High in her chamber1 up a tower to the east
Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;
Which first she placed where the morning’s earliest ray
Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam;
Then fearing rust2 or soilure fashioned for it
A case of silk, and braided thereupon
All the devices blazoned3 on the shield
In their own tinct, and added, of her wit,
A border fantasy of branch and flower,
And yellow-throated nestling in the nest.
Nor rested thus content, but day by day,
Leaving her household and good father, climbed
That eastern tower, and entering barred her door,
Stript off the case, and read the naked shield,
Now guessed a hidden meaning in his arms,
Now made a pretty history to herself
Of every dint4 a sword had beaten in it,
And every scratch a lance had made upon it,
Conjecturing5 when and where: this cut is fresh;
That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle;
That at Caerleon; this at Camelot:
And ah God’s mercy, what a stroke was there!
And here a thrust that might have killed, but God
Broke the strong lance, and rolled his enemy down,
And saved him: so she lived in fantasy.
How came the lily maid by that good shield
Of Lancelot, she that knew not even his name?
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt6
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts8,
Which Arthur had ordained9, and by that name
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.
For Arthur, long before they crowned him King,
Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse,
Had found a glen, gray boulder11 and black tarn12.
A horror lived about the tarn, and clave
Like its own mists to all the mountain side:
For here two brothers, one a king, had met
And fought together; but their names were lost;
And each had slain13 his brother at a blow;
And down they fell and made the glen abhorred14:
And there they lay till all their bones were bleached15,
And lichened16 into colour with the crags:
And he, that once was king, had on a crown
Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside.
And Arthur came, and labouring up the pass,
All in a misty17 moonshine, unawares
Had trodden that crowned skeleton, and the skull18
Brake from the nape, and from the skull the crown
Rolled into light, and turning on its rims19
Fled like a glittering rivulet20 to the tarn:
And down the shingly21 scaur he plunged22, and caught,
And set it on his head, and in his heart
Heard murmurs24, “Lo, thou likewise shalt be King.”
Thereafter, when a King, he had the gems25
Plucked from the crown, and showed them to his knights28,
Saying, “These jewels, whereupon I chanced
Divinely, are the kingdom’s, not the King’s—
For public use: henceforward let there be,
Once every year, a joust7 for one of these:
For so by nine years’ proof we needs must learn
Which is our mightiest29, and ourselves shall grow
In use of arms and manhood, till we drive
The heathen, who, some say, shall rule the land
Hereafter, which God hinder.” Thus he spoke30:
And eight years past, eight jousts had been, and still
Had Lancelot won the diamond of the year,
With purpose to present them to the Queen,
When all were won; but meaning all at once
To snare31 her royal fancy with a boon32
Worth half her realm, had never spoken word.
Now for the central diamond and the last
And largest, Arthur, holding then his court
Hard on the river nigh the place which now
Is this world’s hugest, let proclaim a joust
At Camelot, and when the time drew nigh
Spake (for she had been sick) to Guinevere,
“Are you so sick, my Queen, you cannot move
To these fair jousts?” “Yea, lord,” she said, “ye know it.”
“Then will ye miss,” he answered, “the great deeds
Of Lancelot, and his prowess in the lists,
A sight ye love to look on.” And the Queen
Lifted her eyes, and they dwelt languidly
On Lancelot, where he stood beside the King.
He thinking that he read her meaning there,
“Stay with me, I am sick; my love is more
Than many diamonds,” yielded; and a heart
Love-loyal to the least wish of the Queen
(However much he yearned33 to make complete
The tale of diamonds for his destined34 boon)
Urged him to speak against the truth, and say,
“Sir King, mine ancient wound is hardly whole,
And lets me from the saddle;” and the King
Glanced first at him, then her, and went his way.
No sooner gone than suddenly she began:
“To blame, my lord Sir Lancelot, much to blame!
Why go ye not to these fair jousts? the knights
Are half of them our enemies, and the crowd
Will murmur23, ‘Lo the shameless ones, who take
Their pastime now the trustful King is gone!’”
Then Lancelot vext at having lied in vain:
“Are ye so wise? ye were not once so wise,
My Queen, that summer, when ye loved me first.
Then of the crowd ye took no more account
Than of the myriad35 cricket of the mead36,
When its own voice clings to each blade of grass,
And every voice is nothing. As to knights,
Them surely can I silence with all ease.
But now my loyal worship is allowed
Of all men: many a bard37, without offence,
Has linked our names together in his lay,
Lancelot, the flower of bravery, Guinevere,
The pearl of beauty: and our knights at feast
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?”
She broke into a little scornful laugh:
“Arthur, my lord, Arthur, the faultless King,
That passionate40 perfection, my good lord—
But who can gaze upon the Sun in heaven?
He never spake word of reproach to me,
He never had a glimpse of mine untruth,
He cares not for me: only here today
There gleamed a vague suspicion in his eyes:
Some meddling41 rogue42 has tampered43 with him—else
Rapt in this fancy of his Table Round,
And swearing men to vows45 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,
Not Arthur’s, as ye know, save by the bond.
And therefore hear my words: go to the jousts:
The tiny-trumpeting gnat46 can break our dream
When sweetest; and the vermin voices here
May buzz so loud—we scorn them, but they sting.”
Then answered Lancelot, the chief of knights:
“And with what face, after my pretext47 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,
“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,
This conquers: hide it therefore; go unknown:
Win! by this kiss you will: and our true King
Will then allow your pretext, O my knight27,
As all for glory; for to speak him true,
Ye know right well, how meek48 soe’er he seem,
No keener hunter after glory breathes.
He loves it in his knights more than himself:
They prove to him his work: win and return.”
Then got Sir Lancelot suddenly to horse,
Wroth at himself. Not willing to be known,
He left the barren-beaten thoroughfare,
Chose the green path that showed the rarer foot,
And there among the solitary49 downs,
Full often lost in fancy, lost his way;
Till as he traced a faintly-shadowed track,
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.
Thither50 he made, and blew the gateway51 horn.
Then came an old, dumb, myriad-wrinkled man,
Who let him into lodging52 and disarmed53.
And Lancelot marvelled54 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;
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
Approached them: then the Lord of Astolat:
“Whence comes thou, my guest, and by what name
Livest thou 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,
Known as they are, to me they are unknown.”
Then answered Sir Lancelot, the chief of knights:
“Known am I, and of Arthur’s hall, and known,
What I by mere56 mischance have brought, my shield.
But since I go to joust as one unknown
At Camelot for the diamond, ask me not,
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:
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 laughed the father saying, “Fie, Sir Churl57,
Is that 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,
To make her thrice as wilful58 as before.”
“Nay59, father, nay good father, shame me not
Before this noble knight,” said young Lavaine,
“For nothing. Surely I but played on Torre:
He seemed so sullen60, vext he could not go:
A jest, no more! for, knight, the maiden61 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
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:
Win shall I not, but do my best to win:
Young as I am, yet would I do my best.”
“So will ye grace me,” answered Lancelot,
Smiling a moment, “with your fellowship
O’er these waste downs whereon I lost myself,
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,
“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,
Flushed slightly at the slight disparagement62
Before the stranger knight, who, looking at her,
Full courtly, yet not falsely, thus returned:
“If what is fair be but for what is fair,
And only queens are to be counted so,
Rash were my judgment63 then, who deem this maid
Might wear as fair a jewel as is on earth,
Not violating the bond of like to like.”
He spoke and ceased: the lily maid Elaine,
Won by the mellow64 voice before she looked,
Lifted her eyes, and read his lineaments.
The great and guilty love he bare the Queen,
In battle with the love he bare his lord,
Had marred65 his face, and marked it ere his time.
Another sinning on such heights with one,
The flower of all the west and all the world,
Had been the sleeker66 for it: but in him
His mood was often like a fiend, and rose
And drove him into wastes and solitudes67
For agony, who was yet a living soul.
Marred as he was, he seemed the goodliest man
That ever among ladies ate in hall,
And noblest, when she lifted up her eyes.
However marred, of more than twice her years,
Seamed with an ancient swordcut on the cheek,
And bruised69 and bronzed, she lifted up her eyes
And loved him, with that love which was her doom70.
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 disdain71
Hid under grace, as in a smaller time,
But kindly72 man moving among his kind:
Whom they with meats and vintage of their best
And talk and minstrel melody entertained.
And much they asked of court and Table Round,
And ever well and readily answered he:
But Lancelot, when they glanced at Guinevere,
Suddenly speaking of the wordless man,
Heard from the Baron73 that, ten years before,
The heathen caught and reft him of his tongue.
“He learnt and warned me of their fierce design
Against my house, and him they caught and maimed;
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.”
“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
And answered 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
That thundered 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 centered in a sun
Of silver rays, that lightened as he breathed;
And at Caerleon had he helped his lord,
When the strong neighings of the wild white Horse
Set every gilded74 parapet shuddering75;
And up in Agned-Cathregonion too,
And down the waste sand-shores of Trath Treroit,
Where many a heathen fell; “and on the mount
Of Badon I myself beheld76 the King
Charge at the head of all his Table Round,
And all his legions crying Christ and him,
And break them; and I saw him, after, stand
High on a heap of slain, from spur to plume77
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,
However mild he seems at home, nor cares
For triumph in our mimic78 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
Fills him: I never saw his like: there lives
No greater leader.”
While he uttered this,
Low to her own heart said the lily maid,
“Save your own great self, fair lord;” and when he fell
From talk of war to traits of pleasantry—
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 melancholy79 severe, from which again,
Whenever in her hovering80 to and fro
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,
As when a painter, poring on a face,
Divinely through all hindrance81 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
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.
First 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.
There to his proud horse Lancelot turned, and smoothed
The glossy82 shoulder, humming to himself.
Half-envious of the flattering hand, she drew
Nearer and stood. He looked, and more amazed
Than if seven men had set upon him, saw
The maiden standing83 in the dewy light.
He had not dreamed she was so beautiful.
Then came on him a sort of sacred fear,
For silent, though he greeted her, she stood
Rapt on his face as if it were a God’s.
Suddenly flashed on her a wild desire,
That he should wear her favour at the tilt.
She braved a riotous84 heart in asking for it.
“Fair lord, whose name I know not—noble it is,
I well believe, the noblest—will you wear
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 wont85, as those, who know me, know.”
“Yea, so,” she answered; “then in wearing mine
Needs must be lesser86 likelihood, noble lord,
That those who know should know you.” And he turned
Her counsel up and down within his mind,
And found it true, and answered, “True, my child.
Well, I will wear it: fetch it out to me:
What is it?” and she told him “A red sleeve
Broidered 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
Sprang to her face and filled her with delight;
But left her all the paler, when Lavaine
Returning brought the yet-unblazoned shield,
His brother’s; which he gave to Lancelot,
Who parted with his own to fair Elaine:
“Do me this grace, my child, to have my shield
In keeping till I come.” “A grace to me,”
She answered, “twice today. I am your squire87!”
Whereat Lavaine said, laughing, “Lily maid,
For fear our people call you lily maid
In earnest, let me bring your colour back;
Once, twice, and thrice: now get you hence to bed:”
So kissed her, and Sir Lancelot his own hand,
And thus they moved away: she stayed a minute,
Then made a sudden step to the gate, and there—
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 watched their arms far-off
Sparkle, until they dipt below the downs.
Then to her tower she climbed, 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
Not far from Camelot, now for forty years
A hermit88, who had prayed, laboured and prayed,
And ever labouring had scooped89 himself
In the white rock a chapel90 and a hall
On massive columns, like a shorecliff cave,
And cells and chambers: all were fair and dry;
The green light from the meadows underneath91
Struck up and lived along the milky92 roofs;
And in the meadows tremulous aspen-trees
And poplars made a noise of falling showers.
And thither wending there that night they bode93.
But when the next day broke from underground,
And shot red fire and shadows through the cave,
They rose, heard mass, broke fast, and rode away:
Then Lancelot saying, “Hear, but hold my name
Hidden, you ride with Lancelot of the Lake,”
Abashed94 young Lavaine, whose instant reverence95,
Dearer to true young hearts than their own praise,
But left him leave to stammer96, “Is it indeed?”
And after muttering “The great Lancelot,
At last he got his breath and answered, “One,
One have I seen—that other, our liege lord,
The dread97 Pendragon, Britain’s King of kings,
Of whom the people talk mysteriously,
He will be there—then were I stricken blind
That minute, I might say that I had seen.”
So spake Lavaine, and when they reached the lists
By Camelot in the meadow, let his eyes
Run through the peopled gallery which half round
Lay like a rainbow fallen upon the grass,
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 writhed98 in gold,
And from the carven-work behind him crept
Two dragons gilded, sloping down to make
Arms for his chair, while all the rest of them
Through knots and loops and folds innumerable
Fled ever through the woodwork, till they found
The new design wherein they lost themselves,
Yet with all ease, so tender was the work:
And, in the costly100 canopy101 o’er him set,
Blazed the last diamond of the nameless king.
Then Lancelot answered young Lavaine and said,
“Me you call great: mine is the firmer seat,
The truer lance: but there is many a youth
Now crescent, who will come to all I am
And overcome it; and in me there dwells
No greatness, save it be some far-off touch
Of greatness to know well I am not great:
There is the man.” And Lavaine gaped102 upon him
As on a thing miraculous104, and anon
The trumpets105 blew; and then did either side,
They that assailed106, and they that held the lists,
Set lance in rest, strike spur, suddenly move,
Meet in the midst, and there so furiously
Shock, that a man far-off might well perceive,
If any man that day were left afield,
The hard earth shake, and a low thunder of arms.
And Lancelot bode a little, till he saw
Which were the weaker; then he hurled108 into it
Against the stronger: little need to speak
Of Lancelot in his glory! King, duke, earl,
Count, baron—whom he smote109, he overthrew110.
But in the field were Lancelot’s kith and kin10,
Ranged with the Table Round that held the lists,
Strong men, and wrathful that a stranger knight
Should do and almost overdo112 the deeds
Of Lancelot; and one said to the other, “Lo!
What is he? I do not mean the force alone—
The grace and versatility113 of the man!
Is it not Lancelot?” “When has Lancelot worn
Favour of any lady in the lists?
Not such his wont, as we, that know him, know.”
“How then? who then?” a fury seized them all,
A fiery114 family passion for the name
Of Lancelot, and a glory one with theirs.
They couched their spears and pricked115 their steeds, and thus,
Their plumes116 driven backward by the wind they made
In moving, all together down upon him
Bare, as a wild wave in the wide North-sea,
Green-glimmering toward the summit, bears, with all
Its stormy crests117 that smoke against the skies,
Down on a bark, and overbears the bark,
And him that helms it, so they overbore
Sir Lancelot and his charger, and a spear
Down-glancing lamed118 the charger, and a spear
Pricked sharply his own cuirass, and the head
Pierced through his side, and there snapt, and remained.
Then Sir Lavaine did well and worshipfully;
He bore a knight of old repute to the earth,
And brought his horse to Lancelot where he lay.
He up the side, sweating with agony, got,
But thought to do while he might yet endure,
And being lustily holpen by the rest,
His party,—though it seemed half-miracle
To those he fought with,—drave his kith and kin,
And all the Table Round that held the lists,
Back to the barrier; then the trumpets blew
Proclaiming his the prize, who wore the sleeve
Of scarlet119, and the pearls; and all the knights,
His party, cried “Advance and take thy prize
The diamond;” but he answered, “Diamond me
No diamonds! for God’s love, a little air!
Prize me no prizes, for my prize is death!
Hence will I, and I charge you, follow me not.”
He spoke, and vanished suddenly from the field
With young Lavaine into the poplar grove120.
There from his charger down he slid, and sat,
Gasping121 to Sir Lavaine, “Draw the lance-head:”
“Ah my sweet lord Sir Lancelot,” said Lavaine,
“I dread me, if I draw it, you will die.”
But he, “I die already with it: draw—
Draw,”—and Lavaine drew, and Sir Lancelot gave
A marvellous great shriek122 and ghastly groan123,
And half his blood burst forth39, and down he sank
For the pure pain, and wholly swooned away.
Then came the hermit out and bare him in,
There stanched124 his wound; and there, in daily doubt
Whether to live or die, for many a week
Hid from the wide world’s rumour125 by the grove
Of poplars with their noise of falling showers,
And ever-tremulous aspen-trees, he lay.
But on that day when Lancelot fled the lists,
His party, knights of utmost North and West,
Lords of waste marches, kings of desolate126 isles127,
Came round their great Pendragon, saying to him,
“Lo, Sire, our knight, through whom we won the day,
Hath gone sore wounded, and hath left his prize
Untaken, crying that his prize is death.”
“Heaven hinder,” said the King, “that such an one,
So great a knight as we have seen today—
He seemed to me another Lancelot—
Yea, twenty times I thought him Lancelot—
He must not pass uncared for. Wherefore, rise,
O Gawain, and ride forth and find the knight.
Wounded and wearied needs must he be near.
I charge you that you get at once to horse.
And, knights and kings, there breathes not one of you
Will deem this prize of ours is rashly given:
His prowess was too wondrous128. We will do him
No customary honour: since the knight
Came not to us, of us to claim the prize,
Ourselves will send it after. Rise and take
This diamond, and deliver it, and return,
And bring us where he is, and how he fares,
And cease not from your quest until ye find.”
So saying, from the carven flower above,
To which it made a restless heart, he took,
And gave, the diamond: then from where he sat
At Arthur’s right, with smiling face arose,
With smiling face and frowning heart, a Prince
In the mid107 might and flourish of his May,
Gawain, surnamed The Courteous129, fair and strong,
And after Lancelot, Tristram, and Geraint
And Gareth, a good knight, but therewithal
Sir Modred’s brother, and the child of Lot,
Nor often loyal to his word, and now
Wroth that the King’s command to sally forth
In quest of whom he knew not, made him leave
The banquet, and concourse of knights and kings.
So all in wrath111 he got to horse and went;
While Arthur to the banquet, dark in mood,
Past, thinking “Is it Lancelot who hath come
Despite the wound he spake of, all for gain
Of glory, and hath added wound to wound,
And ridden away to die?” So feared the King,
And, after two days’ tarriance there, returned.
Then when he saw the Queen, embracing asked,
“Love, are you yet so sick?” “Nay, lord,” she said.
“And where is Lancelot?” Then the Queen amazed,
“Was he not with you? won he not your prize?”
“Nay, but one like him.” “Why that like was he.”
And when the King demanded how she knew,
Said, “Lord, no sooner had ye parted from us,
Than Lancelot told me of a common talk
That men went down before his spear at a touch,
But knowing he was Lancelot; his great name
Conquered; and therefore would he hide his name
From all men, even the King, and to this end
Had made a pretext of a hindering wound,
That he might joust unknown of all, and learn
If his old prowess were in aught decayed;
And added, ‘Our true Arthur, when he learns,
Will well allow me pretext, as for gain
Of purer glory.’”
Then replied the King:
“Far lovelier in our Lancelot had it been,
In lieu of idly dallying130 with the truth,
To have trusted me as he hath trusted thee.
Surely his King and most familiar friend
Might well have kept his secret. True, indeed,
Albeit131 I know my knights fantastical,
So fine a fear in our large Lancelot
Must needs have moved my laughter: now remains132
But little cause for laughter: his own kin—
Ill news, my Queen, for all who love him, this!—
His kith and kin, not knowing, set upon him;
So that he went sore wounded from the field:
Yet good news too: for goodly hopes are mine
That Lancelot is no more a lonely heart.
He wore, against his wont, upon his helm
A sleeve of scarlet, broidered with great pearls,
Some gentle maiden’s gift.”
“Yea, lord,” she said,
“Thy hopes are mine,” and saying that, she choked,
And sharply turned about to hide her face,
Past to her chamber, and there flung herself
Down on the great King’s couch, and writhed upon it,
And clenched133 her fingers till they bit the palm,
And shrieked134 out “Traitor135” to the unhearing wall,
Then flashed into wild tears, and rose again,
And moved about her palace, proud and pale.
Gawain the while through all the region round
Rode with his diamond, wearied of the quest,
Touched at all points, except the poplar grove,
And came at last, though late, to Astolat:
Whom glittering in enamelled arms the maid
Glanced at, and cried, “What news from Camelot, lord?
What of the knight with the red sleeve?” “He won.”
“I knew it,” she said. “But parted from the jousts
Hurt in the side,” whereat she caught her breath;
Through her own side she felt the sharp lance go;
Thereon she smote her hand: wellnigh she swooned:
And, while he gazed wonderingly at her, came
The Lord of Astolat out, to whom the Prince
Reported who he was, and on what quest
Sent, that he bore the prize and could not find
The victor, but had ridden a random136 round
To seek him, and had wearied of the search.
To whom the Lord of Astolat, “Bide137 with us,
And ride no more at random, noble Prince!
Here was the knight, and here he left a shield;
This will he send or come for: furthermore
Our son is with him; we shall hear anon,
Needs must hear.” To this the courteous Prince
Accorded with his wonted courtesy,
Courtesy with a touch of traitor in it,
And stayed; and cast his eyes on fair Elaine:
Where could be found face daintier? then her shape
From forehead down to foot, perfect—again
From foot to forehead exquisitely138 turned:
“Well—if I bide, lo! this wild flower for me!”
And oft they met among the garden yews139,
And there he set himself to play upon her
With sallying wit, free flashes from a height
Above her, graces of the court, and songs,
Sighs, and slow smiles, and golden eloquence141
And amorous142 adulation, till the maid
Rebelled against it, saying to him, “Prince,
O loyal nephew of our noble King,
Why ask you not to see the shield he left,
Whence you might learn his name? Why slight your King,
And lose the quest he sent you on, and prove
No surer than our falcon143 yesterday,
Who lost the hern we slipt her at, and went
To all the winds?” “Nay, by mine head,” said he,
“I lose it, as we lose the lark144 in heaven,
O damsel, in the light of your blue eyes;
But an ye will it let me see the shield.”
And when the shield was brought, and Gawain saw
Sir Lancelot’s
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