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Caress her: let her feel herself forgiven
Who feels no heart to ask another boon.
I think ye hardly know the tender rhyme
Of "trust me not at all or all in all."
I heard the great Sir Lancelot sing it

once,

And it shall answer for me. Listen to it.

"In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be

ours,

Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers:

Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.

"It is the little rift within the lute, That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.

"The little rift within the lover's lute Or little pitted speck in garner'd fruit, That rotting inward slowly moulders all.

"It is not worth the keeping: let it go: But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no. And trust me not at all or all in all."

O Master, do ye love my tender rhyme?'

And Merlin look'd and half believed her true,

So tender was her voice, so fair her face, So sweetly gleam'd her eyes behind her

tears

Like sunlight on the plain behind a shower:

And yet he answer'd half indignantly:

Far other was the song that once I heard

By this huge oak, sung nearly where we sit:

For here we met, some ten or twelve of us,

To chase a creature that was current then

In these wild woods, the hart with golden horns.

It was the time when first the question

rose

About the founding of a Table Round, That was to be, for love of God and men And noble deeds, the flower of all the world.

And each incited each to noble deeds. And while we waited, one, the youngest of us,

We could not keep him silent, out he flash'd,

And into such a song, such fire for fame, Such trumpet-blowings in it, coming down To such a stern and iron-clashing close, That when he stopt we long'd to hurl together,

And should have done it; but the beauteous beast

Scared by the noise upstarted at our feet, And like a silver shadow slipt away

Thro' the dim land; and all day long we rode

Thro' the dim land against a rushing wind,

That glorious roundel echoing in our ears,

And chased the flashes of his golden horns

Until they vanish'd by the fairy well That laughs at iron as our warriors

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"My name, once mine, now thine, is closelier mine,

For fame, could fame be mine, that fame were thine,

And shame, could shame be thine, that shame were mine.

So trust me not at all or all in all."

'Says she not well? and there is more this rhyme

-

Is like the fair pearl-necklace of the Queen,

That burst in dancing, and the pearls were split;

Some lost, some stolen, some as relics kept.

But nevermore the same two sister pearls Ran down the silken thread to kiss each other

On her white neck- -so is it with this rhyme:

It lives dispersedly in many hands,
And every minstrel sings it differently;
Yet is there one true line, the pearl of
pearls:

"Man dreams of Fame while woman wakes to love."

Yea! Love, tho' Love were of the gross

est, carves

A portion from the solid present, eats And uses, careless of the rest; but Fame, The Fame that follows death is nothing

to us;

And what is Fame in life but half-dis

fame,

And counterchanged with darkness? ye yourself

Know well that Envy calls you Devil's son, And since ye seem the Master of all Art, They fain would make you Master of all vice.'

And Merlin lock'd his hand in hers and said,

'I once was looking for a magic weed, And found a fair young squire who sat alone,

Had carved himself a knightly shield of wood,

And then was painting on it fancied arms, Azure, an Eagle rising, or the Sun

In dexter chief; the scroll "I follow fame."

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Which is the second in a line of stars That seem a sword beneath a belt of three,

I never gazed upon it but I dreamt Of some vast charm concluded in that star

To make fame nothing. Wherefore, if I fear,

Giving you power upon me thro' this charm,

That you might play me falsely, having power,

However well ye think ye love me now (As sons of kings loving in pupilage Have turn'd to tyrants when they came to power),

I rather dread the loss of use than fame; If you and not so much from wicked

ness,

As some wild turn of anger, or a mood
Of overstrain'd affection, it may be,
To keep me all to your own self, or else
A sudden spurt of woman's jealousy, —
Should try this charm on whom ye say
ye love.'

And Vivien answer'd smiling as in wrath :

'Have I not sworn? I am not trusted. Good!

Well, hide it, hide it; I shall find it out;
And being found take heed of Vivien.
A woman and not trusted, doubtless I
Might feel some sudden turn of anger
born

Of your misfaith; and your fine epithet
Is accurate too, for this full love of mine
Without the full heart back may merit well
Your term of overstrain'd. So used as I,
My daily wonder is, I love at all.

And as to woman's jealousy, O why not?
O to what end, except a jealous one,
And one to make me jealous if I love,
Was this fair charm invented by yourself?
I well believe that all about this world
Ye cage a buxom captive here and there,
Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower
From which is no escape for evermore.'

Then the great Master merrily answer'd her:

'Full many a love in loving youth was mine;

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Less old than I, yet older, for my blood
Hath earnest in it of far springs to be.
A tawny pirate anchor'd in his port,
Whose bark had plunder'd twenty name-
less isles;

And passing one, at the high peep of dawn,

He saw two cities in a thousand boats
All fighting for a woman on the sea.
And pushing his black craft among them
all,

He lightly scatter'd theirs and brought her off,

With loss of half his people arrow-slain; A maid so smooth, so white, so wonderful, They said a light came from her when

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And Vivien breaking in upon him, said: 'I sit and gather honey; yet, methinks, Thy tongue has tript a little: ask thyself. The lady never made unwilling war With those fine eyes: she had her pleasure in it,

And made her good man jealous with good cause.

And lived there neither dame nor damsel then

Wroth at a lover's loss? were all as tame,
I mean, as noble, as their Queen was fair?
Not one to flirt a venom at her eyes,
Or pinch a murderous dust into her drink,
Or make her paler with a poison'd rose?
Well, those were not our days: but did
they find

A wizard? Tell me, was he like to thee?'

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'Thou read the book, my pretty Vivien ! O ay, it is but twenty pages long, But every page having an ample marge, And every marge enclosing in the midst A square of text that looks a little blot, The text no larger than the limbs of fleas;

And every square of text an awful charm, Writ in a language that has long gone by. So long, that mountains have arisen since With cities on their flanks-thou read the book!

And every margin scribbled, crost, and cramm'd

With comment, densest condensation, hard

To mind and eye; but the long sleepless nights

Of my long life have made it easy to

me.

And none can read the text, not even I; And none can read the comment but

myself;

And in the comment did I find the charm. O, the results are simple; a mere child Might use it to the harm of any one, And never could undo it: ask no more: For tho' you should not prove it upon

me,

But keep that oath ye sware, ye might, perchance,

Assay it on some one of the Table Round, And all because ye dream they babble of you.'

And Vivien, frowning in true anger, said:

'What dare the full-fed liars say of me? They ride abroad redressing human wrongs!

They sit with knife in meat and wine in horn!

They bound to holy vows of chastity! Were I not woman, I could tell a tale. But you are man, you well can understand

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'O ay, what say ye to Sir Valence, him Whose kinsman left him watcher o'er

his wife

And two fair babes, and went to distant lands;

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