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, tho' mine own. ears heard you yestermorn You thought me sleeping, but I heard 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 yourself, And will henceforward rather die than doubt.' And never yet, since high in Paradise O'er the four rivers the first roses blew, Came purer pleasure unto inortal kind Than lived thro' 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 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, who 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, Shriek'd 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 shriek'd again, •O) cousin, slay not him who 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, Who love you, Prince, with something of the love Wherewith we love the Heaven that chastens us. For once, when I was up so high in pride That I was halfway down the slope to Hell, By overthrowing me you threw me higher. Now, macle a knight of Arthur's Table Round, And since I knew this Earl, when I my self Was half a bandit in my lawless hour, And Enid could not say one tender word, She felt so blunt and stupid at the heart: She only pray'd him, • Fly, they will return And slay you; Ay, your charger is with out, My palfrey lost.' «Then, Enid, shall you ride Bebind 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, Neigh'd with all gladness as they came, and stoop'd With a low whinny toward the pair: and she Kiss'd the white star upon his noble front, Glad also; then Geraint upon the horse Mounted, and reach'd a hand, and on his foot She set her own and climb'd; he turn'd his face And kiss'd her climbing, and she cast her arms About him, and at once they rode away. blue eyes, own ear to me, I come the mouthpiece of our King to Break into furious flame; being repulsed By Yniol and yourself, I schemed and (The King is close behind me) bidding wrought him Until I overturn'd him; then set up Disband himself, and scatter all his powers, (With one main purpose ever at my heart) Saito Submit, and hear the judgment of the My haughty jousts, and took a paramour; sed King.' Did her mock-honour as the fairest fair, And, toppling over all antagonism, So wax'd in pride, that I believed inysels you kings, Unconquerable, for I was wellnigh mad: Cried the wan Prince; "and lo, the And, but for my main purpose in these powers of Doorm jousts, Are scatter'd,' and he pointed to the field, I should have slain your father, seized Where, huddled here and there on mound yourself. and knoll, Were men and women staring and aghast, I lived in hope that sometime you would come While some yet fed; and then he plainlier To these my lists with him whom best told you loved; How the huge Earl lay slain within his And there, poor cousin, with meek your hall. But when the knight besought him, The • Follow me, truest eyes that ever answer'd Heaven, Prince, to the camp, and in the King's Behold me overturn and trample on him. Speak what has chanced; ye surely Then, had you cried, or knelt, or pray'd have endured I should not less have kill'd him. And Strange chances here alone;' that other you came, flush’d, But once you came, - and with your And hung his head, and halted in reply, own true eyes Fearing the mild face of the blameless Beheld the man you loved (I speak as Speaks of a service done him) overthrow three To Arthur, then will Arthur come to you,' My proud self, and my purpose years old, • Enough,' he said, 'I follow,' and they And set his foot upon me, and give me went. life. But Enid in their going had two fears, There was I broken down; there was I One from the bandit scatter'd in the field, saved: And one from Edyrn. Every now and Tho' thence I rode all-shamed, hating then, the life When Edyrn rein'd his charger at her He gave me, meaning to be rid of it. side, She shrank a little. In a hollow land, And all the penance the Queen laid upon me From which old fires have broken, men Was but to rest awhile within her court; Where first as sullen as a beast new.caged, Fresh fire and ruin. He, perceiving, said : And waiting to be treated like a wolf, Because I knew my deeds were known, • Fair and dear cousin, you that most I found, had cause To fear me, fear no longer, I am changed. Instead of scornsul pity or pure scorn, Such fine reserve and noble reticence, Yourself were first the blameless cause to Manners so kind, yet stately, such a grace make Of tenderest courtesy, that I began My nature's prideful sparkle in the blood To glance behind me at my former life, one may fear 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; 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 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, listed her from horse, And kiss'd her with all pureness, brother like, 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 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 doth 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 every. way One of our noblest, our most valorous, Sanest and most obedient: and indeed This work of Edyrn wrought upon him self 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. 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 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, come Fill'd all the genial courses of his blood With deeper and with ever deeper love, As the south-west 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 They callid 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 fëaltv, 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. his eyes On each of all whom Uther left in charge Long since, to guard the justice of the King : He look”d and found them wanting; and as now Men weed the white horse on the Berk shire hills To keep him bright and clean as hereto fore, He rooted out the slothful officer Or guilty, which for bribe had wink'd at wrong, And in their chairs set up a stronger race With hearts and hands, and sent a thou sand men To till the wastes, and moving everywhere Clear'd 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 em braced her friend, 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, Arthur laugh'd upon Old friend, too old to be so young, depart, Delay not thou for aught, but let them sit, Until they find a lustier than themselves.' So these departed. Early, one fair lawn, The light-wing’d spirit of his youth return'd On Arthur's heart; he arm'd himself and went, So coming to the fountain-side beheld Balin and Balan sitting statuelike, Have past Brethren, to right and left the spring, that down, From underneath a plume of lady-fern, Sang, and the sand danced at the bottom of it. And on the right of Balin Balin's horse Was fast beside an alder, on the left Of Balan Balan's near a poplartree. 'Fair Sirs,' said Arthur, 'wherefore sit ye here?' Balin and Balan answer'd, 'For the sake proved; For whatsoever knight against us came Or I or he have easily overthrown.' 'I too,' said Arthur, .am of Arthur's hall, But rather proven in his Paynim wars Than famous jousts; but see, or proven or not, Whether me likewise ye can overthrow.' And Arthur lightly smote the brethren down, And lightly so return'd, and no man knew. Had often wrought some fury on myself, Saving for Balan: thuse three kingless years – were wormwood-bitter to me. King, Methought that if we sat beside the well, And hurl' to ground what knight soever spurr'd Against us, thou would'st take me gladlier back, And make, as ten-times worthier to be tbine Than twenty Balins, Balan knight. I have said. Not so — - not all. A man of thine to-day Abash'd us both, and brake my boast. Thy will?' Said Arthur, «Thou hast ever spoken trutht; Thy too fierce manhood would not let thee lie. Rise, my true knight. As children learn, be thou Wiser for falling! walk with me, and inove To music with thine Order and the King. Thy chair, a grief to all the brethren, stands Vacant, but thou retake it, mine again!' Then Balin rose, and Balan, and beside The carolling water set themselves again, And spake no word until the shadow turn'd; When from the fringe of coppice round them burst A spangled pursuivant, and crying. Sirs, Kise, follow! ye be sent for by the King,' They follow'd; whom when Arthur seeing ask'd 'Tell me your names; why sat ye by the well?' Balin the stillness of a minute broke Saying, 'An unmelodious name to thee, Balin, “the Savage” – that addition thine My brother and my better, this man here, Balan. I smote upon the naked skull A thrall of thine in open hall, my hand Was gauntleted, half slew him; for I heard He had spoken evil of me; thy just wrath Sent me a three-years' exile from thine eyes. I have not lived my life delightsomely: For I that did that violence to thy thrall, Thereafter, when Sir Balin enter'd hall, The Lost one Found was greeted as in Heaven With joy that blazed itself in woodland wealth Of leaf, and gayest garlandage of flowers, Along the walls and down the board; they sat, And cup clash'd cup; they drank and some one sang, Sweet-voiced, a song of welcome, where upon Their common shout in chorus, mount ing, made Those banners of twelve battles overhead Stir, as they stirr'd of old, when Arthur's host Proclaim'd him Victor, and the day was won. Then Balan added to their Order lived A wealthier life than heretofore with these And Balin, till their embassage return'd. |