And every voice is nothing. As to knights,
Them surely can I silence with all ease.
110 But now my loyal worship is allow’d
Of all men: many a bard, without offence,
Has link’d our names together in his lay,
Lancelot, the flower of bravery, Guinevere,
The pearl of beauty: and our knights at feast
115 Have pledged us in this union, while the King
Would listen smiling. How then? is there more?
Has Arthur spoken aught? or would yourself,
Now weary of my service and devoir,
Henceforth be truer to your faultless lord?’
120 She broke into a little scornful laugh:
‘ Arthur, my lord, Arthur, the faultless King,
That passionate perfection, my good lord –
But who can gaze upon the Sun in heaven?
He never spake word of reproach to me,
125 He never had a glimpse of mine untruth,
He cares not for me: only here to-day
There gleam’d a vague suspicion in his eyes:
Some meddling rogue has tamper’d with him – else
Rapt in this fancy of his Table Round,
130 And swearing men to vows impossible,
To make them like himself: but, friend, to me
He is all fault who hath no fault at all:
For who loves me must have a touch of earth;
The low sun makes the colour: I am yours,
135 Not Arthur’s, as ye know, save by the bond.
And therefore hear my words: go to the jousts:
The tiny-trumpeting gnat can break our dream
When sweetest; and the vermin voices here
May buzz so loud – we scorn them, but they sting.’
140 Then answer’d Lancelot, the chief of knights:
‘And with what face, after my pretext made,
Shall I appear, O Queen, at Camelot, I
Before a King who honours his own word,
As if it were his God’s?’
‘Yea,’ said the Queen,
145 ‘A moral child without the craft to rule,
Else had he not lost me: but listen to me,
If I must find you wit: we hear it said
That men go down before your spear at a touch,
But knowing you are Lancelot; your great name,
150 This conquers: hide it therefore; go unknown:
Win! by this kiss you will: and our true King
Will then allow your pretext, O my knight,
As all for glory; for to speak him true,
Ye know right well, how meek soe’er he seem,
155 No keener hunter after glory breathes.
He loves it in his knights more than himslf:
They prove to him his work: win and return.’
Then got Sir Lancelot suddenly to horse,
Wroth at himself. Not willing to be known,
160 He left the barren-beaten thoroughfare,
Chose the green path that show’d the rarer foot,
And there among the solitary downs,
Full often lost in fancy, lost his way;
Till as he traced a faintly-shadow’d track,
165 That all in loops and links among the dales
Ran to the Castle of Astolat, he saw
Fired from the west, far on a hill, the towers.
Thither he made, and blew the gateway horn.
Then came an old, dumb, myriad-wrinkled man,
170 Who let him into lodging and disarm’d.
And Lancelot marvell’d at the wordless man;
And issuing found the Lord of Astolat
With two strong sons, Sir Torre and Sir Lavaine,
Moving to meet him in the castle court;
175 And close behind them stept the lily maid
Elaine, his daughter: mother of the house
There was not: some light jest among them rose
With laughter dying down as the great knight
Approach’d them: then the Lord of Astolat:
180 ‘Whence comest thou, my guest, and by what name
Livest between the lips? for by thy state
And presence I might guess thee chief of those,
After the King, who eat in Arthur’s halls.
Him have I seen: the rest, his Table Round,
185 Known as they are, to me they are unknown.’
Then answer’d Lancelot, the chief of knights:
‘Known am I, and of Arthur’s hall, and known,
What I by mere mischance have brought, my shield.
But since I go to joust as one unknown
Hereafter ye shall know me – and the shield –
I pray you lend me one, if such you have,
Blank, or at least with some device not mine.’
Then said the Lord of Astolat, ‘Here is Torre’s:
195 Hurt in his first tilt was my son, Sir Torre.
And so, God wot, his shield is blank enough.
His ye can have.’ Then added plain Sir Torre,
‘Yea, since I cannot use it, ye may have it.’
Here laugh’d the father saying, ‘Fie, Sir Churl,
200 Is that an answer for a noble knight?
Allow him! but Lavaine, my younger here,
He is so full of lustihood, he will ride,
Joust for it, and win, and bring it in an hour,
And set it in this damsel’s golden hair,
205 To make her thrice as wilful as before.’
‘Nay, father, nay good father, shame me not
Before this noble knight,’ said young Lavaine,
‘For nothing. Surely I but play’d on Torre:
He seem’d so sullen, vext he could not go:
210 A jest, no more! for, knight, the maiden dreamt
That some one put this diamond in her hand,
And that it was too slippery to be held,
And slipt and fell into some pool or stream,
The castle-well, belike; and then I said
215 That if I went and if I fought and won it
(But all was jest and joke among ourselves)
Then must she keep it safelier. All was jest.
But, father, give me leave, an if he will,
To ride to Camelot with this noble knight:
220 Win shall I not, but do my best to win:
Young as I am, yet would I do my best.’
‘So ye will grace me,’ answer’d Lancelot,
Smiling a moment, ‘with your fellowship
O’er these waste downs whereon I lost myself,
225 Then were I glad of you as guide and friend:
And you shall win this diamond, – as I hear
It is a fair large diamond, – if ye may,
And yield it to this maiden, if ye will.’
‘A fair large diamond,’ added plain Sir Torre,
230 ‘Such be for queens, and not for simple maids.’
Then she, who held her eyes upon the ground,
Elaine, and heard her name so tost about,
Flush’d slightly at the slight disparagement
Before the stranger knight, who, looking at her,
235 Full courtly, yet not falsely, thus return’d:
‘If what is fair be but for what is fair,
And only queens are to be counted so,
Rash were my judgment then, who deem this maid
Might wear as fair a jewel as is on earth,
240 Not violating the bond of like to like.’
He spoke and ceased: the lily maid Elaine,
Won by the mellow voice before she look’d,
Lifted her eyes, and read his lineaments.
The great and guilty love he bare the Queen,
245 In battle with the love he bare his lord,
Had marr’d his face, and mark’d it ere his time.
Another sinning on suc
h heights with one,
The flower of all the west and all the world,
Had been the sleeker for it: but in him
250 His mood was often like a fiend, and rose
And drove him into wastes and solitudes
For agony, who was yet a living soul.
Marr’d as he was, he seem’d the goodliest man
That ever among ladies ate in hall,
255 And noblest, when she lifted up her eyes.
However marr’d, of more than twice her years,
Seam’d with an ancient swordcut on the cheek,
And bruised and bronzed, she lifted up her eyes
And loved him, with that love which was her doom.
260 Then the great knight, the darling of the court,
Loved of the loveliest, into that rude hall
Stept with all grace, and not with half disdain
Hid under grace, as in a smaller time,
But kindly man moving among his kind:
265 Whom they with meats and vintage of their best
And talk and minstrel melody entertain’d.
And much they ask’d of court and Table Round,
And ever well and readily answer’d he:
But Lancelot, when they glanced at Guinevere,
270 Suddenly speaking of the wordless man,
Heard from the Baron that, ten years before,
The heathen caught and reft him of his tongue.
‘He learnt and warn’d me of their fierce design
Against my house, and him they caught and maim’d;
275 But I, my sons, and little daughter fled
From bonds or death, and dwelt among the woods
By the great river in a boatman’s hut.
Dull days were those, till our good Arthur broke
The Pagan yet once more on Badon hill.’
280 ‘O there, great lord, doubtless,’ Lavaine said, rapt
By all the sweet and sudden passion of youth
Toward greatness in its elder, ‘you have fought.
O tell us – for we live apart – you know
Of Arthur’s glorious wars.’ And Lancelot spoke
285 And answer’d him at full, as having been
With Arthur in the fight which all day long
Rang by the white mouth of the violent Glem;
And in the four loud battles by the shore
Of Duglas; that on Bassa; then the war
290 That thunder’d in and out the gloomy skirts
Of Celidon the forest; and again
By castle Gurnion, where the glorious King
Had on his cuirass worn our Lady’s Head,
Carved of one emerald center’d in a sun
295 Of silver rays, that lighten’d as he breathed;
And at Caerleon had he help’d his lord,
When the strong neighings of the wild white Horse
Set every gilded parapet shuddering;
And up in Agned-Cathregonion too,
300 And down the waste sand-shores of Trath Treroit,
Where many a heathen fell; ‘and on the mount
Of Badon I myself beheld the King
Charge at the head of all his Table Round,
And all his legions crying Christ and him,
305 And break them; and I saw him, after, stand
High on a heap of slain, from spur to plume
Red as the rising sun with heathen blood,
And seeing me, with a great voice he cried,
‘They are broken, they are broken!’ for the King,
310 However mild he seems at home, nor cares
For triumph in our mimic wars, the jousts –
For if his own knight cast him down, he laughs
Saying, his knights are better men than he –
Yet in this heathen war the fire of God
315 Fills him: I never saw his like: there lives
No greater leader.’
While he utter’d this,
Low to her own heart said the lily maid,
‘Save your great self, fair lord;’ and when he fell
From talk of war to traits of pleasantry –
320 Being mirthful he, but in a stately kind –
She still took note that when the living smile
Died from his lips, across him came a cloud
Of melancholy severe, from which again,
Whenever in her hovering to and fro
325 The lily maid had striven to make him cheer,
There brake a sudden-beaming tenderness
Of manners and of nature: and she thought
That all was nature, all, perchance, for her.
And all night long his face before her lived,
330 As when a painter, poring on a face,
Divinely thro’ all hindrance finds the man
Behind it, and so paints him that his face,
The shape and colour of a mind and life,
Lives for his children, ever at its best
335 And fullest; so the face before her lived,
Dark-splendid, speaking in the silence, full
Of noble things, and held her from her sleep.
Till rathe she rose, half-cheated in the thought
She needs must bid farewell to sweet Lavaine.
340 First as in fear, step after step, she stole
Down the long tower-stairs, hesitating:
Anon, she heard Sir Lancelot cry in the court,
‘This shield, my friend, where is it?’ and Lavaine
Past inward, as she came from out the tower.
345 There to his proud horse Lancelot turn’d, and smooth’d
The glossy shoulder, humming to himself.
Half-envious of the flattering hand, she drew
Nearer and stood. He look’d, and more amazed
Than if seven men had set upon him, saw
350 The maiden standing in the dewy light.
He had not dream’d she was so beautiful.
Then came on him a sort of sacred fear,
For silent, tho’ he greeted her, she stood
Rapt on his face as if it were a God’s.
355 Suddenly flash’d on her a wild desire,
That he should wear her favour at the tilt.
She braved a riotous heart in asking for it.
‘Fair lord, whose name I know not – noble it is,
I well believe, the noblest – will you wear
360 My favour at this tourney?’ ‘Nay,’ said he,
‘Fair lady, since I never yet have worn
Favour of any lady in the lists.
Such is my wont, as those, who know me, know.’
‘Yea, so,’ she answer’d; ‘then in wearing mine
365 Needs must be lesser likelihood, noble lord,
That those who know should know you.’ And he turn’d
Her counsel up and down within his mind,
And found it true, and answer’d, ‘True, my child.
Well, I will wear it: fetch it out to me:
370 What is it?’ and she told him ‘A red sleeve
Broider’d with pearls,’ and brought it: then he bound
Her token on his helmet, with a smile
Saying, ‘I never yet have done so much
For any maiden living,’ and the blood
375 Sprang to her face and fill’d her with delight;
But left her all the paler, when Lavaine
Returning brought the yet-unblazon’d shield,
His brother’s; which he gave to Lancelot,
Who parted with his own to fair Elaine:
380 ‘Do me this grace, my child, to have my shield
In keeping till I come.’ ’A grace to me,’
She answer’d, ‘twice to-day. I am your squire!’
Whereat Lavaine said, laughing, ‘Lily maid,
For fear our people call you lily maid
385 In earnest, let me bring your colour back;
Once, twice, and thrice: now get you
hence to bed:’
So kiss’d her, and Sir Lancelot his own hand,
And thus they moved away: she stay’d a minute,
Then made a sudden step to the gate, and there –
390 Her bright hair blown about the serious face
Yet rosy-kindled with her brother’s kiss –
Paused by the gateway, standing near the shield
In silence, while she watch’d their arms far-off
Sparkle, until they dipt below the downs.
395 Then to her tower she climb’d, and took the shield,
There kept it, and so lived in fantasy.
Meanwhile the new companions past away
Far o’er the long backs of the bushless downs,
To where Sir Lancelot knew there lived a knight
400 Not far from Camelot, now for forty years
A hermit, who had pray’d, labour’d and pray’d,
And ever labouring had scoop’d himself
In the white rock a chapel and a hall
On massive columns, like a shorecliff cave,
405 And cells and chambers: all were fair and dry;
The green light from the meadows underneath
Struck up and lived along the milky roofs;
And in the meadows tremulous aspen-trees
And poplars made a noise of falling showers.
410 And thither wending there that night they bode.
But when the next day broke from underground,
And shot red fire and shadows thro’ the cave,
They rose, heard mass, broke fast, and rode away:
Then Lancelot saying, ‘Hear, but hold my name
415 Hidden, you ride with Lancelot of the Lake,’
Abash’d Lavaine, whose instant reverence,
Dearer to true young hearts than their own praise,
But left him leave to stammer, ‘Is it indeed?’
And after muttering ‘The great Lancelot,’
420 At last he got his breath and answer’d, ‘One,
One have I seen – that other, our liege lord,
The dread Pendragon, Britain’s King of kings,
Of whom the people talk mysteriously,
He will be there – then were I stricken blind
425 That minute, I might say that I had seen.’
So spake Lavaine, and when they reach’d the lists
By Camelot in the meadow, let his eyes
Run thro’ the peopled gallery which half round
Lay like a rainbow fall’n upon the grass,
430 Until they found the clear-faced King, who sat
Robed in red samite, easily to be known,
Since to his crown the golden dragon clung,
And down his robe the dragon writhed in gold,
And from the carven-work behind him crept