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 :
And oft I talk'd 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 mark'd 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; 1 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 reach'd the camp the King himself

Advanced to greet them, and beholding her

Tho' pale, yet happy, ask'd her not a word, But went apart with Edyrn, whom he held In converse for a little, and return'd, And, gravely smiling, lifted her from horse,

And kiss'd her with all pureness, brotherlike,

And show'd an empty tent allotted her, And glancing for a minute, till he saw her Pass into it, turn'd to the Prince, and said:

"Prince, when of late ye pray'd me for my leave

To move to your own land, and there defend

Your marches, I was prick'd with some reproof,

As one that let foul wrong stagnate and be, By having look'd too much thro' alien eyes, And wrought too long with delegated hands,

Not used mine own: but now behold

me come

To cleanse this common sewer of all my realm,

With Edyrn and with others have ye look'd

At Edyrn? have ye 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, weeding 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 everyway
One of our noblest, our most valorous,
Sanest and most obedient and indeed
This work of Edyrn wrought upon himself
After a life of violence, seems to me
A thousand-fold more great and wonderful
Than if some knight of mine, risking his
life,

My subject with my subjects under him, Should make an onslaught single on a realm

Of robbers, tho' he slew them one by one, And were himself nigh wounded to the death."

And clothed her in apparel like the day. And tho' Geraint could never take again 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 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 call'd 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 crown'd A happy life with a fair death, and fell Against the heathen of the Northern Sea In battle, fighting for the blameless King.

thought

Their lavish 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 flutter'd adoration, and at last With dark sweet hints of some who prized him more

Than who should prize him most; at which the King

Had gazed upon her blankly and gone by:

But one had watch'd, 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

Was

The

built the King his havens, ships, and halls,

also Bard, and knew the starry

heavens ;

people call'd him Wizard; whom at first

She play'd about with slight and sprightly talk,

And vivid smiles, and faintly-venom'd points

Of slander, glancing here and grazing there;

And yielding to his kindlier moods, the Seer

Would watch her at her petulance, and play,

Ev'n when they seem'd unlovable, and laugh

grew

Tolerant of what he half disdain'd, and

she,

Perceiving that she was but half disdain'd, 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,

Tho' 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 waver'd; 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 gain'd the beach;

There found a little boat, and stept into it ;

And Vivien follow'd, but he mark'd 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 disembark'd.

And then she follow'd 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 with waving arms, The man so wrought on ever seem'd 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.

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 quench'd.

There lay she all her length and kiss'd

his feet,

limbs,

In color like the satin-shining palm
On sallows in the windy gleams of March:
And while she kiss'd them, crying,
"Trample me,

Dear feet, that I have follow'd thro' 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 roll'd about his brain,

As on a dull day in an Ocean cave The blind wave feeling round his long sea-hall

In silence: wherefore, when she lifted up A face of sad appeal, and spake and said, "O Merlin, do ye love me?" and again, "O Merlin, do ye love me?" and once more,

"Great Master, do ye love me?" he was

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 answer'd 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 call'd herself a gilded summer fly Caught in a great old tyrant spider's web, Who meant to eat her up in that wild wood Without one word. So Vivien call'd herself,

Glass'd in the slippery sand before it breaks?

Ev'n 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 follow'd me unask'd ;

And when I look'd, and saw you following still,

My mind involved yourself the nearest thing

In that mind-mist: for shall I tell you truth?

You seem'd that wave about to break upon me

And sweep me from my hold upon the world,

My use and name and fame. Your par

don, child.

Your pretty sports have brighten'd all again.

And ask your boon, for boon I owe you thrice,

Once for wrong done you by confusion,

next

or 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 Vivien answer'd smiling mournfully;

"O not so strange as my long asking it, Nor yet so strange as you yourself are strange,

yours.

I ever fear'd ye were not wholly mine; And see, yourself have own'd ye 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 ask'd this very boon, Now ask'd again: for see you not, dear love,

That such a mood as that, which lately gloom'd

Your fancy when you saw me following

you,

Must make me fear still more you are not mine,

Must make me yearn still more to prove you mine,

And make me wish still more to learn

this charın

Of woven paces and of waving hands,
As proof of trust. O Merlin, teach 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