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"He learnt and warn'd me of their fierce | For if his own knight cast him down, he

design Against my house, and him they caught and maim'd;

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 answer'd him at full, as having been With Arthur in the fight which all day long Rang 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 thunder'd 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, center'd in a sun
Of silver rays, that lighten'd as he

breathed;

And at Caerleon had he help'd his lord, When the strong neighings of the wild white Horse

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;
the mount

"and

on

Of Radon I myself beheld the King Charge at the head of all his Table Round, 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,

However mild he seems at home, nor cares For triumph in our mimic wars, the jousts

laughs

Saying, his knights are better men than

he

Yet in this heathen war the fire of God Fills him: Inever saw his like: there lives No greater leader." While he utter'd this, Low to her own heart said the lily 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 kindShe 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 tender

ness

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 thro' all hindrance finds the man Behind it, and so paints him that his face, 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

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Then came on him a sort of sacred fear, For silent, tho' he greeted her, she stood Rapt on his face as if it were a God's. Suddenly flash'd on her a wild desire, That he should wear her favor at the tilt. 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 answer'd; "then in wearing mine

Needs must be lesser likelihood, noble lord,

That those who know should know you." And he turn'd

Her counsel up and down within his mind, And found it true, and answer'd, "true, my child.

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And ever laboring had scoop'd himself In the white rock a chapel and a hall On massive columns, like a shorecliff cave,

Well, I will wear it: fetch it out to me:
What is it?" and she told him "a red And cells and chambers: all were fair

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And, in the costly canopy o'er him set, | They couch'd their spears and prick'd Blazed the last diamond of the nameless

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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 bark, And him that helms it, so they overbore Sir Lancelot and his charger, and a spear Down-glancing, lamed the charger, and a

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What is he? I do not mean the force No diamonds! for God's love, a little air!

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"Ah my sweet lord Sir Lancelot," said | Ourselves will send it after. Rise and Lavaine,

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take

This diamond, and deliver it, and return, And bring us where 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, Nor often loyal to his word, and now Wroth that the king's command to sally forth

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