As if for pity?' But he spake no word; Which set the horror higher: a maiden swoon'd; The Lady Lyonors wrung her hands and wcpt, As doom'd to be the bride of Night and Death; Sir Gareth's head prickled beneath his helm: And ev'n Sir Lancelot thro' his warm blood felt Ice strike, and all that mark'd him were aghast. At once Sir Lancelot's charger fiercely neigh'd, And Death's dark war-horse bounded forward with him. Then those that did not blink the terror, saw That Death was cast to ground, and sicwly rose. But with one stroke Sir Gareth split the skull. Half fell to right and half to left and lay. Then with a stronger buffet he clove the helm As throughly as the skull; and out from this Issued the bright face of a blooming boy Fresh as a flower new-born, and crying, 'Knight, Slay me not: my three brethren bade me do it, To make a horror all about the house, And stay the world from Lady Lyonors. They never dream'd the passes would be past.' Answer'd Sir Gareth graciously to one Not many a moon his younger, 'My fair child, What ma ness made thee challenge the chief knight Of Arthur's hall?' 'Fair Sir, they bade me do it. They hate the King, and Lancelot, the King's friend, They hoped to slay him somewhere on the stream, They never dream'd the passes could be past.' Then sprang the happier day from underground; And Lady Lyonors and her house, with dance And revel and song, made merry over As being after all their foolish fears And he that told the tale in older times Says that Sir Gareth wedded Lyonors, But he, that told it later, says Lynette. THE MARRIAGE OF GERAINT. THE brave Geraint, a knight of Arthur's court, A tributary prince of Devon, one And as the light of Heaven varics, now To make her beauty vary day by day. eye, Who first had found and loved her in a state Of broken fortunes, daily fronted him In some fresh splendour; and the Queen herself, Grateful to Prince Geraint for service done, Loved her, and often with her own white hands Array'd and deck'd her, as the 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 rumour rose about the Queen, Touching her guilty love for Lancelot, Tho' 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, Thro' that great tenderness for Guinevere, Had suffer'd, 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, 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 was wife True to her lord, mine shall be so to me, He compass'd 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 gather'd from the people's eyes: This too the women who attired her head, To please her, dwelling on his boundless love, Told Enid, and they sadden'd her the more: And day by day she thought to tell Geraint, But could not out of bashful delicacy; While 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 either) the new Sun Beat thro' the blindless 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 wild brook o'er a little stone, 'O 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 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 liefer 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 darken'd from the high light in his eyes, Than that my lord thro' me should suffer shame. Made sharply to the dwarf, and ask'd it of him, Who answer'd 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 And pure nobility of temperament, Wroth to be wroth at such a worm, refrain'd 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 tho' I ride unarm'd, 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 fall'n in fight. Farewell.' 'Farewell, fair Prince,' answer'd 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 first you love: But ere you wed with any, bring your bride, And I, were she the daughter of a king, Yea, tho' she were a beggar from the hedge, Will clothe her for her bridals like the sun.' And Prince Geraint, now thinking that The noble hart at bay, now the far horn, And valley, with fixt eye following the three. At last they issued from the world of wood, And climb'd upon a fair and even ridge, And show'd themselves against the sky, and sank. And thither came Geraint, and underneath Beheld the long street of a little town And on one side a castle in decay, ravine: And out of town and valley came a noise As of a broad brook o'er a shingly bed Brawling, or like a clamour of the rooks At distance, ere they settle for the night. And onward to the fortress rode the three, And enter'd, and were lost behind the walls. 'So,' thought Geraint, 'I have track'd him to his earth.' And down the long street riding wearily, Found every hostel full, and everywhere Was hammer laid to hoof, and the hot hiss And bustling whistle of the youth who scour'd His master's armour; and of such a one He ask'd, What means the tumult in the town?' Who told him, scouring still, The sparrow-hawk!' Then riding close behind an ancient churl, Who, smitten by the dusty sloping beam, Went sweating underneath a sack of corn, Ask'd yet once more what meant the hubbub here? Who answer'd gruffly, 'Ugh! the sparrowhawk.' Then riding further past an armourer's, Who, with back turn'd, and bow'd above his work, Sat riveting a helmet on his knee, He put the self-same query, but the man Not turning round, nor looking at him, said: |