe. 
 
 But when Earl Doorm had eaten all he would, 
 
 He rolled his eyes about the hall, and found 
 
 A damsel drooping in a corner of it. 
 
 Then he remembered her, and how she wept ; 
 
 And out of her there came a power upon Inm ; 
 
 And rising on the sudden he said, " Eat! 
 
 I never yet beheld a thing so pale. 
 
72 ENID. 
 
 God's curse, it nicakes me mad to see you weep. 
 
 Eat ! Look yourself. Good luck had your good man, 
 
 For were I dead, who is it would Aveep for me ? 
 
 Sweet lady, never since I first drew breath 
 
 Have I beheld a lily lilve yourself. 
 
 And so there lived some color in your cheek. 
 
 There is not one among my gentlewomen 
 
 Were fit to wear your slipper for a glove. 
 
 But listen to me, and by me be ruled. 
 
 And I will do the thing I have not done, 
 
 For you shall share my earldom with me, girl, 
 
 And Ave Avill live like two birds in one nest. 
 
 And I Avill fetch you forage from all fields, 
 
 For I compel all creatures to my will." 
 
 He spoke : the braAvny spearman let his cheek 
 Bulge with the unswallovred piece, and turning stared ; 
 While some, whose souls the old serpent long had drawn 
 Down, as the Avorm draAvs in the Avithered leaf 
 And makes it earth, hissed each at other's ear 
 What shall not be recorded — women they, 
 Women, or Avliat had been those gracious things, 
 But noAV desired the humbling of their best, 
 Yea, Avould liaA'e helped him to it : and all at once 
 
ENID. 73 
 
 They hated her, who took no thought of them, 
 But answered in low voice, her meek head yet . 
 Drooping, " I j)ray you of your courtesy. 
 He being as he is, to let me be." 
 
 She spake so low he hardly heard her speak, 
 But like a mighty patron, satisfied 
 "With what himself had done so graciously, 
 Assumed that she had thanked him, adding, " Yea, 
 Eat and be glad, for I account you mine." 
 
 She answered meekly, " How should I be glad 
 Henceforth in all the world at anything, 
 Until my lord arise and look upon me ? " 
 
 Here the huge Earl cried out upon her talk, 
 As all but empty heart and weariness 
 And sickly nothing ; suddenly seized on her, 
 And bare her by main violence to the board, 
 And thrust the dish before her, crymg, " Eat." 
 
 " No, no," said Enid, vext, " I will not eat, 
 Till yonder man upon the bier arise. 
 And eat with me." " Drink, then," he answered, " Here ! 
 
 7 
 
74 ENID. 
 
 (And filled a horn with wine and held it to her,) 
 " Lo ! I, myself, when flushed with fight, or hot, 
 God's curse, with anger — often I myself. 
 Before I well have drunken, scarce can eat : 
 Drink, therefore, and the wine will change your will." 
 
 " Not so," she cried, " by Heaven, I will not drink. 
 Till my dear lord arise and bid me do it, 
 And drink with me ; and if he rise no more, 
 I will not look at wine until I die." 
 
 At this he turned all red and paced his hall, 
 Now gnawed his under, now his upper lip, 
 And coming up close to her, said at last : 
 " Girl, for I see you scorn my courtesies, 
 Take warnmg : yonder man is surely dead : 
 And I compel all creatures to my will. 
 Not eat nor drink ? And wherefore wail for one, 
 Who put your beauty to this flout and scorn 
 By dressing it in rags. Amazed am I, 
 Beholding how j^ou butt against my wish 
 That I forbear you thus : cross me no more. 
 At least put off to please me this poor gown, 
 This silken rag, this beggar-woman's weed : 
 
ENID. 75 
 
 I love that beauty should go beautifully : 
 For see you not my gentlewomen here 
 How gay, how suited to the house of one, 
 Who loves that beauty should go beautifully ! 
 Rise therefore ; robe yourself in this : obey." 
 
 He spoke, and one among his gentlewomen 
 Displayed a splendid silk of foreign loom, 
 Where like a shoaling sea the lovely blue 
 Played into green, and thicker down the front 
 With jewels than the sward with drops of dew, 
 When all night long a cloud clings to the hill, 
 And Avith the dawn ascending lets the day 
 Strike where it clung : so thickly shone the gems. 
 
 But Enid answered, harder to be moved 
 Than hardest tyrants in their day of power, 
 With life-long injuries burning unavenged. 
 And now their hour has come ; and Enid said: 
 " In this poor gown my dear lord found me first, 
 And loved me serving in my father's hall : 
 In this poor gown I rode Avith him to court, 
 And there the Queen arrayed me like the sun : 
 In this poor gown he bade me clothe myself. 
 
76 ENID. 
 
 "When now we rode upon this fatal quest 
 Of honor, where no honor can be gained : 
 And this poor gown I will not cast aside 
 Until himself arise a living man, 
 And bid me cast it. I have f^friefs enouo-h : 
 Pray you be gentle, pray you let me be : 
 I never loved, can never love but him : 
 Yea, God, I pray you of your gentleness, 
 He being as he is, to let me be." 
 
 Then strode the brute Earl up and down his hall, 
 And took his russet beard between his teeth ; 
 Last, coming up quite close, and in his mood 
 Crying, " I count it of no more avail. 
 Dame, to be gentle than ungentle with you ; 
 Take my salute," unknightly with flat hand, 
 However lightly, smote her on the cheek. 
 
 Then Enid, in her utter helplessness, 
 And since she thought, " He had not dared to do it, 
 Except he surely knew my lord was dead," 
 Sent forth a sudden sharp and bitter cry 
 As of a wild thing taken in the trap, 
 Which sees the trapper coming through the wood. 
 
ENID. 77 
 
 This heard Geraint, and grasping at his sword 
 (It lay beside him in the hollow shield) 
 Made but a single bound, and with a sweep of it 
 Shore through the swarthy neck, and like a ball 
 The russet-bearded head rolled on the floor. 
 So died Earl Doorm by him he counted dead. 
 And all the men and women in the hall 
 Rose when they saw the dead man rise, and fled 
 Yelling as from a spectre, and the two 
 Were left alone together, and he said : 
 " Enid, I have used you worse than that dead man ; 
 Done you more wrong ; we both have undergone 
 That trouble which has left me thrice your own : 
 Henceforward I will rather die than doubt. 
 And here I lay this penance on myself, 
 Not, though mine own ears heard you yester-morn — 
 You thought me sleeping, but I heai'd you say, 
 I heard you say, that you were no true wife : 
 I swear I will not ask your meaning in it : 
 I do believe yourself against }'ourself. 
 And will henceforward rather die than doubt." 
 
 And Enid could not say one tender word, 
 She felt so blunt and stupid at the heart : 
 
 7* 
 
78 
 
 She only prayed him, " Fly, they will return 
 And slay you ; fly, your charger is without, 
 My palfrey lost." " Then, Enid, shall you ride 
 Behind me." " Yea," said Enid, " let us go." 
 And moving out they found the stately horse. 
 Who now no more a vassal to the thief. 
 But free to stretch his limbs in lawful fight, 
 Neighed with all gladness as they came, and stooped 
 "With a low whinny toward the pair : and she 
 Kissed the white star upon his noble front. 
 Glad also ; then Geraint upon the horse 
 Mounted, and reached a hand, and on his foot 
 She set her own and climbed ; he turned his face 
 And kissed her climbing, and she cast her arms 
 About him, and at once they rode away. 
 
 And never yet, since high in Paradise 
 O'er the four rivers the first roses blew, 
 Came purer pleasure unto mortal kind 
 Than lived through her, who in that perilous hour 
 Put hand to hand beneath her husband's heart, 
 And felt him hers again : she did not weep. 
 But o'er her meek eyes came a happy mist 
 Like that which kept the heart of Eden green 
 
ENID. 79 
 
 Before the useful trouble of the rain : 
 
 Yet not so misty were her meek blue eyes 
 
 As not to see before them on the path, 
 
 Right in the gateway of the bandit hold, 
 
 A knight of Arthur's court, Avho laid his lance 
 
 In rest, and made as if to fall upon him. 
 
 Then, fearing for his hurt and loss of blood. 
 
 She, with her mind all full of what had chanced. 
 
 Shrieked to the stranger, " Slay not a dead man ! " 
 
 " The voice of Enid," said the knight ; but she. 
 
 Beholding it was Edyrn son of Nudd, 
 
 Was moved so much the more, and shrieked again, 
 
 " O cousin, slay not him w^ho gave you life." 
 
 And Edyrn moving frankly forward spake : 
 
 " My lord Geraint, I greet you with all love ; 
 
 I took you for a bandit knight of Doorm ; 
 
 And fear not, Enid, I should fall upon him, 
 
 "Wlio love you. Prince, with something of tlie love 
 
 Wherewith we love the Heaven that chastens us. 
 
 For once, when I was up so high in pride 
 
 That I was half-way down the slope to Hell, 
 
 By overthrowing me you threw me higher. 
 
 Now, made a knight of Arthur's Table Round, 
 
 And since I knew this earl, when I myself 
 
80 ENID. 
 
 Was half a bandit in my lawless hour, 
 I come the mouthpiece of our king to Doorm, 
 (The king is close behind me,) bidding him 
 Disband himself, and scatter all his powers. 
 Submit, and hear the judgment of the king." 
 
 " He hears the judgment of the King of Kings," 
 Cried the wan Prince ; " and lo the powers of Doorm 
 Are scattered," and he pointed to the field, 
 Where, huddled here and there on mound and knoll. 
 Were men and women staring and aghast. 
 While some yet fled ; and then he plainlier told 
 How the huge earl lay slain within his hall. 
 But when the knight besought him, " Follow me, 
 Prince, to the camp, and in the king's own ear 
 Speak what has chanced ; you surely have endured 
 Strange chances here alone " ; that other flushed. 
 And hung his head, and halted in reply. 
 Fearing the mild face of the blameless king, 
 And after madness acted question asked : 
 Till Edyrn crying, " If you will not go 
 To Arthur, then will Arthur come to you." 
 " Enough," he said, " I follow," and they went. 
 But Enid in their going had two fears. 
 
EIs^ID. 81 
 
 One from the bandit scattered in the field, 
 And one from Edyrn. Every now and then, 
 When Edyrn remed his charger at her side, 
 She shrank a little. In a hollow land, 
 From which old fires have broken, men may fear 
 Fresh fire and ruin. He, perceiving, said : 
 
 " Fair and dear cousin, you that most had cause 
 To fear me, fear no longer, I am changed. 
 Yourself were first the blameless cause to make 
 My nature's prideful sparkle in the blood 
 Break into furious flame ; being repulsed 
 By Yniol and yourself, I schemed and wrought 
 Until I overturned him ; then set up 
 (With one main purpose ever at my heart) 
 My haughty jousts, and took a paramour ; 
 Did her mock-honor as the fairest fair. 
 And, toppling over all antagonism. 
 So waxed in pride, that I believed myself 
 Unconquerable, for I was well-nigh mad ; 
 And, but for my main purpose in these jousts, 
 I should have slain your father, seized yourself. 
 I lived in hope that some time you would come 
 To these my lists with him whom best you loved ; 
 
82 ENID. 
 
 And there, poor cousin, with 3'our meek bhie eyes, 
 
 The truest eyes that ever answered heaven, 
 
 Behold me overturn and trample on him. 
 
 Then, had you cried, or knelt, or prayed to me, 
 
 I should not less have killed him. And you came, - 
 
 But once you came, — and with your own true eyes 
 
 Beheld the man you loved (I speak as one 
 
 Speaks of a service done him) overthrow 
 
 My proud self, and my purpose three years old. 
 
 And set his foot upon me, and give me life. 
 
 There was I broken down ; there was I saved : 
 
 Though thence I rode all-shamed, hating the life 
 
 He gave me, meaning to be rid of it. 
 
 And all the penance the Queen laid upon me 
 
 Was but to rest awhile within her court ; 
 
 Where first as sullen as a beast new-caged, 
 
 And waiting to be treated like a wolf, 
 
 Because I knew my deeds were known, I found, 
 
 Instead of scornful pity or pure scorn. 
 
 Such fine reserve and noble reticence, 
 
 Manners so kind, yet stately, such a grace 
 
 Of tenderest courtesy, that I began 
 
 To glance behind me at my former life. 
 
 And find that it had been the wolf's indeed : 
 
ENID. 83 
 
 And oft I talked with Dubric, the high saint, 
 Who, with mild heat of holy oratory. 
 Subdued me somewhat to that gentleness, 
 Which, when it weds with manhood, makes a man. 
 And you were often there about the Queen, 
 But saw me not, or marked not if you saw ; 
 Nor did I care or dare to speak with you. 
 But kept myself aloof till I was changed ; 
 And fear not, cousin ; I am changed indeed." 
 
 He spoke, and Enid easily believed. 
 Like simple noble natures, credulous 
 Of what they long for, good in friend or foe. 
 There most in those who most have done them ill. 
 And when they reached the camp the king himself 
 Advanced to greet them, and beholding her 
 Though pale, yet happy, asked her not a word. 
 But went apart with Edyrn, whom he held 
 In converse for a little, and returned. 
 And, gravely smiling, lifted her from horse. 
 And kissed her with all pureness, brother-like. 
 And showed an empty tent allotted her. 
 And glanciug for a minute, till he saw her 
 Pass into it, turned to the Prince, and said : 
 
84 
 
 ENID. 
 
 " Prince, when of late you prayed me for my leave 
 To move to your own land, and there defend 
 Your marches, I was pricked with some reproof, 
 As one that let foul wrong stagnate and be, 
 By having looked too much through alien eyes, 
 And wrought too long with delegated hands, 
 JSTot used mine own : but now behold me come 
 To cleanse this common sewer of all my realm. 
 With Edyrn and with others ; have you looked 
 At Edyrn ? have you seen how nobly changed ? 
 This work of his is great and wonderful. 
 His very face with change of heart is changed. 
 The world will not believe a man repents : 
 And this wise world of ours is mainly right. 
 Full seldom does a man repent, or use 
 Both grace and will to pick the vicious quitch 
 Of blood and custom wholly out of him. 
 And make all clean, and plant himself afresh. 
 Edyrn has done it, w^eeding all his heart 
 As I will weed this land before I go. 
 I, therefore, made him of our Table Round, 
 Not rashly, but have proved him every way 
 One of our noblest, our most valorous, 
 Sanest and most obedient : and indeed 
 
ENID. 85 
 
 This work of Edyrn wrought upon himself 
 After a life of violence, seems to me 
 A thousand-fold more great and wonderful 
 Than if a knight of mine, risking his life, 
 My subject with my subjects under him, 
 Should make an onslaught single on a realm 
 Of robbers, though he slew them one by one, 
 And were liimself nigh wounded to the death." 
 
 So spake the king ; low bowed the Prince, and felt 
 His work was neither great nor wonderful. 
 And past to Enid's tent ; and thither came 
 The king's own leech to look into his hurt ; 
 And Enid tended on him there ; and there 
 Her constant motion round him, and the breath 
 Of her sweet tendance hovering over him, 
 Filled all the genial courses of his blood 
 With deeper and with ever deeper love. 
 As the southwest that blowing Bala lake 
 Fills all the sacred Dee. So past the days. 
 
 But while Geraint lay healing of his hurt. 
 The blameless king went forth and cast his eyes 
 On whom his father Uther left in charge 
 8 
 
86 ENID. 
 
 Long since, to guard the justice of the king : 
 He looked and found them wanting ; and as now 
 Men weed the white horse on the Berkshire liills 
 To keep him bright and clean as heretofore, 
 He rooted out the slothful officer 
 Or guilty, which for bribe had winked at wrong, 
 And in their chairs set up a stronger race 
 With hearts and hands, and sent a thousand men 
 To till the wastes, and moving everywhere 
 Cleared the dark places and let in the law. 
 And broke the bandit holds and cleansed the land. 
 
 Then, when Geraint was whole again, they past 
 With Arthur to Caerleon upon Usk. 
 There the great Queen once more embraced her friend. 
 And clothed her in apparel like the day. 
 And thousfh Geraint could never take a2;ain 
 That comfort from their converse which he took 
 Before the Queen's fair name was breathed upon, 
 He rested well content that all was well. 
 Thence after tarrying for a space they rode. 
 And fifty knights rode with them to the shores 
 Of Severn, and they past to their own land. 
 And there he kept the justice of the king 
 
ENID. 87 
 
 So vigorously yet mildly, that all hearts 
 
 Applauded, and the spiteful whisper died : 
 
 And being ever foremost in the chase 
 
 And victor at the tilt and tournament, 
 
 They called him the great Prince and man of men. 
 
 But Enid, whom her ladies loved to call 
 
 Enid the Fair, a grateful people named 
 
 Enid the Good ; and in their halls arose 
 
 The cry of children, Enids and Geraints 
 
 Of times to be ; nor did he doubt her more, 
 
 But rested in her fealty, till he crowned 
 
 A happy life with a fair death, and fell 
 
 Against the heathen of the Northern Sea 
 
 In battle, fighting for the blameless King. 
 
VIVIEN 
 
 8* 
 
y I YIEN. 
 
 A STORM was coming, but the winds were still, 
 And in the wild woods of Broceliande, 
 Before an oak so hollow huge and old 
 It looked a tower of ruined masonwork, 
 At Merlin's feet the wileful Vivien lay. 
 
 The wilj Vivien stole from Arthur's court : 
 She loathed the knights, and ever seemed to hear 
 Their laughing comment when her name was named. 
 For once, when Arthur, walking all alone, 
 Vext at a rumor rife about the Queen, 
 Had met her, Vivien, being greeted fair, 
 Would fain have wrought upon his cloudy mood 
 With reverent eyes mock-loyal, shaken voice, 
 And fluttered adoration, and at last 
 With dark sAveet hints of some who prized him more 
 
92 VIVIEN. 
 
 Than M'ho should prize him mo.-t ; at which the King 
 Had gazed upon her blankly and gone by : 
 But one had watched, and had not held his peace : 
 It made the laughter of an afternoon 
 That Vivien should attempt the blameless King. 
 And after that, she set herself to gain 
 Him, the most famous man of all those times, 
 Merlin, who knew the range of all their arts. 
 Had built the King his havens, ships, and halls, 
 Was also Bard, and knew the starry heavens ; 
 The people called him Wizard ; whom at first 
 She played about with slight and sprightly tall^, 
 And vivid smiles, and faintly-venomed points 
 Of slander, glancing here and grazing there ; 
 And yieldmg to his kindlier moods, the Seer 
 Would watch her at her petulance, and play, 
 Ev'n when they seemed unlovable, and laugh 
 As those that watch a kitten ; thus he grew 
 Tolerant of what he half disdained, and she, 
 Perceiving that she was but half disdained, 
 Began to break her sports with graver fits, 
 Turn red or pale, would often when they met 
 Sigh fully, or all-silent gaze upon him 
 With such a fixt devotion, that the old man. 
 
VIVIEN. 93 
 
 Though doubtful, felt the flattery, and at times 
 Would flatter his own wish in age for love, 
 And half believe her true : for thus at times 
 He wavered ; but that other clung to him, 
 Fixt in her will, and so the seasons went. 
 Then fell upon him a great melancholy ; 
 And leaving Arthur's court he gained the beach ; 
 There found a little boat, and stept into it ; 
 And Yivien followed, but he marked her not. 
 She took the helm and he the sail ; the boat 
 Drave with a sudden wind across the deeps. 
 And touching Breton sands, they disembarked. 
 And then she followed Merlin all the way, 
 Ev'n to the wild woods of Broceliande. 
 For Merlin once had told her of a charm, 
 The which if any wrought on any one 
 "With woven paces and Avith waving arms, 
 The man so wrought on ever seemed to lie 
 Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower, 
 From which was no escape for evermore ; 
 And none could find that man for evermore, 
 Nor could he see but him who wrought the charm 
 Coming and going, and he lay as dead 
 And lost to life and use and name and fame. 
 
94 VIVIEN. 
 
 And Vivien ever sought to work the charm 
 Upon the great Enchanter of the Time, 
 As fancying that her glory would be great 
 According to his greatness whom she quenched. 
 
 There lay she all her length and kissed his feet, 
 As if in deepest reverence and in love. 
 A snake of gold was round her hair ; a robe 
 Of samite without price, that more exprest 
 Than hid her, clung about her lissome limbs, 
 In color like the satin-shining palm 
 On sallows in the windy gleams of March : 
 And while she kissed them, crying, " Trample me, 
 Dear feet, that I have followed through the world. 
 And I will pay you worship ; tread me down 
 And I will kiss you for it " ; he was mute ; 
 So dark a forethought rolled about his brain, 
 As on a dull day in an Ocean cave 
 The blind wave feehng round his long sea-hall 
 In silence : wherefore, when she lifted up 
 A face of sad appeal, and spake and said, 
 " O Merlin, do you love me ? " and again, 
 " O MerHn, do you love me ? " and once more, 
 " Great Master, do you love me ? " he was mute. 
 
VIVIEN. 95 
 
 And lissome Vivien, holding by his heel, 
 
 "Writhed toward him, sliding up his knee and sat, 
 
 Behind his ankle twined her hollow feet 
 
 Together, curved an arm about his neck, 
 
 Clung like a snake ; and letting her left hand 
 
 Droop from his mighty shoulder, as a leaf. 
 
 Made with her right a comb of pearl to part 
 
 The lists of such a beard as youth gone out 
 
 Had left in ashes : then he spoke and said, 
 
 Not looking at her, " Who are wise in love 
 
 Love most, say least," and Vivien answered quick, 
 
 " I saw the little elf-god eyeless once 
 
 In Arthur's arras hall at Camelot : 
 
 But neither eyes nor tongue — O stupid child! 
 
 Yet you are wise who say it ; let me think 
 
 Silence is wisdom : I am silent then 
 
 And ask no kiss " ; then adding all at once, 
 
 " And lo, I clothe myself with wisdom," drew 
 
 The vast and shaggy mantle of his beard 
 
 Across her neck and bosom to her knee, 
 
 And called herself a gilded summer fly 
 
 Caught in a great old tyrant spider's web, 
 
 AYho meant to eat her up in that Avild wood 
 
 Without one word. So Vivien called herself, 
 
96 VIVIEN. 
 
 But rather seemed a lovely baleful star 
 
 Veiled in gray vapor ; till lie sadly smiled : 
 
 " To Avhat request for what strange boon," he said, 
 
 " Are these your pretty tricks and fooleries, 
 
 Vivien, the preamble ? yet my thanks, 
 For these have broken up my melancholy." 
 
 And Vivien answered, smiling saucily, 
 " What, O my Master, have you found your voice ? 
 
 1 bid the stranger vrelcome. Thanks at last ! 
 But yesterday you never opened lip, 
 Except mdeed to drink : no cup had we : 
 
 In mine own lady palms I culled the spring 
 That gathered trickling dropwise from the cleft. 
 And made a pretty cup of both my hands, 
 And offered you it kneeling : then you drank 
 And knew no more, nor gave me one poor word ; 
 O no more thanks than might a goat have given 
 "With no more sign of reverence than a beard. 
 And when we halted at that other well, 
 And I Avas faint to swooning, and you lay 
 Foot-gilt with all the blossom-dust of those 
 Deep meadows we had traversed, did you know 
 That Vivien bathed your feet before her own ? 
 
VIVIEN. 97 
 
 And yet no thanks : and all through this wild wood 
 And all this morning when I fondled you : 
 Boon, yes, there was a boon, one not so strange — 
 How had I wronged you ? surely you are wise, 
 But such a silence is more wise than kind." 
 
 And Merlin locked his hand in hers and said : 
 " did you never lie upon the shore, 
 And watch the curled white of the coming wave 
 Glassed in the slippery sand before it breaks ? 
 Even such a wave, but not so pleasurable. 
 Dark in the glass of some presageful mood. 
 Had I for three days seen, ready to fall. 
 And then I rose and fled from Arthur's court 
 To break the mood. You followed me unasked; 
 And when I looked, and saw you following still. 
 My mind involved yourself the nearest thing 
 In that mind-mist : for shall I tell you truth ? 
 Yoic seemed that wave about to break upon me 
 And sweep me from my hold upon the world. 
 My use and name and fame. Your pardon, child. 
 Your pretty sports have brightened all again. 
 And ask your boon, for boon I owe you thrice, 
 Once for wrong done you by confusion, next 
 
98 VIVIEN. 
 
 For thanks it seems till now neglected, last 
 For these your dainty gambols : wherefore ask ; 
 And take this boon so strange and not so strange." 
 
 And Yivien answered, smiling mournfully : 
 " not so strange as my long asking it, 
 Nor yet so strange as you yourself are strange, 
 Nor half so strange as that dark mood of yours. 
 I ever feared you w^ere not wholly mine ; 
 And see, yourself have owned you did me wrong. 
 The people call you prophet : let it be : 
 But not of those that can expound themselves. 
 Take Vivien for expounder ; she will call 
 That three-days-long presageful gloom of yours 
 No presage, but the same mistrustful mood 
 That makes you seem less noble than yourself, 
 Whenever I have asked this very boon 
 Now asked again : for see you not, dear love, 
 That such a mood as that, which lately gloomed 
 Your fancy Avhen you saw me following you. 
 Must make me fear still more you are not mine, 
 Must make me j^earn still more to prove you mine, 
 And make me wish still more to learn this charm 
 Of woven paces and of waving hands 
 
VIVIEN. 09 
 
 As proof of trust. Merlin, teacli it me. 
 The charm so taught will charm us both to rest. 
 For, grant me some slight power upon your fate, 
 I, feeling that you felt me worthy trust, 
 Should rest and let you rest, knowing you mine. 
 And therefore be as great as you are named, 
 Not muffled round with selfish reticence. 
 How hard you look and how denyingly ! 
 O, if you think this wickedness in me. 
 That I should prove it on you unawares. 
 To make you lose your use and name and fame, 
 That makes me most indignant ; then our bond 
 Had best be loosed for ever : but think or not, 
 By Heaven that hears, I tell you the clean truth, 
 As clean as blood of babes, as white as milk : 
 O Merlin, may this earth, if ever I, 
 If these unwitty wandering wits of mine, 
 Ev'n in the jumbled rubbish of a dream. 
 Have tript on such conjectural treachery — 
 May this hard earth cleave to the Nadir hell 
 Down, down, and close again, and nip me flat, 
 If I be such a traitress. Yield my boon. 
 Till which I scarce can yield you all I am j 
 And grant my re-reiterated wish, 
 
100 VIVIEN. 
 
 The great proof of your love : because I think, 
 However wise, you hardly know me yet." 
 
 And Merlin loosed his hand from hers and said, 
 '• I never was less wise, however wise, 
 Too curious Yivien, though you talk of trust, 
 Than when I told you first of such a charm. 
 Yea, if you talk of trust, I tell you this, 
 Too much I trusted, when I told you that, 
 And stirred this vice in you which ruined man 
 Through woman the first hour ; for howsoe'er 
 In children a great curiousness be well, 
 "Who have to learn themselves and all the world, 
 In you, that are no child, for still I find 
 Your face is practised, when I spell the lines, 
 I call it, — well, I will not call it vice : 
 But since you name yourself the summer-fly, 
 I well could wish a cobweb for the gnat, 
 That settles, beaten back, and beaten back 
 Settles, till one could yield for weariness : 
 But since I will not yield to give you power 
 Upon my life and use and name and fame, 
 "Why will you never ask some other boon ? 
 Yea, by God's rood, I trusted you too much." 
 
VIVIEN. 101 
 
 And Vivien, like the tenderest-liearted maid 
 That ever bided tryst at village stile, 
 Made answer, either eyelid wet with tears. 
 ^' Nay, master, be not Avrathful with your maid ; 
 Caress her : let her feel herself forgiven 
 Who feels no heart to ask another boon. 
 I think you hardly know the tender rhyme 
 Of ' trust me not at all or all in all.' 
 I heard the great Sir Lancelot sing it once, 
 And it shall answer for me. Listen to it. 
 
 * Li Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours, 
 Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers : 
 Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all. 
 
 ' It is the little rift within the lute, 
 That by and by will make the music mute, 
 And ever widening slowly silence all. 
 
 * The little rift within the lover's lute, 
 Or little pitted speck in garnered fruit, 
 That rotting inward slowly moulders all. 
 
 * It is not worth the keeping: let it go : 
 
 9* 
 
102 V^IVIEN. 
 
 But shall it ? answer, darling, answer, no. 
 And trust me not at all or all in all.' 
 
 O master, do you love my tender rhyme ? " 
 
 And Merlin looked and half believed her true, 
 So tender was her voice, so fair her face. 
 So sweetly gleamed her eyes behind her tears 
 Like sunlight on the plain behind a shower : 
 And yet he answered half indignantly. 
 
 " Far other was the song that once I heard 
 By this huge oak, sung nearly where we sit : 
 For here we met, some ten or twelve of us. 
 To chase a creature that was current then 
 In these wild woods, the hart with golden horns. 
 It was the time when first the question rose 
 About the founding of a Table Hound 
 That was to be, for love of God and men 
 And noble deeds, the flower of all the Avorld. 
 And each incited each to noble deeds. 
 And Avhile we waited, one, the youngest of us, 
 "We could not keep him silent, out he flashed. 
 And into such a song, such fire for fame. 
 
VIVIEN. 103 
 
 Such trumpet-blowings in it, coming down 
 
 To such a stern and iron-clashing close, 
 
 That when he stopt we longed to hurl together. 
 
 And should have done it ; but the beauteous beast 
 
 Scared hy the noise upstarted at our feet. 
 
 And like a silver shadow slipt away 
 
 Through the dim land ; and all day long we rode 
 
 Through the dim land against a rushing wind. 
 
 That glorious roundel echoing in our ears, 
 
 And chased the flashes of his golden horns 
 
 Until they vanished by the fairy well 
 
 That laughs at iron — as our warriors did — 
 
 Where children cast their pins and nails, and cry, 
 
 * Laugh, little well,' but touch it with a sword. 
 
 It buzzes wildly round the point ; and there 
 
 "We lost him : such a noble song was that. 
 
 But, Vivien, when you sang me that sweet rhyme, 
 
 I felt as though you knew this cursed charm, 
 
 Were proving it on me, and that I lay 
 
 And felt them slowly ebbing, name and fame." 
 
 And Vivien answered smiling mournfully; 
 " O mine have ebbed away for evermore. 
 And all through following you to this wild wood. 
 
104 VIVIEN. 
 
 Because I saw you sad, to comfort 3'ou. 
 
 Lo now, what hearts have men ! they never mount 
 
 As high as woman in her selfless mood. 
 
 And touching fame, howe'er you scorn my song, 
 
 Take one verse more — the lady speaks it — this : 
 
 ^ My name, once mine, now thine, is closelier mine. 
 For fame, could fame be mine, that fame were thine. 
 And shame, could shame be thine, that shame were mine. 
 So trust me not at all or all in all.' 
 
 " Says she not well ? and there is more — this rhyme 
 Is like the fair pearl-necklace of the Queen, 
 That burst in dancing, and the pearls were spilt ; 
 Some lost, some stolen, some as relics kept. 
 But nevermore the same two sister pearls 
 Ran down the silken thread to kiss each other 
 On her white neck — so is it with this rhyme : 
 It lives dispersedly in many hands, 
 And every minstrel sings it differently ; 
 Yet is there one true line, the pearl of pearls : 
 ' Man dreams of Fame, while woman wakes to love.' 
 True : Love, though Love were of the grossest, carves 
 A portion from the solid present, eats 
 
VIVIEN. 105 
 
 And uses, careless of the rest ; but Fame, 
 The Fame that follows death is nothing to us ; 
 And what is fame in life but half-disfame. 
 And counterchanged with darkness ? you yourself 
 Know well that Envy calls you Devil's son, 
 And since you seem the Master of all Art, 
 They fain would make you Master of all Vice." 
 
 And Merlin locked his hand in hers and said, 
 " I once was,looking for a magic Aveed, 
 And found a fair young squire who sat alone, . 
 Had carved himself a knightly shield of wood. 
 And then was painting on it fancied arms. 
 Azure, an Eagle rising or, the Sun 
 In dexter chief ; the scroll, ' I follow fame.' 
 And speaking not, but leaning over him, 
 I took his brush and blotted out the bird, 
 And made a Gardener putting in a graff, 
 "With this for motto, ' Rather use than fame.' 
 You should have seen him blush ; but afterwards 
 He made a stalwart knight. O Vivien, 
 For you, methinks you think you love me well ; 
 For me, I love you somewhat ; rest : and Love 
 Should have some rest and pleasure in himself, 
 
106 VIVIEN. 
 
 Not ever be too curious for a boon, 
 Too prurient for a proof against the grain 
 Of liim you say you love : but Fame with men, 
 Being but ampler means to serve mankind. 
 Should have small rest or pleasure in herself, 
 But work as vassal to the larger love, 
 That dwarfs the petty love of one to one. 
 Use gave me Fame at first, and Fame again 
 Increasmg gave me use. Lo, there my boon ! 
 What other ? for men sought to prove me vile, 
 Because I wished to give them greater minds : 
 And then did Envy call me Devil's son : 
 The sick weak beast seeking to help herself 
 By strildng at her better, missed, and brought 
 Her own claAV back, and wounded her own heart. 
 Sweet were' the days when I was all unknown. 
 But when my name was lifted up, the storm 
 Broke on the mountain and I cared not for it. 
 Right well know I that Fame is half-disfame. 
 Yet needs must work my work. That other fame, 
 To one at least, who hath not children, vague. 
 The cackle of the unborn about the grave, 
 I cared not for it : a single misty star, 
 That is the second in a line of stars 
 
VIVIEN. 107 
 
 That seem a sword beneath a belt of tliree, 
 
 I never gazed upon it but I dreamt 
 
 Of some vast charm conckided in that star 
 
 To make fame nothing. Wherefore, if I fear, 
 
 Giving you power upon me through this chai-m, 
 
 That you might play me falsely, having power, 
 
 However well you think you love me now, 
 
 (As sons of kings loving in pupilage 
 
 Have turned to tyrants when they came to power,) 
 
 I rather di-ead the loss of use than fame ; 
 
 If you — and not so much from wickedness, 
 
 As some wild turn of anger, or a mood 
 
 Of overstrained affection, it may be. 
 
 To keep me all to your own self, or else 
 
 A sudden spurt of woman's jealousy — 
 
 Should try this charm on whom you say you love." 
 
 And Vivien answered smiling as in wrath. 
 " Have I not sworn ? I am not trusted. Good ! 
 Well, hide it, hide it ; I shall find it out ; 
 And being found take heed of Vivien then. 
 A woman and not trusted, doubtless I 
 Might feel some sudden turn of anger born 
 Of your misfaith ; and your fine epithet 
 
108 VIVIEN. 
 
 Is accurate too, for this full love of mine 
 Without the full heart back may merit well 
 Your term of overstrained. So used as I, 
 My daily wonder is, I love at all. 
 And as to woman's jealousy, O why not ? 
 
 to what end, except a jealous one. 
 And one to make me jealous if I love, 
 Was this fair charm invented by yourself? 
 
 1 well believe that all about this world 
 You cage a buxom captive here and there. 
 Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower 
 From which is no escape for evermore." 
 
 Then the great Master merrily answered her. 
 " Full many a love in loving youth was mine, 
 I needed then no charm to keep them mine 
 But youth and love ; and that full heart of yours 
 Whereof you prattle, may now assure you mine ; 
 So live uncharmed. For those who wrought it first. 
 The wrist is parted from the hand that waved, 
 The feet unmortised from their ankle-bones 
 Who paced it, ages back : but will you hear 
 The legend as in guerdon for your rhyme ? 
 
VIVIEN'. 109 
 
 " There lived a king in the most Eastern East, 
 Less old than I, yet older, for my blood 
 Hath earnest in it of far springs to be. 
 A tawny pirate anchored in his port. 
 Whose bark had plundered twenty nameless isles ; 
 And passing one, at the high peep of dawn, 
 He saw two cities in a thousand boats 
 All fighting for a woman on the sea. 
 And pushing his black craft among them all, 
 He lightly scattered theirs and brought her off, 
 With loss of half his people arrow-slain ; 
 A maid so smooth, so white, so wonderful, 
 They said a light came from her when she moved : 
 And since the pirate would not yield her up, 
 The king impaled him for his piracy ; 
 Then made her Queen : but those isle-nurtured eyes 
 Waged such unwilling though successful war 
 On all the youth, they sickened ; councils thinned, 
 And armies waned, for magnet-like she drew 
 The rustiest iron of old fighters' hearts ; 
 And beasts themselves would worship ; camels knelt 
 Unbidden, and the brutes of mountain back 
 That carry kings in castles bowed black knees 
 Of homage, ringing with their serpent hands, 
 10 
 
110 VIVIEN. 
 
 To make her smile, her golden ankle-bells. 
 
 "What wonder, being jealous, that he sent 
 
 His horns of proclamation out through all 
 
 The hundred under-kingdoms that he swayed 
 
 To find a wizard who might teach the king 
 
 Some charm, which being wrought upon the Queen 
 
 Might keep her all his own : to such a one 
 
 He promised more than ever king has given, 
 
 A league of mountain full of golden mines, 
 
 A province with a hundred miles of coast, 
 
 A palace and a princess, all for him : 
 
 But on all those who tried and failed, the king 
 
 Pronounced a dismal sentence, meaning by it 
 
 To keep the list low and j)retenders back. 
 
 Or like a king, not to be trifled with — 
 
 Their heads should moulder on the city gates. 
 
 And many tried and failed, because the charm 
 
 Of nature in her overbore their own : 
 
 And many a wizard brow bleached on the walls : 
 
 And many weeks a troop of carrion crows 
 
 Hung like a cloud above the gateway towers." 
 
 And Vivien breaking in upon him, said : 
 " I sit and gather honey ; yet, methinks, 
 
YIVIEN. Ill 
 
 Your tongue has tript a little : ask yourself. 
 
 The lady never made umvilling war 
 
 "With those fine eyes : she had her jDleasure in it, 
 
 And made her good man jealous with good cause. 
 
 And lived there neither dame nor damsel then 
 
 Wroth at a lover's loss ? were all as tame, 
 
 I mean, as noble, as their Queen was fair ? 
 
 Not one to flirt a venom at her eyes. 
 
 Or pinch a murderous dust into her drink. 
 
 Or make her paler with a poisoned rose ? 
 
 Well, those were not our days : but did they find 
 
 A wizard ? Tell me, was he like to thee ? " 
 
 She ceased, and made her lithe arm round his neck 
 Tighten, and then drew back, and let her eyes 
 Speak for her, glowing on him, like a bride's 
 On her new lord, her own, the first of men. 
 
 He answered laughing, " Nay, not lilvc to me. 
 At last they found — his foragers for charms — 
 A little glassy-headed hairless man. 
 Who lived alone in a great wild on grass ; 
 E-ead but one book, and ever reading grew 
 So grated down and filed away with thought, 
 
112 VIVIEN. 
 
 So lean his eyes were monstrous ; while the skin 
 Clung but to crate and basket, ribs and spine. 
 And since he kept his mind on one sole aim, 
 Nor ever touched fierce wine, nor tasted flesh, 
 Nor owned a sensual wish, to him the wall 
 That sunders ghosts and shadow-casting men 
 Became a crystal, and he saw them through it. 
 And heard their voices talk behind the wall, 
 And learnt their elemental secrets, powers 
 And forces ; often o'er the sun's bright eye 
 Drew the vast ej^elid of an inky cloud. 
 And lashed it at the base with slanting storm ; 
 Or in the noon of mist and driving rain, 
 TThen the lake whitened and the pine-wood roared, 
 And the cairned mountain was a shadow, sunned 
 The world to peace again : here was the man. 
 And so by force they dragged him to the king. 
 And then he taught the king to charm the Queen 
 In such-wise, that no man could see her more. 
 Nor saw she save the king, who wrought the charm, 
 Coming and going, and she lay as dead, 
 And lost all use of life : but when the king 
 Made proffer of the league of golden mines. 
 The province with a hundred miles of coast, 
 
VIVIEN. 113 
 
 The palace and the princess, that old man 
 Went back to his old wild, and lived on grass. 
 And vanished, and his book came down to me." 
 
 And Yivien answered smiling saucily : 
 " You have the book : the charm is Avritten in it : 
 Good : take my counsel : let me know it at once : 
 For keep it like a puzzle chest in chest, 
 "With each chest locked and padlocked thirty-fold, 
 And whelm all this beneath as vast a mound 
 As after furious battle turfs the slain 
 On some wild down above the windy deep, 
 I yet should strike upon a sudden means 
 To dig, pick, open, find and read the charm : 
 Then, if I tried it, who should blame me tlien ? " 
 
 And smiling as a Master smiles at one 
 That is not of his school, nor any school 
 But that where blind and naked Ignorance 
 Delivers brawling judgments, unashamed. 
 On all things all day long, he answered her. 
 
 " Yoit read the book, my pretty Vivien ! 
 O, ay, it is but twenty pages long, 
 
 10=^ 
 
114 VIVIEN. 
 
 But every page having an ample marge, 
 
 And every marge enclosing in tlie midst 
 
 A square of text that looks a little blot, 
 
 The text no larger than the limbs of fleas ; 
 
 And every square of text an awful charm, 
 
 Writ in a language that has long gone by. 
 
 So long, that mountains have arisen since 
 
 With cities on their flanks — you read the book ! 
 
 And every margin scribbled, crost, and crammed 
 
 With comment, densest condensation, hard 
 
 To mind and eye ; but the long sleepless nights 
 
 Of my long life have made it easy to me. 
 
 And none can read the text, not even I ; 
 
 And none can read the comment but myself; 
 
 And in the comment did I find the charm. 
 
 O, the results are simple ; a mere child 
 
 Might use it to the harm of any one, 
 
 And never could undo it : ask no more : 
 
 For though you should not prove it upon me. 
 
 But keep that oath you swore, you might, perchance. 
 
 Assay it on some one of the Table Round, 
 
 And all because you dream they babble of you." 
 
 And Vivien, frowning in true anger, said : 
 
VIVIEN. 115 
 
 " What dare the stall-fed liars say of me ? 
 They ride abroad redressing human wrongs ! 
 They sit with knife in meat and wine in horn. 
 They bound to holy vows of chastity ! 
 Were I not woman, I could tell a tale. 
 " But you are man, you well can understand 
 The shame that cannot be explained for shame. 
 Not one of all the drove should touch me : swine ! " 
 
 Then answered Merlin careless of her words. 
 " You breathe but accusation vast and vaojue. 
 Spleen-born, I think, and proofless. If you know, 
 Set up the charge you know, to stand or fall ! " 
 
 And Vivien answered frowning wrathfuUy. 
 " O, ay, what say ye to Sir Valence, him 
 Whose kinsman left him watcher o'er his wife 
 And two fair babes, and went to distant lands ; 
 Was one year gone, and on returning found 
 Not two but three : there lay the reckling, one 
 But one hour old. What said the happy sire ? 
 A seven months' babe had been a truer gift. 
 Those twelve sweet moons confused his fatherhood." 
 
116 VIVIEN. 
 
 Then answered Merlin, " Nay, I know the tale. 
 »Sir Valence wedded with an outland dame : 
 Some cause had kept him sundered from his wife : 
 One child they had : it lived with her : she died : 
 His kinsman travelling on his own affair 
 Was charged by Valence to bring home the child. 
 He brought, not found it therefore : take the truth." 
 
 " 0, ay," said Vivien, " overtrue a tale. 
 "Wliat say ye then to sweet Sir Sagramore, 
 That ardent man ? " To pluck the flower in season," 
 So says the song, " I trow it is no treason." 
 
 Master, shall we call him overquick 
 
 To crop his OAvn sweet rose before the hour ? " 
 
 And Merlin answered, " Overquick are you 
 To catch a lothly plume fallen from the wing 
 Of that foul bird of rapine whose whole prey 
 Is man's good name : he never wronged his bride. 
 
 1 know the tale. An angry gust of wind 
 Puffed out his torch among the myriad-roomed 
 And many-corridored complexities 
 
 Of Arthur's palace : then he found a door 
 And darkling felt the sculptured ornament 
 
VIVIEN. 117 
 
 That wreathen round it made it seem his own ; 
 And Avearied out made for the couch and slept, 
 A stainless man beside a stainless maid ; 
 And either slept, nor knew of other there ; 
 Till the high dawn piercing the royal rose 
 In Arthur's casement glimmered chastely down, 
 Blushing upon them blushing, and at once 
 He rose without a word and parted from her : 
 But when the thing was blazed about the court, 
 The brute world howling forced them into bonds, 
 And as it chanced they are happy, being pure." 
 
 " O, ay," said Vivien, " that were likely too. 
 "What say ye then to fair Sir Percivale 
 And of the horrid foulness that he wrought, 
 The saintly youth, the spotless lamb of Christ, 
 Or some black wether of St. Satan's fold. 
 What, in the precincts of the chapel-yard. 
 Among the knightly brasses of the graves. 
 And by the cold Hie Jacets of the dead ! " 
 
 And Merlin answered, careless of her charge. 
 "A sober man is Percivale and pure ; 
 But once in life was flustered with new Avine, 
 
118 VIVIEN. 
 
 Then paced for coolness in the chapel-yard ; 
 
 Where one of Satan's shepherdesses caught 
 
 And meant to stamp him with her master's mark ; 
 
 And that he sinned, is not believable ; 
 
 For, look upon his face ! — but if he sinned, 
 
 The sin that practice burns into the blood, 
 
 And not the one dai'k hour which brings remorse, 
 
 Will brand us, after, of whose fold we be : 
 
 Or else were he, the holy king, whose hymns 
 
 Are chanted in the minster, Morse than all. 
 
 But is your spleen frothed out, or have ye more ? ' 
 
 And Vivien answered, frowning yet in wrath : 
 " 0, ay ; Avhat say ye to Sir Lancelot, friend ? 
 Traitor or true ? that commerce with the Queen, 
 I ask you, is it clamored by the child. 
 Or wliispered in the corner ? do you know it ? " 
 
 To which he answered sadly, " Yea, I know it. 
 Sir Lancelot went ambassador, at first. 
 To fetch her, and she took him for the king ; 
 So lixt her fancy on him : let him be. 
 But have you no one word of loyal praise 
 For Arthur, blameless kins; and stainless man ? " 
 
VIVIEN. 119 
 
 She answered, with a low and chuckling laugh : 
 " Him ? is he man at all who knows and winks ? 
 Sees what his fair bride is and does, and winks ? 
 By which the good king means to bhnd himself. 
 And blinds himself and all the Table Round 
 To all the foulness that they work. Myself 
 Could call him (were it not for womanhood) 
 The pretty, popular name such manhood earns. 
 Could call him the main cause of all their crime ; 
 Yea, were he not crowned king, coward, and fool." 
 
 Then Merlin to his own heart, loathing, said : 
 " O true and tender ! O my liege and king ! 
 O selfless man and stainless gentleman. 
 Who wouldst against thine own eyewitness fain 
 Have all men true and leal, all women pure ; 
 How, in the mouths of base interpreters, 
 From over-fineness not intelligible 
 To things with every sense as false and foul 
 As the poached filth that floods the middle street, 
 Is thy white blamelessness accounted blame ! " 
 
 But Vivien deeming Merlin overborne 
 By instance, recommenced, and let her tongue 
 
120 VIVIEN. 
 
 Rage like a fire among the noblest names, 
 Polluting, and imputing her whole self, 
 Defaming and defacing, till she left 
 jS'ot even Lancelot brave, nor Galahad clean. 
 
 Her words had issue other than she willed. 
 He dragged his eyebrow bushes down, and made 
 A snowy penthouse for his hollow eyes. 
 And muttered in himself, " Tell her the charm ! 
 So, if she had it, would she rail on me 
 To snare the next, and if she have it not. 
 So will she rail. TTliat did the wanton say ? 
 '• Not mount as high ' ; we scarce can sink as low 
 For men at most differ as Heaven and earth. 
 But women, worst and best, as Heaven and Hell. 
 I know the Table Round, my friends of old ; 
 All brave, and many generous, and some chaste. 
 I think she cloaks the wounds of loss with lies ; 
 I do believe she tempted them and failed. 
 She is so bitter : for fine plots may fail. 
 Though harlots paint their talk as well as face 
 With colors of the heart that are not theirs. 
 I will not let her know : nine tithes of times 
 Face-flatterers and backbiters are the same. 
 
VIVIEN. 121 
 
 And they, sweet soul, that most impute a crime 
 Are pronest to it, and impute themselves, 
 "Wanting the mental range ; or low desire 
 Not to feel lowest makes them level all ; 
 Yea, they Avould pare the mountain to the plain, 
 To leave an equal baseness ; and in this 
 Are harlots like the crowd, that if they find 
 Some stain or blemish in a name of note, 
 Kot grieving that their greatest are so small, 
 Inflate themselves with some insane delight, 
 And judge all nature from her feet of clay. 
 Without the will to lift their eyes, and see 
 Her godlike head crowned Avith spiritual fire, 
 And touching other worlds. I am weary of her." 
 
 He spoke in words part heard, in whispers part, 
 Half suffocated in the hoary fell 
 And many-wintered fleece of throat and chin. 
 But Vivien, gathering somewhat of his mood, 
 And hearing " harlot " muttered twice or thrice, 
 Leapt from her session on his lap, and stood 
 Stiff* as a viper frozen ; loathsome sight. 
 How from the rosy lips of life and love 
 Flashed the bare-grinning skeleton of death ! 
 11 
 
122 VIVIEN. 
 
 "White was lier cheek ; sharp breaths of anger puffed 
 
 Her fairy nostril out ; her hand half clenched 
 
 Went faltering sideways dowmvard to her belt, 
 
 And feeling ; had she found a dagger there, 
 
 (For in a wink the false love turns to hate,) 
 
 She would have stabbed him ; but she found it not : 
 
 His eye was calm, and suddenly she took 
 
 To bitter weeping like a beaten child, 
 
 A long, long weeping, not consolable. 
 
 Then her false voice made way broken with sobs. 
 
 " O crueller than was ever told in tale, 
 Or sung in song ! O vainly lavished love ! 
 cruel, there was nothing wild or strange. 
 Or seeming shameful, for what shame in love. 
 So love be true, and not as yours is — nothing 
 Poor Yivien had not done to win his trust 
 "Who called her what he called her — all her crime. 
 All — all — the wish to prove him wholly hers." 
 
 She mused a little, and then clapt her hands 
 Together with a wailing shriek, and said : 
 " Stabbed through the heart's affections to the heart ! 
 Seethed like the kid in its ov/n mother's milk ! 
 
VIVIEN. 123 
 
 Killed with a word worse than a Hfe of blows ! 
 I thought that he was gentle, being great : 
 
 God, that I had loved a smaller man ! 
 
 1 should have found in him a greater heart. 
 O, I, that flattering my true passion, saw 
 
 The knights, the court, the king, dark in your light, 
 
 Who loved to make men darker than they are. 
 
 Because of that high pleasure which I had 
 
 To seat you sole upon my pedestal 
 
 Of worship — I am answered, and henceforth 
 
 The course of life that seemed so flowery to me 
 
 With you for guide and master, only you. 
 
 Becomes the sea-clitF pathway broken short, 
 
 And ending in a ruin — nothing left. 
 
 But into some low cave to crawl, and there, 
 
 If the wolf spare me, weep my life away. 
 
 Killed with inutterable unkindliness." 
 
 She paused, she turned away, she hung her head, 
 The snake of gold slid from her hair, the braid 
 Shpt and uncoiled itself, she wept afresh. 
 And the dark wood grew darker toward the storm 
 In silence, while his anger slowly died 
 Within him, till he let his wisdom go 
 
124 viviEx. 
 
 For ease of heart, and half believed her true : 
 Called her to shelter in the hollow oak, 
 " Come from the storm," and having no reply. 
 Gazed at the heaving shoulder, and the face 
 Hand-hidden, as for utmost grief or sham^ ; 
 Then thrice essayed, by tenderest-touching terms 
 To sleek her ruffled peace of mind, in vain. 
 At last she let herself be conquered by him. 
 And as the cageling newly flown returns. 
 The seeming-injured simple-hearted thing 
 Came to her old perch back, and settled there. 
 There while she sat, half falling from his knees, 
 Half nestled at his heart, and since he saw 
 The slow tear creep from her closed eyelid yet, 
 About her, more in kindness than in love. 
 The gentle wizard cast a sliielding arm. 
 But she dislinked herself at once and rose, 
 Her arms upon her breast across, and stood 
 A virtuous gentlewoman deeply wronged, 
 Upright and flushed before him : then she said : 
 
 " There must be now no passages of love 
 Betwixt us twain henceforward evermore. 
 Since, if I be what I am grossly called. 
 
VIVIEN. 125 
 
 What should be granted which your own gross heart 
 
 Would reckon worth the taking ? I will go. 
 
 Li truth, but one thing now — better have died 
 
 Thrice than have asked it once — could make me stay — 
 
 That proof of trust — so often asked in vain ! 
 
 How justly, after that vile term of yours, 
 
 I find with grief ! I might believe you then, 
 
 Who knows ? once more. O, what was once to me 
 
 Mere matter of the fancy, now has grown 
 
 The vast necessity of heart and life. 
 
 Farewell : think kindly of me, for I fear 
 
 My fate or fault, omitting gayer youth 
 
 For one so old, must be to love you still. 
 
 But ere I leave you let me swear once more 
 
 That if I schemed against your peace in this. 
 
 May yon just heaven, that darkens o'er me, send 
 
 One flash, that, missing all things else, may make 
 
 My scheming brain a cinder, if I lie." 
 
 Scarce had she ceased, when out of heaven a bolt 
 
 (For now the storm was close above them) struck. 
 
 Furrowing a giant oak, and javelining 
 
 With darted spikes and splinters of the wood 
 
 The dark earth round. He raised his eyes and saw 
 11 # 
 
126 VIVIEN. 
 
 The tree that shone white-listed through the gloom. 
 
 But Vivien, fearing Heaven had heard her oath, 
 
 And dazzled by the livid-flickering fork. 
 
 And deafened with the stammering cracks and claps 
 
 That followed, flying back and crying out, 
 
 " O Merlin, though you do not love me, save. 
 
 Yet save me ! " clung to him and hugged him close ; 
 
 And called him dear protector in her fright, 
 
 Nor yet forgot her practice in her fright, 
 
 But wrought upon his mood and hugged him close. 
 
 The pale blood of the wizard at her touch 
 
 Took gayer colors, like an opal warmed. 
 
 She blamed herself for telling hearsay tales : 
 
 She shook from fear, and for her fault she wept 
 
 Of petulancy ; she called him lord and liege. 
 
 Her seer, her bard, her silver star of eve, 
 
 Her God, her Merhn, the one passionate love 
 
 Of her whole life ; and ever overhead 
 
 Bellowed the tempest, and the rotten branch 
 
 Snapt in the rushing of the river-rain 
 
 Above them ; and in change of glare and gloom 
 
 Her eyes and neck glittering went and came ; 
 
 Till now the storm, its burst of passion spent, 
 
 Moaning and calling out of other lands, 
 
VIVIEN. 127 
 
 Had left the ravaged woodland yet once more 
 
 To peace ; and what should not have been had been 
 
 For Merlin, overtalked and overworn, 
 
 Had yielded, told her all the charm, and slept. 
 
 Then, in one moment, she put forth the charm 
 Of woven paces and of waving hands, 
 And in the hollow oak he lay as dead. 
 And lost to life and use and name and fame. 
 
 Then crying, " I have made his gloiy mine," 
 And shrieking out, " O fool ! " the harlot leapt 
 Adown the forest, and the thicket closed 
 Behind her, and the forest echoed, " Fool ! " 
 
ELAINE. 
 
ELAINE. 
 
 Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable, 
 
 Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, 
 
 High in her chamber up a tower to the East 
 
 Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot ; 
 
 Which first she placed where morning's earliest ray 
 
 Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam ; 
 
 Then fearing rust or soilure fashioned for it 
 
 A case of silk, and braided thereupon 
 
 All the devices blazoned on the shield 
 
 In their own tinct, and added, of her wit, 
 
 A bordtr fantasy of branch and flower, 
 
 And yellow-throated nestling in the nest. 
 
 Nor rested thus content, but day by day 
 
 Leaving her household and good father climbed 
 
 That eastern tower, and entering barred her door, 
 
 Stript off the case, and read the naked shield, 
 
132 ELAINE. 
 
 Now guessed a hidden meaning in his arms, 
 
 Now made a pretty history to herself 
 
 Of every dint a sword had beaten in it, 
 
 And every scratch a lance had made uj^on it,^ 
 
 Conjecturing when and where : his cut is fresh ; 
 
 That ten years back ; this dealt him at Caerlyle ; 
 
 That at Caerleon ; this at Camelot : 
 
 And ah God's mercy what a stroke was there ! 
 
 And here a thrust that might have killed, but God 
 
 Broke the strong lance, and rolled his enemy dov.m, 
 
 And saved him : so she lived in fantasy. 
 
 How came the lily maid by that good shield 
 Of Lancelot, she that knew not ev'n his name ? 
 He left it with her, when he rode to tilt 
 For the great diamond in the diamond jousts, 
 Which Arthur had ordained, and by that name 
 Had named them, since a diamond was the prize. 
 
 For Arthur when none knew from whence he came, 
 Long ere the people chose him for their king, 
 Roving the trackless realms of Lyonness, 
 Had found a glen, gray boulder and black tarn. 
 A horror lived about the tarn, and clave 
 
ELAINE. 133 
 
 Like its own mists to all the mountain side : 
 
 For here two brothers, one a king, had met 
 
 And fought together ; but their names were lost. 
 
 And each had slain his brother at a blow, 
 
 And down they fell and made the glen abhorred : 
 
 And there thej lay till all their bones were bleached, 
 
 And Hchened into color with the crags : 
 
 And one of these, the king, had on a crown 
 
 Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside. 
 
 And Ai'thur came, and laboring up the pass 
 
 All in a misty moonshine, unawares 
 
 Had trodden that crowned skeleton, and the skull 
 
 Brake from the nape, and from the skull the crown 
 
 Rolled into light, and turning on its rims 
 
 Fled like a glittering rivulet to the tarn : 
 
 And down the shingly scaur he plunged and caught, 
 
 And set it on his head, and in his heart 
 
 Heard murmurs, " Lo, thou likewise shalt be king." 
 
 Thereafter, when a king, he had the gems 
 Plucked from the crown, and showed them to his knights, 
 Saying, ''' These jewels, whereupon I chanced 
 Divinely, are the kingdom's, not the king's — 
 For public use : henceforward let there be, 
 12 
 
134 ELAINE. 
 
 Once every year, a joust for one of these : 
 For so by nine years' jDroof we needs must learn 
 Which is our mightiest, and ourselves shall grow- 
 In use of arms and manhood, till we drive 
 The Heathen, who, some say, shall rule the land 
 Hereafter, which God hinder." Thus he sj^oke : 
 And eight years past, eight jousts had been, and still 
 Had Lancelot won the diamond of the year, 
 With purpose to present them to the Queen, 
 When all were won ; but meaning all at once 
 To snare her royal fancy with a boon 
 Worth half her realm, had never spoken vrord. 
 
 Kow for the central diamond and the last 
 And largest, Arthur, holding then his court 
 Hard on the river nigh the place which now 
 Is this world's hugest, let proclaim a joust 
 At Camelot, and when the time drew nigh 
 Spake (for she had been sick) to Guinevere, 
 " Are you so sick, my Queen, you cannot move 
 To these fair jousts ? " " Yea, lord," she said, '• you 
 
 know it." 
 " Then will you miss," he answered, " the great deeds 
 Of Lancelot, and his prowess in the lists. 
 
ELAINE. 135 
 
 A sight you love to look on." And the Queen 
 Lifted her eyes, and they dwelt languidly 
 On Lancelot, where he stood beside the king. 
 He thinking that he read her meaning there, 
 " Stay with me, I am sick ; my love is more 
 Than many diamonds," yielded, and a heart, 
 Love-loyal to the least wish of the Queen, 
 (However much he yearned to make complete 
 The tale of diamonds for his destined boon.) 
 Urged him to speak against the truth, and say, 
 " Sir King, mine ancient wound is hardly whole, 
 And lets me from the saddle " ; and the king 
 Glanced first at him, then her, and went his way. 
 No sooner gone than suddenly she began. 
 
 " To blame, my lord Sir Lancelot, much to blame. 
 Why go 3^ou not to these fair jousts ? the knights 
 Ai'e half of them our enemies, and the crowd 
 Will murmur, Lo the shameless ones, who take 
 Their j^astime now the trustful king is gone !" 
 Then Lancelot vext at having lied in vain : 
 " Are you so wise ? you were not once so wise, 
 My Queen, that summer, when you loved me first. 
 Then of the crowd you took no more account 
 
136 ELAINE. 
 
 Than of the myriad cricket of the mead, 
 When its own voice chngs to each blade of grass, 
 And every A^oice is nothing. As to knights, 
 Them surely can I silence with all ease. 
 But now my loyal Avorship is allowed 
 Of all men : many a bard, without offence, 
 Has linked our names together in his lay, 
 Lancelot, the flower of bravery, Guinevere, 
 The pearl of beauty : and our knights at feast 
 Have pledged us in this union, Avhile the king 
 Would listen smihng. How then ? is there more ? 
 Has Arthur spoken aught ? or would yourself, 
 Now weary of my service and devoir, 
 Henceforth be truer to your faultless lord ? " 
 
 She broke into a little scornful laugh. 
 " Arthur, my lord, Arthur, the faultless king, 
 That passionate perfection, my good lord — 
 But who can gaze upon the Sun in heaven ? 
 He never spake word of reproach to me. 
 He never had a glimpse of mine untruth, 
 He cares not for me : only here to-day 
 There gleamed a vague suspicion in his eyes : 
 Some meddling rogue has tampered with him — else 
 
ELAINE. 
 
 Rapt in this fancy of his Table Round, 
 
 And swearing men to vows impossible, 
 
 To make them like himself : but, friend, to me 
 
 He is all faultwho hath no fault at all : 
 
 For who loves me must have a touch of earth ; 
 
 The low sun makes the color : I am yours, 
 
 Not Arthur's, as you know, save by the bond. 
 
 And therefore hear my words : go to the jousts : 
 
 The tiny-trumpeting gnat can break our dream 
 
 When sweetest ; and the vermin voices here 
 
 May buzz so loud — we scorn them, but they sting, 
 
 Then answered Lancelot, the chief of knights. 
 "And with what face, after my pretext made. 
 Shall I appear, Queen, at Camelot, I 
 Before a king who honors his own word, 
 As if it were liis God's ? " 
 
 " Yea," said the Queen, 
 " A moral child without the craft to rule, 
 Else had he not lost me : but listen to me. 
 If I must find you wit : we hear it said 
 That men go down before your spear at a touch 
 But knowing you are Lancelot ; your great name, 
 
 12* 
 
 137 
 
138 ELAIXE. 
 
 This conquers : hide it therefore ; go unknown : 
 
 Win ! hy tliis kiss you will : and our true king 
 
 Will then allow your pretext, O my knight, 
 
 As all for glory ; for to speak him true, 
 
 You know right well, how meek soe'er he seem, 
 
 Ko keener hunter after glory breathes. 
 
 He loves it in his knights more than himself: 
 
 They prove to him his work : win and return." 
 
 Then got Sir Lancelot suddenly to horse, 
 Wroth at himself: not Avilling to be knoAvn, 
 He left the barren-beaten thoroughfare, 
 Chose the green path that showed the rarer foot, 
 And there among the solitary downs. 
 Full often lost in fancy, lost his way, 
 Till as he traced a faintly-shadowed track, 
 That all in loops and links among the dales 
 Ran to the Castle of Astolat, he saw 
 Fired from, the west, far on a hill, the towers. 
 Thither he made and wound the gateway horn. 
 Then came an old dumb, myriad-wrinkled man, 
 Who let him into lodjrinnj and disarmed. 
 And Lancelot marvelled at the wordless man : 
 And issuing; found the Lord of Astolat 
 
ELAIXE. 139 
 
 With two strong sons, Sir Torre and Sir Lavaine, 
 Moving to meet him in the castle court : 
 And close behind them stept the lilj maid 
 Elaine, his daughter : mother of the house 
 There "was not : some light jest among them rose 
 With laughter dying do\yn as the great knight 
 Approached them : then the Lord of Astolat. 
 '• Whence comest thou, my guest, and by what name 
 Livest between the lips ? for by thy state 
 And presence I might guess thee chief of those, 
 After the king, Avho eat in Arthur's halls. 
 Him have I seen : the rest, his Table Round, 
 Known as they are, to me they are unknown." 
 
 Then answered Lancelot, the chief of knights. 
 '•' Known am I, and of Arthur's hall, and known. 
 What I by mere mischance have brought, my shield. 
 But since I go to joust as one unknown 
 At Camelot for the diamond, ask me not, 
 Hereafter you shall know me — and the shield — 
 I pray you lend me one, if such you have. 
 Blank, or at least with some device not mine." 
 
 Then said the Lord of Astolat, " Here is Torre's : 
 
140 
 
 Hurt in his first tilt was my son, Sir Torre. 
 And so, God wot, his shield is blank enough. 
 His you can have." Then added plain Sir Torre, 
 " Yea, since I cannot use it, you may have it." 
 Here laughed the father, saying, " Fie, Sir Churl, 
 Is that an answer for a noble knight ? 
 Allow him : but Lavaine, my younger here. 
 He is so full of lustihood, he will ride 
 Joust for it, and win, and bring it in an hour 
 And set it in this damsel's golden hair, 
 To make her thrice as Avilful as before." 
 
 " Nay, fiither, nay, good father, shame me not 
 Before this noble knight," said young Lavaine, 
 " For nothing. Surely I but played on Torre : 
 He seemed so sullen, vext he could not go : 
 A jest, no more : for, knight, the maiden dreamt 
 That some one put this diamond in her hand, 
 And that it was too slippery to be held. 
 And slipt and fell into some pool or stream, 
 The castle-well, belike ; and then I said 
 That if I went and if I fought and won it 
 (But all was jest and joke among ourselve>s) 
 Then must she keep it safelier. All was jest. 
 
ELAINE. 141 
 
 But father give me leave, an if he will, 
 To ride to Camelot with this noble knight : 
 Win shall I not, but do my best to win : 
 Young as I am, yet would I do my best." 
 
 " So you will grace me," answered Lancelot, 
 Smiling a moment, " with your fellowship 
 O'er these waste downs whereon I lost myself, 
 Then were I glad of you as guide and friend ; 
 And you shall win this diamond, — as I hear 
 It is a fair large diamond, — if you may. 
 And yield it to this maiden, if you will." 
 " A fair large diamond," added plain Sir Torre, 
 " Such be for Queens and not for simple maids." 
 Then she, who held her eyes upon the ground, 
 Elaine, and heard her name so tost about, 
 Flushed shghtly at the slight disparagement 
 Before the stranger knight, who, looking at her, 
 Full courtly, yet not falsely, thus returned. 
 " If what is fair be but for what is fair. 
 And only Queens are to be counted so. 
 Rash were my judgment then, who deem this maid 
 Might wear as fair a jewel as is on earth, 
 Not violating the bond of like to hke." 
 
142 ELAINE. 
 
 He spoke and ceased : the lily maid Elaine, 
 Won by the mellow Toice before she looked, 
 Lifted her eyes, and read his lineaments. 
 The great and guilty love he bare the Queen, 
 In battle with the love be bare his lord, 
 Had marred his face, and marked it ere his time. 
 Another sinning at such height, with one, 
 The flower of all the West and all the world, 
 Had been the sleeker for it : but in him 
 His mood was often like a fiend, and rose 
 And drove him into wastes and solitudes 
 For agony, who was yet a living soul. 
 Marred as he was, he seemed the goodliest man, 
 That ever among ladies ate in Hall, 
 And noblest, when she lifted up her eyes. 
 However marred, of more than twice her years. 
 Seamed with an ancient sword-cut on the cheek. 
 And bruised and bronzed, she lifted^ up her eyes 
 And loved him, with that love which^ was her doom. 
 
 Then the great knight, the darling of the court. 
 Loved of the loveliest, into that rude hall 
 Stept Avith all grace, and not with half disdain 
 Hid under grace, as m a smaller time. 
 
ELAINE. 143 
 
 But kindly man moving among his kind : 
 
 Whom they with meats and vintage of their best 
 
 And talk and minstrel melody entertained. 
 
 And much they asked of court and Table Round, 
 
 And ever well and readily answered he : 
 
 But Lancelot, when they glanced at Guinevere, 
 
 Suddenly speaking of the wordless man. 
 
 Heard from the Baron that, ten years before, 
 
 The heathen caught and reft him of his tongue. 
 
 " He learnt and warned me of their fierce design 
 
 Against my house, and him they caught and maimed ; 
 
 But I, my sons and little daughter fled 
 
 From bonds or death, and dwelt among the woods 
 
 By the great river in a boatman's hut. 
 
 Dull days were those, till our good Arthur broke 
 
 The Pagan yet once more on Badon hill." 
 
 " O there, great Lord, doubtless," Lavaine said, rapt 
 By all the sweet and sudden passion of youth 
 Toward greatness in its elder, " you have fought. 
 O tell us ; for we live apart — you know 
 Of Arthur's glorious wars." And Lancelot spoke 
 And answered him at full, as having been 
 With Arthur in the fight which all day long 
 
144 ELAINE. 
 
 Eang by the white mouth of the violent Glem ; 
 
 And in the four wild battles by the shore 
 
 Of Duglas ; that on Bassa ; then the war 
 
 That thundered in and out the gloomy skirts 
 
 Of Celidon the forest ; and again 
 
 By castle Gurnion where the glorious king 
 
 Had on his cuirass worn our Lady's Head, 
 
 Carved of one emerald, centered in a sun 
 
 Of silver rays, that lightened as he breathed ; 
 
 And at Caerleon had he helped his lord, 
 
 "When the strong neighings of the wild white Plorse 
 
 Set every gilded parapet shuddering ; 
 
 And up in Agned Cathregonion too. 
 
 And down the waste sand-shores of Trath Treroit, 
 
 Where many a heathen fell ; " and on the mount 
 
 Of Badon I myself beheld the king 
 
 Charw at the head of all his Table Eound, 
 
 And all his legions crying Christ and him, 
 
 And break them ; and I saw him, after, stand 
 
 High on a heap of slain, from spur to plume 
 
 Red as the rising sun with heathen blood. 
 
 And seeing me, with a great voice he cried, 
 
 ' They are broken, they are broken,' for the king, 
 
ELAINE. 145 
 
 For triumph in our mimic Tvars, the jousts — 
 For if his own knight cast him down, he laughs, 
 Saying, his knights are better men than he — 
 Yet in this heathen war the fire of God 
 Fills him : I never saw his like : there lives 
 Ko greater leader." 
 
 While he uttered this, 
 Low to her own heart said the lilj maid, 
 " Save your great self, fair lord " ; and when he fell 
 From talk of war to traits of pleasantry — 
 Being mirthful he, but in a stately kind — 
 She still took note that when the living smile 
 Died from his lips, across him came a cloud 
 Of melancholy severe, from which again, 
 "Whenever in her hovering to and fro 
 The lily maid had striven to make him cheer. 
 There brake a sudden-beaming tenderness 
 Of manners and of nature : and she thought 
 That all was nature, all, perchance, for her. 
 And all night long his face before her lived. 
 As when a painter, poring on a face. 
 Divinely through all hindrance finds the man 
 Behind it, and so paints him that his face, 
 13 
 
14G ELAINE. 
 
 The shape and color of a mind and life, 
 
 Lives for his children, ever at its best 
 
 And fullest ; so the face before her lived, 
 
 Dark-splendid, speaking in the silence, full 
 
 Of noble things, and held her from her sleep. 
 
 Till rathe she rose, half cheated in the thought 
 
 She needs must bid farewell to sweet Lavaine. 
 
 First as in fear, step after step, she stole 
 
 Down the long tower-stairs, hesitating : 
 
 Anon, she heard Sir Lancelot cry in the court, 
 
 " This shield, my friend, where is it ? " and Lavaine 
 
 Past inward, as she came from out the tower. 
 
 There to his proud horse Lancelot turned, and smoothed 
 
 The glossy shoulder, humming to himself. 
 
 Half envious of the flattering hand, she drew 
 
 Nearer and stood. He looked, and more amazed 
 
 Than if seven men had set upon him, saw 
 
 The maiden standing in the dewy light. 
 
 He had not dreamed she was so beautiful. 
 
 Then came on him a sort of sacred fear. 
 
 For silent, though he greeted her, she stood 
 
 Rapt on his face as if it were a God's. 
 
 Suddenly flashed on her a wild desire, 
 
 That he should wear her favor at the tilt. 
 
ELAINE. 147 
 
 She braved a riotous heart in asking for it. 
 
 " Fair lord, whose name I know not, — noble it is, 
 
 I well believe, the noblest, — will you wear 
 
 My favor at this tourney ? " " Nay," said he, 
 
 " Fair lady, since I never yet have worn 
 
 Favor of any lady in the lists. 
 
 Such is my wont, as those, who know me, know." 
 
 '• Yea, so," she answered ; " then in wearing mine 
 
 Needs must be lesser likelihood, noble lord. 
 
 That those who know should know you." And he turned 
 
 Her counsel up and down within his mind. 
 
 And found it true, and answered, " True, my child. 
 
 Well, I will wear it : fetch it out to me : 
 
 What is it ? " and she told him, '-A red sleeve 
 
 Broidered with pearls," and brouglit it : then he bound 
 
 Her token on his helmet, with a smile. 
 
 Saying, " I never yet have done so much 
 
 For any maiden living," and the blood 
 
 Sprang to her face and filled her with delight ; 
 
 But left her all the paler, when Lavaine 
 
 Returning brought the yet-unblazoned shield, 
 
 His brother's ; which he gave to Lancelot, 
 
 Who parted with his own to fair Elaine ; 
 
 " Do me this grace, my child, to have my shield 
 
148 ELAINE. 
 
 In keeping till I come." "A grace to me," 
 
 She answered, '' twice to-day. I am your Squire." 
 
 "Whereat Lavaine said laughing, " Lily maid, 
 
 For fear our people call you lily maid 
 
 In earnest, let me brmg your color back ; 
 
 Once, tAvice, and thrice : now get you hence to bed " : 
 
 So kissed her, and Sir Lancelot his own hand, 
 
 And thus they moved away : she stayed a minute, 
 
 Then made a sudden step to the gate, and there — 
 
 Her bright hair blown about the serious face 
 
 Yet rosy-kindled with her brother's kiss — 
 
 Paused in the gateway, standing by the shield 
 
 In silence, while she watched their arms far-oiF 
 
 Sparkle, until they dipt below the downs. 
 
 Then to her tower she climbed, and took the shield, 
 There kept it, and so lived in fantasy. 
 
 Meanwhile the new companions past away 
 Far o'er the long backs of the bushless doAvns, 
 To where Sir Lancelot knew there lived a knight 
 Not far from Camelot, now for forty years 
 A hermit, who had prayed, labored and prayed, 
 And ever laboring had scooped himself 
 
ELAINE. 149 
 
 In the white rock a chapel and a hall 
 On massive columns, like a shoreclifF cave, 
 And cells and chambers : all were fair and dry ; 
 The green light from the meadows underneath 
 Struck up and hved along the milky roofs ; 
 And in the meadows tremulous aspen-trees 
 And poplars made a noise of falhng showers. 
 And thither wending there that night they bode. 
 
 But when the next day broke from underground. 
 And shot red fire and shadows through the cave, 
 They rose, heard mass, broke fast, and rode away : 
 Then Lancelot saying, '' Hear, but hold my name 
 Hidden, you ride with Lancelot of the lake," 
 Abashed Lavaine, whose instant reverence, 
 Dearer to true young hearts than their own praise, 
 But left him leave to stammer, " Is it indeed ? " 
 And after muttering " the great Lancelot," 
 At last he got his breath and answered, " One, 
 One have I seen — that other, our liege lord. 
 The dread Pendragon, Britain's king of kings, 
 Of whom the people talk mysteriously. 
 He Avill be there — then were I stricken blind 
 That minute, I might say that I had seen." 
 13* 
 
150 ELAINE. 
 
 So spake Lavainc, and Avlien they reached the lists 
 By Camelot in the meadow, let his eyes 
 Run through the peopled gallery Avhich half round 
 Lay like a rainbow fall'n upon the grass, 
 Until they found the clear-faced king, who sat 
 Robed in red samite, easily to be known. 
 Since to his crown the golden dragon clung, 
 And down his robe the dragon writhed in gold, 
 And from the carven-work behind him crept 
 Two dragons gilded, sloping down to make 
 Arms for his chair, while all the rest of them 
 Through knots and loops and folds innumerable 
 Fled ever through the woodwork, till they found 
 The new design wherein they lost themselves, 
 Yet with all ease, so tender was the work : 
 And, in the costly canopy o'er him set. 
 Blazed the last diamond of the nameless king. 
 Then Lancelot answered young Lavaine and said, 
 '•' Me you call great : mine is the firmer seat, 
 The truer lance : but there is many a youth 
 Now crescent, Avho will come to all I am 
 And overcome it ; and in me there dwells 
 No greatness, save it be some far-off touch 
 Of greatness to know well I am not great : 
 
ELAINE. 151 
 
 There is the man." And Lavaine gaped upon him 
 
 As on a thing miraculous, and anon 
 
 The trumpets blew ; and then did either side, 
 
 They that assailed, and they that held the lists, 
 
 Set lance in rest, strike spur, suddenly move. 
 
 Meet in the midst, and there so furiously 
 
 Shock, that a man far-off might well perceive. 
 
 If any man that day were left afield. 
 
 The hard earth shake, and a low thunder of arms. 
 
 And Lancelot bode a little, till he saw 
 
 Which were the weaker ; then he hurled into it 
 
 Against the stronger : little need to speak 
 
 Of Lancelot in his glory : king, duke, earl. 
 
 Count, baron — whom he smote, he overthrew. 
 
 But in the field were Lancelot's kith and kin. 
 Ranged with the Table Round that held the lists, 
 Strong men, and wrathful that a stranger knight 
 Should do and almost overdo the deeds 
 Of Lancelot ; and one said to the other, " Lo ! 
 What is he ? I do not mean the force alone. 
 The grace and versatility of the man — 
 Is it not Lancelot ? " " When has Lancelot worn 
 Favor of any lady in the lists ? 
 
152 ELAINE. 
 
 Not such his wont, as we, that know him, know." 
 
 " How then ? who then ? " a fuiy seized on them, 
 
 A fiery family passion for the name 
 
 Of Lancelot, and a glory one with theirs. 
 
 They couched their spears and pricked their steeds and 
 
 thus, 
 Their plumes driv'n backward by the wind they made 
 In moving, all together down upon him 
 Bare, as a wild wave in the wide North-Sea, 
 Green-glimmering toward the summit, bears, with all 
 Its stormy crests that smoke against the skies, 
 Down on a bark, and overbears the bai'k, 
 And him that helms it, as they overbore 
 Sir Lancelot and his charger, and a spear 
 Down-glancing lamed the charger, and a spear 
 Prickt sharply his own cuirass, and the head 
 Pierced through his side, and there snapt, and remained. 
 
 Then Sir Lavaine did well and worshipfully ; 
 He bore a knight of old repute to the earth, 
 And brought his horse to Lancelot where he lay. 
 He up the side, sweating with agony, got, 
 But thought to do while he might yet endure. 
 And being lustily holpen by the rest. 
 
ELAINE. 153 
 
 His party — tliongli it seemed half miracle 
 To those he fought with — drave his kith and kin, 
 And all the Table Round that held the lists, 
 Back to the barrier ; then the heralds blew 
 Proclaiming his the prize, who wore the sleeve 
 Of scarlet, and the pearls ; and all the knights, 
 His party, cried, " Advance, and take your prize, 
 The diamond " ; but he answered, ''' Diamond me 
 No diamonds ! for God's love, a little air ! 
 Prize me no prizes, for my prize is death ! 
 Hence will I, and I charge you, follow me not." 
 
 He spoke, and vanished suddenly from the field 
 "With young Lavaine into the poplar grove. 
 There from his charger down he slid, and sat, 
 Gasping to Sir Lavaine, '• Draw the lance-head " : 
 "Ah my sweet lord Sir Lancelot," said Lavaine, 
 " I dread me, if I drav/ it, you will die." 
 Put he, " I die already with it : draw — 
 Draw " — and Lavaine drew, and that other gave 
 A marvellous great shriek and ghastly groan. 
 And half his blood burst forth, and down he sank 
 For the pure pain, and wholly swooned away. 
 Then came the hermit out and bare him in. 
 
154 ELAINE. 
 
 There stanched his wound ; and there, in daily doubt 
 "Whether to live or die, foi' many a week 
 Hid from the wide world's rumor by the grove 
 Of poplars with their noise of faUing showers, 
 And ever-tremulous aspen-trees, he lay. 
 
 But on that day when Lancelot fled the lists, 
 His party, knights of utmost North and "West, 
 Lords of waste marches, kings of desolate isles, 
 Came round their great Pendragon, saying to him, 
 *' Lo, Sire, our knight through whom we won the day 
 Hath gone sore wounded, and hath left his prize 
 Untaken, cr^dng that his prize is death.'* 
 " Heaven hinder," said the king, " that such an one, 
 So great a knight as we have seen to-day — 
 He seemed to me another Lancelot — 
 Yea, twenty times I thought him Lancelot — 
 He must not pass uncared for. Gawain, rise, 
 My nephew, and ride forth and find the knight. 
 "Wounded and weai'ied needs must he be near. 
 I charge you that you get at once to horse. 
 And, knights and kings, there breathes not one of you 
 Will deem this prize of ours is rashly given : 
 His prowess was too wondrous. We will do him 
 
ELAINE. 155 
 
 Xo customary honor : since the knight 
 Came not to us, of us to claim the prize, 
 Ourselves will send it after. Wherefore take 
 This diamond, and deUver it, and return. 
 And bring us "vvhat he is and how he fares, 
 And cease not from your quest until you find." 
 
 So saying, from the carven flower above, 
 To which it made a restless heart, he took. 
 And gave, the diamond : then from where he sat 
 At Arthur's right, with smiling face arose, 
 With smiling face and frowning heart, a Prince 
 In the mid might and flourish of his May, 
 Gawain, surnamed The Courteous, fair and strong. 
 And after Lancelot, Tristram, and Geraint 
 And Lamorack, a good knight, but therewithal 
 Sir Modred's brother, of a crafty house, 
 Xor often loyal to his word, and now 
 Wroth that the king's command to sally forth 
 In quest of whom he knew not, made him leave 
 The banquet, and concourse of knights and kings. 
 
 So all in wrath he got to horse and went ; 
 While Arthur to the banquet, dark in mood, 
 
156 KLAINE. 
 
 Past, tliinking, '• Is it Lancelot who has come 
 
 Despite the -wound he spake of, all for gain 
 
 Of glory, and has added wound to wound. 
 
 And ridd'n away to die ? " So feared the king. 
 
 And, after two days' tarriance there, returned. 
 
 Then when he saw the Queen, embracing asked, 
 
 " Love, are you yet so sick ? " " iS'ay, lord," she said. 
 
 *•' And where is Lancelot ? " then the Queen amazed, 
 
 " Was he not Avith you ? won he not your prize ? " 
 
 " Nay, but one like him." " Why, that like was he." 
 
 And when the king demanded how she knew. 
 
 Said, " Lord, no sooner had you j^arted from us, 
 
 Than Lancelot told me of a common talk 
 
 That men went down before his spear at a touch. 
 
 But knowing he was Lancelot ; his great name 
 
 Conquered ; and therefore would he hide his name 
 
 From all men, ev'n the king, and to this end 
 
 Had made the pretext of a hindering wound. 
 
 That he might joust unknown of all, and learn 
 
 If his old prowess were in aught decayed : 
 
 And added, ' Our true Arthur, when he learns, 
 
 Will well allow my pretext, as for gain 
 
 Of purer glory.' " 
 
ELAINE. 157 
 
 Then replied the king : 
 " Far lovelier in our Lancelot had it been, 
 In lieu of idly dallying with the truth, 
 To have trusted me as he has trusted you. 
 Surely liis king and most familiar friend 
 Might well have kept his secret. True, indeed, 
 Albeit I know my knights fantastical. 
 So fine a fear m our large Lancelot 
 Must needs have moved my laughter : now remains 
 But little cause for laughter : his own kin — 
 111 news, my Queen, for all who love him, these ! 
 His kith and kin, not knowing, set upon him ; 
 So that he went sore wounded from the field ; 
 Yet good news too : for goodly hopes are mine 
 That Lancelot is no more a lonely heart. 
 He wore, against his wont, upon his helm 
 A sleeve of scarlet, broidered with great pearls, 
 Some gentle maiden's gift." 
 
 '' Yea, lord," she said, 
 " Your hopes are mine," and saying that she choked. 
 And sharply turned about to hide her face. 
 Moved to her chamber, and there flung herself 
 Down on the great king's couch, and writhed upon it, 
 U 
 
158 ELAINE. 
 
 And clenched her fingers till they bit the palm, 
 And shrieked out "traitor" to the unhearing wall, 
 Then flashed into wild tears, and rose again. 
 And moved about her palace, proud and pale. 
 
 Gawain the while through all the region round 
 Rode with his diamond, wearied of the quest, 
 Touched at all points, except the poplar grove. 
 And came at last, though late, to Astolat : 
 "Whom glittering in enamelled arms the maid 
 Glanced at, and cried, " What news from Camelot, lord ? 
 What of the knight with the red sleeve ? " " He won." 
 "I knew it," she said. "' But parted from the jousts 
 Hurt in the side," whereat she caught her breath ; 
 Through her own side she felt the sharp lance go ; 
 Thereon she smote her hand : well-nigh she swooned : 
 And, while he gazed wonderingly at her, came 
 The lord of Astolat out, to whom the Prmce 
 Reported who he was, and on what quest 
 Sent, that he bore the prize and could not find 
 The victor, but had ridden wildly round 
 To seek liim, and was wearied of the search. 
 To whom the Lord of Astolat, " Bide with us 
 And ride no longer wildly, noble Prince ! 
 
ELAINE. 159 
 
 Here was the knight, and here he left a shield ; 
 
 This will he send or come for : furthermore 
 
 Our son is with him ; we shall hear anon, 
 
 Needs must we hear." To this the courteous Prince 
 
 Accorded with his wonted courtesy, 
 
 Courtesy with a touch of traitor in it, 
 
 And stayed ; and cast his eyes on fair Elaine — 
 
 Where could be found face daintier ? then her shape 
 
 From forehead down to foot perfect — again 
 
 From foot to forehead exquisitely turned : 
 
 « Well — if I bide, lo ! this wild flower for me ! " 
 
 And oft they met among the garden yews, 
 
 And there he set himself to play upon her, 
 
 With sallying wit, free flashes from a height 
 
 Above her, graces of the court, and songs. 
 
 Sighs, and slow smiles, and golden eloquence 
 
 And amorous adulation, till the maid 
 
 Rebelled against it, saying to him, " Prince, 
 
 O loyal nephew of our noble king. 
 
 Why ask you not to see the shield he left. 
 
 Whence you might learn his name ? Why slight your 
 
 king. 
 And lose the quest he sent you on, and prove 
 No surer than our falcon yesterday. 
 
IGO ELAINE. 
 
 Who lost tlie hern we slipt him at, and Avent 
 
 To all the winds ? " " Nay, by mine head," said he, 
 
 " I lose it, as Ave lose the lark in heaven, 
 
 damsel, in the light of your blue eyes : 
 But an you will it let me see the shield." 
 
 And Avhen the shield was brought, and Gawain saw 
 Sir Lancelot's azure lions, crowned with gold, 
 Ramp in the field, he smote his thigh, and mocked : 
 " Right Avas the King ! our Lancelot ! that true man ! " 
 " And right AA'as I," she ansAA^ered merrily, " I, 
 Who dreamed my knight the greatest knight of all." 
 " And if / dreamed," said GaAvain, " that you Ioac 
 This greatest knight, your pardon ! lo, you knoAV it ! 
 Speak therefore : shall I Avaste myself in vain ? " 
 Full simple was her answer, " What knoAv I ? 
 My brethren have been all my fellowship, 
 And I, Avhen often they have talked of love. 
 Wished it had been my mother, for they talked, 
 Meseemed, of what they kncAV not ; so myself — 
 
 1 know not if I knoAV Avhat true love is. 
 But if I knoAv, then, if I love not him, 
 Methinks there is none other I can love." 
 
 " Yea, by God's death," said he, " you love him Avell, 
 But Avould not, kncAv you Avliat all others knoAv, 
 
ELAINE. 161 
 
 Aiicl whom be loves." " So be it," cried Elaine, 
 And lifted her fair face and moved away : 
 But be pursued ber, calUng, " Bide awbile ! 
 One golden minute's grace : be wore your sleeve : 
 AVould be break faith with one I may not name ? 
 Must our true man change like a leaf at last ? 
 May it be so ? why then, far be it from me 
 To cross our mighty Lancelot in his loves ! 
 And, damsel, for I deem you know full well 
 "Where your great knight is bidden, let me leave 
 My quest with you ; the diamond also : here ! 
 For if you love, it will be sweet to give it ; 
 And if he love, it will be sweet to have it 
 From your own hand ; and whether he love or not, 
 A dia mond is a diamond. Fare you well 
 A thousand times ! — a, thousand times farewell ! 
 Yet, if he love, and his love bold, we two 
 May meet at court hereafter : there, I think, 
 So you will learn the courtesies of the court, 
 We two shall know each other." 
 
 Then he gave. 
 And slightly kissed the hand to which he gave. 
 The diamond, and all wearied of the quest 
 
162 ELAINE. 
 
 Leapt on liis lior.-c, and carolling as he "went 
 A true-lo\c ballad, liglitly rode aAvay. 
 
 Thence to the court he past ; there told the king, 
 What the king knew, " Sir Lancelot is the knight." 
 And added, " Sire, mj liege, so much I learnt ; 
 But foiled to find him though I rode all round 
 The region : but I lighted on the maid, 
 Whose sleeve he wore ; she loves him : to this maid 
 Deeming our courtesy is the truest law 
 I gave the diamond : she will render it ; 
 For by mine head she knows his hiding-place." 
 
 The seldom-frowning king frowned, and replied, 
 " Too courteous truly ! you shall go no more 
 On quest of mine, seeing that you forget 
 Obedience is the courtesy due to kings." 
 
 I 
 
 He spake and parted. "Wrolli but all in awe. 
 For twenty strokes of the blood, without a word. 
 Lingered that other, staring after him ; 
 Then shook his hair, strode off, and buzzed abroad 
 About the maid of Astolat, and her love. 
 All ears were pricked at once, all tongues were loosed 
 
ELAINE. 163 
 
 " The maid of Astolat loves Sir Lancelot, 
 
 Sir Lancelot loves the maid of Astolat." 
 
 Some read the King's face, some the Queen's, and all 
 
 Had marvel what the maid might be, but most 
 
 Predoomed her as unworthy. One old dame 
 
 Came suddenly on the Queen with the sharp news. 
 
 She, that had heard the noise of it before, 
 
 But sorrowing Lancelot should have stooped so low, 
 
 Marred her friend's point with pale tranquillity. 
 
 So ran the tale like fire about the court. 
 
 Fire m dry stubble a nine days' wonder flared : 
 
 Till ev'n the knights at banquet twice or thrice 
 
 Forgot to di'ink to Lancelot and the Queen, 
 
 And pledging Lancelot and the lily maid 
 
 Smiled at each other, while the Queen who sat 
 
 With lips severely placid felt the knot 
 
 Climb in her throat, and with her feet unseen 
 
 Crushed the wild passion out against the floor 
 
 Beneath the banquet, where the meats became 
 
 As Avormwood, and she hated all Avho pledged. 
 
 But far away the maid in Astolat, 
 Her guiltless rival, she that ever kept 
 The one-day -seen Sir Lancelot in her heart. 
 
164 ELAINE. 
 
 Crept to licr father, while he mused alone, 
 
 Sat on his knee, stroked his gray face and said, 
 
 " Father, you call me wilful, and the fault 
 
 Is yours, who let me have my will, and now, 
 
 Sweet father, will you let me lose my wits ? " 
 
 " Nay," said he, " surely." " Wherefore let me hence,' 
 
 She answered, " and find out our dear Lavaine." 
 
 " You will not lose your wits for dear Lavaine : 
 
 Bide," answered he : " we needs must hear anon 
 
 Of him, and of that other." " Ay," she said, 
 
 " And of that other, for I needs must hence 
 
 And find that other, wheresoe'er he be, 
 
 And with mine own hand give his diamond to him, 
 
 Lest I be found as faithless in the quest 
 
 As yon proud prince who left the quest to me. 
 
 Sweet father, I behold him in my dreams 
 
 Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself. 
 
 Death-pale, for lack of gentle maiden's aid. 
 
 The gentler-born the maiden, the more bound, 
 
 My father, to be sweet and serviceable 
 
 To noble knights in sickness, as you know. 
 
 When these have worn their tokens : let me hence 
 
 I pray you." Then her father nodding said, 
 
 " Ay, ay, the diamond : wit you well, my child, 
 
ELAINE. 165 
 
 Right fain were I to learn this knight were whole, 
 Being our greatest : yea, and you must give it — 
 And sure I think this fruit is hung too high 
 For any mouth to gape for save a Queen's — 
 Nay, I mean nothing : so then, get you gone, 
 Being so very wilful you must go." 
 
 Lightly, her suit allowed, she slipt away. 
 And while she made her ready for her ride, 
 Her father's latest word hummed in her ear, 
 " Being so very wilful you must go," 
 And changed itself and echoed in her heart, 
 " Being so very wilful you must die." 
 But she was happy enough and shook it off. 
 As we shake oflf the bee that buzzes at us ; 
 And in her heart she answered it and said, 
 " What matter, so I help him back to hfe ? '* 
 Then far away with good Sir Torre for guide 
 Rode o'er the long backs of the bushless downs 
 To Camelot, and before the city-gates 
 Came on her brother with a happy face 
 Making a roan horse caper and curvet 
 For pleasure all about a field of flowers : 
 Whom when she saw, " Lavaine," she cried, " Lavaine, 
 
166 ELAINE. 
 
 How fares my lord Sir Lancelot ? " He amazed, 
 
 " Torre and Elaine ! why here ? Sir Lancelot ! 
 
 How know YOU my lord's name is Lancelot ? " 
 
 But when the maid had told him all her tale, 
 
 Then turned Sir Torre, and being in his moods 
 
 Left them, and under the strange-statued gate, 
 
 Where Arthur's wars were rendered mystically. 
 
 Past up the still rich city to his kin. 
 
 His own far blood, which dwelt at Camelot ; 
 
 And her Lavaine across the poplar grove 
 
 Led to the caves : there first she saw the casque 
 
 Of Lancelot on the wall : her scarlet sleeve. 
 
 Though carved and cut, and half the pearls away. 
 
 Streamed from it still ; and in her heart she laughed. 
 
 Because he had not loosed it from his helm. 
 
 But meant once more perchance to tourney in it. 
 
 And when they gained the cell in which he slept. 
 
 His battle-writben arms and mighty hands 
 
 Lay naked on the wolf-skin, and a dream 
 
 Of dragging down his enemy made them move. 
 
 Then she that saw him lying unsleek, unshorn, 
 
 Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself. 
 
 Uttered a little tender dolorous cry. 
 
 The sound not wonted in a place so still 
 
o5 
 
 ELAINE. 167 
 
 Woke the sick knight, and while he rolled Ms eyes 
 
 Yet blank from sleep, she started to him, sayin 
 
 " Yom' prize, the diamond sent you by the king 
 
 His eyes glistened : she fancied, '' Is it for me ? " 
 
 And when the maid had told him all the tale 
 
 Of king and prince, the diamond sent, the quest 
 
 Assigned to her not worthy of it, she knelt 
 
 Full lowly by the corners of his bed, 
 
 And laid the diamond in his open hand. 
 
 Her face was near, and as we kiss the child 
 
 That does the task assigned, he kissed her face. 
 
 At once she slipt like water to the floor. 
 
 '• Alas," he said, " your ride has wearied you. 
 
 Rest must you have." " No rest for me," she said ; 
 
 " Nay, for near you, fair lord, I am at rest." 
 
 What might she mean by that ? his large black eyes, 
 
 Yet larger through his leanness, dwelt upon her, 
 
 Till all her heart's sad secret blazed itself 
 
 In the heart's colors on her simple face ; 
 
 And Lancelot looked and was perplext in mind, 
 
 And being weak in body said no more ; 
 
 But did hot love the color ; woman's love, 
 
 Save one, he not regarded, and so turned 
 
 Sighing, and feigned a sleep until he slept. 
 
168 KLAINE. 
 
 Then rose Elaine and glided through the fields, 
 And past beneath the wildly-sculptured gates 
 Far up the dim rich city to her kin ; 
 There bode the night : but woke with dawn, and past 
 Down through the dim rich city to the fields, 
 Thence to the cave : so day by day she past 
 In either twilight ghost-like to and fro 
 Gliding, and every day she tended him, 
 And likewise many a night : and Lancelot 
 "Would, though he called his wound a little hurt 
 Whereof he should be quickly whole, at times 
 Brain-feverous in his heat and agony, seem 
 Uncourteous, even he : but the meek maid 
 Sweetly forbore him ever, being to him 
 Meeker than any child to a rough nurse. 
 Milder than any mother to a sick child. 
 And never woman yet, since man's first fall, 
 Did kindlier unto man, but her deep love 
 Upbore her ; till the hermit, skilled in all 
 The simples and the science of that time. 
 Told him that her fine care had saved his life. 
 And the sick man forgot her simple blush. 
 Would call her friend and sister, sweet Elaine, 
 Would listen for her coming, and regret 
 
ELAINE. 169 
 
 Her parting step, and held her tenderly, 
 
 And loved her with all love except the love 
 
 Of man and woman when they love their best 
 
 Closest and sweetest, and had died the death 
 
 In any knightly fashion for her sake. 
 
 And peradventure had he seen her first 
 
 She might have made this and that other world 
 
 Another world for the sick man ; bnt now 
 
 The shackles of an old love straitened him, 
 
 His honor rooted in dishonor stood. 
 
 And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true. 
 
 Yet the f>;reat knicfht in his mid-sickness made 
 Full many a holy vow and pure resolve. 
 These, as but born of sickness, could not live : 
 For when the blood ran lustier in him again, 
 Full often the sweet image of one face. 
 Making a treacherous quiet in his heart, 
 Dispersed his resolution like a cloud. 
 Then if the maiden, while that ghostly grace 
 Beamed on his fancy, spoke, he answered not, 
 Or short and coldly, and she knew right well 
 What the rough sickness meant, but what this meant 
 She knew not, and the sorrow dimmed her sight, 
 15 
 
170 ELAINE. 
 
 And drave her ere her time across the fields 
 
 Far into the rich city, where alone 
 
 She murmured, '' Yain, in vain : it cannot be. 
 
 He will not love me : how then ? must I die?" 
 
 Then as a little helpless innocent bird, 
 
 That has but one plain passage of few notes, 
 
 "Will sing the simjDle passage o'er and o'er 
 
 For all an April morning, till the ear 
 
 Wearies to hear it, so the simple maid 
 
 Went half the night repeating, " Must I die ? " 
 
 And now to right she turned, and now to left, 
 
 And found no ease in turning or in rest ; 
 
 And " him or death," she muttered, " death or him,' 
 
 Again and like a burthen, " him or death." 
 
 But when Sir Lancelot's deadly hurt was whole. 
 To Astolat returning rode the three. 
 There morn by morn, arraying her sweet self 
 In that wherein she deemed she looked her best, 
 She came before Sir Lancelot, for she thought, 
 '•' If I be loved, these are my festal robes. 
 If not, the victim's flowers before he fall." 
 And Lancelot ever prest upon the maid 
 That she should ask some goodly gift of him 
 
ELAINE. 171 
 
 For her own self or hers ; " And do not shun 
 
 To speak the wish most near to jour true heart ; 
 
 Such service have you done me, that I make 
 
 My will of yours, and Prince and Lord am I 
 
 In mine own land, and what I will I can." 
 
 Then like a ghost she lifted up her face, 
 
 But like a ghost without the power to speak. 
 
 And Lancelot saw that she withheld her wish. 
 
 And bode among them yet a little space 
 
 Till he should learn it ; and one morn it chanced 
 
 He found her in among the garden yews, 
 
 And said, " Delay no longer, speak your wish, 
 
 Seeing I must go to-day " : then out she brake : 
 
 " Going ? and we shall never see you more. 
 
 And I must die for want of one bold word." 
 
 " Speak : that I live to hear," he said, " is yours." 
 
 Then suddenly and passionately she spoke : 
 
 " I have gone mad. I love you : let me die." 
 
 "Ahj sister," answered Lancelot, "what is this?" 
 
 And innocently extending her white arms, 
 
 " Your love," she said, " your love — to be your wife." 
 
 And Lancelot answered, " Had I chos'n to wed, 
 
 I had been wedded earlier, sweet Elaine : 
 
 But now there never will be wife of mine." 
 
172 ELAINE. 
 
 " No, no," she cried, " I care not to be wife, 
 
 But to be with you still, to see your face. 
 
 To serve you, and to follow you through the world." 
 
 And Lancelot answered, " Nay, thef world, the world, 
 
 All ear and eye, with such a stupid heart 
 
 To interpret ear and eye, and such a tongue 
 
 To blare its own interpretation — nay, 
 
 Full ill then should I quit your brother's love, 
 
 And your good father's kindness." And she said, 
 
 " Not to be with you, not to see your face — 
 
 Alas for me then, my good days are done." 
 
 " Nay, noble maid," he answered, " ten times nay ! 
 
 This is not love : but love's first flash in youth. 
 
 Most common. Yea, I know it of mine own self; 
 
 And you yourself will smile at your own self 
 
 Hereafter, when you yield your flower of life 
 
 To one more fitly yours, not thrice your age : 
 
 And then will I, for true you are and sweet 
 
 Beyond mine old belief in womanhood — 
 
 More specially should your good knight be poor, 
 
 Endow you with broad land and territory 
 
 Even to the half my realm beyond the seas, 
 
 So that would make you happy : furthermore, 
 
 Even to the death, as though you were my blood. 
 
ELAINE. 173 
 
 In all your quarrels will I be your knight. 
 This will I do, dear damsel, for your sake, 
 And more than this I cannot." 
 
 While he spoke 
 She neither blushed nor shook, but deathly-pale 
 Stood grasping what was nearest, then replied : 
 " Of all this will I nothing," and so fell. 
 And thus they bore her swooning to her tower. 
 
 Then spake, to whom through those black walls of yew 
 Their talk had pierced, her father. " Ay, a flash 
 I fear me, that Avill strike my blossom dead. 
 Too courteous are you, fair Lord Lancelot. 
 I pray you, use some rough discourtesy 
 To blunt or break her passion." 
 
 Lancelot said, 
 '•' That were against me : what I can I will " ; ' 
 And there that day remained, and toward even 
 Sent for his shield : full meekly rose the maid, 
 Stript off the case, and gave the naked shield ; 
 Then, when she heard his horse upon the stones. 
 Unclasping flung the casement back, and looked 
 Down on his helm, from wliich her sleeve had gone. 
 And Lancelot knew the*" little clinking sound ; 
 15 ^'^ 
 
174 ELAINE. 
 
 And she by tact of love was well aware 
 That Lancelot knew that she was looking at him. 
 ' And yet he glanced not up, nor waved his hand, 
 Nor bade farewell, but sadly rode aAvay. 
 This was the one discourtesy that he used. ( 
 
 So in her tower alone the maiden sat : 
 His very shield was gone ; only the case, 
 Her own poor work, her empty labor, left. 
 But still she heard him, still his picture formed 
 And grew between her and the pictured wall. 
 Then came her father, saying in low tones, 
 " Have comfort," whom she greeted quietly. 
 Then came her brethren, saying, " Peace to thee, 
 Sweet sister," whom she answered with all calm. 
 But when they left her to herself again, 
 Death, like a friend's voice from a distant field 
 Approaching through the darkness, called ; the owls 
 Wailing had power upon her, and she mixt 
 Her fancies with the sallow-rifted glooms 
 Of evening, and the moanings of the wind. 
 
 And in those days she made a little song. 
 And called her song, " The Song of Love and Death, 
 And sang it : sweetly could she make and sing. 
 
ELAINK. 175 
 
 " Sweet is true love though given iu vain, in vain ; 
 And sAveet is death Avho puts an end to pain : 
 I know not which is sweeter, no, not I. 
 
 " Love, art thou sweet ? then bitter death must be : 
 Love, thou art bitter ; sweet is death to me. 
 
 Love, if death be sweeter, let me die. 
 
 " Sweet love, that seems not made to fade away, 
 Sweet death, that seems to make us loveless clay, 
 
 1 know not which is sweeter, no, not I. 
 
 " I fain would follow love, if that could be; 
 I needs' must follow death, who calls for me 
 Call and I follow, I follow ! — let me die." 
 
 High with the last line scaled her voice, and this, 
 All in a fiery dawning wild with wind 
 That shook her tower, the brothers heard, and thought, 
 With shuddering, "• Hark the Phantom of the house 
 That ever shrieks before a death," and called 
 The father, and all three in hurry and fear 
 Ran to her, and lo ! the blood-red light of dawn 
 Flared on her face, she shrilling, " Let me die ! " 
 
176 ELAINE. 
 
 As ■when we dwell upon a word we know, 
 Repeating, till the word we know so well 
 Becomes a wonder and we know not why, 
 So dwelt the father on her face and thought, 
 " Is this Elaine ? " till back the maiden fell, 
 Then gave a languid hand to each, and lay, 
 Speaking a still good-morrow with her eyes. 
 At last she said, " Sweet brothers, yesternight 
 I seemed a curious little maid again, 
 As happy as when we dwelt among the woods, 
 And when you used to take me with the flood 
 Up the great river in the boatman's boat. 
 Only you would not pass beyond the cape 
 That has the poplar on it : there you fixt 
 Your limit, oft returning with the tide. 
 And yet I cried because you would not pass 
 Beyond it, and far up the shining flood 
 Until we found the palace of the king. 
 And yet you woukl not ; but this night I dreamed 
 That I was all alone upon the flood. 
 And then I said, ' Now shall I have my will ' : 
 And there I woke, but still the wish remained. 
 So let me hence that I may pass at last 
 Beyond the poplar and far up the flood. 
 
ELAINE. 177 
 
 Until I find the palace of the king. 
 There will I enter in among them all, 
 And no man there will dare to mock at me ; 
 But there the fine Gawain will wonder at me, 
 And there the great Sir Lancelot muse at me ; 
 Gawain, who bade a thousand farewells to me, 
 Lancelot, who coldly Avent nor bade me one : 
 And there the King will know me and my love, 
 And there the Queen herself will pity me, 
 And all the gentle court will welcome me, 
 And after my long voyage I shall rest ! " 
 
 " Peace," said her father, " O my child ! you seem 
 Light-headed, for what force is yours to go 
 So far, being sick ? and wherefore would you look 
 On this proud fellow again, Avho scorns us all ? " 
 
 Then tlie rough Torre began to heave and move. 
 And bluster into stormy sobs, and say, 
 " I never loved him : an I meet with him, 
 I care not howsoever great he be, 
 Then will I strike at him and strike him down, 
 Give me good fortune, I will strike him dead, 
 For this discomfort he hath done the house." 
 
178 
 
 To wliich lliG gentle sister mnde reply, 
 " Fret not yourself, dear brother, nor be "vvrotli, 
 Seeing it is no more Sir Lancelot's fault 
 Kot to love me, than it is mine to love 
 Him of all men Avho seems to me the highest." 
 
 '' Highest?" the father answered, echoing "highest?" 
 (He meant to break the passion in her,) " nay, 
 Daughter, I know not what }^ou call the highest ; 
 But this I know, for all the peojDle know it. 
 He loves the Queen, and in an open shame : 
 And she returns his love in open shame. 
 If tliis be high, what is it to be Ioav ? " 
 
 Then spake the lily maid of Astolat : 
 " Sweet father, all too faint and sick am I 
 For anger : these are slanders : never yet 
 Was noble man but made ignoble talk. 
 He makes no friend Avho never made a foe. 
 But now it is my glory to have loved 
 One peerless, without stain : so let me pass, 
 My father, howsoe'er I seem to you, 
 Xot all unhappy, having loved God's best 
 And greatest, though my love had no return : 
 
ELAINE. 179 
 
 Yet, seeing you desire your child to live, 
 Thanks, but you work against your own desire ; 
 For if I could believe the things you say 
 I should but die the sooner ; wherefore cease, 
 Sweet father, and bid call the ghostly man 
 Hither, and let me shrive me clean, and die." 
 
 So when the ghostly man had come and gone, 
 She with a face, bright as for sin forgiven. 
 Besought Lavaine to write as she devised 
 A letter, word for word ; and when he asked, 
 " Is it for Lancelot, is it for my dear lord ? 
 Then will I bear it gladly " ; she replied, 
 '• For Lancelot and the Queen and all the v\'orld. 
 But I myself must bear it." Then he wrote 
 The letter she devised ; which being writ 
 And folded, " O sweet father, tender and true, 
 Deny me not," she said — " you never yet 
 Denied my fancies — this, however strange, 
 jMy latest : lay the letter in my hand 
 A little ere I die, and close the hand 
 Upon it ; I shall guard it even in death. 
 And when the heat is gone from out my heart. 
 Then take the little bed on which I died 
 
180 KLAINE. 
 
 For Lancelot's love, and deck it like the Queen's 
 For richness, and me also like the Queen 
 In all I have of rich, and lay me on it. 
 And let there be prepared a chariot-hier 
 To take me to the river, and a barge 
 Be ready on the river, clothed in black. 
 I go in state to court, to meet the Queen. 
 There surely I shall speak for mine own self, 
 And none of you can speak for me so well. 
 And therefore let our dumb old man alone 
 Go with me, he can steer and row, and he 
 Will guide me to that palace, to the doors." 
 
 She ceased : her father promised ; whereupon 
 She grew so cheerful that they deemed her death 
 Was rather in the fantasy than the blood. 
 But ten slow mornings past, and on the eleventh 
 Her father laid the letter in her hand, 
 And closed the hand upon it, and slie died. 
 So that day there was dole in Astolat. 
 
 But when the next sun brake from underground, 
 Then, those two brethren slowly with bent brows 
 Accompanying, the sad chariot-bier 
 
ELAINE. 181 
 
 Past like a shadow through the field, that shone 
 
 Full-summer, to that stream whereon the barge, 
 
 Palled all its length in blackest samite, lay. 
 
 There sat the lifelong creature of the house, 
 
 Loyal, the dumb old servitor, on deck, 
 
 AYinking his eyes, and twisted all his face. 
 
 So those two brethren from the chariot took 
 
 And on the black decks laid her in her bed, 
 
 Set in her hand a lily, o'er her hung 
 
 The silken case with braided blazonings. 
 
 And kissed her quiet brows, and saying to her, 
 
 " Sister, farewell for ever," and again, 
 
 " Farewell, sweet sister," parted all in tears. 
 
 Then rose the dumb old servitor, and the dead 
 
 Steered by the dumb went upward with the flood — 
 
 In her right hand the lily, in her left 
 
 The letter — all her bright hair streaming down — 
 
 And all the coverlid was cloth of gold 
 
 Drawn to her waist, and she herself in white 
 
 All but her face, and that clear-featured face 
 
 "Was lovely, for she did not seem as dead. 
 
 But fast asleep, and lay as though she smiled. 
 
 That day Sir Lancelot at the palace craved 
 16 
 
182 ELAINE. 
 
 Audience of Guinevere, to give at last 
 
 The price of half a realm, his costly gift, 
 
 Hard-won and hardly won with bruise and blow, 
 
 With deaths of others, and almost his own, 
 
 The nine-years-fought-for diamonds : for he saw 
 
 One of her house, and sent him to the Queen 
 
 Bearing his wish, whereto the Queen agreed 
 
 "With such and so unmoved a majesty 
 
 She might have seemed her statue, but that he, 
 
 Low-drooping till he well-nigh kissed her feet 
 
 For loyal awe, saw with a sidelong eye 
 
 The shadow of a piece of pointed lace, 
 
 In the Queen's shadow, vibrate on the walls, 
 
 And j)arted, laughing in his courtly heart. 
 
 All in an oriel on the summer side, 
 Vine-clad, of Arthur's palace toward the stream, 
 They met, and Lancelot kneeling uttered, '• Queen, 
 Lady, my liege, in whom I have my joy, 
 Take what I had not won except for you, 
 These jewels, and make me happy, making them 
 An armlet for the roundest arm on earth, 
 Or necklace for a neck to which the swan's 
 Is tawnier than her cygnet's : these are words : 
 
ELAINE. 183 
 
 Your beauty is your beauty, and I sin 
 
 In speaking, yet O grant my worship of it 
 
 AYords, as we grant gi*ief tears. Such sin in words. 
 
 Perchance, we both can pardon : but, my Queen, 
 
 I hear of rumors flying through your court. 
 
 Our bond, as not the bond of man and wife. 
 
 Should have in it an absohiter trust 
 
 To make up that defect : let rumors be : 
 
 When did not rumors fly ? these, as I tr jst 
 
 That you trust me in your own nobleness, 
 
 I may not well believe that you believe.'* 
 
 While thus he spoke, half turned away, the Queen 
 Brake from the vast oriel-embowering vine 
 Leaf after leaf, and tore, and cast them off. 
 Till all the place whereon she stood was green ; 
 Then when he ceased, in one cold passive hand 
 Received at once, and laid aside, the gems 
 There on a table near her, and replied. 
 
 " It may be, I am quicker of belief 
 Than you believe me, Lancelot of the Lake. 
 Oar bond is not the bond of man and wife. 
 Tliis good is in it, whatsoe'er of ill, 
 
184 ELAINE. 
 
 It can be broken easier. I for you 
 
 This many a year have done despite and wrong 
 
 To one whom ever in my heart of hearts 
 
 I did acknowledge nobler. What are these ? 
 
 Diamonds for me ! they had been thrice their worth 
 
 Being your gift, had you not lost your own. 
 
 To loyal hearts the value of all gifts 
 
 jMust vary as the giver's. Not for me ! 
 
 For her ! for your new fancy. Only this 
 
 Grant me, I pray you : have your joys apart. 
 
 I doubt not that however changed, you keep 
 
 So much of what is graceful : and myself 
 
 Would shun to break those bounds of courtesy 
 
 In which as Arthur's queen I move and rule : 
 
 So cannot speak my mind. An end to this ! 
 
 A strange one ! yet I take it with Amen. 
 
 So pray you, add my diamonds to her pearls ; 
 
 Deck her with these ; tell her, she shines me down : 
 
 An armlet for an arm to which the Queen's 
 
 Is haggard, or a necklace for a neck 
 
 O as much fairer — as a faith once fair 
 
 Was richer than these diamonds — hers, not mine — 
 
 Nay, by the mother of our Lord himself, 
 
 Or hers or mine, mine now to work my will — 
 
 She shall not have them." 
 
ELAINE. 185 
 
 Saying -which she seized, 
 And, through the casement standing wide for heat, 
 Fkmg them, and down they flashed, and smote the 
 
 stream. 
 Then from the smitten surface flashed, as it were, 
 Diamonds to meet them, and they past away. 
 Then while Sir Lancelot leant, in half disgust 
 At love, life, all things, on the window ledge, 
 Close underneath his eyes, and right across 
 Where these had fallen, slowly past the barge 
 AVhereon the lily maid of Astolat 
 Lay smihng, hke a star in blackest night. 
 
 But the wild Queen, who saw not, burst away 
 To weep and wail in secret ; and the barge. 
 On to the palace-doorway sliding, paused. 
 There two stood armed, and kept the door ; to whom. 
 All up the marble stair, tier over tier. 
 Were added mouths that gaped, and eyes that asked 
 " What is it ? " but that oarsman's haggard face, 
 As hard and still as is the face that men 
 Shape to their fancy's eye from broken rocks 
 On some cliff-side, appalled them, and they said, 
 " He is enchanted, cannot speak — and she, 
 16* 
 
186 
 
 Look how she sleeps — the Fairy Queen, so fair ! 
 Yea, but how pale ! what are they ? flesh and blood ? 
 Or come to take the king to fairy land ? 
 For some do hold our Arthur cannot die, 
 But that he passes into fairy land." 
 
 While thus they babbled of the king, the king 
 Came girt with knights : then turned the tongueless man 
 From the half-foce to the full eye, and rose 
 And pointed to the damsel, and the doors. 
 So Arthur bade the meek Sir Percivale 
 And pure Sir Galahad to uplift the maid ; 
 And reverently they bore her into halL 
 Then came the fine Gawain and wondered at her, 
 And Lancelot later came and mused at her, 
 And last the Queen herself and pitied her : 
 But Arthur spied the letter in her hand, 
 Stoopt, took, brake seal, and read it ; this was all. 
 
 *•' Most noble lord. Sir Lancelot of the Lake, 
 I, sometime called the maid of Astolat, 
 Come, for you left me taking no farewell, 
 Hither, to take my last farewell of you. 
 I loved you, and my love had no return, 
 
ELAINE. 187 
 
 And therefore my true love has been my death. 
 And therefore to our lady Guinevere, 
 And to all other ladies, I make moan. 
 Pray for my soul, and yield me burial. 
 Pray for my soul thou too, Sir Lancelot, 
 As thou art a knight peerless." 
 
 Thus he read. 
 And ever in the reading, Lords and Dames 
 Wept, looking often from his face who read 
 To hers which lay so silent, and at times. 
 So touched were they, half thinking that her lips, 
 Who had devised the letter, moved again. 
 
 Then freely spoke Sir Lancelot to them all : 
 " My lord liege Arthur, and all ye that hear. 
 Know that for this most gentle maiden's death 
 Right heavy am I ; for good she was and true. 
 But loved me with a love beyond all love 
 In women, whomsoever I have known. 
 Yet to be loved makes not to love again ; 
 Not at my years, however it hold in youth. 
 I swear by truth and knighthood that I gave 
 Xo cause, not willingly, for such a love : 
 
188 ELAINE. 
 
 To this I call my friends in testimony, 
 
 Her brethren, and her father, who himself 
 
 Besought me to be plain and blunt, and use 
 
 To break her passion some discourtesy 
 
 Against my nature : what I could, I did. 
 
 I left her and I bade her no farewell. 
 
 Though, had I dreamt the damsel would have died, 
 
 I might have put my wits to some rough use, 
 
 And helped her from herself." 
 
 Then said the Queen, 
 (Sea was her wrath, yet working after storm,) 
 " You might at least have done her so much grace. 
 Fair lord, as would have helped her from her death." 
 He raised his head, their eyes met and hers fell. 
 He adding, 
 
 " Queen, she would not be content 
 Save that I wedded her, which could not be. 
 Then might she follow me through the world, she asked. 
 It could not be. I told her that her love 
 "Was but the flash of youth, would darken down 
 To rise hereafter in a stiller flame 
 Toward one more worthy of her — then would I, 
 
ELAINE. 189 
 
 More vSpecially were he she wedded poor, 
 Estate them with large land and territory 
 In mine own realm beyond the narrow seas, 
 To keep them in all joyance : more than this 
 I could not ; this she would not, and she died." 
 
 He pausing, Arthur answered, " O my knight, 
 It will be to your worship, as my knight. 
 And mine, as head of all our Table Round, 
 To see that she be buried worshipfully.'* 
 
 So toward that shrine which then in all the realm 
 Was richest, Arthur leading, slowly went 
 The marshalled order of their Table Round, 
 And Lancelot sad beyond his wont, to see 
 The maiden buried, not as one unknown, 
 Nor meanly, but with gorgeous obsequies. 
 And mass, and rolling music, like a Queen. 
 And when the knights had laid her comely head 
 Low in the dust of half-forgotten kings. 
 Then Arthur spake among them, " Let her tomb 
 Be costly, and her image thereupon. 
 And let the shield of Lancelot at her feet 
 Be carven, and her lily in her hand. 
 
190 
 
 ELAINE. 
 
 And let tlie stoiy of her dolorous voyage 
 
 For all true hearts be blazoned on her tomb 
 
 In letters j^old and azure!" which was wrouMit 
 
 Thereafter ; but when now the lords and dames 
 
 And people, from the high door streaming, brake 
 
 Disorderly, as homeward each, the Queen, 
 
 Who marked Sir Lancelot where he moved apart, 
 
 Drew near, and sighed in passing, " Lancelot, 
 
 Forgive me ; mine was jealousy in love." 
 
 He answered with his eyes upon the ground, 
 
 " That is love's curse ; pass on, my Queen, forgiven." 
 
 But Arthur who beheld his cloudy broAvs 
 
 Approached him, and with full affection flung 
 
 One arm about his neck, and spake and said : 
 
 " Lancelot, my Lancelot, thou in whom I have 
 Most love and most affiance, for I know 
 What thou hast been in battle by my side, 
 And many a time have watched thee at the tilt 
 Strike down the lusty and long-practised knight, 
 And let the younger and unskilled go by 
 To win his honor and to make his name. 
 And loved thy courtesies and thee, a man 
 Made to be loved ; — but now I would to God, 
 
ELAINE. 191 
 
 For tlie wild people say wild things of thee, 
 
 Thou couldst have loved this maiden, shaped, it seems, 
 
 By God for thee alone, and from her face, 
 
 If one may judge the living by the dead, 
 
 Delicately pure and marvellously fair, 
 
 "Who might have brought thee, now a lonely man 
 
 Wifeless and heirless, noble issue, sons 
 
 Born to the glory of thy name and fame, 
 
 My knight, the great Sir Lancelot of the Lake," 
 
 Then answered Lancelot, " Fair she was, my king, 
 Pure, as ye ever Avish 3'our knights to be. 
 To doubt her fairness were to want an eye, 
 To doubt her jDureness Avere to want a heart — 
 Yea, to be loved, if what is worthy love 
 Could bind him, but free love will not be bound.'* 
 
 " Free love, so bound, were freest," said the king. 
 Let love be free ; free love is for the best : 
 And, after heaven, on our dull side of death, 
 What should be best, if not so pure a love 
 Clothed in so pure a loveliness ? yet thee 
 She failed to bind, though being, as I think. 
 Unbound as yet, and gentle, as I know." 
 
192 ELAINE. 
 
 And Lancelot answered nothing, but he went 
 And at the inrunning of a little brook 
 Sat by the river in a cove, and watched 
 The high reed wave, and lifted up his eyes 
 And saw the barge that brought her moving down. 
 Far off, a blot upon the stream, and said 
 Low in himself, '' Ah simple heart and sweet. 
 You loved me, damsel, surely with a love 
 Far tenderer than my Queen's. Pray for thy soul? 
 Ay, that will I. Farewell too — now at last — 
 Farewell, fair lily. * Jealousy in love ? ' 
 Kot rather dead love's harsh heir, jealous pride ? 
 Queen, if I grant the jealousy as of love. 
 May not your crescent fear for name and fame 
 Speak, as it waxes, of a love that wanes ? 
 Why did the king dwell on my name to me ? 
 Mine own name shames me, seeming a reproach, 
 Lancelot, whom the Lady of the lake 
 Stole from his mother — as the story runs — 
 She chanted snatches of mysterious song 
 Heard on the winding waters, eve and morn 
 She kissed me, saying, Thou art fair, my child, 
 As a king's son, and often in her arms 
 She bare me, pacing on the dusky mere. 
 
ELAINE. 193 
 
 Would she had drowned me in it, where'er it be ! 
 For what am I ? what profits me my name ■ 
 Of greatest knight ? I fought for it, and have it : 
 Pleasure to have it, none ; to lose it, pain ; 
 Now grown a part of m^ : but what use in it ? 
 To make men worse by making my sin known? 
 Or^sin seem less, the sinner seeming great? 
 Alas for Arthur's greatest knight, a man 
 Not after Arthur's heart ! I needs must break 
 These bonds that so defame me : not without 
 She Avills it :• would I, if she willed it? nay. 
 Who knows ? but if I would not, then may God, 
 I pray him, send a sudden Angel down 
 To seize me by the hair and bear me far. 
 And fling me deep in that forgotten mere. 
 Among the tumbled fragments of the hills." 
 
 So groaned Sir Lancelot in remorseful pain, 
 Not knowing he should die a holy man. 
 
 17 
 
GUINEVERE 
 
GUINEVERE. 
 
 Queen Guixeyere had fled the court, and sat 
 There in the holy house at Almesbury 
 Weepmg, none with her save a Uttle maid, 
 A novice : one low light betwixt them burned 
 Blurred by the creeping mist, for all abroad, 
 Beneath a moon unseen albeit at full. 
 The white mist like a face-cloth to the face 
 Clung to the dead earth, and the land was still. 
 
 For hither had she fled, her cause of flight 
 Sir Modred ; he the nearest to the King, 
 His nephew, ever like a subtle beast 
 Lay couchant with his eyes upon the throne, 
 Ready to spring, waiting a chance : for this, 
 He chilled the popular praises of the King 
 With silent smiles of slow disparagement ; 
 17* 
 
198 GUINEVERE. 
 
 And tampered with tlic Lords of the White Horse, 
 Heathen, the brood by Hengist left ; and sought 
 To make disruj^tion in the Table Round 
 Of Arthur, and to splinter it into feuds 
 Serving his traitorous end ; and all his aims 
 Were sharpened by strong hate for Lancelot. 
 
 For thus it chanced one morn when all the court 
 Green-suited, but with plumes that mocked the may, 
 Had been, their wont, a-maying and returned. 
 That Modred still in green, all ear and eye. 
 Climbed to the high top of the garden-wall 
 To spy some secret scandal if he might. 
 And saw the Queen who sat betwixt her best 
 Enid, and lissome Vivien, of her court 
 The wiliest and the worst ; -and more than this 
 He saw not, for Sir Lancelot passing by 
 Spied where he couched, and as the gardener's hand 
 Picks from the colewort a green caterpillar. 
 So from the high wall and the flowering grove 
 Of grasses Lancelot plucked him by the heel, 
 And cast him as a worm upon the v\'ay; 
 But when he knew the Prince, though marred with dust, 
 He, reverencing Kmg's blood in a bad man, 
 
GUINEVERE. 199 
 
 Made such excuses as lie might, and these 
 
 Full knightly without scorn ; for in those days 
 
 No knight of Arthur's noblest dealt in scorn ; 
 
 But, if a man were halt or hunched, in him 
 
 By those whom God had made full-limbed and tall, 
 
 Scorn was allowed as part of his defect, 
 
 And he was answered softly by the King 
 
 And all his Table. So Sir Lancelot holp 
 
 To raise the Prince, who rising, twice or thrice 
 
 Full sharply smote his knees, and smiled, and went : 
 
 But, ever after, the small violence done 
 
 Rankled in him and ruffled all his heart, 
 
 As the sharp wind that ruffles all day long 
 
 A little bitter pool about a stone 
 
 On the bare coast. 
 
 But wheh Sir Lancelot told 
 This matter to the Queen, at fii-st she laughed 
 Lightly, to think of Modred's dusty fall, 
 Then shuddered, as the village wife who cries, 
 " I shudder, some one steps across my grave " ; 
 Then laughed again, but faintlier, for indeed 
 She half foresaw that he, the subtle beast, 
 Would track her guilt until he found, and hers 
 
200 GUIXnVERE. 
 
 AVould be for evermore a name of scorn. 
 Henceforward rarely could she front in Hall, 
 Or elsewhere, Modred's narrow foxy face, 
 Heart-hiding smile, and gray persistent eye : 
 Henceforward too, the Powers that tend the soul, 
 To help it from the death that cannot die. 
 And save it even in extremes, began 
 To vex and plague her. Many a time for hours. 
 Beside the placid breathings of the King, 
 In the dead night, grim faces came and went 
 Before her, or a vague spiritual fear — 
 Like to some doubtful noise of creaking doors 
 Heard by the Avatcher in a haunted house 
 That keeps the rust of murder on the walls — 
 Held her awake : or if she slept, she dreamed 
 An awful dream ; for then she seemed to stand 
 On some vast plain before a setting sun. 
 And from the sun there swiftly made at her 
 A ghastly something, and its shadow flew 
 Before it, till it touched her, and she turned — 
 When lo ! her own, that broadening from her feet, 
 And blackening, swallowed all the land, and in it 
 Far cities burnt, and with a cry she woke. 
 And all this trouble did not pass but grew ; 
 
GUINEVERE. 201 
 
 Till ev'n the clear face of the guileless King, 
 
 And trustful courtesies of household life, 
 
 Became her bane ; and at the last she said, 
 
 " O Lancelot, get thee hence to thine own land, 
 
 For if thou tany we shall meet again, 
 
 And if we meet again, some evil chance 
 
 Will make the smouldering scandal break and blaze 
 
 Before the people, and our lord the King." 
 
 And Lancelot ever promised, but remained. 
 
 And still they met and met. Again she said, 
 
 " O Lancelot, if thou love me get thee hence." 
 
 And then they were agreed upon a night 
 
 (When the good King should not be there) to meet 
 
 And part for ever. Passion-pale they met 
 
 And greeted : hands in hands, and eye to eye. 
 
 Low on the border of her couch they sat 
 
 Stammering and staring : it was their last hour, 
 
 A madness of farewells. And Modred brought 
 
 His creatures to the basement of the tower 
 
 For testimony ; and crying with full voice, 
 
 " Traitor, come out, ye are trapt at last," aroused 
 
 Lancelot, who rushing outward lionlike 
 
 Leapt on him, and hurled him headlong, and he fell 
 
 Stunned, and his creatures took and bare him off, 
 
202 GUINEVEIIE. 
 
 And all was still : then she, " The end is come 
 
 And I am shamed for ever," and he said, 
 
 " Mine be the shame ; mine was the sin : but rise. 
 
 And fly to my strong castle overseas: 
 
 There will I hide thee, till my life shall end. 
 
 There hold thee with my life against the world." 
 
 She answered, " Lancelot, wilt thou hold me so ? 
 
 Nay, friend, for we have taken our farewells. 
 
 Would God, that thou couldst hide me from myself ! 
 
 Mine is the shame, for I was wife, and thou 
 
 Unwedded : yet rise now, and let us fly, 
 
 For I will draw me into sanctuary 
 
 And bide my doom." So Lancelot got her horse. 
 
 Set her thereon, and mounted on his own, 
 
 And then they rode to the divided way, 
 
 There kissed, and parted weeping : for he past, 
 
 Love-loyal to the least wish of the Queen, 
 
 Back to his land ; but she to Almesbury 
 
 Fled all night long by glimmering waste and weald, 
 
 And heard the Spirits of the waste and weald, 
 
 Moan as she fled, or thought she heard them moan : 
 
 And in herself she moaned, " Too late, too late ! " 
 
 Till in the cold wind that foreruns the morn, 
 
 A blot in heaven, the Raven, flying high, 
 
GUINEVERE. 203 
 
 Croaked, and she thought, " He spies a field of death ; 
 For now the Heathen of the Northern Sea, 
 Lured by the crimes and fraikies of the court, 
 Begin to slay the folk, and spoil the land." 
 
 And when she came to Almesbury she spake 
 There to the nuns, and said, " Mine enemies 
 Pursue me, but, O peaceful Sisterhood, 
 Receive, and yield me sanctuary, nor ask 
 Her name, to whom ye yield it, till her time 
 To tell you," and her beauty, grace, and power 
 Wrought as a charm upon them, and they spared 
 To ask it. 
 
 So the stately Queen abode 
 For many a Aveek, unknown, among the nuns : 
 Nor with them mixed, nor told her name, nor sought. 
 Wrapt in her grief, for housel or for shrift, 
 But communed only with the little maid 
 Wlio pleased her with a babbling heedlessness 
 Which often lured her from herself ; but now, 
 This night, a rumor wildly blown about 
 Came, that Sir Modred had usurped the realm, 
 And leagued him with the Heathen, while the King 
 
204: GUINEVERE. 
 
 "Was waging war on Lancelot : then she thought, 
 
 " With what a hate the i^cople and the King 
 
 Must hate me ! " and bowed down upon her hands 
 
 Silent, until the little maid, who brooked 
 
 No silence, brake it, uttering, '' Late ! so late ! 
 
 What hour, I wonder, now ? " and when she drew 
 
 No answer, by and by began to hum 
 
 An air the nuns had taught her, " Late, so late ! " 
 
 Which when she heard, the Queen looked up, and said, 
 
 " O maiden, if indeed ye list to sing. 
 
 Sing, and unbind my heart that I may weep." 
 
 Whereat full Avillingly sang the little maid. 
 
 '" Late, late, so late ! and dark the night and chill ! 
 Late, late, so late ! but we can enter still. 
 Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. 
 
 " No light had we : for that we do repent ; 
 And learning this, the bridegroom will relent. 
 Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. 
 
 " No light : so late ! and dark and chill the night 
 O let us in, that we may find the light ! 
 Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. 
 
GUINEVERE. 205 
 
 " Have we not heard the bridegroom is so SAveet ? 
 O let 113 in, though late, to kiss his feet ! 
 No, no, too late ! ye cannot enter now." 
 
 So sang the novice, while full passionately, 
 Her head upon her hands, remembering 
 Her thought when first she came, wept the sad Queen. 
 Then said the little novice prattUng to her : 
 
 " O pray you, noble lady, weep no more ; 
 But let my words, the words of one so small, 
 Who knowing nothing knows but to obey, 
 And if I do not, there is penance given — 
 Comfort your sorrows ; for they do not flow 
 From evil done ; right sure am I of that. 
 Who see your tender grace and stateliness. 
 But weigh your sorrows ^vith our lord the King's, 
 And weighing find them less ; for gone is he 
 To wage grim war against Sir Lancelot there. 
 Bound that strong Castle where he holds the Queen ;. 
 And Modred, whom he left in charge of all. 
 The traitor — Ah, sweet lady, the King's grief 
 For his own self, and his own Queen, and realm, 
 Must needs be thrice as great as any of ours. 
 18 
 
206 GUINEVEllE. 
 
 For me, I thank tlic saints, I am not great. 
 
 For if there ever come a grief to me, 
 
 I cry my cry in silence, and have done : 
 
 None knows it, and my tears have brought me good 
 
 But even were the griefs of little ones 
 
 As great as those of great ones, yet this grief 
 
 Is added to the griefs the great must bear. 
 
 That howsoever much they may desire 
 
 Silence, they cannot weep behind a cloud : 
 
 As even here they talk at Almesbury 
 
 About the good king and his wicked queen, 
 
 And were I such a king with such a queen, 
 
 Well might I wish to veil her wickedness, 
 
 But were I such a king, it could not be." 
 
 Then to her own sad heart muttered the Queen, 
 " "Will the child kill me with her innocent talk ? " 
 But openly she answered, " Must not I, 
 If this false traitor have displaced his lord. 
 Grieve with the common grief of all the realm ? " 
 
 " Yea," said the maid, " this is all woman's grief, 
 That she is woman, whose disloyal life 
 Hath wrought confusion in the Table Round 
 
GUINEVERE. 207 
 
 AYliIcli good King Arthur founded, years ago, 
 AYitli signs and miracles and wonders, there 
 At Camelot, ere the coming of the Queen.'* 
 
 Then thought the Queen within herself again, 
 "Will the child kill me with her foolish prate?" 
 But openly she spake and said to her : 
 " O little maid shut in by nunnery M'alls, 
 What canst thou know of Kings and Tables Round, 
 Or what of signs and wonders, but the signs 
 And simple miracles of thy nunnery ? " 
 
 To whom the Jittle novice garrulously : 
 " Yea, but I know : the land was full of signs 
 And wonders ere the coming of the Queen. 
 So said my father, and himself was knight 
 Of the great Table — at the founding of it ; 
 And rode thereto from Lyonnesse, and he said 
 That as he rode, an hour or maybe twain 
 After the sunset, down the coast, he heard 
 Strange music, and he paused and turning — there, 
 All down the lonely coast of Lyonnesse, 
 Each with a beacon-star upon his head, 
 And with a wild sea-light about his feet, 
 
208 GUINEVEKE. 
 
 He saw them — headland after headland flame 
 Far on into the rich heart of the west : 
 And in the light the white mermaiden swam, 
 And strong man-breasted things stood from the sea, 
 And sent a deep sea-voice through all the land, 
 To which the little elves of chasm and cleft 
 Made answer, sounding like a distant horn. 
 So said my father — yea, and furthermore, 
 Next morning, while he jDast the dim-lit woods. 
 Himself beheld three spirits mad with joy 
 Come dashing down on a tall wayside flower, 
 That shook beneath them, as the thistle shakes 
 When three gray linnets wrangle for the seed : 
 And still at evenings on before his horse 
 The flickering fairy-circle wheeled and broke 
 Flying, and linked again, and wheeled and broke 
 Flying, for all the land was full of life. 
 And when at last he came to Camelot, 
 A wreath of airy dancers hand-in-hand 
 Swung round the lighted lantern of the hall; 
 And in the hall itself was such a feast 
 As never man had dreamed ; for every knight 
 Had whatsoever meat he longed for served 
 By hands unseen ; and even as he said 
 
GUINEVERE. 209 
 
 Down in the cellars merry bloated things 
 Shouldered the spigot, straddling on the butts 
 While the wine ran : so glad were spirits and men 
 Before the coming of the sinful Queen." 
 
 Then spake the Queen, and somewhat bitterly : 
 " "Were they so glad ? ill prophets were they all, 
 Spirits and men : could none of them foresee, 
 Not even thy wise father with his signs 
 And wonders, what has fallen upon the realm ? " 
 
 To whom the novice garrulously again : 
 " Yea, one, a bard, of whom my father said. 
 Full many a noble war-song had he sung, 
 Ev'n in the presence of an enemy's fleet, 
 Between the steep cliff and the coming wave ; 
 And many a mystic lay of life and death 
 Had chanted on the smoky mountain-tops. 
 When round him bent the spirits of the hills 
 With all their dewy hair blown back like flame : 
 So said my father — and that night the bard 
 Sang Arthur's glorious wars, and sang the king 
 As well-nigh more than man, and railed at those 
 Who called him the false son of Gorlois : 
 18* 
 
210 GUINEVERE. 
 
 For there was no man knew from Avlience he came ; 
 
 But after tempest, when the long Avave broke 
 
 All down the thundering shores of I>udc and Boss, 
 
 There came a day as still as heaven, and then 
 
 They found a naked child upon the sands 
 
 Of wild Dundagil by the Cornish sea ; 
 
 And that was Arthur ; and they fostered him 
 
 Till he by miracle was approven king : 
 
 And that his grave should be a mystery 
 
 From all men, like his birth ; and could he find 
 
 A woman in her womanhood as great 
 
 As he was in his manhood, then, he sang. 
 
 The twain together well might change the world. 
 
 But even in the middle of his song 
 
 He faltered, and his hand fell from the harp, 
 
 And pale he turned, and reeled, and would have fallen, 
 
 But that they stayediiim up ; nor would he tell 
 
 His vision ; but what doubt that he foresavr 
 
 This evil work of Lancelot and the Queen ? " 
 
 Then thought the Queen, " Lo ! they have set her on, 
 Our simple-seeming Abbess and her nuns, 
 To play upon me," and bowed her head nor spake. 
 Whereat the novice crying, with clasped hands, 
 
GUINEVERE. 211 
 
 Shame on her own garruHty garrulously, 
 
 Said the good nuns would check her gadding tongue 
 
 Full often, " and, sweet lady, if I seem 
 
 To vex an ear too sad to listen to me. 
 
 Unmannerly, with prattling and the tales 
 
 "Which my good father told me, check me too : 
 
 Nor let me shame my father's memory, one 
 
 Of noblest manners, though himself would say 
 
 Sir Lancelot had the noblest ; and he died, 
 
 Killed in a tilt, come next, five summers back. 
 
 And left me ; but of others wdio remain. 
 
 And of the two first-famed for courtesy — 
 
 And pray you check me if I ask amiss — 
 
 But pray you, wdiich had noblest, while you moved 
 
 Among them, Lancelot or our lord the King ? " 
 
 Then the pale Queen looked up and answered her. 
 " Sir Lancelot, as became a noble knight, 
 "Was gracious to all ladies, and the same 
 Li open battle or the tilting-field 
 Forbore his own advantage, and the King 
 In open battle or the tilting-field 
 Forbore his own advantage, and these two 
 Were the most nobly-mannered men of all ; 
 
212 GUINEVERE. 
 
 For manners are not idle, but the fruit 
 Of loyal nature, and of noble mind." 
 
 " Yea," said the maid, " be manners such fair fruit ? 
 Then Lancelot's needs must be a thousand-fold 
 Less noble, being, as all rumor runs, 
 The most disloyal friend in all the Avorld." 
 
 To which a mournful answer made the Queen. 
 " closed about by narrowing nunnery-walls, 
 "What knowest thou of the world, and all its lights 
 And shadows, all the wealth and all the woe ? 
 If ever Lancelot, that most noble knight, 
 "Were for one hour less noble than himself, 
 Pray for him that he scape the doom of fire, 
 And weep for her who drew him to his doom." 
 
 " Yea," said the little novice, " I pray for both ; 
 But I should all as soon beUeve that his. 
 Sir Lancelot's, were as noble as the King's, 
 As I could think, sweet lady, yours would be 
 Such as they are, were you the sinful Queen." 
 
 So she, like many another babbler, hurt 
 
GUINEVERE. 213 
 
 Whom she would soothe, and harmed where she would 
 
 heal ; 
 For here a sudden flush of wrathful heat 
 Fired all the pale face of the Queen, who cried, 
 '•' Such as thou art be never maiden more 
 For ever ! thou their tool, set on to plague 
 And play upon, and harry me, petty spy 
 And traitress." When that storm of anger brake 
 From Guinevere, aghast the maiden rose, 
 White as her veil, and stood before the Queen 
 As tremulously as foam upon the beach 
 Stands in a wind, ready to break and fly, 
 And when the Queen had added, " Get thee hence," 
 Fled frighted. Then that other left alone 
 Sighed, and began to gather heart again, 
 Saying in herself, " The simple, fearful child 
 Meant nothing, but my own too-fearful guilt, 
 Simpler than any child, betrays itself. 
 But help me, Heaven, for surely I repent. 
 For what is true repentance but in thought — 
 Not ev'n in inmost thought to think again 
 The sins that made the past so pleasant to us : 
 And I have sworn never to see him more, 
 To see him more." 
 
214 GUINEVERE. 
 
 And ev'n in saying this, 
 Her memory from old liabit of the mind 
 Went shpping back upon the golden days 
 In which she saw him first, when Lancelot came, 
 Reputed the best knight and goodliest man, 
 Ambassador, to lead her to his lord 
 Arthur, and led her forth, and far ahead 
 Of his and her retinue moving, they, 
 Rapt in sweet talk or lively, all on love 
 And sport and tilts and pleasure, (for the time 
 "Was maytime, and as yet no sin was dreamed,) 
 Rode under groves that looked a paradise 
 Of blossom, over sheets of hyacinth 
 That seemed the heavens upbreaking through the earth. 
 And on from hill to hill, and every day 
 Beheld at noon in some delicious dale 
 The silk pavilions of King Arthur raised 
 For brief repast or afternoon repose 
 By couriers gone before ; and on again, 
 Till yet once more ere set of sun they saw 
 The Dragon of the great Pendragonship, 
 That crowned the state pavilion of the King, 
 Blaze by the rushing brook or silent weU. 
 
GUINEVERE. 215 
 
 But A\'lien the Queen immersed in such a trance, 
 And moving through the past unconsciously, 
 Came to that point, when first she saw the King 
 Ride toward her from tlie city, sighed to find 
 Her journey done, glanced at him, thought him cold. 
 High, self-contained, and passionless, not like him, 
 " Not like my Lancelot," — while she brooded thus 
 And grew half guilty in her thoughts again. 
 There rode an armed warrior to the doors. 
 A murmuring whisper through the nunnery ran, 
 Then on a sudden a cry, " The King." She sat 
 Stiff-stricken, listening ; but when armed feet 
 Through the long gallery from the outer doors 
 Rang coming, prone from off her seat she fell. 
 And ffro veiled with her face ao;ainst the floor : 
 There with her milk-white arms and shadowy hair 
 She made her face a darkness from the King : 
 And in the darkness heard his armed feet 
 Pause by her ; then came silence, then a voice 
 Monotonous and hollow like a Ghost's 
 Denouncing judgment, but though changed the Iving's. 
 
 " Liest thou here so low, the child of one 
 I honored, happy, dead before thy shame. 
 
216 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Well is it that no child is born of thee. 
 
 The children born of thee are sword and fire, 
 
 Red ruin, and the breaking np of laws, 
 
 The craft of kindred and the Godless hosts 
 
 Of heathen swarming o'er the ^N'orthem Sea. 
 
 "Whom I, while yet Sir Lancelot my right arm, 
 
 The mightiest of my knights, abode with me. 
 
 Have everywhere about this land of Christ 
 
 In twelve great battles ruining overthrown. 
 
 And knowest thou now from whence I come — from him, 
 
 From waging bitter war with him : and he. 
 
 That did not shun to smite me in worse way. 
 
 Had yet that grace of courtesy in him left, 
 
 He spared to lift his hand against the King 
 
 Who made him knight : but many a knight was slain ; 
 
 And many more and all his kith and kin 
 
 Clave to him and abode in his own land. 
 
 And many more when Modred raised revolt, 
 
 Forgetful of their troth and fealty, clave 
 
 To Modred, and a remnant stays with me. 
 
 And of this remnant will I leave a jiart, 
 
 True men w^ho love me still, for whom I live, 
 
 To guard thee in the wild hour coming on. 
 
 Lest but a hair of this low head be harmed. 
 
GUINEVERE. 217 
 
 Fear not : thou shalt be guarded till my death. 
 Howbeit I know, if ancient prophecies 
 Have erred not, that I march to meet my doom. 
 Thou hast not made mj life so sweet to me. 
 That I the king should greatly care to live ; 
 For thou hast spoilt the purpose of my life. 
 Bear with me for the last time while I show, 
 Ev'n for thy sake, the sin which thou hast sinned. 
 For when the Roman left us, and their laAV 
 Relaxed its hold upon us, and the ways 
 Were filled with rapine, here and there a deed 
 Of prowess done redressed a random wrong. 
 But I was first of all the kings who drew 
 The knighthood-errant of this reahn and all 
 The realms together under me, their Head, 
 In that fair order of my Table Round, 
 A glorious company, the flower of men, 
 To serve as model for the mighty world, 
 And be the fair beginning of a time. 
 I made them lay their hands in mine and swear 
 To reverence the King, as if he were 
 Their conscience, and their conscience as their King, 
 To break the heathen and uphold the Christ, 
 To ride abroad redressmg human wrongs, 
 19 
 
218 GUINEVERE. 
 
 To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it, 
 
 To lead sweet lives in purest chastity, 
 
 To love one maiden only, cleave to her, 
 
 And worship her by years of noble deeds, 
 
 Until they won her ; for indeed I knew 
 
 Of no more subtle master under heaven 
 
 Than is the maiden passion for a maid 
 
 Not only to keep down the base in man. 
 
 But teach high thought, and amiable words 
 
 And courtliness, and the desu-e of fame. 
 
 And love of truth, and all that makes a man. 
 
 And all this throve until I wedded thee ! 
 
 Believing, " Lo mine helpmate, one to feel 
 
 My pui'pose and rejoicing in my joy." 
 
 Then came thy shameful sin with Lancelot ; 
 
 Then came the sin of Tristram and Isolt ; 
 
 Then others, following these my mightiest knights, 
 
 And drawing foul ensample from fair names, 
 
 Sinned also, till the loathsome opposite 
 
 Of all my heart had destined did obtain, 
 
 And all through thee ! so that this life of mine 
 
 I guard as God's high gift from scathe and A\Tong, 
 
 Not greatly care to lose ; but rather think 
 
 How sad it were for Arthur, should he live. 
 
GUINEVERE. 219 
 
 To sit once more within his lonely hall, 
 
 And miss the wonted number of my knights, 
 
 And miss to hear high talk of noble deeds 
 
 As in the golden days before thy sin. 
 
 For which of us, who might be left, could speak 
 
 Of the pure heart, nor seem to glance at thee ? 
 
 And in thy bowers of Camelot or of Usk 
 
 Thy shadow still would glide from room to room, 
 
 And I should evermore be vext with thee 
 
 In hanging robe or vacant ornament. 
 
 Or ghostly footfall echoing on the stair : 
 
 For think not, though thou wouldst not love thy lord. 
 
 Thy lord has wholly lost his love for thee. 
 
 I am not made of so slight elements. 
 
 Yet must I leave thee, woman, to thy shame. 
 
 I hold that man the Avorst of public foes 
 
 Who either for his own or children's sake. 
 
 To save his blood from scandal, lets the wife 
 
 "Whom he knows false abide and rule the house : 
 
 For being through his cowardice allowed 
 
 Her station, taken everywhere for pure, 
 
 She like a new disease, unknown to men, 
 
 Creeps, no precaution used, among the crowd, 
 
 Makes wicked lightnmgs of her eyes, and saps 
 
220 GUINEVERE. 
 
 The fealty of our friends, and stirs the pulse 
 With devil's leaps, and poisons half the young. 
 Worst of the worst were that man he that reigns ! 
 Better the king's waste hearth and aching heart 
 Than thou reseated in thy place of hght, 
 The mockeiy of my people, and their bane." 
 
 He i^aused, and in the pause she crept an inch 
 Nearer, and laid her hands about his feet. 
 Far off a solitary trumpet blew. 
 Then waiting by the doors the war-horse neighed 
 As at a friend's voice, and he spake again. 
 
 " Yet think not that I come to urge thy crimes, 
 I did not come to curse thee, Guinevere, 
 I, whose vast pity almost makes me die 
 To see thee, laying there thy golden head, 
 My pride in happier summers, at my feet. 
 The wrath which forced my thoughts on that fierce law, 
 The doom of treason and the flaming death, 
 ("When first I learnt thee hidden here,) is past. 
 The pang — which while I weighed thy heart with one 
 Too Avholly true to dream untruth in thee. 
 Made my tears burn — is also past, in part. 
 
GUINEVERE. 221 
 
 And all is past, the sin is sinned, and I, 
 Lo ! I forgive thee, as Eternal God 
 Forgives : do thou for tliine own soul the rest. 
 But how to take last leave of all I loved ? 
 
 golden hair, with which I used to play 
 Not knowing ! O imperial-moulded form. 
 And beauty such as never woman wore. 
 Until it came a kingdom's curse with thee — 
 
 1 cannot touch thy lips, they are not mine. 
 
 But Lancelot's : nay, they never were the King's. 
 I cannot take thy hand ; that too is flesh. 
 And in the flesh thou hast sinned ; and mine own flesh. 
 Here looking down on thine polluted, cries, 
 " I loathe thee " : yet not less, O Guinevere, 
 For I was ever virgin save for thee. 
 My love through flesh hath wrought into my life 
 So far, that my doom is, I love thee still. 
 Let no man dream but that I love thee still. 
 Perchance, and so thou purify thy soul. 
 And so thou lean on our fair father Christ, 
 Hereafter in that world where all are pure 
 We two may meet before high God, and thou 
 Wilt spring to me, and claim me thine, and know 
 I am thine husband — not a smaller soul, 
 19* 
 
222 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Nor Lancelot, nor miotlier. Leave me that, 
 
 I charge thee, my last hope. Now must I hence : 
 
 Through the thick night I hear the trumpet blow : 
 
 They summon me their king to lead mine hosts 
 
 Far down to that great battle in the west, 
 
 Where I must strike against my sister's son 
 
 Leaofued with the lords of the White Horse and kni^jhts 
 
 Once mine, and strike him dead, and meet myself 
 
 Death, or I know not what mysterious doom. 
 
 And thou remaining here wilt learn the event, 
 
 But hither shall I never come again, 
 
 Never lie by thy side, see thee no more, 
 
 FareweU ! " 
 
 And while she grovelled at his feet, 
 She felt the King's breath wander o'er her neck, 
 And, in the darkness o'er her fallen head. 
 Perceived the waving of his hands that blest. 
 
 Then, listening till those armed steps were gone, 
 Rose the pale Queen, and in her anguish found 
 The casement : " Peradventure," so she thought, 
 " If I might see his face, and not be seen." 
 And lo, he sat on horseback at the door ! 
 
GUINEVERE. 223 
 
 And near him the sad nuns with each a light 
 Stood, and he gave them charge about the Queen, 
 To guard and foster her for evermore. 
 And while he spake to these his helm was lowered, 
 To which for crest the golden dragon clung 
 Of Britain ; so she did not see the face, 
 Which then Avas as an angel's, but she saw, 
 "Wet with the mists and smitten by the lights. 
 The dragon of the great Pendragonship 
 Blaze, making all the night a steam of fire. 
 And even then he turned ; and more and more 
 The moony vapor rolling round the King, 
 Who seemed the phantom of a Giant in it, 
 Enwound him fold by fold, and made him gray 
 And grayer, till himself became as mist 
 Before her, moving ghostlilve to his doom. 
 
 Then she stretched out her arms and cried aloud, 
 " O Arthur ! " there her voice brake suddenly, 
 Then — as a stream that spouting from a cliff 
 Fails in mid-air, but gathering at the base 
 Remakes itself, and flashes down the vale — 
 Went on in passionate utterance. 
 
224 GUINEVERE. 
 
 " Gone — my lord ! 
 Gone through my sin to slay and to be slain ! 
 And he forgave me, and I could not speak. 
 Farewell ? I should have answered his farewell. 
 His mercy choked me. Gone, my lord the king, 
 My own true lord ! how dare I call him mine ? 
 The shadow of another cleaves to me, 
 And makes me one pollution : he, the king, 
 Called me polluted : shall I kill myself? 
 What help in that ? I cannot kill my sin, 
 If soul be soul ; nor can I kill my shame ; 
 No, nor by living can I live it down. 
 The days will grow to weeks, the weeks to months. 
 The months will add themselves and make the years, 
 The years will roll into the centuries. 
 And mine will ever be a name of scorn. 
 I must not dwell on that defeat of fame. 
 Let the world be ; that is but of the world. 
 What else ? what hope ? I think there was a hope, 
 Except he mocked me when he spake of hope ; 
 His hope he called it ; but he never mocks, 
 For mockery is the fume of little hearts; 
 And blessed be the king, who hath forgiven 
 My wickedness to him, and left me hope 
 
GUINEVERE. 225 
 
 That in mine own heart I can live down sin 
 And be his mate hereafter in the heavens 
 Before high God. Ah great and gentle lord, 
 Who wast, as is the conscience of a saint 
 Among his warring senses, to thy knights — 
 To whom my false voluptuous pride, that took 
 Full easily all impressions from below, 
 Would not look up, or half despised the height 
 To which I would not or I could not climb — 
 I thought I could not breathe in that fine air 
 That pure severity of perfect light — 
 I wanted warmth and color which I found 
 In Lancelot — now I see thee what thou art, 
 Thou art the highest and most human too. 
 Not Lancelot nor another. Is there none 
 Will tell the king I love him though so late ? 
 Now ere he goes to the great Battle ? none : 
 Myself must tell him in that purer life. 
 But now it were too daring. Ah my God, 
 What might I not have made of thy fair world. 
 Had I but loved thy highest creature here ? 
 It was my duty to have loved the highest : 
 It surely was my profit had I known : 
 It would have been my pleasure had I seen. 
 
226 GUINEVERE. 
 
 We needs must love the highest when we see it, 
 Not Lancelot, nor another." 
 
 Here her hand, 
 Grasped, made her vail her eyes : she looked and saw 
 The novice, weeping, suppliant, and said to her, 
 " Yea, little maid, for am / not forgiven ? " 
 Theiice glancing up beheld the holy nuns 
 All round her, weeping ; and her heart was loosed 
 Within her, and she wept with these and said : 
 
 " You know me then, that wicked one, who broke 
 The vast design and purpose of the King. 
 
 shut me round with narrowing nunnerj-walls, 
 Meek maidens, from the voices crying ' Shame.' 
 
 1 must not scorn myself : he loves me still. 
 Let no one dream but that he loves me still. 
 So let me, if you do not shudder at me 
 Nor shun to call me sister, dwell with you, 
 Wear black and white, and be a nun like you. 
 Fast with your fasts, not feasting with your feasts, 
 Grieve with your griefs, not grieving at your joys, 
 But not rejoicing ; mingle with your rites ; 
 
 Pray and be prayed for, lie before your shrines. 
 
GUINEVERE. 227 
 
 Do each low office of your holy house, 
 
 Walk your dim cloister, and distribute dole 
 
 To poor sick people, richer in his eyes 
 
 "Who ransomed us, and haler too than I, 
 
 And treat their loathsome hurts and heal mine own, 
 
 And so wear out in almsdeed and in prayer 
 
 The sombre close of that voluptuous day, 
 
 Which wrought the ruin of my lord the King." - 
 
 She said : they took her to themselves ; and she 
 Still hoping, fearing, " Is it yet too late ? " 
 Dwelt with them, till in time their Abbess died, 
 Then she, for her good deeds and her pure life, 
 And for the power of ministration in her. 
 And likewise for the high rank she had borne. 
 Was chosen Abbess, there, an Abbess, lived 
 For three brief years, and there, an Abbess, past 
 To where beyond these voices there is peace. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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