III. 260 Sir Launfal's raiment thin and spare So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime, He sees the snake-like caravan crawl O'er the edge of the desert, black and small, To where, in its slender necklace of grass, IV. "For Christ's sweet sake, I beg an alms;"- And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas, V. And Sir Launfal said, "I behold in thee 280 An image of Him who died on the tree; Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns,— Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns, And to thy life were not denied The wounds in the hands and feet and side: Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me; Behold, through him, I give to thee!" VI. Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes He had flung an alms to leprosie, When he girt his young life up in gilded mail 290 'Twas a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread, 'Twas water out of a wooden bowl,— 300 Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed, And 'twas red wine he drank with his thirsty soul. VII. As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, A light shone round about the place; The leper no longer crouched at his side, But stood before him glorified, Shining and tall and fair and straight As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate,— Enter the temple of God in Man. VIII. 310 His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine, And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine, That mingle their softness and quiet in one With the shaggy unrest they float down upon; And the voice that was softer than silence said, "Lo it is I, be not afraid! In many climes, without avail, Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail; Behold, it is here, this cup which thou Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now; In whatso we share with another's need; IX. Sir Launfal awoke as from a swound: X. The castle gate stands open now, And the wanderer is welcome to the hall As the hangbird is to the elm-tree bough; No longer scowl the turrets tall, 320 330 The Summer's long siege at last is o'er; When the first poor outcast went in at the door, 340 She entered with him in disguise, And mastered the fortress by surprise; There is no spot she loves so well on ground, Has hall and bower at his command; And there's no poor man in the North Countree |