6

Than to cry Halt,' and to her own bright face

Accuse her of the least immodesty : And thus tongue-tied, it made him wroth the more

That she could speak whom his own ear had heard

Call herself false and suffering thus he made

Minutes an age: but in scarce longer time Than at Caerleon the full-tided Usk, Before he 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 arm'd,

Whereof one seem'd far larger than her lord,

And shook her pulses, crying, 'Look, a prize!

Three horses and three goodly suits of

And into many a listless annulet, Now over, now beneath her marriage ring,

Wove and unwove it, till the boy return'd And told them of a chamber, and they went;

Where, after saying to her, If ye will, Call for the woman of the house,' to which

She answer'd, 'Thanks, my lord;' the two remain'd

Apart by all the chamber's width, and

mute

As creatures voiceless thro' 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,

Push'd from without, drave backward to the wall,

And midmost of a rout of roisterers,
Femininely fair and dissolutely pale,
Her suitor in old years before Geraint,
Enter'd, the wild lord of the place,
Limours.

He moving up with 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 honour 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 with all ease, and told

Free tales, and took the word and play'd upon it,

And made it of two colours; for his talk, When wine and free companions kindled him,

Was wont to glance and sparkle like a gem Of fifty facets; thus he moved the Prince To laughter and his comrades to applause. Then, when the Prince was merry, ask'd 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 doth 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, Bow'd at her side and utter'd whisperingly:

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-pall'd

For I know men: nor will ye 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 unarm'd; I hold a finger up; They understand: nay; I do not mean blood:

Nor need ye 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:

Or speak it not; but then by Him that made me

The one true lover whom you ever own'd, I will make use of all the power I have. O pardon me! the madness of that hour, When first I parted from thee, moves me yet.'

And snatch me from him as by violence; Leave me to-night: I am weary to the death.'

Low at leave-taking, with his brandish'd plume

Brushing his instep, bow'd 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.

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 lightly, heap'd

The pieces of his armour in one place, All to be there against a sudden need; Then dozed awhile herself, but overtoil'd By that day's grief and travel, evermore Seem'd 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 was the red cock shouting to the light,

As the gray dawn stole o'er the dewy world,

And glimmer'd on his armour in the room. And once again she rose to look at it, But touch'd it unawares: jangling, the

casque

Fell, and he started up and stared at her. Then breaking his command of silence given,

She told him all that Earl Limours had said,